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+The Project Gutenberg eBook, A Dozen Ways Of Love, by Lily Dougall
+
+
+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: A Dozen Ways Of Love
+
+
+Author: Lily Dougall
+
+
+
+Release Date: March 30, 2006  [eBook #18086]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+
+***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A DOZEN WAYS OF LOVE***
+
+
+E-text prepared by Robert Cicconetti, Martin Pettit, and the Project
+Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net/) from
+page images generously made available by Early Canadiana Online
+(http://www.canadiana.org/eco/index.html)
+
+
+
+Note: Images of the original pages are available through
+      Early Canadiana Online. See
+      http://www.canadiana.org/ECO/ItemRecord/27354?id=1773fdb4bf2c6d8f
+
+
+
+
+A DOZEN WAYS OF LOVE
+
+by
+
+L. DOUGALL
+
+Author of 'Beggars All,' 'The Zeitgeist,' 'The Madonna of a Day,' Etc.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+London
+Adam And Charles Black
+1897
+
+
+
+
+
+TO
+
+M. S. E.
+
+WITHOUT WHOSE AID, I THINK, MY BOOKS WOULD NEVER HAVE BEEN WRITTEN
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+                                              PAGE
+   I. YOUNG LOVE                                 1
+
+  II. A MARRIAGE MADE IN HEAVEN                 29
+
+ III. THRIFT                                    57
+
+  IV. A TAINT IN THE BLOOD                      77
+
+   V. 'HATH NOT A JEW EYES?'                   127
+
+  VI. A COMMERCIAL TRAVELLER                   141
+
+ VII. THE SYNDICATE BABY                       169
+
+VIII. WITCHCRAFT                               195
+
+  IX. THE GIRL WHO BELIEVED IN THE SAINTS      219
+
+   X. THE PAUPER'S GOLDEN DAY                  237
+
+  XI. THE SOUL OF A MAN                        251
+
+ XII. A FREAK OF CUPID                         293
+
+
+
+
+I
+
+YOUNG LOVE
+
+
+It was after dark on a November evening. A young woman came down the
+main street of a small town in the south of Scotland. She was a
+maid-servant, about thirty years old; she had a pretty, though rather
+strong-featured, face, and yellow silken hair. When she came toward the
+end of the street she turned into a small draper's shop. A middle-aged
+woman stood behind the counter folding her wares.
+
+'Can ye tell me the way to Mistress Macdonald's?' asked the maid.
+
+'Ye'll be a stranger.' It was evident that every one in those parts knew
+the house inquired for.
+
+The maid had a somewhat forward, familiar manner; she sat down to rest.
+'What like is she?'
+
+The shopkeeper bridled. 'Is it Mistress Macdonald?' There was reproof in
+the voice. 'She is much respectet--none more so. It would be before you
+were born that every one about here knew Mistress Macdonald.'
+
+'Well, what family is there?' The maid had a sweet smile; her voice fell
+into a cheerful coaxing tone, which had its effect.
+
+'Ye'll be the new servant they'll be looking for. Is it walking ye are
+from the station? Well, she had six children, had Mistress Macdonald.'
+
+'What ages will they be?'
+
+The woman knit her brows; the problem set her was too difficult. 'I
+couldna tell ye just exactly. There's Miss Macdonald--she that's at home
+yet; she'll be over fifty.'
+
+'Oh!' The maid gave a cheerful note of interested understanding. 'It'll
+be her perhaps that wrote to me; the mistress'll be an old lady.'
+
+'She'll be nearer ninety than eighty, I'm thinking.' There was a
+moment's pause, which the shop-woman filled with sighs. 'Ye'll be aware
+that it's a sad house ye're going to. She's verra ill is Mistress
+Macdonald. It's sorrow for us all, for she's been hale and had her
+faculties. She'll no' be lasting long now, I'm thinking.'
+
+'No,' said the maid, with good-hearted pensiveness; 'it's not in the
+course of nature that she should.' She rose as she spoke, as if it
+behoved her to begin her new duties with alacrity, as there might not
+long be occasion for them. She put another question before she went.
+'And who will there be living in the house now?'
+
+'There's just Miss Macdonald that lives with her mother; and there's
+Mistress Brown--she'll be coming up most of the days now, but she dinna
+live there; and there's Ann Johnston, that's helping Miss Macdonald with
+the nursing--she's been staying at the house for a year back. That's all
+that there'll be of them besides the servants, except that there's Dr.
+Robert. His name is Macdonald, too, ye know; he's a nephew, and he's the
+minister o' the kirk here. He goes up every day to see how his aunt's
+getting on. I'm thinking he'll be up there now; it's about his time for
+going.'
+
+The maid took the way pointed out to her. Soon she was walking up a
+gravel path, between trim, old-fashioned laurel hedges. She stood at the
+door of a detached house. It was an ordinary middle-class
+dwelling--comfortable, commodious, ugly enough, except that stolidity
+and age did much to soften its ugliness. It had, above all, the air of
+being a home--a hospitable open-armed look, as if children had run in
+and out of it for years, as if young men had gone out from it to see the
+world and come back again to rest, as if young girls had fluttered about
+it, confiding their sports and their loves to its ivy-clad walls. Now
+there hung about it a silence and sobriety that were like the shadows of
+coming oblivion. The gas was turned low in the hall. The old-fashioned
+omnibus that came lumbering from the railway with a box for the new maid
+seemed to startle the place with its noise.
+
+In the large dining-room four people were sitting in dreary discussion.
+The gas-light flared upon heavy mahogany furniture, upon red moreen
+curtains and big silver trays and dishes. By the fire sat the two
+daughters of the aged woman. They both had grey hair and wrinkled faces.
+The married daughter was stout and energetic; the spinster was thin,
+careworn and nervous. Two middle-aged men were listening to a complaint
+she made; the one was Robert Macdonald the minister, the other was the
+family doctor.
+
+'It's no use Robina's telling me that I must coax my mother to eat, as
+if I hadn't tried that'--the voice became shrill--'I've begged her, and
+prayed her, and reasoned with her.'
+
+'No, no, Miss Macdonald--no, no,' said the doctor soothingly. 'You've
+done your best, we all understand that; it's Mistress Brown that's
+thinking of the situation in a wrong light; it's needful to be plain and
+to say that Mistress Macdonald's mind is affected.'
+
+Robina Brown interposed with indignation and authority.
+
+'My mother has always had her right mind; she's been losing her memory.
+All aged people lose their memories.'
+
+The minister spoke with a meditative interest in a psychological
+phenomenon. 'Ay, she's been losing it backwards; she forgot who we were
+first, and remembered us all as little children; then she forgot us and
+your father altogether. Latterly she's been living back in the days when
+her father and mother were living at Kelsey Farm. It's strange to hear
+her talk. There's not, as far as I know, another being on this wide
+earth of all those that came and went to Kelsey Farm that is alive now.'
+
+Miss Macdonald wiped her eyes; her voice shook as she spoke; the
+nervousness of fatigue and anxiety accentuated her grief. 'She was
+asking me how much butter we made in the dairy to-day, and asking if the
+curly cow had her calf, and what Jeanie Trim was doing.'
+
+'Who was Jeanie Trim?' asked the minister.
+
+'How should I know? I suppose she was one of the Kelsey servants.'
+
+'Curious,' ejaculated the minister. 'This Jeanie will have grown old and
+died, perhaps, forty years ago, and my aunt's speaking of her as if she
+was a young thing at work in the next room!'
+
+'And what did you say to Mistress Macdonald?' the doctor asked, with a
+cheerful purpose in his tone.
+
+'I explained to her that her poor head was wandering.'
+
+'Nay, now, but, Miss Macdonald, I'm thinking if I were you I would tell
+her that the curly cow had her calf.'
+
+'I never'--tearfully--'told my mother a falsehood in my life, except
+when I was a very little girl, and then'--Miss Macdonald paused to wipe
+her eyes--'she spoke to me so beautifully out of the Bible about it.'
+
+The married sister chimed in mournfully, 'How often have I heard my
+mother say that not one of her children had ever told her a lie!'
+
+'Yes, yes, but----' There was a tone in the doctor's voice as if he
+would like to have used a strong word, but he schooled himself.
+
+'It's curious the notion she has got of not eating,' broke in the
+minister. 'I held the broth myself, but she would have none of it.'
+
+In the next room the flames of a large fire were sending reflections
+over the polished surfaces of massive bedroom furniture. The wind blew
+against this side of the house and rattled the windows, as if angry to
+see the picture of luxury and warmth within. It was a handsome stately
+room, and all that was in it dated back many a year. In a chintz
+arm-chair by the fireside its mistress sat--a very old lady, but there
+was still dignity in her pose. Her hair, perfectly white, was still
+plentiful; her eye had still something of brightness, and there was upon
+the aged features the cast of thought and the habitual look of
+intelligence. Beside her upon a small table were such accompaniments of
+age as daughter and nurse deemed suitable--the large print Bible, the
+big spectacles and caudle cup. The lady sat looking about her with a
+quick restless expression, like a prisoner alert to escape; she was tied
+to her chair--not by cords--by the failure of muscular strength; but
+perhaps she did not know that. She eyed her attendant with bright
+furtive glances, as if the meek sombre woman who sat sewing beside her
+were her jailer.
+
+The party in the dining-room broke up their vain discussion, and came
+for another visit of personal inspection.
+
+'Mother, this is the doctor come to see you. Do you not remember the
+doctor?'
+
+The old lady looked at all four of them brightly enough. 'I haena the
+pleasure of remembering who ye are, but perhaps it will return to me.'
+There was restrained politeness in her manner.
+
+The doctor spoke. 'It's a very bad tale I'm hearing about you to-day,
+that you've begun to refuse your meat. A person of your experience,
+Mistress Macdonald, ought to know that we must eat to live.' He had a
+basin of food in his hand. 'Now just to please me, Mistress Macdonald.'
+
+The old dame answered with the air that a naughty child or a pouting
+maiden might have had. 'I'll no eat it--tak' it away! I'll no eat it.
+Not for you, no--nor for my mither there'--she looked defiantly at her
+grey-haired daughter--'no, nor for my father himself!'
+
+'Not a mouthful has passed her lips to-day,' moaned Miss Macdonald. She
+wrung excited hands and stepped back a pace into the shadow; she felt
+too modest to pose as her mother's mother before the curious eyes of the
+two men.
+
+The old lady appeared relieved when the spinster was out of her sight.
+'I don't know ye, gentlemen, but perhaps now my mither's not here, ye'll
+tell me who it was that rang the door-bell a while since.'
+
+The men hesitated. They were neither of them ready with inventions.
+
+She leaned towards the doctor, strangely excited. 'Was it Mr. Kinnaird?'
+she whispered.
+
+The doctor supposed her to be frightened. 'No, no,' he said in cheerful
+tones; 'you're mistaken--it wasn't Kinnaird.'
+
+She leaned back pettishly. 'Tak' away the broth; I'll no' tak' it!'
+
+The discomfited four passed out of the room again. The women were
+weeping; the men were shaking their heads.
+
+It was just then that the new servant passed into the sick-room, bearing
+candles in her hands.
+
+'Jeanie, Jeanie Trim,' whispered the old lady. The whisper had a
+sprightly yet mysterious tone in it; the withered fingers were put out
+as if to twitch the passing skirt as the housemaid went by.
+
+The girl turned and bent a look--strong, helpful, and kindly--upon this
+fine ruin of womanhood. The girl had wit 'Yes, ma'am?' she answered
+blithely.
+
+'I'll speak with ye, Jeanie, when this woman goes away; it's her that my
+mither's put to spy on me.'
+
+The nurse retired into the shadow of the wardrobe.
+
+'She's away now,' said the maid.
+
+'Jeanie, is it Mr. Kinnaird?'
+
+'Well, now, would you like it to be Mr. Kinnaird?' The maid spoke as we
+speak to a familiar friend when we have joyful news.
+
+'Oh, Jeanie Trim, ye know well that I've longed sair for him to come
+again!'
+
+The maid set down her candles, and knelt down by the old dame's knee,
+looking up with playful face.
+
+'Well, now, I'll tell ye something. He came to see ye this afternoon.'
+
+'Did he, Jeanie?' The withered face became all wreathed with smiles; the
+old eyes danced with joy. 'What did ye say to him?'
+
+'Oh, well, I just said'--hesitation--'I said he was to come back again
+to-morrow.'
+
+'My father doesn't know that he's been here?' There was apprehension in
+the whisper.
+
+'Not a soul knows but meself.'
+
+'Ye didna tell him I'd been looking for him, Jeanie Trim?'
+
+'Na, na, I made out that ye didna care whether he came or not.'
+
+'But he wouldna be hurt in his mind, would he? I'd no like him to be
+affronted.'
+
+'It's no likely he was affronted when he said he'd come back to-morrow.'
+
+The smile of satisfaction came again.
+
+'Did he carry his silver-knobbed cane and wear his green coat, Jeanie?'
+
+'Ay, he wore his green coat, and he looked as handsome a man as ever I
+saw in my life.'
+
+The coals in the grate shot up a sudden brilliant flame that eclipsed
+the soft light of the candles and set strange shadows quivering about
+the huge bed and wardrobe and the dark rosewood tables. The winsome
+young woman at her play, and the old dame living back in a tale that was
+long since told, exchanged nods and smiles at the thought of the
+handsome visitor in his green coat. The whisper of the aged voice came
+blithely--
+
+'Ay, he is that, Jeanie Trim; as handsome a man as ever trod!'
+
+The maid rose, and passing out observed the discarded basin of broth.
+
+'What's this?' she said. 'Ye'll no be able to see Mr. Kinnaird to-morrow
+if ye don't take yer soup the night.'
+
+'Gie it to me, Jeanie Trim; I thought he wasna coming again when I said
+I wouldna.'
+
+The nurse slipped out of the shadow of the wardrobe and went out to tell
+that the soup was being eaten.
+
+'Kinnaird,' repeated the minister meditatively. 'I never heard my aunt
+speak the name.'
+
+'Kinnaird,' repeated the daughters; and they too searched in their
+memories.
+
+'I can remember my grandfather and my grandmother--the married daughter
+spoke incredulously--'there was never a gentleman called Kinnaird that
+any of the family had to do with. I'm sure of that, or I'd have as much
+as heard the name.'
+
+The minister shook his head, discounting the certainty.
+
+'Maybe John will remember the name; your father, and your grandfather
+too, had great talks with him when he was a lad. I'll write a line and
+ask him. Poor William or Thomas might have known, if they had lived.'
+
+William and Thomas, grey-haired men, respected fathers of families, had
+already been laid by the side of their father in the burying-ground.
+John lived in a distant country, counting himself too feeble now to
+cross the seas. The daughters, the younger members of this flock, were
+passing into advanced years. The mother sat by her fireside, and smiled
+softly to herself as she watched the dancing flame, and thought that her
+young lover would return on the morrow.
+
+The days went on.
+
+'I cannot think it right to tamper with my mother in this false way.'
+The spinster daughter spoke tearfully.
+
+'Would you rather see Mistress Macdonald die of starvation?' The doctor
+spoke sharply; he was tired of the protest. The doctor approved of the
+new maid. 'She's a wise-like body,' he said; 'let her have her way.'
+
+'Don't you know us, mother?' the daughters would ask patiently, sadly,
+day by day. But she never knew them; she only mistook one or the other
+of them at times for her own mother, of whom she stood in some awe.
+
+'Surely ye've not forgotten Ann Johnston, ma'am?' the nurse would ask,
+carefully tending her old mistress.
+
+The force of long habit had made the old lady patient and courteous, but
+no answering gleam came in her face.
+
+'Ye know who I am?' the new maid would cry in kindly triumph.
+
+'Oh, ay, I know you, Jeanie Trim.'
+
+'And now, look, I brought you a fine cup of milk, warm from the byre.'
+
+'Oh, I canna tak' it; I'm no thinking that I care about eating the day.'
+
+'Well, but I want to tell ye'--with an air of mystery. 'Who d'ye think's
+downstairs? It's Mr. Kinnaird himself.'
+
+'Did he come round by the yard to the dairy door?'
+
+'That he did; and all to ask how ye were the day.'
+
+The sparkle of the eye returned, and the smile that almost seemed to
+dimple the wrinkled cheek.
+
+'And I hope ye offered him something to eat, Jeanie; it's a long ride he
+takes.'
+
+'Bread and cheese, and a cup of milk just like this.'
+
+'What did he say? Did he like what ye gave him?'
+
+'He said a sup of milk sudna cross his lips till you'd had a cupful the
+like of his; so I brought it in to ye. You'd better make haste and take
+it up.'
+
+'Did he send ye wi' the cup, Jeanie Trim?'
+
+'Ay, he did that; and not a bit nor sup will he tak till ye've drunk it
+all, every drop.'
+
+With evident delight the cup was drained.
+
+'Ye told him I was ailing and couldna see him the day, Jeanie?'
+
+'Maybe ye'll see him to-morrow.' The maid stooped and folded the white
+shawl more carefully over the dame's breast, and smiled in protective
+kindly fashion. She had a good heart and a womanly, motherly touch,
+although many a mistress had called her wilful and pert.
+
+There were times when the minister came and sat himself behind his
+aunt's chair to watch and to listen. He was a meditative man, and wrote
+many an essay upon modern theology, but here he found food for
+meditation of another sort.
+
+There was no being in the world that he reverenced as he had reverenced
+this aged lady. In his childhood she had taught him to lisp the measures
+of psalm and paraphrase; in his youth she had advised him with shrewdest
+wisdom; in his ministerial life she had been to him a friend, always
+holding before him a greater spiritual height to be attained, and
+now---- He thought upon his uncle as he had known him, a very reverent
+elder of the kirk, a man who had led a long and useful life, and to whom
+this woman had rendered wifely devotion. He thought upon his cousins, in
+whose lives their mother's life had seemed unalterably bound up. He
+would at times emerge from his corner, and, sitting down beside the
+lady, would take her well-worn Bible and read to her such passages as he
+knew were graven deep upon her heart by scenes of joy or sorrow, parting
+or meeting, or the very hours of birth or death, in the lives that had
+been dearer to her than her own. He was not an emotional man, but yet
+there was a ringing pathos in his voice as he read the rhythmic words.
+At such times she would sit as if voice and rhythm soothed her, or she
+would bow her head solemnly at certain pauses, as if accustomed to agree
+to the sentiment expressed. Heart and thought were not awake to him, nor
+to the book he read, nor to the memories he tried to arouse. The fire of
+the lady's heart sprang up only for one word, that word a name, the name
+of a man of whose very existence, it seemed, no trace was left in all
+that country-side.
+
+The minister would retreat out of the lady's range of vision; and so
+great did his curiosity grow that he instigated the maid to ask certain
+questions as she played at the game of the old love-story in her
+sprightly, pitying way.
+
+'Now I'll tell ye a thing that I want to know,' said the maid, pouring
+tea in a cup. 'What's his given name? Will ye tell me that?'
+
+'Is it Mr. Kinnaird ye mean?'
+
+'It's Mr. Kinnaird's christened name that I'm speering for.'
+
+'An' I canna tell ye that, for he never told it to me. It'd be no place
+of mine to ask him before he chose to speak o' it himsel'.'
+
+'Did ye never see a piece of paper that had his name on it, or a card,
+maybe?'
+
+'I dinna mind that I have, Jeanie. He's a verra fine gentleman; it's
+just Mr. Kinnaird that he's called.'
+
+'What for will ye no let me tell the master that he comes every day?'
+
+'Ye must no tell my father, Jeanie Trim'--querulously. 'No, no; nor my
+mither. They'll maybe be telling him to bide away.'
+
+'Why would they be telling him to bide away?'
+
+'Tuts! How can I tell ye why, when I dinna ken mysel'? Why will ye fret
+me? I'll tak' no more tea. Tak' it away!'
+
+'I tell ye he'll ask me if ye took it up. He's waiting now to hear that
+ye took a great big piece of bread tae it. He'll no eat the bread and
+cheese I've set before him till ye've eaten this every crumb.'
+
+'Is that sae? Well, I maun eat it, for I wouldna have him wanting his
+meat.'
+
+The meal finished, the maid put on her most winsome smile.
+
+'Now and I'll tell ye what I'll do; I'll go back to Mr. Kinnaird, and
+I'll tell him ye sent yer _love_ tae him.'
+
+'Ye'll no do sic a thing as that, Jeanie Trim!' All the dignity and
+authority of her long womanhood returned in the impressive air with
+which she spoke. 'Ye'll no do sic a thing as that, Jeanie Trim! It's no
+for young ladies to be sending sic messages to a gentleman, when he
+hasna so much as said the word "love."'
+
+Had he ever said the word 'love,' this Kinnaird, whose memory was a
+living presence in the chamber of slow death? The minister believed that
+he had not. There was no annal in the family letters of his name,
+although other rejected suitors were mentioned freely. Had he told his
+love by look or gesture, and left it unspoken, or had look and gesture
+been misunderstood, and the whole slight love-story been born where it
+had died, in the heart of the maiden? 'Where it had died!'--it had not
+died. Seventy years had passed, and the love-story was presently
+enacting itself, as all past and all future must for ever be enacting to
+beings for whom time is not. Then, too, where was he who, by some means,
+whether of his own volition or not, had become so much a part of the
+pulsing life of a young girl that, when all else of life passed from her
+with the weight of years, her heart still remained obedient to him?
+Where was he? Had his life gone out like the flame of a candle when it
+is blown? Or, if he was anywhere in the universe of living spirits, was
+he conscious of the power which he was wielding? Was it a triumph to
+him to know that he had come, gay and debonair, in the bloom of his
+youth, into this long-existing sanctuary of home, and set aside, with a
+wave of his hand, husband, children, and friends, dead and living?
+
+Whatever might be the psychical aspects of the case, one thing was
+certain, that the influence of Kinnaird--Kinnaird alone of all those who
+had entered into relations with the lady--was useful at this time to
+come between her and the distressing symptoms that would have resulted
+from the mania of self-starvation. For some months longer she lived in
+comfort and good cheer. This clear memory of her youth was oddly
+interwoven with the forgetful dulness of old age, like a golden thread
+in a black web, like a tiny flame on the hearth that shoots with
+intermittent brilliancy into darkness. She was always to see her lover
+upon the morrow; she never woke to the fact that 'to-day' lasted too
+long, that a winter of morrows had slipped fruitless by.
+
+The interviews between Jeanie Trim and Kinnaird were not monotonous. All
+else was monotonous. December, January, February passed away. The
+mornings and the evenings brought no change outwardly in the sick-room,
+no change to the appearance of the fine old face and still stately
+figure, suggested no variety of thought or emotion to the lady's
+decaying faculties; but at the hours when she sat and contentedly ate
+the food that the maid brought her, her mental vision cleared as it
+focused upon the thought of her heart's darling. It was she whose
+questions suggested nearly all the variations in the game of imagination
+which the young woman so aptly played.
+
+'Was he riding his black mare, Jeanie Trim?'
+
+'I didna see the beast. He stood on his feet when he was tapping at the
+door.'
+
+'Whisht! Ye could tell if he wore his boots and spurs, an' his drab
+waistcoat, buttoned high?'
+
+'Now that ye speak of it, those were the very things he wore.'
+
+'It'd be the black mare he was riding, nae doubt; he'll have tied her to
+the gate in the lane.' Or again: 'Was it in the best parlour that ye saw
+him the day? He'd be drinking tea wi' my mither.'
+
+'That he was; and she smiling tae him over the dish of tea.'
+
+'Ay, he looks fine and handsome, bowing to my mither in the best
+parlour, Jeanie Trim. Did ye notice if he wore silk stockings?'
+
+'Fine silk stockings he wore.'
+
+'And his green coat?'
+
+'As green and smart as a bottle when ye polish, it with a cloth.'
+
+'Did ye notice the fine frills that he has to his shirt? I've tried to
+make my father's shirts look as fine, but they never have the same
+look.' The hands of the old dame would work nervously, as if eager to
+get at the goffering-irons and try once more. 'An' he'd lay his hat on
+the floor beside him; it's a way he has. Did my mither tell him that I
+was ailing? His eyes would be shining the while. Do ye notice how his
+eyes shine, Jeanie?'
+
+'Ay, do I; his eyes shine and his hair curls.'
+
+'Ye're mistaken there, his hair doesna curl, Jeanie Trim--ye've no'
+obsairved rightly; his hair is brown and straight; it's his beard and
+whiskers that curl. Eh! but they're bonny! There's a colour and shine in
+the curl that minds me of the lights I can see in the old copper kettle
+when my mither has it scoured and hung up on the nail; but his hair is
+plain brown.'
+
+'He's a graun' figure of a man!' cried the blithe maid, ever
+sympathetic.
+
+'Tuts! What are ye saying, Jeanie! He's no' a great size at all; the
+shortest of my brithers is bigger than him! Ye might even ca' him a wee
+man; it's the spirit that he has wi' it that I like.'
+
+Thus, by degrees, touch upon touch, the portrait of Kinnaird was
+painted, and whatever misconceptions they might form of him were
+corrected one by one. There was little incident depicted, yet the
+figure of Kinnaird was never drawn passive, but always in action.
+
+'Did my father no' offer to send him home in the spring-cart? It's sair
+wet for him to be walking in the wind and the rain the day.' Or: 'He had
+a fine bloom on his cheeks, I'll warrant, when he came in through this
+morning's bluster of wind.' Or again: 'He'll be riding to the hunt with
+my father to-day; have they put their pink coats on, Jeanie Trim?'
+
+The relations between Kinnaird and the father and mother appeared to be
+indefinite rather than unfriendly. There were times, it is true, when he
+came round by the dairy and gave private messages to Jeanie Trim, but at
+other times he figured as one of the ordinary guests of a large and
+hospitable household. No special honour seemed to be paid him; there was
+always the apprehension in the love-sick girl's heart that such timely
+attentions as the offer of proper refreshment or of the use of the
+spring-cart might be lacking. The parents were never in the daughter's
+confidence. She always feared their interference. There was no beginning
+to the story, no crisis, no culmination.
+
+'Now tell me when ye first saw Mr. Kinnaird?' asked the maid.
+
+But to this there was no answer. It had not been love at first sight,
+its small beginnings had left no impression; nor was there ever any
+mention of a change in the relation, or of a parting, only that
+suggestion of a long and weary waiting, given in the beginning of this
+phase of memory, when she refused to touch her food, and said she was
+'sair longing' to see him again.
+
+The household at Kelsey Farm had flourished in the palmy days of
+agriculture. Hunters had been kept and pink coats worn, and the mother,
+of kin with the neighbouring gentry, had kept her carriage to ride in.
+There had been many pleasures, no doubt, for the daughter of such a
+house, but only one pleasure remained fixed on her memory, the pleasure
+of seeing Kinnaird's eyes shining upon her. These days of the lady's
+youth had happened at a time when religion, if strong, was a sombre
+thing; and to those who held the pleasures of life in both hands, it was
+little more than a name and a rite. So it came to pass that no religious
+sentiment was stirred with the thought of this old joy and succeeding
+sorrow.
+
+The minister never failed to read some sacred texts when he sat beside
+her; and when he found himself alone with the old dame, he would kneel
+and pray aloud in such simple words as he thought she might understand.
+He did it more to ease his own heart because of the love he bore her
+than because he supposed that it made any difference in the sight of
+God whether she heard him or not. He was past the prime of life, and had
+fallen into pompous and ministerial habits of manner, but in his heart
+he was always pondering to find what the realities of life might be; he
+seldom drew false conclusions, although to many a question he was
+content to find no answer. He wore a serious look--people seldom knew
+what was passing in his mind; the doctor began to think that he was
+anxious for the safety of the old dame's soul.
+
+'I am not without hope of a lucid interval at the end,' he said; 'there
+is wonderful vitality yet, and it's little more than the power of memory
+that is impaired.'
+
+At this hope the daughters caught eagerly. They were plain women, narrow
+and dull, but their mother had been no ordinary woman; her power of love
+had created in them an affection for her which transcended ordinary
+filial affection. They had inherited from her such strong domestic
+feelings that they felt her defection from all family ties for the sake
+of the absent father and brothers, felt it with a poignancy which the
+use and wont of those winter months did not seem to blunt.
+
+No sudden shock or fit came to bring about the end. Gradually the old
+dame's strength failed. There came an hour in the spring time--it was
+the midnight hour of an April night--when she lay upon her bed, sitting
+up high against white pillows, gasping for the last breaths that she
+would ever draw. They had drawn aside the old-fashioned bed-curtains, so
+that they hung like high dark pillars at the four posts. They had opened
+wide the windows, and the light spring wind blew through the room fresh
+with the dews of night. Outside, the moon was riding among her clouds;
+the night was white. The budding trees shook their twigs together in the
+garden. Inside the room, firelight and lamplight, each flickering much
+because of the wind, mingled with the moonlight, but did not wholly
+obscure its misty presence. They all stood there--the minister, the
+doctor, the grey-haired daughters sobbing, looking and longing for one
+glance of recognition, the nurse, and the new maid.
+
+They all knelt, while the minister said a prayer.
+
+'She's looking differently now,' whispered the home-keeping daughter.
+She had drawn her handkerchief from her eyes, and was looking with awed
+solicitude at her mother's face.
+
+'Yes, there's a change coming,' said the married daughter; her large
+bosom heaved out the words with excited emotion.
+
+'Speak to her of my father--it will bring her mind back again,' they
+appealed to the minister, pushing him forward to do what they asked.
+
+The minister took the lady's hands in his, and spoke out clearly and
+strongly in her ear; but he spoke not, at first, of husband or children,
+but of the Son of God.
+
+Memories that had lain asleep so long seemed slowly to awaken for one
+last moment.
+
+'You know what I am saying, auntie?' The minister spoke strongly, as to
+one who was deaf.
+
+There was a smile on the handsome old face.
+
+'Ay, I know weel: "The Lord is my Shepherd; I shallna want ... though I
+walk through the valley o' the shadow of death."'
+
+'My uncle, and Thomas, and William have gone before you, auntie.'
+
+'Ay'--with a satisfied smile--'they've gone before.'
+
+'You know who I am?' he said again.
+
+She knew him, and took leave of him. She took leave of each of her
+daughters, but in a calm, weak way, as one who had waded too far into
+the river of death to be much concerned with the things of earth.
+
+The doctor pressed her hand, and the faithful nurse. The minister,
+feeling that justice should be done to one whose wit had brought great
+relief, bid the maid go forward.
+
+She was weeping, but she spoke in the free, caressing way that she had
+used so long.
+
+'Ye know who I am, ma'am?'
+
+The dying eyes looked her full in the face, but gave no recognition.
+
+'It's Jeanie Trim.'
+
+'Na, na, I remember a Jeanie Trim long syne, but you're not Jeanie
+Trim!'
+
+The maid drew back discomfited.
+
+The minister began to repeat a psalm that she loved. The daughters sat
+on the bedside, holding her hands. So they waited, and she seemed to
+follow the meaning of the psalm as it went on, until suddenly----
+
+She turned her head feebly towards a space by the bed where no one
+stood. She drew her aged hands from her daughters', and made as if to
+stretch them out to a new-comer. She smiled.
+
+'Mr. Kinnaird!' she murmured; then she died.
+
+'You might have thought that he was there himself,' said the daughters,
+awestruck.
+
+And the minister said within himself, 'Who knows but that he was
+there?'
+
+
+
+
+II
+
+A MARRIAGE MADE IN HEAVEN
+
+
+In the backwoods of Canada, about eighty miles north of Lake Ontario,
+there is a chain of three lakes, linked by the stream of a rapid river,
+which leads southward from the heart of a great forest. The last of the
+three lakes is broad, and has but a slow current because of a huge dam
+which the early Scottish settlers built across its mouth in order to
+form a basin to receive the lumber floated down from the lakes above.
+Hence this last lake is called Haven, which is also the name of the
+settlement at the side of the dam. The worthy Scotsmen, having set up a
+sawmill, built a church beside it, and by degrees a town and a
+schoolhouse. The wealth of the town came from the forest. The half-breed
+Indian lumber-men, toiling anxiously to bring their huge tree-trunks
+through the twisting rapids, connected all thoughts of rest and plenty
+with the peaceful Haven Lake and the town where they received their
+wages; and, perhaps because they received their first ideas of religion
+at the same place, their tripping tongues to this day call it, not
+'Haven,' but 'Heaven.'
+
+The town throve apace in its early days, and no one in it throve better
+than Mr. Reid, who kept the general shop. He was a cheerful soul; and it
+was owing more to his wife's efforts than his own that his fortune was
+made, for she kept more closely to the shop and had a sharper eye for
+the pence.
+
+Mrs. Reid was not cheerful; she was rather of an acrid disposition.
+People said that there was only one subject on which the shopkeeper and
+his wife agreed, that was as to the superiority of their daughter in
+beauty, talent, and amiability, over all other young women far or near.
+In their broad Scotch fashion they called this daughter Eelan, and the
+town knew her as 'Bonnie Eelan Reid'; everyone acknowledged her charms,
+although there might be some who would not acknowledge her preeminence.
+
+Mr. and Mrs. Reid carried their pride in their daughter to a great
+extent, for they sent her to a boarding-school in the town of Coburgh,
+which was quite two days' journey to the south. When she came back from
+this educating process well grown, healthy, handsome, and, in their
+eyes, highly accomplished, the parents felt that there was no rank in
+the Canadian world beyond their daughter's reach, if it should be her
+pleasure to attain it.
+
+'It wouldn't be anything out of the way even,' chuckled the happy Mr.
+Reid, 'if our Eelan should marry the Governor-General.'
+
+'Tuts, father, Governors!' said his wife scornfully, not because she had
+any inherent objection to Governors as sons-in-law, but because she
+usually cried down what her husband said.
+
+'The chief difficulty would be that they are usually married before they
+come to this country--aren't they, father?' Eelan spoke with a twinkling
+smile. She did not choose to explain to any one what she really thought;
+she had fancies of her own, this pretty backwoods maiden.
+
+'Well, well, there are lads enough in town, and I'll warrant she'll pick
+and choose,' said the jolly father in a resigned tone. He was not
+particular as to a Governor, after all.
+
+That conversation happened when Eelan first came home; but a year or two
+after, the family conferences took a more serious tone. She had learnt
+to keep her father's books in the shop, and had become deft at
+housework; but there was no prospect of her settling in a house of her
+own; many of the best young men in the place had offered themselves as
+lovers and been refused.
+
+'Oh! what's the use o' talking, father,' cried Mrs. Reid; 'if the girl
+won't, she won't, and that's all.--But I can tell _you_, Eelan Reid,
+that all your looks and your manners won't save you from being an old
+maid, if you turn your back on the men.'
+
+'I wasn't talking,' said Mr. Reid humbly; 'I was only saying to the
+lassie that I didn't want her to hurry; but I'd be right sorry when I'm
+getting old not to have some notion where I was going to leave my
+money--it'll more than last out Eelan's day, if it's rightly taken care
+of.'
+
+'But I can't marry unless I should fall in love,' said Eelan wistfully.
+Her parents had a vague notion that this manner of expressing herself
+was in some way a proof of her high accomplishments.
+
+Life was by no means dull in the little town. There were picnics in
+summer, sleigh-drives in winter, dances, and what not; and Eelan was no
+recluse. Still, she loved the place better than the people, and there
+was not a spot of ground in the neighbourhood that she did not know by
+heart.
+
+In summer, the sparkling water of the lake rippled under a burning sun,
+and the thousand tree-trunks left floating in it, held near to the edge
+by the floating boom of logs, became hot and dry on the upper side,
+while the green water-moss caught them from beneath. It was great fun
+for the school children to scamper out daringly on these floating fields
+of lumber; and Eelan liked to go with them, and sometimes walk far out
+alone along the edge of the boom. She would listen to the birds singing,
+the children shouting, to the whir of the saws in the mill, and the
+plash of the river falling over the dam; and she would feel that it was
+enough delight simply to live without distressing herself about marriage
+yet awhile.
+
+When winter came, Eelan was happier still. All the roughness and
+darkness of the earth was lost in a downy ocean of snow. Where the
+waterfall had been there was a fairy palace of icicles glancing in the
+sun, and smooth white roads were made across the frozen lake. Eelan
+never drew back dazzled from the glittering landscape; she was a child
+of the winter, and she loved its light. She would often harness her
+father's horse to the old family sleigh and drive alone across the lake.
+She took her snow-shoes with her, and, leaving the horse at some
+friendly farmhouse, she would tramp into the woods over the trackless
+snow. The girl would stand still and look up at the solemn pines and
+listen, awed by their majestic movement and the desolate loveliness all
+around. At such time, if the thought of marriage came, she did not put
+it aside with the light fancy that she wished still to remain free; she
+longed, in the drear solitude, for some one to sympathise with her, some
+one who could explain the meaning of the wordless thoughts that welled
+up within her, the vague response of her heart to the mystery of
+external beauty. Alas! among all her suitors there was not such a
+friend.
+
+There was no one else in the town who cared for country walks as Eelan
+did--at least, no one but the schoolmaster. She met him occasionally,
+walking far from home; he was a quaint, old-looking man, and she thought
+he had a face like an angel's. She might have wished sometimes to stop
+and speak to him, but when they met he always appeared to have his eyes
+resting on the distant horizon, and his mind seemed wrapped in some
+learned reverie, to the oblivion of outward things. The schoolmaster
+lived in the schoolhouse on the bank of the curving river, a bit below
+the waterfall. He took up his abode there a few months before Eelan Reid
+came home from school. He had come from somewhere nearer the centres of
+education--had been imported, so to speak, for the special use of Haven
+Settlement, for the leading men of the place were a canny set and knew
+the worth of books. His testimonials had told of a higher standard of
+scholarship than was usual in such schools, and the keen Scots had
+snapped at the chance and engaged him without an interview; but when he
+arrived they had been grievously disappointed. He was a gentle,
+unsophisticated man, shy as a girl, and absent-minded withal.
+
+'Aweel, I'll not say but he'll do to put sums and writing into the
+youngsters' heads and teach them to spout their poems; but he's not just
+what I call a _man_.' This was the opinion which Macpherson, the portly
+owner of the mill, had delivered to his friends.
+
+'There's something lacking, I'm thinking,' said one; 'he's thirty-six
+years old, and to see him driving his cow afield, you'd say he was
+sixty, and him not sickly either.'
+
+'I doubt he's getting far too high a salary,' said Macpherson solemnly.
+'To pass examinations is all very well; but he's not got the grit in him
+that I'd like to see.'
+
+So they had called a school committee meeting, and suggested to the new
+schoolmaster, as delicately as they could, that they were much
+disappointed with his general manner and appearance, but that, as he had
+come so far, they were graciously willing to keep him if he would
+consent to take a lower salary than that first agreed on. At this the
+schoolmaster grew very red, and, with much stammering, he managed to
+make a speech. He said that he liked the wildness and extreme beauty of
+the country, and the children appeared to him attractive; he did not
+wish to go away; and as to salary, he would take what they thought him
+worth.
+
+In this way they closed the bargain with him on terms quite satisfactory
+to themselves.
+
+'But hoots,' said the stout Macpherson as he ambled home from the
+meeting, 'I've only half a respect for a man that can't stand up for
+himself;' and this sentiment was more or less echoed by them all.
+
+Happily, the schoolmaster did not desire society. The minister's wife
+asked him to tea occasionally; and he confided to her that, up to that
+time, he had always lived with his mother, and that it was because of
+her death that he had left his old home, where sad memories were too
+great a strain upon him, and come farther west. No one else took much
+notice of him, partly because he took no notice of them. At the ladies'
+sewing meeting the doctor's wife looked round the room with an injured
+air and asked: 'How is it possible to ask a gentleman to tea when you
+know that he'll meet you in the street next morning and won't remember
+who you are?'
+
+'A lady who respected herself couldn't do it,' replied Mrs. Reid
+positively; and then in an undertone she remarked to herself, 'The
+gaby!'
+
+Miss Ann Blakely pursed her lips and craned her thin neck over her work.
+'As to that I don't know, Mrs. Reid; no one could visit the school, as I
+have done, and fail to observe that the youth of the town are more
+obedient than formerly. In my opinion, a gentleman who can command the
+respect of the growing masculine mind----' She finished the sentence
+only by an expressive wave of her head.
+
+'There is much truth in Miss Blakely's remark,' said a timid little
+mother of six sons.
+
+People married early, as a general thing, in Haven Settlement, and Miss
+Blakely, having been accidentally overlooked, had, before he came,
+indulged in some soft imaginations of her own with regard to the new
+schoolmaster; like others, she was disappointed in him; but she had not
+yet decided 'whether,' to use her own phrase, 'he would not, after all,
+be better than none.' She poised this question in her mind with a nice
+balancing of reasons for and against for about three years, and the man
+who was thus the object of her interest continued to live peacefully,
+ignorant alike of hostile criticism and tender speculation.
+
+It was a terrible day for the schoolmaster when the honest widow who
+lived with him as housekeeper was called by the death of a
+daughter-in-law to go and keep the house of her son in another town. She
+could only tell of her intention two weeks before it was necessary to
+leave; and very earnestly did the schoolmaster consult with her in the
+interval as to what he could possibly do to supply her place, for
+servants in Haven Settlement were rare luxuries.
+
+'I don't know, I'm sure, sir, what you can do,' said Mrs. Sims
+hopelessly. 'The girls in these parts are far too proud to be hired to
+work in a house. Why, the best folks in town mostly does their own
+work; there's Mrs. Reid, so rich, just has a woman to do the charing;
+and Eelan--that's the beauty, you know--makes the pies and keeps the
+house spick-and-span. But you couldn't keep your own house clean, could
+you, sir?--let alone the meals; and you wouldn't live long if you hadn't
+_them_.'
+
+As the days wore on, the schoolmaster became more urgent in his appeals
+for advice, but he did not get encouragement to expect to find a servant
+of any sort, for the widow was too sincere to suggest hope when she felt
+none, and the difficulty was not an easy one to solve. She made various
+inquiries among her friends. It was suggested that the master should go
+to 'the boarding-house,' which was a large barn-like structure, in which
+business men who did not happen to have families slept in uncomfortable
+rooms and dined at a noisy table. Mrs. Sims reported this suggestion
+faithfully, and added: 'But it's my belief it would kill you outright.'
+
+The schoolmaster looked at his books and the trim arrangements of his
+neat house, and negatived the proposition with more decision than he had
+ever shown before.
+
+After a while, Mrs. Sims received another idea of quite a different
+nature; but she did not report this so hastily--it required more
+finesse. It was entrusted to her care with many injunctions to be
+'tactful,' and it was suggested that if there was a mess made of it, it
+would be her fault. The idea was nothing less than that it would be
+necessary for the master to marry; and it was the gaunt Miss Ann Blakely
+herself who confided to his present housekeeper that she should have no
+objections to become his bride, provided he wrote her a pretty enough,
+humble sort of letter that she could show to her friends.
+
+'For, mind you, I'd not go cheap to the like of him,' she said, raising
+an admonishing finger, as she took leave of her friend: 'I'd rather
+remain single, far.'
+
+'I think he could write the letter,' replied Mrs. Sims; 'leastways, if
+he can't do that, I don't know what he can do, poor man.'
+
+Having been solemnly enjoined to be careful, Mrs. Sims thought so long
+over what she was to say before she said it, that she made herself quite
+nervous, and when she began, she forgot the half. Over her sewing in the
+sitting-room one evening she commenced the subject with a flustered
+little run of words. 'I'm sure such an amiable man as you are, sir,
+almost three years I've been in this house and never had a word from
+you, not one word'--it is to be remarked that the widow did not intend
+to assert that the schoolmaster had been mute--'and you are nice in all
+your ways, too; if I do say it, quite the gentleman.'
+
+'Oh!' said the schoolmaster, in a tone of surprise, not because he had
+heard what she said, but because he was surprised that she should begin
+to talk to him when he was correcting his books.
+
+'And not a servant to be had far or near,' she went on with agitated
+volubility; 'and as for another like myself, of course that's too much
+to be hoped for.' She did not say this out of conceit, but merely as
+representing the actual state of affairs.
+
+The schoolmaster began to look frightened. He was not a matter-of-fact
+person, but, as long as a man is a man, the prospect of being left
+altogether without his meals must be appalling.
+
+'So, why you shouldn't get married, I don't know.' She added this in
+tremulous excitement, speaking in an argumentative way, as if she had
+led him by an ordered process of thought to an inevitable conclusion.
+
+'Oh!' exclaimed the schoolmaster in surprise again, this time because he
+_had_ heard what was said.
+
+The worst was over now; and Mrs. Sims, having once suggested the
+desperate idea of the necessity of marriage, could proceed more calmly.
+She found, however, that she had to explain the notion at length before
+he could at all grasp it, and then she was obliged to urge its necessity
+for some time before he was willing to consider it. He became agitated
+in his turn, and, rising, walked up and down the room, his arms folded
+and an absent look in his eyes, as though he were thinking of things
+farther off.
+
+'I do not mind telling you, for I believe you are a motherly woman, Mrs.
+Sims, that it is not the first time that the thought of marriage has
+crossed my mind' (with solemn hesitation). 'I _have_ thought of it
+before; but I have always been hindered from giving it serious
+consideration from the belief that no woman would be willing to--ah--to
+marry me.'
+
+'Well, of course there's some truth in that, sir,' said his faithful
+friend, reluctantly obliged by her conscience to say what she thought.
+
+'Just so, Mrs. Sims,' said the schoolmaster with a patient sigh; 'and
+therefore, perhaps it will be unnecessary to discuss the subject
+further.'
+
+'Still, there's no accounting for tastes; there might be some found that
+would.'
+
+'It would not be necessary to find more than one,' said he, with a quiet
+smile.
+
+'No, that's true, sir, which makes the matter rather easier. It's always
+been my belief that while there is life there is hope.'
+
+'True, true,' he replied; and then he indulged in a long fit of musing,
+which she more than suspected had little to do with the immediate
+bearing of the subject on his present case. It was necessary to rouse
+him, for there was no time to be lost.
+
+'Of course I don't say that there's many that would have you; there's
+girls enough--but laws! they'd all make game of you if you were to go
+a-courting to them, and, I take it, courting's not the sort of thing
+you're cleverest at.'
+
+'True,' said the schoolmaster again, and again he sighed.
+
+'But now, a good sensible woman, like Miss Blakely, as would keep you
+and your house clean and tidy, not to speak of cooking--I make bold to
+say you couldn't do better than to get such a one, if she might be so
+minded.'
+
+'Who is Miss Blakely?' he asked wonderingly.
+
+'It's her that visits the school so often; you've seen her time and
+again.'
+
+'I recollect,' he said; 'but I have not spoken much with her.'
+
+'That's just what I said,' she observed triumphantly. 'You'd be no more
+up to courting than cows are up to running races. Now, as to Miss
+Blakely, not being as young as some, nor to say good-looking, she might
+not stand on the ceremony of much courting; if you just wrote her one
+letter, asking her quite modest, and putting in a few remarks about
+flowers and that sort of thing, as you could do so well, being clever at
+writing, I give it as my opinion it's not unlikely she'd take you out of
+hand; not every one would, of course, but she has a kind heart, has Miss
+Blakely.'
+
+'Kind is she?' said he, with a tone of interest; 'and sweet-tempered?'
+
+Mrs. Sims said more in favour of the scheme; it required that she should
+say much, for the schoolmaster was not to be easily persuaded. She had,
+however, three strong arguments in its favour, which she reiterated
+again and again, with more and more assurance of certitude as she warmed
+to the subject. The first point was, that if he did not marry, he must
+either starve at home or go to the boarding-house, and at the latter
+place she assured him again, as she had done at first, he would probably
+soon die. Her second point was, that no one else would be willing to
+marry him except Miss Blakely; and her third--although in this matter
+she expressed herself with some mysterious caution--that Miss Blakely
+would marry him if asked. Mrs. Sims bridled her head, spoke in lower
+tones than was her wont, and said that she had the secret of Miss
+Blakely's partiality from good authority. She sighed; and he heard her
+murmur over her sewing that the heart was always young. In fact, without
+saying it in so many words, she gave her listener to understand clearly
+that Miss Blakely had conceived a very lively affection for him. And
+this last, if she had but known it, was the only argument that carried
+weight, for the schoolmaster could have faced either the prospect of
+starvation or a lingering death in the rude noise of a boarding-house;
+but he was tender-hearted, and, moreover, he had a beautiful soul, and
+supposed all women to be like his mother, whom he had loved with all his
+strength.
+
+'You'd better make haste, sir,' said Mrs. Sims, 'for I must leave on
+Thursday, and now it's Saturday night. There's not overmuch time for
+everything--although, indeed, Mrs. Graham, that goes out charing, might
+come in and make you your meals for a week, though it will cost you half
+a quarter's salary, charing is that expensive in these parts.'
+
+The schoolmaster proceeded to think over the matter--that is to say, he
+proceeded to muse over it; by which process he did not face the facts as
+they were--did not become better acquainted with the real Miss Blakely,
+but made some sort of progress in another way, for he conjured up an
+ideal Miss Blakely, gentle and good, cheerful, with intellectual tastes
+like his own, a person who, like himself, had not fared very happily in
+the world until now, and for whom his love and protection would make a
+paradise. It did occur to him, occasionally, that the picture he was
+drawing might not be quite correct, and at those times he would seek
+Mrs. Sims, and ask a few questions of this oracle by way of adjusting
+his own ideas to the truth. Poor Mrs. Sims, between her extreme honesty
+and her desire to see the schoolmaster, whom she really loved, assured
+of future comfort, had much ado to be 'tactful' and say the right
+thing. She naturally regarded comfort as pertaining solely to the outer
+man, and fully believed that this marriage was the best step he could
+take; so her answers, when they could not be satisfactory, were vague.
+
+'How can you doubt, sir, that you'll be much happier with a wife to cook
+your meals regular, and no more bother about changements all your life?
+I'm sure if I were you, sir, I wouldn't hesitate between the joys of
+matrimony and single life.'
+
+'Perhaps not, Mrs. Sims; but I, being I, do hesitate. It is a very
+important step to take, just because, as you say, there will be no more
+change.'
+
+'And it's just you that have been telling me that the very thing you
+dislike most in this world is change. And there are other advantages,
+too, in having kith and kin, for it's lonesome without when you're old;
+and just think how beautiful for a wife to weep over you when you're
+a-dying--and she'll do all that, Miss Blakely will, sir; I'm sure, as
+her friend, I can answer for it.'
+
+'The wills above be done,' murmured the schoolmaster, 'but I would fain
+die a dry death.'
+
+Time pressed; the schoolmaster procrastinated; the very evening before
+the widow's departure had arrived, and yet nothing was done. Then it
+happened, as is frequently the case when the mind is balancing between
+two opinions, that a very small circumstance determined him to write the
+all-important note. The circumstance was none other than his having a
+convenient opportunity of sending it; for to him, as to many other
+unpractical minds, the small difficulties in the way of any action had
+as great a deterring power as more important considerations. Miss
+Blakely happened to live on the other side of the town, and though the
+master walked much farther than that himself every day, he felt that in
+this case it would hardly be dignified to be his own messenger.
+
+It was early in the evening, and the master's window was open to the
+soft spring air that came in full of the freshness of young leaves and
+the joyous splash of the flooded river. Two of his schoolboys were
+loitering under the window, wishing to speak to him, yet too bashful; he
+got up and sat on the window-sill, smiled at them, and they smiled back.
+They had a tale to tell; but, as it was of a somewhat delicate nature
+and hard to explain, he had to listen very patiently. They had a
+dollar--a brown and green paper dollar--which they gave him with an air
+of solemn importance. They said that they and some of their comrades had
+been a long way from home gathering saxifrage, and that they had met one
+of the young ladies of the town. She had her arms full of flowers, and
+her pocket quite full of moss, so full that she had had to take her
+purse and handkerchief out and hold them in her hand with the flowers
+because the moss was wet. When she came upon them, they were trying to
+get some saxifrage that was on a ledge of rock; they could only climb
+half-way up the rock, and were none of them tall enough to reach it; so
+she put down all her flowers and things and climbed up and got it for
+them; but in the meantime one of them opened the purse and took out the
+dollar. She never found it out, and went away.
+
+'Not either of you?' said the schoolmaster.
+
+'No, sir; one of the other fellows did it. But he's sorry, and wants to
+give it back; so we said that we would tell you, and perhaps you would
+give it to her.'
+
+'Why couldn't you go and give it to her, just as you have given it to
+me?'
+
+'Because we knew you'd b'lieve us that it was just the way we said; and
+her folks, you know, might think we'd done it when we said we hadn't.
+Or, mother said, if you didn't want to be troubled, perhaps you'd just
+write a line to say how it was, and we'll go and leave it at the house
+after dark and come away quick.'
+
+The master had no objection to this; so he brought the boys in and got
+out his best note-paper--he was fastidious about some things--and wrote
+a note beginning 'Dear Madam,' telling in a few lines that the money had
+been stolen and restored.
+
+'What is the lady's name?' he asked, taking up the envelope.
+
+'It was Eelan Reid, sir; Mr. Reid's daughter that keeps the shop.'
+
+So the schoolmaster wrote 'Miss Eelan Reid' in a fair round hand, and
+then he paused for a moment. He was making up his mind to the
+all-decisive action.
+
+'Perhaps you can wait for another note and take that for me at the same
+time,' he said. He gave them some picture papers to look at. Then he
+wrote the note of such moment to himself, beginning, as before, 'Dear
+Madam,' and doing his best to follow the many instructions which the
+faithful Mrs. Sims had given him. It was a curious specimen of
+literature, in which a truly elegant mind and warm heart were veiled,
+but not hidden, by an embarrassed attempt at conventional phrases--a
+letter that most women would laugh at, and that the best women would
+reverence. He addressed that envelope too, and sealed the notes and sent
+away the boys.
+
+There was no sleep for the schoolmaster that night. With folded arms he
+paced his room in restless misery. Now that the die was cast, the ideal
+Miss Blakely faded from his mind; he felt instinctively that she was
+mythical. He saw clearly that he had forfeited the best possibilities of
+life for the sake of temporary convenience, that he had sold his
+birthright for a mess of pottage.
+
+The long night passed at length, as all nights pass. The sun rose over
+purple hills to glow upon the spring-stirred forest and to send golden
+shafts deep down into the clear heart of lake and stream. The fallen
+beauty of past woodland summers had tinged the water till it glowed like
+nut-brown wine; so brown it was that the pools of the river, where it
+swirled and rushed past the schoolhouse bend, seemed to greet the sun
+with the soft dark glances of fawn-eyed water-sprites. The glorious sky,
+the tender colours of the budding wood, the very dandelions on the
+untrimmed bank, contrived their hues to accord and rejoice with the
+laughing water, and the birds swelled out its song. In the rapture of
+spring and of morning there was no echo of grief; for the unswerving law
+of nature, moving through the years, had set each thing in its right
+home. It is only the perplexed soul that is forced to choose its own way
+and suffer from the choice, and the song of our life is but set to the
+accompaniment of a sad creed if we may not trust that, above our human
+wills, there is a Power able to overrule the mistakes of true hearts, to
+lead the blind by unseen paths, and save the simple from their own
+simplicity.
+
+Very early in the morning the schoolmaster, haggard and worn, slipped
+out of his own door to refresh himself in the sunlight that gleamed down
+upon his bit of green through the budding willow trees that grew by the
+river-side. He stood awhile under the bending boughs, watching the full
+stream as it tossed its spray into the lap of the flower-fringed shore.
+He looked, as he stood there, like a ghost of the preceding night,
+caught against his will and embraced by the joyous morning. Just then he
+had a vision.
+
+A girl came towards him across the grass and stood a few paces distant.
+The slender willow twigs, with their hanging catkins and tiny golden
+leaves, made a sort of veil between them. She was very beautiful, at
+least so the schoolmaster thought; perhaps she was the personification
+of the morning, perhaps she was a wood-nymph--it did not matter much; he
+felt, in his excitement and exhaustion, that her beauty and grace were
+not real, but only an hallucination of moving sun and shade. She took
+the swaying willow-twigs in her pretty hands and looked through them at
+him and stroked the downy flowers.
+
+'Why did you send me that letter?' she said at last, with a touch of
+severity in her voice.
+
+'The letter,' he stammered, wondering what she could mean.
+
+He remembered, with a sort of dull return of consciousness, that he
+_was_ guilty of having sent a letter--terribly guilty in his own
+estimation--but it was sent to Miss Blakely, and this was not Miss
+Blakely. That one letter had so completely absorbed all his mind that he
+had quite forgotten any others that he might have written in the course
+of his whole life.
+
+'Do not be angry with me,' he said imploringly. He had but one idea,
+that was, to keep this radiant dream of beauty with him as long as
+possible.
+
+'I'm not angry; I am not angry at all--indeed'--and here she looked down
+at the twigs in her hand and began pulling the young leaves rather
+roughly--'I am not sure but that I am rather pleased. I have so often
+met you in the woods, you know; only I didn't know that you had ever
+noticed me.'
+
+'I never did,' said the schoolmaster; but happily his nervous lips gave
+but indistinct utterance to the words, and his tone was pathetic. She
+thought he had only made some further pleading.
+
+'I--I--I like you very much,' she said. 'I suppose, of course, everybody
+will be very much surprised, and mother may not be pleased, you know,
+just at first; but she's good and dear, mother is, in spite of what she
+says; and father will be glad about anything that pleases me.'
+
+He did not understand what she said; but he felt distressed at the
+moment to notice that she was twisting the tender willow leaves, albeit
+he saw that she only did so because, in her embarrassment, her fingers
+worked unconsciously. He came forward and took her hands gently, to
+disentangle them from the twigs. She let them lie in his, and looked up
+in his face and smiled.
+
+'I will try to be a good wife, and manage all the common things, and not
+tease you to be like other men, if you will sometimes read your books to
+me and explain to me what life means, and why it is so beautiful, and
+why things are as they are.'
+
+'I'm afraid I don't understand these matters myself very well,' he said;
+'but we can talk about them together.'
+
+While he held her hands, she drooped her head till it touched his
+shoulder.
+
+He had kissed no one since his mother died, and the great joy that took
+possession of his heart brought, by its stimulus, a sudden knowledge of
+what had really happened to his mind. In a marvellously tender way, for
+a man who could not go a-courting, he put his hand under the pretty chin
+and looked down wonderingly, reverently, at the serious upturned face.
+'And this is bonnie Eelan Reid?'
+
+Then Eelan, thinking that he was teasing her gently for being so easily
+won when she had gained the reputation of being so proud, cast down her
+eyes and blushed.
+
+So they were married, and lived happily, very happily, although they had
+their sorrows, as others have. The schoolmaster was man enough to keep
+the knowledge of his blunder a secret between himself and God.
+
+As for Miss Blakely, she never quite understood who had stolen the
+dollar, or when, or where; but she was glad to get it back. She never
+forgave Mrs. Sims for having managed her trust so ill, although the
+widow declared, with tears in her eyes, that she had done her best.
+
+'He would have taken in the knowingest person, he would indeed, Ann
+Blakely; and, to my notion, a straightforward woman like you is well
+quit of a man who, while he looked so innocent, could act so deep.'
+
+
+
+
+III
+
+THRIFT
+
+
+The end of March had come. The firm Canadian snow roads had suddenly
+changed their surface and become a chain of miniature rivers, lakes
+interspersed by islands of ice, and half-frozen bogs.
+
+A young priest had started out of the city of Montreal to walk to the
+suburb of Point St. Charles. He was in great haste, so he kilted up his
+long black petticoats and hopped and skipped at a good pace. The hard
+problems of life had not as yet assailed him; he had that set of the
+shoulders that belongs to a good conscience and an easy mind; his face
+was rosy-cheeked and serene.
+
+Behind him lay the hill-side city, with its grey towers and spires and
+snow-clad mountain. All along his way budding maple trees swayed their
+branches overhead; on the twigs of some there was the scarlet moss of
+opening flowers, some were tipped with red buds and some were grey. The
+March wind was surging through them; the March clouds were flying above
+them,--light grey clouds with no rain in them,--veil above veil of mist,
+and each filmy web travelling at a different pace. The road began as a
+street, crossed railway tracks and a canal, ran between fields, and
+again entered between houses. The houses were of brick or stone, poor
+and ugly; the snow in the fields was sodden with water; the road----
+
+'I wish that the holy prophet Elijah would come to this Jordan with his
+mantle,' thought the priest to himself.
+
+This was a pious thought, and he splashed and waded along
+conscientiously. He had been sent on an errand, and had to return to
+discharge a more important duty in the same afternoon.
+
+The suburb consisted chiefly of workmen's houses and factories, but
+there were some ambitious-looking terraces. The priest stopped at a
+brick dwelling of fair size. It had an aspect of flaunting
+respectability; lintel and casements were shining with varnish; cheap
+starched curtains decked every window. When the priest had rung a bell
+which jingled inside, the door was opened by a young woman. She was not
+a servant, her dress was fur-belowed and her hair was most elaborately
+arranged. She was, moreover, evidently Protestant; she held the door and
+surveyed the visitor with an air that was meant to show easy
+independence of manner, but was, in fact, insolent.
+
+The priest had a slip of paper in his hand and referred to it. 'Mrs.
+O'Brien?' he asked.
+
+'I'm not Mrs. O'Brien,' said the young woman, looking at something which
+interested her in the street.
+
+A shrill voice belonging, as it seemed, to a middle-aged woman, made
+itself heard. 'Louisy, if it's a Cath'lic priest, take him right in to
+your gran'ma; it's him she's expecting.'
+
+A moment's stare of surprise and contempt, and the young woman led the
+way through a gay and cheaply furnished parlour, past the door of a best
+bedroom which stood open to shew the frills on the pillows, into a room
+in the back wing. She opened the door with a jerk and stared again as
+the priest passed her. She was a handsome girl; the young priest did not
+like to be despised; within his heart he sighed and said a short prayer
+for patience.
+
+He entered a room that did not share the attempt at elegance of the
+front part of the house; plain as a cottage kitchen, it was warm and
+comfortable withal. The large bed with patchwork quilt stood in a
+corner; in the middle was an iron stove in which logs crackled and
+sparkled. The air was hot and dry, but the priest, being accustomed to
+the atmosphere of stoves, took no notice, in fact, he noticed nothing
+but the room's one inmate, who from the first moment compelled his whole
+attention.
+
+In a wooden arm-chair, dressed in a black petticoat and a scarlet
+bedgown, sat a strong old woman. Weakness was there as well as strength,
+certainly, for she could not leave her chair, and the palsy of
+excitement was shaking her head, but the one idea conveyed by every
+wrinkle of the aged face and hands, by every line of the bowed figure,
+was strength. One brown toil-worn hand held the head of a thick
+walking-stick which she rested on the floor well in front of her, as if
+she were about to rise and walk forward. Her brown face--nose and chin
+strongly defined--was stretched forward as the visitor entered; her
+eyes, black and commanding, carried with them something of that
+authoritative spell that is commonly attributed to a commanding mind.
+Great physical size or power this woman apparently had never had, but
+she looked the very embodiment of a superior strength.
+
+'Shut the door! shut the door behind ye!' These were the first words
+that the youthful confessor heard, and then, as he advanced, 'You're
+young,' she said, peering into his face. Without a moment's intermission
+further orders were given him: 'Be seated; be seated! Take a chair by
+the fire and put up your wet feet. It is from Father M'Leod of St.
+Patrick's Church that ye've come?'
+
+The young man, whose boots were well soaked with ice-water, was not loth
+to put them up on the edge of the stove. It was not at all his idea of a
+priestly visit to a woman who had represented herself as dying, but it
+is a large part of wisdom to take things as they come until it is
+necessary to interfere.
+
+'You wrote, I think, to Father M'Leod, saying that as the priests of
+this parish are French and you speak English----'
+
+Some current of excitement hustled her soul into the midst of what she
+had to say.
+
+''Twas Father Maloney, him that had St. Patrick's before Father M'Leod,
+who married me; so I just thought before I died I'd let one of ye know a
+thing concerning that marriage that I've never told to mortal soul. Sit
+ye still and keep your feet to the fire; there's no need for a young man
+like you to be taking your death with the wet because I've a thing to
+say to ye.'
+
+'You are not a Catholic now,' said he, raising his eyebrows with
+intelligence as he glanced at a Bible and hymn-book that lay on the
+floor beside her.
+
+He was not unaccustomed to meeting perverts; it was impossible to have
+any strong emotion about so frequent an occurrence. He had had a long
+walk and the hot air of the room made him somewhat sleepy; if it had not
+been for the fever and excitement of her mind he might not have picked
+up more than the main facts of all she said. As it was, his attention
+wandered for some minutes from the words that came from her palsied
+lips. It did not wander from her; he was thinking who she might be, and
+whether she was really about to die or not, and whether he had not
+better ask Father M'Leod to come and see her himself. This last thought
+indicated that she impressed him as a person of more importance and
+interest than had been supposed when he had been sent to hear her
+confession.
+
+All this time, fired by a resolution to tell a tale for the first and
+last time, the old woman, steadying as much as she might her shaking
+head, and leaning forward to look at the priest with bleared yet
+flashing eyes, was pouring out words whose articulation was often
+indistinct. Her hand upon her staff was constantly moving, as if she
+were about to rise and walk; her body seemed about to spring forward
+with the impulse of her thoughts, the very folds of the scarlet bedgown
+were instinct with excitement.
+
+The priest's attention returned to her words.
+
+'Yes, marry and marry and marry--that's what you priests in my young
+days were for ever preaching to us poor folk. It was our duty to
+multiply and fill the new land with good Cath'lics. Father Maloney, that
+was his doctrine, and me a young girl just come out from the old country
+with my parents, and six children younger than me. Hadn't I had enough
+of young children to nurse, and me wanting to begin life in a new place
+respectable, and get up a bit in the world? Oh, yes! but Father Maloney
+he was on the look-out for a wife for Terry O'Brien. He was a widow man
+with five little helpless things, and drunk most of the time was Terry,
+and with no spirit in him to do better. Oh! but what did that matter to
+Father Maloney when it was the good of the Church he was looking for,
+wanting O'Brien's family looked after? O'Brien was a good, kind fellow,
+so Father Maloney said, and you'll never hear me say a word against
+that. So Father Maloney got round my mother and my father and me, and
+married me to O'Brien, and the first year I had a baby, and the second
+year I had another, so on and so on, and there's not a soul in this
+world can say but that I did well by the five that were in the house
+when I came to it.
+
+'Oh! "house"!---- d'ye think it was one house he kept over our heads?
+No, but we moved from one room to another, not paying the rent. Well,
+and what sort of a training could the children get? Father Maloney he
+talked fine about bringing them up for the Church. Did he come in and
+wash them when I was a-bed? Did he put clothes on their backs? No, and
+fine and angry he was when I told him that that was what he ought to
+have done! Oh! but Father Maloney and I went at it up and down many a
+day, for when I was wore out with the anger inside me, I'd go and tell
+him what I thought of the marriage he'd made, and in a passion he'd get
+at a poor thing like me teaching him duty.
+
+'Not that I ever was more than half sorry for the marriage myself,
+because of O'Brien's children, poor things, that he had before I came to
+them. Likely young ones they were too, and handsome, what would they
+have done if I hadn't been there to put them out of the way when O'Brien
+was drunk, and knocking them round, or to put a bit of stuff together to
+keep them from nakedness?
+
+'"Well," said Father Maloney to me, "why isn't it to O'Brien that you
+speak with your scolding tongue?" Faix! and what good was it to spake to
+O'Brien, I'd like to know? Did you ever try to cut water with a knife,
+or to hurt a feather-bed by striking at it with your fist? A nice
+good-natured man was Terry O'Brien--I'll never say that he wasn't
+that,--except when he was drunk, which was most of the time--but he'd no
+more backbone to him than a worm. That was the sort of husband Father
+Maloney married me to.
+
+'The children kept a-coming till we'd nine of them, that's with the five
+I found ready to hand; and the elder ones getting up and needing to be
+set out in the world, and what prospect was there for them? What could
+I do for them? Me always with an infant in my arms! Yet 'twas me and no
+other that gave them the bit and sup they had, for I went out to work;
+but how could I save anything to fit decent clothes on them, and it
+wasn't much work I could do, what with the babies always coming, and
+sick and ailing they were half the time. The Sisters would come from the
+convent to give me charity. 'Twas precious little they gave, and
+lectured me too for not being more submiss'! And I didn't want their
+charity; I wanted to get up in the world. I'd wanted that before I was
+married, and now I wanted it for the children. Likely girls the two
+eldest were, and the boy just beginning to go the way of his father.'
+
+She came to a sudden stop and breathed hard; the strong old face was
+still stretched out to the priest in her eagerness; the staff was
+swaying to and fro beneath the tremulous hand. She had poured out her
+words so quickly that there was in his chest a feeling of answering
+breathlessness, yet he still sat regarding her placidly with the
+serenity of healthy youth.
+
+She did not give him long rest. 'What did I see around me?' she
+demanded. 'I saw people that had begun life no better than myself
+getting up and getting up, having a shop maybe, or sending their
+children to the "Model" School to learn to be teachers, or getting them
+into this business or that, and mine with never so much as knowing how
+to read, for they hadn't the shoes to put on----
+
+'And I had it in me to better them and myself. I knew I'd be strong if
+it wasn't for the babies, and I knew, too, that I'd do a kinder thing
+for each child I had, to strangle it at it's birth than to bring it on
+to know nothing and be nothing but a poor wretched thing like Terry
+O'Brien himself----'
+
+At the word 'strangle' the young priest took his feet from the ledge in
+front of the fire and changed his easy attitude, sitting up straight and
+looking more serious.
+
+'It's not that I blamed O'Brien over much, he'd just had the same sort
+of bringing up himself and his father before him, and when he was sober
+a very nice man he was; it was spiritiness he lacked; but if he'd had
+more spiritiness he'd have been a wickeder man, for what is there to
+give a man sense in a rearing like that? If he'd been a wickeder man I'd
+have had more fear to do with him the thing I did. But he was just a
+good sort of creature without sense enough to keep steady, or to know
+what the children were wanting; not a notion he hadn't but that they'd
+got all they needed, and I had it in me to better them. Will ye dare to
+say that I hadn't?
+
+'After Terry O'Brien went I had them all set out in the world, married
+or put to work with the best, and they've got ahead. All but O'Brien's
+eldest son, every one of them have got ahead of things. I couldn't put
+the spirit into _him_ as I could into the littler ones and into the
+girls. Well, but he's the only black sheep of the seven, for two of them
+died. All that's living but him are doing well, doing well' (she nodded
+her head in triumph), 'and their children doing better than them, as
+ought to be. Some of them ladies and gentlemen, real quality. Oh! ye
+needn't think I don't know the difference' (some thought expressed in
+his face had evidently made its way with speed to her brain)--'my
+daughter that lives here is all well enough, and her girl handsome and
+able to make her way, but I tell you there's some of my grandchildren
+that's as much above her in the world as she is above poor Terry
+O'Brien--young people that speak soft when they come to see their poor
+old grannie and read books, oh! I know the difference; oh! I know very
+well--not but what my daughter here is well-to-do, and there's not one
+of them all but has a respect for me.' She nodded again triumphantly,
+and her eyes flashed. 'They know, they know very well how I set them out
+in the world. And they come back for advice to me, old as I am, and see
+that I want for nothing. I've been a _good_ mother to them, and a good
+mother makes good children and grandchildren too.'
+
+There was another pause in which she breathed hard; the priest grasped
+the point of the story; he asked--
+
+'What became of O'Brien?'
+
+'I drowned him.'
+
+The priest stood up in a rigid and clerical attitude.
+
+'I tell ye I drowned him.' She had changed her attitude to suit his; and
+with the supreme excitement of telling what she had never told, there
+seemed to come to her the power to sit erect. Her eagerness was not that
+of self-vindication; it was the feverish exaltation with which old age
+glories over bygone achievement.
+
+'I'd never have thought of it if it hadn't been O'Brien himself that put
+it into my head. But the children had a dog, 'twas little enough they
+had to play with, and the beast was useful in his way too, for he could
+mind the baby at times; but he took to ailing--like enough it was from
+want of food, and I was for nursing him up a bit and bringing him round,
+but O'Brien said that he'd put him into the canal. 'Twas one Sunday that
+he was at home sober--for when he was drunk I could handle him so that
+he couldn't do much harm. So says I, "And why is he to be put in the
+canal?"
+
+'Says he, "Because he's doing no good here."
+
+'So says I, "Let the poor beast live, for he does no harm."
+
+'Then says he, "But it's harm he does taking the children's meat and
+their place by the fire."
+
+'And says I, "Are ye not afraid to hurry an innocent creature into the
+next world?" for the dog had that sense he was like one of the children
+to me.
+
+'Then said Terry O'Brien, for he had a wit of his own, "And if he's an
+innocent creature he'll fare well where he goes."
+
+'Then said I, "He's done his sins, like the rest of us, no doubt."
+
+'Then says he, "The sooner he's put where he can do no more the better."
+
+'So with that he put a string round the poor thing's neck and took him
+away to where there was holes in the ice of the canal, just as there is
+to-day, for it was the same season of the year, and the children all
+cried; and thinks I to myself, "If it was the dog that was going to put
+their father into the water they would cry less." For he had a peevish
+temper in drink, which was most of the time.
+
+'So then, I knew what I would do. 'Twas for the sake of the children
+that were crying about me that I did it, and I looked up to the sky and
+I said to God and the holy saints that for Terry O'Brien and his
+children 'twas the best deed I could do; and the words that we said
+about the poor beast rang in my head, for they fitted to O'Brien
+himself, every one of them.
+
+'So you see it was just the time when the ice was still thick on the
+water, six inches thick maybe, but where anything had happened to break
+it the edges were melting into large holes. And the next night when it
+was late and dark I went and waited outside the tavern, the way O'Brien
+would be coming home.
+
+'He was just in that state that he could walk, but he hadn't the sense
+of a child, and we came by the canal, for there's a road along it all
+winter long, but there were places where if you went off the road you
+fell in, and there were placards up saying to take care. But Terry
+O'Brien hadn't the sense to remember them. I led him to the edge of a
+hole, and then I came on without him. He was too drunk to feel the pain
+of the gasping. So I went home.
+
+'There wasn't a creature lived near for a mile then, and in the morning
+I gave out that I was afraid he'd got drowned, so they broke the ice and
+took him up. And there was just one person that grieved for Terry
+O'Brien. Many's the day I grieved for him, for I was accustomed to have
+him about me, and I missed him like, and I said in my heart, "Terry,
+wherever ye may be, I have done the best deed for you and your children,
+for if you were innocent you have gone to a better place, and if it were
+sin to live as you did, the less of it you have on your soul the better
+for you; and as for the children, poor lambs, I can give them a start
+in the world now I am rid of you!" That's what I said in my heart to
+O'Brien at first--when I grieved for him; and then the years passed, and
+I worked too hard to be thinking of him.
+
+'And now, when I sit here facing the death for myself, I can look out of
+my windows there back and see the canal, and I say to Terry again, as if
+I was coming face to face with him, that I did the best deed I could do
+for him and his. I broke with the Cath'lic Church long ago, for I
+couldn't go to confess; and many's the year that I never thought of
+religion. But now that I am going to die I try to read the books my
+daughter's minister gives me, and I look to God and say that I've sins
+on my soul, but the drowning of O'Brien, as far as I know right from
+wrong, isn't one of them.'
+
+The young priest had an idea that the occasion demanded some strong form
+of speech. 'Woman,' he said, 'what have you told me this for?'
+
+The strength of her excitement was subsiding. In its wane the
+afflictions of her age seemed to be let loose upon her again. Her words
+came more thickly, her gaunt frame trembled the more, but not for one
+moment did her eye flinch before his youthful severity.
+
+'I hear that you priests are at it yet. "Marry and marry and marry,"
+that's what ye teach the poor folks that will do your bidding, "in
+order that the new country may be filled with Cath'lics," and I thought
+before I died I'd just let ye know how one such marriage turned; and as
+he didn't come himself you may go home and tell Father M'Leod that, God
+helping me, I have told you the truth.'
+
+The next day an elderly priest approached the door of the same house.
+His hair was grey, his shoulders bent, his face was furrowed with those
+benign lines which tell that the pain which has graven them is that
+sympathy which accepts as its own the sorrows of others. Father M'Leod
+had come far because he had a word to say, a word of pity and of
+sympathy, which he hoped might yet touch an impenitent heart, a word
+that he felt was due from the Church he represented to this wandering
+soul, whether repentance should be the result or not.
+
+When he rang the bell it was not the young girl but her mother who
+answered the door; her face, which spoke of ordinary comfort and good
+cheer, bore marks of recent tears.
+
+'Do you know,' asked the Father curiously, 'what statement it was that
+your mother communicated to my friend who was here yesterday?'
+
+'No, sir, I do not.'
+
+'Your mother was yesterday in her usual health and sound mind?' he
+interrogated gently.
+
+'She was indeed, sir,' and she wiped a tear.
+
+'I would like to see your mother,' persisted he.
+
+'She had a stroke in the night, sir; she's lying easy now, but she knows
+no one, and the doctor says she'll never hear or see or speak again.'
+
+The old man sighed deeply.
+
+'If I may make so bold, sir, will you tell me what business it was my
+mother had with the young man yesterday or with yourself?'
+
+'It is not well that I should tell you,' he replied, and he went
+away.
+
+
+
+
+IV
+
+A TAINT IN THE BLOOD
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+
+The curate was walking on the cliffs with his lady-love. All the sky was
+grey, and all the sea was grey. The soft March wind blew over the rocky
+shore; it could not rustle the bright green weed that hung wet from the
+boulders, but it set all the tufts of grass upon the cliffs nodding to
+the song of the ebbing tide. The lady was the vicar's daughter; her name
+was Violetta.
+
+'Let us stand still here,' said the curate, 'for there is something I
+must say to you to-day.' So they stood still and looked at the sea.
+
+'Violetta,' said the curate, 'you cannot be ignorant that I have long
+loved you. Last night I took courage and told your father of my hope and
+desire that you should become my wife. He told me what I did not know,
+that you have already tasted the joy of love and the sorrow of its
+disappointment. I can only ask you now if this former love has made it
+impossible that you should love again.'
+
+'No,' she answered; 'for although I loved and sorrowed then with all the
+strength of a child's heart, still it was only as a child, and that is
+past.'
+
+'Will you be my wife?' said the curate.
+
+'I cannot choose but say "yes," I love you so much.'
+
+Then they turned and went back along the cliffs, and the curate was very
+happy. 'But tell me,' he said, 'about this other man that loved you.'
+
+'His name was Herbert. He was the squire's son. He loved me and I loved
+him, but afterwards we found that his mother had been mad----' Violetta
+paused and turned her sweet blue eyes upon the sea.
+
+'So you could not marry?' said the curate.
+
+'No,' said Violetta, casting her eyes downward, 'because the taint of
+madness is a terrible thing.' She shuddered and blushed.
+
+'And you loved him?'
+
+'Dearly, dearly,' said Violetta, clasping her hands. 'But madness in the
+blood is too terrible; it is like the inheritance of a curse.'
+
+'He went away?' said the curate.
+
+'Yes, Herbert went away; and he died. He loved me so much that he
+died.'
+
+'I do not wonder at that,' said the curate, 'for you are very lovely,
+Violetta.'
+
+They walked home hand in hand, and when they had said good-bye under the
+beech trees that grew by the vicarage gate, the curate went down the
+street of the little town. The shop-keepers were at their doors
+breathing the mild spring air. The fishermen had hung their nets to dry
+in the market-place near the quay. The western cloud was turning
+crimson, and the steep roofs and grey church-tower absorbed in sombre
+colours the tender light. The curate was going home to his lodgings, but
+he bethought him of his tea, and turned into the pastry-cook's by the
+way.
+
+'Have you any muffins, Mrs. Yeander?' he asked.
+
+'No, sir,' said the portly wife of the baker, in a sad tone, 'they're
+all over.'
+
+'Crumpets?' said he.
+
+'Past and gone, sir,' said the woman with a sigh. She had a coarsely
+poetical cast of mind, and commonly spoke of the sale of her goods as
+one might speak of the passing of summer flowers. The curate was turning
+away.
+
+'I would make bold, sir,' said the woman, 'to ask if you've heard that
+we've let our second-floor front for a while. It's a great thing for us,
+sir, as you know, to 'ave it let, not that you'll approve the person as
+'as took it.'
+
+'Oh!' said the curate, 'how is that?'
+
+'He's the new Jewish rabbi, sir, being as they've opened the place of
+their heathenish worship again. It's been shut this two year, for want
+of a Hebrew to read the language.'
+
+'Oh, no, Mrs. Yeander; you're quite mistaken in calling the Jews
+heathens.'
+
+'The meeting-place is down by the end of the street, sir--a squarish
+sort of house. It's not been open in your time; likely you'll not know
+it. The new rabbi's been reading a couple of weeks to them. They do say
+it's awful queer.'
+
+'Oh, indeed!' said the curate; 'what are their hours of service?'
+
+'Well, to say the truth, sir, they'll soon be at it now, for it's Friday
+at sunset they've some antics or other in the place. The rabbi's just
+gone with his book.'
+
+'I think I'll look them up, and see what they're at,' said he, going
+out.
+
+He was a thin, hard-working man. His whole soul was possessed by his
+great love for Violetta, but even the gladness of its success could not
+turn him from his work. When the day was over he would indulge in
+brooding on his joy; until then the need of the world pressed. He
+stepped out again into the evening glow. The wind had grown stronger,
+and he bent his head forward and walked against it towards the west. He
+felt a sudden sympathy for this stranger who had come to minister in his
+own way to the few scattered children of the Jews who were in the town.
+He knew the unjust sentiment with which he would be surrounded as by an
+atmosphere. The curate was broad in his views. 'All nations and all
+people,' thought he, 'lust for an excuse to deem their neighbour less
+worthy than themselves, that they may oppress him. This is the
+selfishness which is the cause of all sin and is the devil.' When he got
+to this point in his thoughts he came to a sudden stand and looked up.
+'But, thank God,' he said to himself, 'the True Life is still in the
+world, and as we resist the evil we not only triumph ourselves, but make
+the triumph of our children sure.' So reasoned the curate; he was a
+rather fanatical fellow.
+
+The people near gave him 'good-day' when they saw him stop. All up and
+down the street the children played with shrill noises and pattering
+feet. The sunset cloud was brighter, and the dark peaked roofs of tile
+and thatch and slate, as if compelled to take some notice of the fire,
+threw back the red where, here and there, some glint of moisture gave
+reflection to the coloured light. He had come near the end of the town,
+and, where the houses opened, the red sky was fretted with dark twigs
+and branches of elm trees which grew on the grassy slope of the cliff.
+The elm trees were in the squire's park, and the curate looked at them
+sadly and thought of Herbert who had died.
+
+Up a little lane at the end of the street he found the entrance to a low
+square hall. There was a small ante-room to the place of service, and in
+this a dull-looking man was seated polishing a candlestick. He was a
+crossing-sweeper by trade and a friend of the curate.
+
+'Well, Issachar; so you've got your synagogue open again!'
+
+The man Issachar made some sound meant for a response, but not
+intelligible.
+
+'How many Jews will there be in the town?'
+
+'Twenty that are heads of families, and two grown youths,' said
+Issachar.
+
+'That's enough to keep up a service, for some of them will be rich?'
+
+'Some are very rich,' said Issachar, wrinkling his face with
+satisfaction when he said the words.
+
+'Then how is it you don't always keep up the service?'
+
+But Issachar had no explanation to give. He polished his candlestick the
+more vigorously, and related at some length what he knew of the present
+reader, which was, in fact, nothing, except that he was a foreigner and
+had only offered to read while he was visiting the town.
+
+'I have come for the service,' said the curate.
+
+'Better not,' said Issachar; 'it's short to-night, and there'll not be
+many.'
+
+The curate answered by opening the inner door and entering. There were
+some high pews up and down the sides of the room. There was a curtain at
+the farther end and a reading desk in the centre, both of which were
+enclosed in a railing ornamented by brass knobs, and in which were set
+high posts supporting gas-lamps, nine in all, which were lit, either for
+heat or ceremony, and turned down to a subdued light. The evening light
+entered through the domed roof. Hebrew texts which the curate could not
+decipher were painted on the dark walls. He took off his hat reverently
+and sat down. There was no one there. He felt very much surprised at
+finding himself alone. To his impressible nervous nature it seemed that
+he had suddenly entered a place far removed in time and space from the
+every-day life with which he was so familiar. He sat a long time; it was
+cold, and the evening light grew dim, and yet no one came. Issachar
+entered now and then, and made brief remarks about sundry things as he
+gave additional polish to the knobs on the railing, but he always went
+out again.
+
+At length a side door opened and the reader came in from his vestry. He
+had apparently waited in hope of a congregation, but now came in to
+perform his duty without their aid. Perhaps he was not so much
+disappointed as the curate was. It would have been very difficult to
+tell from looking at him what his emotions were. He was a stout large
+man with a coarse brown beard. There was little to be seen of his face
+but the hair upon it, and one gathered the suggestion, although it was
+hard to know from what, that the man and his beard were not as clean as
+might be. He wore a black gown and an ordinary high silk hat, although
+pushed much farther back on his head than an Englishman would have worn
+it. He walked heavily and clumsily inside the railing, and stood before
+the desk, slowly turning over backward the leaves of the great book.
+Then suddenly he began to chant in the Hebrew tongue. His voice fell
+mellow and sweet upon the silence, filling it with drowsy sound, as the
+soft music of a humble-bee will suddenly fill the silence of a woodland
+glade. There was no thought, only feeling, conveyed by the sound.
+
+Issachar had gone out, and the Anglican priest sat erect, gazing at the
+Jew through the fading light, his attention painfully strained by the
+sense of loneliness and surprise. From mere habit he supposed the chant
+to be an introduction to a varied service, but no change came. On and on
+and on went the strange music, like a potent incantation, the big Jew
+swaying his body slightly with the rhythm, and at long intervals came
+the whisper of paper with the turning of the leaf.
+
+The curate gazed and wondered until he forgot himself. Then he tried
+with an effort to recall who he was, and where he was, and all the
+details of the busy field of labour he had left just outside the door.
+He wished that the walls of the square room were not so thick, that some
+sound from the town might come in and mingle with the chant. He strained
+his ear in vain to catch a word of the Hebrew which might be
+intelligible to him. He wondered much what sort of a man this Jew might
+be, actuated by what motives, impelled by what impulses to his lonely
+task. All the sorrow of a hope deferred through ages, and a long torture
+patiently borne, seemed gathered in the cadence; but the man--surely the
+man was no refined embodiment of the high sentiment of his psalm! And
+still the soft rich voice chanted the unknown language, and the daylight
+grew more dim.
+
+The curate was conscious that again he tried to remember who he was, and
+where; and then the surroundings of the humble synagogue fell away, and
+he himself was standing looking at a jewel. It was a purple stone,
+oval-shaped and polished, perhaps about as large as the drop of dew
+which could hang in a harebell's heart. The stone was the colour of a
+harebell, and there was a ray of light in it, as if in the process of
+its formation the jewel had caught sight of a star, and imprisoned the
+tiny reflection for ever within itself. The curate moved his head from
+side to side to see if the ray within the stone would remain still, but
+it did not, turning itself to meet his eye as if the tiny star had a
+life and a light of its own. Then he looked at the setting, for the
+stone was set in steel. A zigzag-barred steel frame held it fast, and
+outside the zigzag bars there was a smooth ring, with some words cut
+upon it in Hebrew. The characters were very small; he knew, rather than
+saw, that they were Hebrew; but he did not know what they meant. All
+this time he had been stooping down, looking at this thing as if it lay
+very near the ground. Then suddenly he noticed upon what it was lying.
+There was a steel chain fastened to it, and the chain was around the
+neck of a woman who lay upon the earth; the jewel was upon her breast.
+But how white and cold the breast was! Surely there was no life in it.
+And he observed with horror that the garments which had fallen back were
+oozing with water, and that the hair was wet. He hardly saw the face;
+for a moment he thought he saw it, and that it was the face of a Jewess,
+young and beautiful, but the vision passed from him. The chant had
+ceased, and the rabbi was kissing his book.
+
+Very solemnly the Jew bowed himself three times and kissed the book,
+and then in the twilight of the nine dim lamps he stumbled out and shut
+the door, without giving a glance to his one listener.
+
+As for the young Christian priest, he was panic-stricken. When our
+senses themselves deceive us we are cut off from our cheerful belief in
+the reality of material things, or forced to face the unpleasant fact
+that we hold no stable relationship to them. He rushed out into the
+street. Issachar was at the entrance as he passed, and he fancied he saw
+the face of the reader peeping at him from the vestry window, but he
+crushed his hat hard down on his head and strode away, courting the
+bluster of the wind, striving by the energy of action to cast off the
+trance that seemed to enslave him.
+
+When he reached his own door he found the baker's wife sitting on the
+doorstep. It was quite dusk; perhaps that was the reason he did not
+recognise her at first.
+
+'La, sir, I found them two muffins lying unbeknown in the corner of the
+shelf, so I brought them round, thinking you mightn't 'ave 'ad your
+tea.'
+
+'Muffins?' said the curate, as if he were not quite sure what muffins
+might be. Then he began to wonder if he was really losing his wits, and
+he plunged into talk with the woman, saying anything and everything to
+convince himself that he was not asleep or mad. 'Do you know, Mrs.
+Yeander, that I am going to be married?'
+
+'Well, I am sure, sir,' said she, curtseying and smiling. 'It's a great
+compliment to me to hear it from your own lips; not that it's
+unexpected. Miss Violetta's a sweet saint, just like her ma, she is, an'
+her ma's a saint if there ever was one. Mr. Higgs, the verger, says that
+to see her pray that length of time on her knees after the service is
+over in church is a touching sight.'
+
+'But I don't think Miss Violetta is like her mother,' said the curate.
+
+'Well no, sir; now that you mention it, perhaps she's not--at least, not
+in looks. But lor' sir, she's wonderful like her ma when it comes to
+paying a bill, not but what they're to be respected for keeping a heye
+on the purse. I often tell Yeander that if we were a bit more saving,
+like the vicar's lady, we'd lay by a bit for our old age.'
+
+'Yes, Mrs. Yeander, yes; that would be an excellent plan,' said the
+curate, fumbling with his latch-key in the door. 'Suppose you come in
+and make my tea for me, Mrs. Yeander. I'm all alone to-night.'
+
+'I bethought I might do that, sir, when I came along. Yeander was in the
+shop, and I said, Mrs. Jones having gone to see her son, that you'd 'ave
+no one, so I just says to Yeander, "I'll step round, an' if I'm asked
+I'll make tea."'
+
+The curate lit his lamp and poked his fire, and the portly woman began
+to toast his muffins. The flame lit up the placid wrinkles of her face
+as she knelt before it:
+
+'But I don't think Miss Violetta is in the least like her mother,' said
+he again.
+
+'Lor' sir, don't you? Well, you ought to know best. They do say what's
+bred in the bone comes out in the flesh; but it'll be none the worse for
+you if she looks sharp after the spending. You're not much given to
+saving.'
+
+The curate walked nervously up and down his small room.
+
+'Make the tea strong to-night,' he said.
+
+'Mr. Higgs, the verger, do hate the vicar's lady, sir--he do, and no
+mistake--but he says anybody could see with 'alf a heye that she was a
+real saint. The subscriptions she puts down to missions and church
+restorings--it's quite wonderful.'
+
+The curate ran his hand wearily through his hair. He felt called upon to
+say something. 'I have the highest respect for Mrs. Moore,' he began. 'I
+know her to be a most devoted helpmeet to the vicar, and a truly good
+woman. At the same time'--he coughed--'at the same time, I should wish
+to say distinctly that after being niggardly in her domestic affairs,
+which is unfortunately the case, I do not think it adds to her stock of
+Christian virtues to give the money thus saved to church work.'
+
+The curate cleared his throat. It was because he was flying from himself
+that he had let the woman talk until this speech of his had been made
+necessary; but at all times his humble friends in this town were well
+nigh irrepressible in their talk. This woman was in full tide now.
+
+'They do say, sir, there's a difference between honest saving and greed.
+Mr. Higgs said to Yeander one day, says he, "Mrs. Moore's folks far back
+made their money by sharp trading, and greed's in the family, and it's
+the worst sort of greed, for it grasps both at 'eaven and earth, both at
+this life and the 'eavenly. And," says he, "no one could doubt that the
+lady's that way constituted that she couldn't cut a loaf of bread in
+'alf without giving herself the largest share, even if it were the bread
+of life."'
+
+'My good Mrs. Yeander----' began the curate in stern rebuke.
+
+'Oh, no, sir, Mr. Higgs don't mean no harm. He only gets that riled at
+Mrs. Moore sometimes that he kind of lets off to Yeander and me.'
+
+'And I don't think, Mrs. Yeander,' said the curate, for the third time,
+'that Miss Violetta is at all like her mother.'
+
+'She's young yet, sir,' said the woman. Then she went away, leaving the
+curate to interpret her last remark as he chose.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+
+About a week after that there was a fine dinner given at the vicarage to
+welcome the curate into the family. The old squire was invited, but he
+refused to come. Violetta's mamma wrote and asked some of her relatives
+to come down from town. 'Our chosen son-in-law is not rich,' she wrote,
+'but he comes of an old family, and that is a great thing. Dear Violetta
+will, of course, inherit my own fortune, which will be ample for them,
+and his good connections, with God's blessing, will complete their
+happiness.' So they came down. There was the vicar's brother, who was a
+barrister, and his wife. Then there were two sisters of Mrs. Moore, who
+were both very rich. One was an old maid, and one was married to a
+dean--she brought her husband. 'You see,' said Violetta's mamma to the
+curate, 'our relatives are all either law or clergy.'
+
+There were very grand preparations made for the dinner, and Mrs. Higgs,
+the wife of the verger, came to the curate's rooms the day before and
+took away his best clothes, that she might see they were well brushed
+for the occasion. She did up his collar and wristbands herself, and
+gave them a fine gloss. Higgs brought them back just in time for the
+dinner.
+
+'It's just about five years since they had such a turn-out at the
+vicarage,' said Higgs in a crisp little voice. 'Miss Violetta was
+nineteen then; she'll be twenty-four now.'
+
+'Yes,' said the curate absently; 'what was up then?'
+
+''Twas a dinner much of a muchness to this. Mrs. Higgs, she was just
+reminding me of it. But that was in honour of Mr. Herbert, of the 'All.
+You'll 'ave heard of him?'
+
+'Oh, yes,' said the curate, 'all that was very sad.'
+
+'The more so,' said Higgs briskly, 'that when it was broke hoff, Mr.
+Herbert died of love. He went to some foreign countries and took up with
+low company, and there he died. Squire hasn't held his head up straight
+since that day.'
+
+'All that was before I came,' said the curate very gravely, for he did
+not know exactly what to say.
+
+'Lor' bless you, sir,' said Higgs, 'I was in no way blaming you. There's
+no blame attaching to any, that I know; squire's wife was as mad as a
+hare. Miss Violetta, she cried her pretty eyes nigh out for Mr. Herbert;
+it's time she'd another.'
+
+The curate went to the dinner, and it was a very fine affair indeed.
+Violetta wore a silk gown and looked charming. She does not look a day
+older than she did when I saw her five years ago,' said the dean to the
+curate, meaning to be very polite, but the curate did not smile at the
+compliment.
+
+'How fine your flowers are!' said the maiden aunt to Violetta. 'Where
+did you get them, my dear?'
+
+'The squire sent them to me,' said Violetta, with a droop of her eyelids
+which made her look more charming than ever. Then they had dinner, and
+after dinner Violetta gave them some music. It was sacred music, for
+Mrs. Moore did not care for anything else.
+
+When the song was over Mrs. Moore said to the curate, 'It has been my
+wish to give dear Violetta a little gift as a slight remembrance of this
+happy occasion, and I thought that something of my own would be more
+valuable than----' Here the mother's voice broke with very natural
+emotion, and she pressed her handkerchief to her eyes. 'You must excuse
+me,' she murmured, 'she is such a dear--such a very dear girl, and she
+is our only child.'
+
+'Indeed, I can well understand,' said he, with earnest sympathy.
+
+'Such a dear--such a very dear girl,' murmured Mrs. Moore again. Then
+she rose and embraced Violetta and wept, and the aunts all shed tears,
+and the vicar coughed. Violetta's own blue eyes over-flowed with very
+pretty tears.
+
+The curate felt very uncomfortable indeed, and said again that he quite
+understood, and that it was quite natural. The dean and the barrister
+both said what they ought. The dean remarked that these dear parents
+ought not to sorrow at losing a daughter, but rejoice at finding a son.
+The barrister pointed out that as the bride was only expected to move
+into the next house but one after her marriage, all talk of parting was
+really quite absurd. The vicar did not say anything; he rarely did when
+his wife was present. Then Mrs. Moore became more composed, and put a
+ring on her daughter's finger. The curate did not see the ring at the
+moment. He was leaning against the mantel-shelf, feeling very much
+overcome by the responsibility of his new happiness.
+
+'Oh, mamma, how lovely!' cried Violetta. 'How perfectly beautiful!'
+
+'A star-amethyst!' said the barrister in a tone of surprise.
+
+'Is it a star-amethyst indeed?' said the dean, looking over the
+shoulders of the group with his double eye-glass. 'I am not aware that I
+ever saw one before; they are a very rare and beautiful sort of gem.'
+
+'Where did you get it, sister Matilda?' asked the maiden aunt.
+
+Now, although Mrs. Moore was in a most gracious humour, she never liked
+being asked questions at any time. 'I am surprised that you should ask
+me that, Eliza. I have had it for many years.'
+
+'But you must have got it somewhere at the beginning of the years,'
+persisted Eliza, who was of a more lively disposition.
+
+Mrs. Moore gave her a severe glance for the frivolous tone of her
+answer. 'I was just about to explain that this stone has been lying for
+years among the jewellery which poor uncle Ford bequeathed to me. I
+thought it a pity that such a beautiful stone should lie unnoticed any
+longer.'
+
+'Oh, a great pity!' they all cried.
+
+'I should not have supposed that poor dear uncle Ford possessed such a
+rare thing,' said the wife of the dean.
+
+'It is very curious you never mentioned it before,' said Eliza.
+
+But Eliza was not in favour.
+
+'Not at all,' said Mrs. Moore; 'I take very little interest in such
+things. Life is too short to allow our attention to be diverted from
+serious things by mere ornaments.'
+
+'That is very true,' said the dean.
+
+Violetta broke through the little circle to show her lover the ring.
+'Look,' she said, holding up her pretty hand. 'Isn't it lovely? Isn't
+mamma very kind?'
+
+The curate turned his eyes from the fire with an effort. He had been
+listening to all they said in a state of dreamy surprise. He did not
+wish to look at the stone, and the moment he saw it he perceived it was
+what he had seen before. It was not exactly the same shade of purple,
+but it appeared to him that he had seen it before by daylight, and now
+the lamps were lit. It was the same shape and size, and the tiny
+interior star was the same. He moved his head from side to side to see
+if the ray moved to meet his eye, and he found that it did so. He looked
+at Violetta. How beautiful she was in her white gown, with her little
+hand uplifted to display the shining stone, and her face upturned to
+his! The soft warm curve of the delicate breast and throat, the red lips
+that seemed to breathe pure kisses and holy words, the tender eyes
+shining like the jewel, dewy with the sacred tears she had been
+shedding, and the yellow hair, smooth, glossy, brushed saintly-wise on
+either side of the nunlike brow--all this he looked at, and his senses
+grew confused. The sad rise and fall of the Hebrew chant was in his ears
+again; the bright room and the people were not there, but the chant
+seemed in some strange way to rise up in folds of darkness and surround
+Violetta like a frame; and everything else was dark and filled with the
+music, except Violetta, who stood there white and shining, holding up
+the ring for him to look at; and at her feet lay that other woman, wet
+and dead, with the same stone in the steel chain at her throat. 'Isn't
+it lovely? Isn't mamma very kind?' Violetta was saying.
+
+'My dear, I think he is ill,' said the vicar.
+
+They took him by the arm, putting him on a chair, and fetched water and
+a glass of wine. He heard them talking together.
+
+'I daresay it has been too much for him,' said the dean. 'Joy is often
+as hard to bear as grief.'
+
+'He is such a fellow for work,' said the vicar, 'I never knew any one
+like him.'
+
+The curate sat up quite straight. 'Did any of you ever see an amethyst
+like this set in steel?'
+
+'In steel? What an odd idea!' said the maiden aunt.
+
+'He is not quite himself yet,' said the dean in a low voice, tapping her
+on the shoulder.
+
+'I think it would be very inappropriate, indeed very wrong, to set a
+valuable stone in any of the baser metals,' said Mrs. Moore. She spoke
+as if the idea were a personal affront to herself, but then she had an
+immense notion of her own importance, and always looked upon all
+wrong-doing as a personal grievance.
+
+'Whatever made you think of it?' asked Violetta.
+
+'I daresay it was rather absurd,' said the curate meekly.
+
+'By no means,' said the barrister; 'the idea of making jewellery
+exclusively of gold is modern and crude. In earlier times many beautiful
+articles of personal ornamentation were made of brass and even of iron.'
+
+'Mamma,' said Violetta, 'I remember one day seeing a curious old thing
+in the bottom of your dressing-case. It looked as if it might be made of
+steel. It was a very curious old thing--chain, and a pendant with some
+inscription round it.'
+
+'Did you?' said Mrs. Moore. 'I have several old trinkets. I do not know
+to which you refer.'
+
+She bade Violetta ring for tea. 'I am sure you will be the better for a
+cup of tea,' she said, turning to the curate.
+
+'I am quite well,' he replied. 'I think, if you will excuse me, I will
+walk home at once; the air will do me good.'
+
+But they would not hear of his walking home. They made him drink tea and
+sit out the evening with them. Violetta gave them some more music; and
+they all made themselves exceedingly agreeable. When the evening was
+over they sent the curate home in the carriage.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+
+The night was frosty, calm, and clear, and quite light, for the March
+moon was just about to rise from the eastern sea.
+
+When the carriage set him down at his own door the curate had no mind to
+go in. He waited till the sound of the horse's feet had died away, and
+then he walked back down the empty street. The town was asleep; his
+footsteps echoed sharply from roofs and walls.
+
+He was not given to morbid fancies or hallucinations, and he was
+extremely annoyed at what had taken place. Twice in the last eight days
+he had been the subject of a waking dream, and now he was confronted
+with what seemed an odd counterpart of his vision in actual fact. It was
+no doubt a mere coincidence, but it was a very disagreeable one. Of
+course if he saw the old trinket described by Violetta, the chances were
+that it would be quite different from the setting of the stone which the
+dead woman wore; but even if the two were exactly the same, what
+difference could it make? A dream is nothing, and that which appears in
+a dream is nothing. The coincidence had no meaning.
+
+He turned by the side of the church down the lane which led to the
+little quay. The tide was halfway up the dark weed, and the
+fishing-boats were drawn near to the quay, ready for the cruise at dawn;
+their dark furled sails were bowing and curtseying to one another with
+all ceremony, like ghosts at a stately ball. To the east and south lay
+the sea, vacant, except that on the eastern verge stood a palace of
+cloud, the portals of which were luminous with the light from within,
+and now they were thrown open with a golden flash, and yellow rays shot
+forth into the upper heavens, spreading a clear green light through the
+deep midnight of the sky where the other worlds wandered. Then the
+yellow moon came from her palace, wrapping herself at first with a
+mantle of golden mist, as if--Godiva-like--she shrank from loosening her
+garments; but the need of the darkling earth pressed upon her, and she
+dropped her covering and rode forth in nakedness.
+
+Everything was more lovely now, for there was light to see the
+loveliness. The bluff wind that came from the bosom of the sea seemed
+only to tell of a vast silence and a world asleep. The rocky shore, with
+its thin line of white breakers, stretched round to the west. About a
+mile away there was a rugged headland, with some crags at its feet,
+which had been broken off and rolled down into the sea by the Frost
+Demon of bygone years. The smallest was farthest out, and wedged behind
+it and sheltered by it was the black hulk of a wrecked vessel. This
+outermost rock lay so that it broke the waves as they came against the
+wreck, and each was thrown high in a white jet and curl of spray, and
+fell with a low sob back into the darkness of the sea.
+
+The curate turned and walked toward the headland on the cliff path where
+he had walked a week before with Violetta. The cliffs were completely
+desolate, except for some donkeys browsing here and there, their brown
+hair silvered by the frost. There was a superstition in the town that
+the place was haunted on moonlight nights by the spirit of a woman who
+had perished in the wreck. It had been a French vessel, wrecked five
+years before, and all on board were drowned--six men and one woman, the
+wife of the skipper. They had all been buried in one grave in the little
+cemetery that was on the top of the headland; and it was easy to see how
+the superstition of the haunting came about, for as the curate watched
+the spray on the rock near the wreck rise up in the moonlight and fall
+back into the sea, he could almost make himself believe that he saw in
+it the supple form of a woman with uplifted hands, praying heaven for
+rescue.
+
+The wind was pretty rough when he got to the head of land, and he walked
+up among the graves to find a place where he might be sheltered and yet
+have advantage of the view. He knew that close by the edge of the
+cliff, over the grave of the shipwrecked people, stood a marble cross,
+large enough to shelter a man somewhat if he leaned against it. Upon
+this cross was a long inscription giving a touching account of the
+wreck, and stating that it was erected by Matilda Moore, wife of the
+vicar, out of grief for the sad occurrence, and with an earnest prayer
+for the unknown bereaved ones.
+
+The curate was rather fond of reading this inscription, as we all are
+apt to be fond of going over words which, although perfectly familiar to
+us, still leave some space for curiosity concerning their author and
+origin, and he was wondering idly as he walked whether there would be
+light enough from the moon to read them now. The wind came, like the
+moonlight, from the south-east, and he walked round by the western side
+of the graveyard in order to come up the knoll on which the cross stood
+by the sheltered side. Everything around him was intensely bleak and
+white, for the moon, having left the horizon, had lost her golden light,
+and the colouring of the night had toned down to white and purple.
+Patches of wild white cloud were scudding across the pallid purple sky
+beneath the stars, and there was a silver causeway across the purple
+sea. The purple was not unlike that of an amethyst. The cliffs sloped
+back to the town; the boats and peaked roofs and church tower were seen
+by the sharp outline of their masses of light and shade. The street
+lamps were not lit in the town because of the moon, and only in two or
+three places there was the warm glow of a casement fringed with the rays
+of a midnight candle. To the left of the cliffs, close to the town, were
+the trees of the squire's park and the roof of the Hall. Perhaps it was
+because the curate was looking at these things, as he walked among the
+graves, that he did not look at the monument towards which he was making
+way, until he came within half a dozen yards of it; then he suddenly saw
+that there was another man leaning against it, half hid in the shadow.
+He stopped at once and stood looking.
+
+The man had thrown his arms backward over the arms of the cross, and was
+leaning, half hanging, upon it; the young priest was inexpressibly
+shocked and startled by the attitude. He knew that none of the humbler
+inhabitants of the town would venture near such a place at such a time,
+nor could he think of any one else who was likely to be there. Besides,
+although he could not see the stranger distinctly, he himself was
+standing in full moonlight, and yet the man in the shadow of the cross
+made no sign of seeing him. At that moment he would gladly have gone
+home without asking further question, but that would have looked as if
+he were afraid.
+
+He tried a chance remark. 'It is a fine night,' he said, as lightly as
+might be.
+
+'Yes,' said the other, and moved his arms from the arms of the cross. It
+was only one word, but the curate recognised the soft voice at once. It
+was the Jewish rabbi.
+
+'I was at one of your services the other day,' he said, advancing
+nearer.
+
+'Yes.'
+
+'I felt sorry your people did not turn out better.'
+
+There was no answer.
+
+'It is a very cold wind,' said the curate. 'I hardly know why I came out
+so far.'
+
+'Shall I tell you?' asked the Jew softly. He spoke good English, but
+very slowly, and with some foreign accent.
+
+'Certainly, if you can.'
+
+'I desired very much to see you.'
+
+'But you did not tell me, so that could not be the reason. Your will
+could not influence my mind. I assure you I came of my own free will; it
+would be terrible if one man should be at the mercy of another's
+caprice.'
+
+'Be it so; let us call it chance then. I desired that you should come,
+and you came.'
+
+'But you do not think that you have a power over other men like that?'
+
+'I do not know; I find that with some men such correspondence between
+my will and their thoughts and actions is not rare; but I could not
+prove that it is not chance. It makes no difference to me whether it be
+chance or not. I have been thinking of you very much, desiring your aid,
+and twice you have come to me--as you say--of your own free will.'
+
+'If you have such a power, you may be responsible for a very
+disagreeable dream I had in your synagogue the other day.'
+
+'What was the dream?'
+
+'Nay, if you created it you should be able to tell me what it was.'
+
+'I have no idea what it was; if I influenced your imagination I did so
+unconsciously.'
+
+There was about this Jew such a complete gentleness and repose, such
+earnestness without eagerness, such self-confidence without
+self-assertion, that the curate's heart warmed to him instinctively.
+
+'I believe you are an honest Christian,' said the Jew very simply.
+
+'I hope honest Christians are not rare.'
+
+'I think a wholly honest man is very rare, because to see what is honest
+it is necessary to look at things without self-interest or desire.'
+
+'I am certainly not such a man. The most I can say is that I try to be
+more honest every day.'
+
+'That is very well said,' said the Jew. 'If you had believed in your
+own honesty, I should have doubted it.' Then, in a very simple and quiet
+way, he told the curate a strange story.
+
+He said that he lived in Antwerp. They were five in one family--the
+parents, a sister and brother, and himself. His father and brother did
+business with the English ships, but he was a teacher and reader in the
+synagogue. There had been in their family a very sacred heirloom in the
+form of an amulet or charm. Their forefathers had believed that it came
+from Jerusalem before their nation lost the holy city; but he himself
+did not think that this could be true; he only knew that it was ancient,
+and possessed very valuable properties as a talisman to those who knew
+how to use it. About five years before, his sister, who was beautiful
+and wayward, had loved and married a French sea-captain. The father
+cursed his daughter, but the mother could not let her go from them under
+the fear of this curse, and she hung the amulet about her neck as a
+safeguard. Alas for such safeguard! in a few weeks the captain's ship
+was wrecked, and all on her were drowned. He said that it was that same
+ship which lay near them, a wreck among the waves, and his sister lay
+buried beneath their feet.
+
+The family did not hear of the wreck till some time after the burial,
+and then they knew for the first time what their mother had done with
+the amulet. His brother came over at once to this town to seek it, but
+in vain. The people said they had not seen the necklace; that it had
+certainly not been buried with the girl. The people seemed simple and
+honest; the brother was a shrewd man, and he believed that they spoke
+the truth. He returned home, in distress; they could not tell what to
+think, for they knew their sister would not have dared to take off the
+necklace, and the chain was too strong to be broken by the violence of
+the waves.
+
+Some months after they heard that there was a young Englishman dying in
+Antwerp who came from this town. The name of the town was graven on
+their hearts, and they went to see him. He was a mere boy, a pretty boy,
+and when they asked him about the wreck he became excited in his
+weakness and fever, and told them all the story of it as he had seen it
+with his own eyes.
+
+It was an October afternoon. A storm had been lowering and partially
+breaking over the town for three days, and that day there was a glare of
+murky light from the cloud that made the common people think that the
+end of the world was come. When the ship struck, the fisher-people ran
+out of the town to the shore nearest her, and this boy would have run
+out with them and been among the foremost but that a very pious and
+charitable lady of the place had besought him to take her with him.
+There was a great rain and wind, and it was with difficulty that he led
+the lady out and helped her down to the shore. By that time the wreck
+had been dashed to pieces, and the fishermen were bringing in the dead
+bodies of the crew. There was a woman among them, and when they brought
+her body in, they did not lay it with the bodies of the sailors, but
+carried it respectfully and laid it close to the lady who stood in the
+shelter of some rocks. The wet clothes had fallen back from her
+breast--the boy remembered it well, for it had been his first sight of
+death, and his heart was touched by the girl's youth and beauty. He had
+not seen her again, for he had gone to help with the boats, and the
+fishermen's wives had run at the lady's bidding and brought coverings to
+wrap her in.
+
+The Jewish father then told the dying man about the amulet. He said
+that, to the best of his memory, some such thing had been about the neck
+of the dead girl, but that he was certain that none of the fisher-people
+would have been bad enough to steal from the dead. They entreated him to
+think well what he said, and to consider again if there was no doubtful
+character there who might have had the opportunity and the baseness to
+commit the crime. At that the dying man fell into profound thought, and
+when he looked at them again the fever-flush had mounted to his face,
+and there was a light in his eyes. He told them that if there was any
+one upon the shore that day who would have done such a thing it was the
+very rich and pious lady that he himself had taken to the wreck. She had
+been alone with the body when she sent the other women for wrappings.
+They thought that perhaps his mind was wandering, and left him,
+promising to return next day; but when they came again he was dead.
+
+'I have learned since I came here,' said the Jew, 'that he was the son
+of the old man who lives in the great house down there among the trees.'
+
+They both looked down at the park. The leafless elms stood up like giant
+feathers in the white mist of the moonbeams, and the chimney-stacks of
+the house threw a deep shadow on the shining roof.
+
+'But we felt,' said the Jew, 'that even if the judgment of the dying boy
+were a true one, and this lady had committed the crime, we still had no
+evidence against her, and that whoever was wicked enough to steal would
+certainly deny the act, and conceal that which was stolen. Hopeless as
+it seemed to wait, doing nothing, our only chance of redress would be
+lost by making any inquiry which might frighten her. We sent a message
+to the goldsmith in London who mends her jewels, asking him to watch for
+this necklace, and so we waited. At last we heard news. An amethyst
+which we do not doubt is ours came to the goldsmith to be put in a
+ring; but there was no necklace with it. I came here to see if I could
+do something, but I have been here for some time and can devise no plan.
+If she still possess the other part, to speak would be to cause its
+destruction, and how can I find out without asking if she still has by
+her the thing that would prove her crime? Do not be angry with me when I
+tell you this. Remember it was not I who presumed to suspect the wife of
+your priest, but the English boy, who knew her well.'
+
+'Yes,' said the curate, 'I shall remember that.' He had grown tired of
+standing in the wind, and had sat down on the frosty grass below the
+cross. The blast was very cold, and he crouched down to avoid it,
+hugging his knees with his hands.
+
+'You are about to be united to the family,' said the Jew; 'perhaps you
+have seen the stone. Will you, for the sake of that justice which we all
+hope for, try to find out for me if the other part of the amulet still
+exists? I will give you a drawing of it, and if you find it as I
+describe, you will know that my tale is true. Remember this--that we
+have no wish to make the wrong public or punish the wrong-doer. We only
+want to obtain our property.'
+
+'Have you got a drawing of it now?'
+
+'Yes, I have it here.'
+
+The curate rose up and took the paper. He lit a match, and held its
+tiny red flame in the shelter of the stone. The paper was soiled and
+untidily folded, but the drawing was clear. It took but a glance to
+satisfy him that what he had seen in his dream was but the reflection in
+his own thought of the idea in the Jew's mind. He did not stop to ask
+any explanation of the fact; the fact itself pressed too hard upon him.
+While the match was still burning he mechanically noticed the Jew's
+face, as it leaned over the paper near his own--not a handsome face, but
+gentle and noble in its expression. Then the match went out; it dropped
+from his hand, a tiny spark, into the grass, and for a moment
+illuminated the blades among which it fell.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+
+The two men walked back over the bleak cliffs together, and for the
+greater part of the way in silence; at last the curate spoke. He told
+the Jew quite truly that he believed the vicar's wife had his jewel, and
+that he supposed she must have come by it according to his worst
+suspicions. 'But,' he added, 'I believe she is a good woman.'
+
+The other looked at him in simple surprise. 'That is very curious,' he
+said.
+
+'Let us not try to find out her secret by prying; let us go to her
+to-morrow, and tell her openly what we think. You fear that she will
+deny her action; I have no such fear; and if she does not stand our
+test, I give you my word for it, you shall not be the loser.'
+
+'I have put my case in your hands,' said the Jew. 'I will do as you
+say.'
+
+They turned into the sleeping town; but when they reached the place of
+parting the curate put his hand on the Jew's arm and said, 'I should not
+have your forbearance. If some one unconnected with myself had wronged
+me so, at the same time making profession of religion, I should think
+she deserved both disgrace and punishment.'
+
+'And that she shall have, but not from us,' he replied. 'The sin will
+surely be visited on her and on her children.'
+
+'Surely not on the children,' said the curate. 'You cannot believe that.
+It would be unjust.'
+
+'You have seen but little of the world if you do not know that such is
+the law. The vagabond who sins from circumstances may have in him the
+making of a saint, and his children may be saints; but with those who
+sin in spite of the good around them it is not so. For them and for
+their children is the curse.'
+
+'God cannot punish the innocent for the guilty,' said the priest
+passionately.
+
+'Surely not; for that is the punishment--that they are not innocent. The
+children of the proud are proud; the children of the cruel, cruel; and
+the children of the dishonest are dishonest, unto the third and fourth
+generation. Fight against it as they may, they cannot see the difference
+between right and wrong; they can only, by struggling, come _nearer_ to
+the light. Do you call this unjust of God? Is it unjust that the
+children of the mad are mad, and the children of the virtuous virtuous.'
+
+'You take from us responsibility if we inherit sin.'
+
+'Nay, I increase responsibility. If we inherit obliquity of conscience,
+we are the more responsible for acting not as seems right in our own
+eyes, the more bound to restrain and instruct ourselves, for by this
+doctrine is laid upon us the responsibility of our children and
+children's children, that they may be better, not worse, than we.'
+
+All night long the curate paced up and down his room. The dawn came and
+he saw the fishermen hurry away to the boats at the quay. The sunrise
+came with its dull transient light upon the rain cloud. When the morning
+advanced he went for the Jew, and they walked down the street in the
+driving rain. The wet paving-stones and roofs reflected the grey light
+of the clouds which hurried overhead. The ruddy-twigged beech trees at
+the vicarage gate were shaken and buffeted by the storm. The two men
+shook their dripping hats as they entered the house. They were received
+in a private parlour, which was filled with objects of art and devotion.
+Very blandly did the good wife of the vicar greet them, yet with
+business-like condescension.
+
+The Jew, in a few very simple words, told the story of his sister's
+death and the loss of the amulet. He told the peculiar value of the
+amulet, and added, 'I have reason, madam, to believe that it has come
+into your possession. If so, and if you have it still by you, I entreat
+that you will give it to me at once, for to you it can only be a pretty
+trinket, and to us it is like a household god.'
+
+She looked at the Jew with evident emotion. 'I cannot tell you how it
+grieves me to hear you speak as if you attributed to any inanimate
+object the saving power which belongs to God alone,' she said. 'Think
+for a moment, only think, how dishonouring such a superstition is to the
+Creator.'
+
+'Madam!' said the Jew in utmost surprise.
+
+'Consider how wrong such a superstition is,' she said. 'What virtue can
+there be in a stone, or a piece of metal, or an inscription? None. They
+are as dead and powerless as the idols of the heathen; and to put the
+faith in any such thing that we ought to put in God's providence, is to
+dishonour Him. It grieves me to think that you, or any other intelligent
+man, could believe in such a superstition.'
+
+'Madam,' said the Jew again, 'these things are as we think of them. You
+think one way and I another.'
+
+'But you think wrongly. I would have you see your error, and turn from
+it. Can you believe in the Christian faith and yet----'
+
+'I am a Jew,' he said.
+
+'A Jew!' she exclaimed. She began to preach against that error also;
+entering into a long argument in a dull dogmatic way, but with an
+earnestness which held the two men irresolute with wonder and surprise.
+
+'It would seem, madam,' said the Jew, after she had talked much, 'that
+you desire greatly to set an erring world to rights again.'
+
+'And should we not all desire that?' she asked, unconscious of the
+irony. 'For what else are we placed in the world but to pass on to
+others the light that God has entrusted to us?'
+
+'I verily believe, madam,' said he seriously, 'that you think exactly
+what you say, and that you desire greatly to do me good. But, putting
+these questions aside, will you tell me if you have this ornament which
+I venerate?'
+
+'Yes, I have it.'
+
+'You took it from the breast of my sister when she lay dead upon your
+shore?'
+
+'I unfastened it from her neck, and have kept it with the greatest
+care. It was an ornament which was quite unsuitable to your sister's
+station in life. I could not have allowed any of our poor women to see
+such a valuable stone on the neck of a girl like themselves in station;
+it would have given them false ideas, and I am careful to teach them
+simplicity in dress. In England we do not approve of people of your
+class wearing jewellery.'
+
+The curate put his arms on the table and bowed his head on his hands.
+
+'Be that as it may,' said the Jew, rising, 'I will thank you if you will
+give me my property now and let me go.'
+
+'I cannot give it to you.' She was a little flustered in her manner, but
+not much. 'It would be against my conscience to give you what you would
+use profanely. Providence has placed it in my care, and I am responsible
+for its use. If I gave it to you it would be tempting you to sin.'
+
+He sat down again and looked at her with wonder in his soft brown eyes.
+'You have had the stone taken out,' he said, 'and set in a ring.'
+
+'Yes, and I have given it to my daughter, so that it is no longer mine
+to return to you. You must be aware that the marble cross stone I set up
+over your sister's grave cost me much more than the value of this stone.
+I am very much surprised that you should ask me to give it back. Surely
+any real feeling of gratitude for what I did for her would prompt you to
+be glad that you have something to give me in return.' She paused, then
+harped again upon the other string. 'But under any circumstances I could
+not feel justified in giving you anything that you would put to a bad
+use.'
+
+'That you have stolen my property does not make it yours to withhold,
+whatever may be your sentiments concerning it.'
+
+'"Stolen!" I do not understand you when you use such a word. Do you
+think it possible that I should steal? I took the chain from your
+sister's neck with the highest motives. Do not use such a word as
+"stolen" in speaking to me.'
+
+'Truly, madam,' he said, 'you could almost persuade me that you are in
+the right, and that I insult you.'
+
+She looked at him stolidly, although evidently not without some inward
+apprehension. It was a piteous sight--the poor distorted reasoning
+faculty grovelling as a slave to the selfish will.
+
+'I cannot give you back the amethyst,' she said, 'for I have given it
+away; but if you will promise me never again to regard it as having any
+value as an amulet or talisman, I will give you the necklace, and I will
+pay you something to have another stone put in.'
+
+The curate looked up. 'Get him the necklace and Violetta's ring,' he
+said, 'and we will go.'
+
+A man had arisen within the curate who was stronger than his
+self-control. They might have argued with her for ever: he frightened
+her into compliance. He took her by the arm and turned her to the door.
+
+'There is not a man, woman or child in this town,' he said, 'who shall
+not hear of this affair if you delay another moment to get him the chain
+and the ring. It is due to his charity if the matter is concealed then.'
+
+When she was gone the Jew was disposed to make remarks. 'I truly
+believe,' he said, 'that it is as you say, that this woman is very
+virtuous in the sight of her own conscience.'
+
+A servant brought them a packet. The Jew opened it, taking out the chain
+and the ring reverently and putting them in his breast. Then they went
+out into the wind and the rain.
+
+The Jew went to his native city, and the curate accompanied him as far
+as London. There he said good-bye to him as to a friend. He did not
+return at once to his parish, but found a substitute to do his work
+there, and went inland for a month, seeking by change and relaxation to
+attain to the true judgment of calm pulses and quiet nerves. It was in
+April and in Lent that he returned.
+
+Higgs, the irrepressible, received him with joy. 'It's you that are the
+good sight for sore eyes,' he said. 'Not but what we've been 'aving an
+uncommon peaceful time for Lent. The vicar's lady she's took bad and
+took to bed.'
+
+The curate reproved the wicked Higgs, but he inquired after the health
+of the invalid.
+
+'I hope Mrs. Moore is not very ill?'
+
+'Bless you, no, sir; she's 'ale and 'earty. Cook says she's sure she've
+fell out with some one. That's her way; she takes to bed when she've
+fell out with any one. It makes them repent of their sins.'
+
+A soft grey mist lay over land and sea. The church and vicarage were
+grey and wet. The beeches at the vicarage gate had broken forth in a
+myriad buds of silver green, and all the buds were tipped with water,
+and the grey stems were stained and streaked. The yew trees in the
+churchyard were bedewed with tiny drops. At the little gate that led
+from the vicarage into the churchyard, between the yew trees and the
+beeches, the curate waited for Violetta, after evensong. She came out of
+the old grey porch and down the path between the graves and the yew
+trees with her prayer-book in her hand. She looked like an Easter lily
+that holds itself in bud till the sadness of Lent is past, so pure, so
+modest, such a perfect thing from the hand of God.
+
+She stopped and started when she saw her lover, and then greeted him
+with a little smile, but blent with some reproachful dignity.
+
+'I am glad you have come at last, for I have been wanting to speak to
+you. Poor mamma has been very poorly and ill. It has grieved her very
+much indeed that you should have so misunderstood her motives, and
+treated her so rudely. Mamma takes things like that most deeply to
+heart.'
+
+'She told you why I treated her rudely?'
+
+'Yes, she told me, but she did not tell papa anything about it; it would
+only vex papa and do no good. Mamma told me to tell you that she had
+made up her mind to forgive you, and to say no more about it, although
+she was deeply grieved that you should have so misunderstood her.'
+
+'Yes,' said the curate vaguely, for he did not know what else to say.
+
+'Of course, as to the necklace, it may be a matter of opinion as to
+whether mamma judged rightly or not; but no one who knows her could
+doubt that her one desire was to do what was right. It is quite true
+what she says: that the stone was most unsuitable to the station of
+those people; every one says that the man was a very common and
+vulgar-looking person; and of course to regard such a thing with
+superstitious veneration is a very great sin, from which she saved them
+as long as she kept it. Mamma says of course she knew she ran the risk
+of being misunderstood in acting as she did, but she thought it her duty
+to run that risk if by that means she could save anything that God had
+entrusted to her keeping from being misused. You know what mamma is;
+there is nothing she would not do if she thought it right.'
+
+'Yes,' he said again, as though simply admitting that he had heard what
+she said.
+
+'So I think we had better not say anything more about it. I know you
+will see that it is wisest to say nothing to papa or any one else.
+People think so differently about such things that it would only cause
+needless argument, and give poor mamma more pain when she has already
+suffered so much.'
+
+'You may trust me. I will never mention the matter to your father, or to
+any one else. No one shall ever hear of it through me.'
+
+'I was sure that you would see that it is wisest not to; I told mamma
+so. When she is better, and you have shown her that you regret having
+misunderstood her, we shall all be very happy again.' She held up her
+pretty face for a kiss.
+
+No one could see them except the chattering starlings in the church
+tower, for they stood in the soft mist between the dewy yew trees and
+the red-budding hedge by the vicarage lawn. The beech trees stretched
+out their graceful twigs above them, the starlings talked to one another
+rather sadly, and far off through the stillness of the mist came the
+sound of the tide on the shore. The curate was very pale and grave. His
+tall frame trembled like a sick woman's as he stooped to give Violetta
+that kiss. He took her hands in his for a moment, and then he clasped
+her in his arms, lifting her from the grass and embracing her in a
+passion of tenderness and love. Then he put her from him.
+
+'Violetta, it is amiable of you, and loyal, to excuse and defend your
+mother, but tell me--tell me, as you speak before God, that you do not
+think as you have spoken. You are a woman now, with a soul of your own;
+tell me you know that to take this necklace and to keep it secretly was
+a terrible sin.'
+
+'Indeed'--with candour--'I do not think anything of the sort. I think it
+is wicked of you to slander mamma in that way. And if you want to know
+what I think'--with temper now--'I think it was most unkind of you to
+give away my ring. After it had been given to me on such an occasion,
+too, it was priceless to us, but we could easily have paid that vulgar
+man all it was worth to him.'
+
+'I will not argue with you. I perceive now that that would do no good.'
+There was a heart-broken tone in his voice that frightened Violetta. 'I
+will--I will only say----'
+
+'What?' she asked. The thin sharp sound in her voice was a note of
+alarm.
+
+'I will not marry you,' moaned the curate.
+
+'Not marry me!' she exclaimed in astonishment.
+
+'I love you. I shall always love you. No other woman shall ever be my
+wife; but I will never marry you; and I shall go away and leave you free
+to forget me.'
+
+'But why? What have I done?' she asked, her breath catching her tones.
+
+'You have done nothing, my poor, poor girl; but--oh, my darling, I would
+gladly die if by dying I could open your eyes to see the simple
+integrity of unselfishness!'
+
+'It is very absurd for you to speak of unselfishness at the very moment
+when you are selfishly giving me so much pain,' she cried, defiant.
+
+He bent his head and covered his face with his hands.
+
+She stood and looked at him, her cheeks flushed and her breast heaving
+with a great anger.
+
+'Good-bye, Violetta,' he said, and turned slowly away.
+
+'I never heard of anything so dishonourable,' she cried.
+
+And that was what the world said; the curate was in disgrace with
+society for the rest of his life.
+
+
+
+
+V
+
+'HATH NOT A JEW EYES?'
+
+
+Mr. Saintou the hairdresser was a Frenchman, therefore his English
+neighbours regarded him with suspicion. He was also exceedingly stout,
+and his stoutness had come upon him at an unbecomingly early age, so
+that he had long been the object of his neighbours' merriment. When to
+these facts it is added that, although a keen and prosperous business
+man, he had attained the age of fifty without making any effort to
+marry, enough will have been said to show why he was disliked.
+
+Why was he not married? Were English women not good enough for him? The
+pretty milliner across the street had been heard to remark in his
+presence that she should never refuse a man simply because he was a
+foreigner. Or if he did not want an English wife, why did he not import
+one from Paris with his perfumes? No, there was no reason for his
+behaviour, and Mr. Saintou was the object of his neighbours' aversion.
+
+Neighbours are often wrong in their estimates. In the heart of this
+shrewd and stout French hairdresser there lay the rare capacity for one
+supreme and lasting affection. Mr. Saintou's love story was in the past,
+and it had come about in this way.
+
+One day when the hairdresser was still a young man, not long after he
+had first settled in Albert Street, the door of his shop opened, and a
+young woman came in. Her figure was short and broad, and she was lame,
+walking with a crutch. Her face and features were large and peculiarly
+frank in expression; upon her head was a very large hat. When she spoke,
+it was with a loud staccato voice; her words fell after one another like
+hailstones in a storm, there was no breathing space between them.
+
+'I want Mr. Saintou.'
+
+'What may I have the pleasure of showing madame?'
+
+'Good gracious, I told you I wanted to be shown Mr. Saintou. Are you Mr.
+Saintou? None of your assistants for me; I want my hair cut.'
+
+The hairdresser laid his hand upon his heart, as though to point out his
+own identity. He bowed, and as even at that age he was very stout, the
+effort of the bow caused his small eyes to shut and open themselves
+again. There was nothing staccato about the manner of the hairdresser,
+he had carefully cultivated that address which he supposed would be most
+soothing to those who submitted themselves to his operations.
+
+'Very well,' said the little lady, apparently satisfied with the
+identification, 'I want my hair cut. It is like a sheaf of corn. It is
+like a court train. It is like seven horses' manes tied together, if
+they were red. It is like a comet's tail.'
+
+It is probable that the hairdresser only took in that part of this
+speech upon which he was in the habit of concentrating his attention,
+and that the force of the similes which followed one another like
+electric shocks escaped him altogether. He was about to show the new
+customer into the ladies' room, where his staid and elderly sister was
+accustomed to officiate, but she drew back with decision.
+
+'No, not at all; I have come to have my hair cut by Mr. Saintou, and I
+want to have it done in the room with the long row of chairs where the
+long row of men get shaved every morning. I told my sister I should sit
+there. You have no men in at this time of day, have you, Mr. Saintou?
+Now I shall sit here in the middle chair, and you shall wash my hair. My
+father is the baker round the corner. He makes good bread; do you wash
+people's hair as well? Will you squirt water on it with that funny tube?
+Will you put it in my eyes? Now, I am up on the chair. Don't put the
+soap in my eyes, Mr. Saintou.'
+
+Saintou was not a man easily surprised. 'Permit me, mademoiselle, would
+it not be better to remove the hat? Mon Dieu! Holy Mary, what hair!' For
+as the Eastern women carry their burdens on the crown of the head to
+ease the weight, so, when the large hat was off, it appeared that the
+baker's daughter carried her hair.
+
+'Like the hair of a woman on a hair-restorer bottle, if it were red,'
+remarked the girl in answer to the exclamation.
+
+'No, mademoiselle, no, it is not red. Mon Dieu! it is not red. Holy
+Mary! it is the colour of the sun. Mon Dieu, what hair!' As he untwined
+the masses, it fell over the long bib, over the high chair, down till it
+swept the floor, in one unbroken flood of light.
+
+'Wash it, and cut it, and let me go home to make my father's dinner,'
+said the quick voice with decision. 'My father is the baker round the
+corner, and he takes his dinner at two.'
+
+'Is it that mademoiselle desires the ends cut?' asked the hairdresser,
+resuming his professional manner.
+
+'Which ends?'
+
+'Which ends?' he exclaimed, baffled. 'Mon Dieu! these ends,' and he
+lifted a handful of the hair on the floor and held it before the eyes of
+the girl.
+
+'Good Heavens, no! Do you think I am going to pay you for cutting those
+ends? It's the ends at the top I want cut. Lighten it; that's what I
+want. Do you think I am a woman in a hairdresser's advertisement to sit
+all day looking at my hair? I have to get my father's dinner. Lighten
+it, Mr. Saintou; cut it off; that's what I want.'
+
+'Mon Dieu, no!' Saintou again relapsed from the hairdresser into the
+man. He too could have decision. He leant against the next chair and set
+his lips very firmly together. 'By all that is holy, no,' he said; 'you
+may get some villain Englishman to cut that hair, but me, never.'
+
+'You speak English very well, Mr. Saintou. Have you been long in the
+country? Well, wash the hair then, and be done. Don't put the soap in my
+eyes.'
+
+Saintou was in ecstasies. He touched the hair reverently as one would
+touch the garments of a saint. He laid aside his ordinary brushes and
+sponges, and going into the shop he brought thence what was best and
+newest. Do not laugh at him. Have we not all at some time in our lives
+met with what seemed the embodiment of our ideal; have we not set aside
+for the time our petty economies and reserves, and brought forth
+whatever we had that was best, of thought, or smiles, or vesture?
+
+'Ah, mademoiselle,' he said, 'to take care of such hair for ever--that
+would be heaven. I am a Frenchman; I have a soul; I can feel.'
+
+'Should you be afraid to die a sudden death, Mr. Saintou?' said the
+quick voice from the depths of a shower of water.
+
+'Ciel! We do not speak of such things, mademoiselle. There will come a
+time, I know, when my hair will turn grey; then for the sake of my
+profession I shall be obliged to dye it. There will come a time after
+that when I shall die; but we do not even think of these things, it is
+better not.'
+
+'But should you be afraid to die now?' persisted the girl.
+
+'Very much afraid,' said the hairdresser candidly.
+
+'Then don't feel, Mr. Saintou. I never feel. I make it the business of
+my life not to feel. They tell me there is something wrong at my heart,
+and that if I ever feel either glad or sorry I shall go off, pop, like a
+crow from a tree when it is shot, like a spark that falls into water.'
+
+The hairdresser meditated upon this for some time. He did not believe
+her. He had drawn the bright hair back now from the water, and was
+fondling it with his whitest and softest towels.
+
+'Who was it that said to mademoiselle that her heart was bad?'
+
+'Good gracious, Mr. Saintou, my heart is not bad. I know my catechism
+and go to church, and cook my father's dinner every day, and a very good
+dinner it is too. What put it into your head that I had a bad heart?'
+
+'Pardon! mademoiselle; I mistake. Who told mademoiselle that she was
+sick at heart?'
+
+'Good gracious heavens! I am not sick at heart. To be sure my mother is
+dead, and my sister is ill, and my father is as cross as two sticks, but
+for all that I am not heart-sick. I like this world very well, and when
+I feel sad I put more onions into the soup.'
+
+Saintou went on with his work for some time in silence, then he tried
+again. 'You say I speak good English, and I flatter myself I have the
+accent very well, but what avails if I cannot make you understand? Was
+it a good doctor who said mademoiselle's heart was affected; touched, I
+might say?'
+
+There was a shout of laughter from under the shower of gold.
+
+'My heart touched! One would think I was in love. No, my heart is not
+touched yet; least of all by you, Mr. Saintou.
+
+
+     'Least of all by you,
+         Mr. Saintou.'
+
+
+She repeated this last rhyming couplet with a quaint musical intonation,
+as though it was the refrain of a song, and after her voice and
+laughter had died away she went on nodding her head in time to the
+brushing as if she were singing it over softly to herself. This
+distressed the hairdresser not a little, and he remained silent.
+
+'What shall I pay you, Mr. Saintou?' said the little lady, when the
+large hat was once more on the head.
+
+'If mademoiselle would but come again,' said the hairdresser, putting
+both hands resolutely behind his back.
+
+'When I come again I shall pay you both for that time and this,' she
+said, with perhaps more tact than could have been expected of her. 'And
+if you want to live long, Mr. Saintou, don't feel. If I should feel I
+should die off, quick, sharp, like a moth that flies into the candle.'
+She made a little gesture with her hand, as if to indicate the ease and
+suddenness with which the supposed catastrophe was to take place, and
+hobbled down the street. Saintou stood in the doorway looking after her,
+and his heart went from him.
+
+He sent her flowers--flowers that a duchess might have been proud to
+receive. He sent them more than once, and they were accepted; he argued
+much from that. He made friends with the baker in order that he might
+bow to him morning and evening. Then he waited. He said to himself,
+'She is English. If I go to see her, if I put my hand on my heart and
+weep, she will jeer at me; but if I wait and work for her in silence,
+then she will believe.' He made a parlour for her in the room above his
+shop; and every week, as he had time and money, he went out to choose
+some ornament for it. His maiden sister watched these actions with
+suspicion, threw scornful looks at when he observed her watchfulness,
+and lent a kindly helping hand when he was out of sight. The parlour
+grew into a shrine ready for its divinity, and the hairdresser worked
+and waited in silence. In this he made a mistake, but he feared her
+laughter.
+
+Meanwhile the girl also waited. She could not go back to the
+hairdresser's shop lest she should seem to invite a renewal of those
+attentions which had given her the sweet surprise of love. The law of
+her woman's nature stood like a lion in the path. She waited through the
+months of the dreary winter till the one gleam of sunshine which had
+come into her hard young life had faded, till the warmth it had kindled
+in her heart died--as a lamp's flame dies for lack of oil; died--as a
+flower dies in the drought; died into anger for the man who had
+disturbed her peace, and when she thought she cared for him no more she
+went again to get her hair cut.
+
+'You have come,' said Saintou; but the very strength of his feeling made
+him grave.
+
+'Good gracious, yes, I have come to have my hair cut. You would not cut
+it when I was here, and I have been very poorly these three months. I
+could not come out, so the other day I had my sister cut it off. My
+father wanted to send for you, but I said "no," and, oh, my! it looks
+just as if a donkey had come behind and mistaken it for hay.'
+
+How quickly a train of thought can flash through the brain! Saintou
+asked himself if he loved the girl or the hair, and his heart answered
+very sincerely that the hair, divine as it was, had been but the outward
+sign which led him to love the inward grace of the girl.
+
+'Mademoiselle ought not to have said "no"; I should have come very
+willingly and would have cut her hair, if I had known it must be so.'
+
+'I made my sister cut it, but it's frightful. It looks as if one had
+tried to mow a lawn with a pair of scissors, or shear a sheep with a
+penknife.'
+
+'I will make all that right,' said Saintou soothingly; 'I will make it
+all right. Just in a moment I will make it very nice.'
+
+Yes, it was too true, the hair was gone; and very barbarously it had
+been handled. 'I shall make it all right,' he said cheerfully; 'I shall
+trim it beautifully for mademoiselle. Ah, the beautiful colour is there
+all the same.'
+
+'As red as a sunset or a geranium,' she said.
+
+'You do not believe that,' sighed Saintou. He trimmed the hair very
+tenderly, and curled it softly round the white face, till it looked like
+a great fair marigold just beginning to curl in its petals for the
+night. He worked slowly, for he had something he wanted to say, and when
+his work was done he summoned up courage and said it. He told her his
+hopes and fears. He told her the story blunderingly enough, but it had
+its effect.
+
+'Mon Dieu!' said Saintou, but he said it in a tone that made his sister,
+who was listening to every word through the door, leave that occupation
+and dart in to his assistance.
+
+'Qu'elle est morte,' was her brief stern comment. And so it was. The
+baker's daughter had felt, and she had died.
+
+'This is not wholly unexpected,' said the baker sadly, when he came to
+carry away the corpse of his daughter. 'We all expected it,' said the
+neighbours; 'she had heart disease.' And they talked their fill, and
+never discovered the truth it would have pleased them best to talk
+about.
+
+The short hair curled softly about the face of the dead girl as she lay
+in her coffin, and Saintou paid heavily for masses for her sweet soul.
+When they had laid her in the churchyard he came home, and took the key,
+and went into the little parlour all alone. She had never seen it. She
+had never even heard of it. It is sad to bury a baby that is dead; it
+is sadder, if we but knew it, to bury in darkness and silence a child
+that has never lived. A joy that has gone from us for ever is a jewel
+that trembles like a tear on Sorrow's breast, but the brightest stars in
+her diadem are the memories of hopes that have passed away unrealised
+and untold. Ah well, perhaps the gay trappings of the little room, by
+their daily influence on his life, drew him nearer to heaven. He gave
+the key to his sister afterwards, and they used the room as their own;
+but that day he locked himself in alone, and, hiding his face in the
+cushions of her chair, he wept as only a strong man can weep.
+
+
+
+
+VI
+
+A COMMERCIAL TRAVELLER
+
+
+Mam'selle Zilda Chaplot keeps the station hotel at St. Armand, in the
+French country.
+
+The hotel is like a wooden barn with doors and windows, not a very large
+barn either. The station is merely a platform of planks between the
+hotel and the rails. The railroad is roughly made; it lies long and
+straight in a flat land, snow-clad in winter, very dusty in the summer
+sun, and its line is only softened by a long row of telegraph poles,
+which seem to waver and tremble as the eye follows their endless
+repetition into the distance. In some curious way their repetition lends
+to the stark road a certain grace.
+
+When Zilda Chaplot was young there were fewer wires on these telegraph
+poles, fewer railway-lines opposite the station, fewer houses in St.
+Armand, which lies half a mile away. The hotel itself is the same, but
+in those days it was not painted yellow, as it is now, and was not half
+so well kept. The world has progressed by twenty years since mam'selle
+was a girl, and, also, she owns the place herself now, and is a much
+better inn-keeper than was her father.
+
+Mam'selle Chaplot is a very active person, tall, and somewhat stout. Her
+complexion is brown; her eyes are very black; over them there is a
+fringe of iron-grey hair, which she does up in curl-papers every night,
+and which, in consequence, stands in very tight little curls all day.
+
+Mam'selle Chaplot minds her affairs well; she has a keen eye to the main
+chance. She is sometimes sharp, a trifle fiery, but on the whole she is
+good-natured. There are lines about the contour of her chin, and also
+where the neck sweeps upward, which suggest a more than common power of
+satisfaction in certain things, such as dinners and good sound sleep,
+and good inn-keeping--yes, and in spring flowers, and in autumn leaves
+and winter sunsets. Zilda Chaplot was formed for pleasure, yet there is
+no tendency latent in her which could have made her a voluptuary. There
+are some natures which have so nice a proportion of faculties that they
+are a law of moderation to themselves. They take such keen delight in
+small pleasures that to them a little is enough.
+
+The world would account Mam'selle Chaplot to have had a life of toil and
+stern limitations; a prosperous life, truly, for no one could see her
+without observing her prosperity, but still a hard dry life. Even her
+neighbours, whose ideas of enjoyment do not soar above the St. Armand
+level, think that her lot would be softer if she married. Many of the
+men have offered marriage, not with any disinterested motive, it is
+true, but with kindly intent. They have been set aside like children who
+make requests unreasonable, but so natural for them to make that the
+request is hardly worth noticing. The women relatives of these rejected
+suitors have boasted to mam'selle of their own domestic joys, and have
+drawn the contrast of her state in strong colour. Zilda only says
+'Chut!' or she lifts her chin a little, so that the pretty upward sweep
+of the neck is apparent, and lets them talk. Mam'selle is not the woman
+to be turned out of her way by talk.
+
+The way of single blessedness is not chosen by Zilda Chaplot because of
+any fiction of loyalty to a quondam lover. Her mind is such that she
+could not have invented obligations for herself, because she has not the
+inventive faculty. No, it is simply this: Mam'selle Chaplot loved once,
+and was happy; her mind still hugs the memory of that happiness with
+exultant reserve; it is enough; she does not desire other happiness of
+that sort.
+
+When she looks out on the little station platform and sees the loungers
+upon it, once and again she lets her busy mind stop in its business to
+think of some one else she was once accustomed to see there. When she
+looks with well-practised critical eye down the hotel dining-room, which
+is now quite clean and orderly, when she is scolding a servant, or
+serving a customer, her mind will revert to the room in its former rough
+state, and she will remember another customer who used to eat there.
+When the spring comes, and far and near there is the smell of wet moss,
+and shrubs on the wide flat land shoot forth their leaves, and the
+fields are carpeted with violets, then mam'selle looks round and hugs
+her memories, and thinks to herself, 'Ah! well, I have had my day.' And
+because of the pleasant light of that day she is content with the
+present twilight, satisfied with her good dinners and her good
+management.
+
+This is the story of what happened twenty years ago.
+
+St. Armand is in the French country which lies between the town of
+Quebec and the townships where the English settlements are. At that time
+the railway had not been very long in existence; two trains ran
+southward from the large towns in the morning, and two trains ran
+northward to the large towns in the evening; besides these, there was
+just one local train which came into St. Armand at noon, and passengers
+arriving at noon were obliged to wait for the evening train to get on
+farther.
+
+There were not many passengers by this short local line. Even on the
+main line there was little traffic that affected St. Armand. Yet most
+of the men of the place found excuse of business or pleasure to come and
+watch the advent of the trains. The chief use of the station platform
+seemed to be for these loungers; the chief use of the bar at the hotel
+was to slake their thirst, although they were not on the whole an
+intemperate lot. They stood about in homespun clothes and smoked. A
+lazy, but honest set of humble-minded French papists were the men at St.
+Armand.
+
+It was on the station platform that Zilda Chaplot came out in society,
+as the phrase might be. She was not a child, for when her father took
+the place she was twenty-four. There was red in her cheeks then, and the
+lashes of her eyes were long; her hair was not curled, for it was not
+the fashion, but brushed smoothly back from broad low brows. She was
+tall, and not at all thin. She was very strong, but less active in those
+days, as girls are often less active than women. When Zilda had leisure
+she used to stand outside the hotel and watch the men on the platform.
+She was always calm and dignified, a little stupid perhaps. She did not
+attract a great deal of attention from them.
+
+They were all French at St. Armand, but most of the strangers which
+chance brought that way spoke English, so that the St. Armand folks
+could speak English also.
+
+Anything which is repeated at appreciable intervals has to occur very
+often before the unscientific mind will perceive the law of its
+repetition. There was a little red-haired Englishman, John Gilby by
+name, who travelled frequently that way. It was a good while before the
+loungers at the station remarked that upon a certain day in the week he
+always arrived by the local train and waited for the evening train to
+take him on to Montreal. It was, in fact, Gilby himself who pointed out
+to them the regularity of his visits, for he was of a social
+disposition, and could not spend more than a few afternoons at that dull
+isolated station without making friends with some one. He travelled for
+a firm in Montreal; it was his business to make a circuit of certain
+towns and villages in a certain time. He had no business at St. Armand,
+but fate and the ill-adjusted time-table decreed that he should wait
+there.
+
+This little red-haired gentleman--for gentleman, in comparison with the
+St. Armand folk he certainly was--was a thorough worldling in the sense
+of knowing the world somewhat widely, and corresponding to its ways,
+although not to its evil deeds. Indeed, he was a very good sort of man,
+but such a worldling, with his thick gold chain, and jaunty clothes, and
+quick way of adjusting himself to passing circumstances, that it was
+some time before his good-natured sociableness won in the least upon
+the station loungers. They held aloof, as from an explosive, not knowing
+when it would begin to emit sparks. He was short in stature, much
+shorter than the hulking fellows who stood and surveyed him through the
+smoke of their pipes, but he had such a cocky little way with him that
+he overawed them much more than a big man would have done. Out of sheer
+dulness he took to talking to Zilda.
+
+Zilda stood with her back against the wall.
+
+'Fine day,' said Gilby, stopping beside her.
+
+'Oui, monsieur.'
+
+Gilby had taken his cigar from his mouth, and held it between two
+fingers of his right hand. Her countrymen commonly held their pipes
+between their thumb and finger. To Zilda, Gilby's method appeared
+astonishingly elegant, but she hardly seemed to observe it.
+
+'You have a flat country here,' said he, looking round at the dry summer
+fields; 'rather dull, isn't it?'
+
+'Oui, monsieur.'
+
+'Don't you speak English?'
+
+'Yes, sir,' said Zilda.
+
+This was not very interesting for Gilby. He had about him a good deal of
+the modern restlessness that cannot endure one hour without work or
+amusement. He made further efforts to make up to the men; he asked them
+questions with patronising kindness, he gave them scraps of information
+upon all subjects of temporary interest, with a funny little air of
+pompous importance. When by mere force of habit they grew more familiar
+with him, he would strut up and engage them in long conversations,
+listen to all they said with consummate good nature, giving his opinion
+in return. He was wholly unconscious that he looked like a bantam
+crowing to a group of larger and more sleepy fowls, but the Frenchmen
+perceived the likeness.
+
+As the months wore on he did them good. They needed waking up, those men
+who lounged at the station, and he had some influence in that direction;
+not much, of course, but every traveller has some influence, and his was
+of a lively, and, on the whole, of a beneficial sort. The men brought
+forth a mood to greet him which was more in correspondence with his own.
+
+When winter came the weather was very bleak; deep snow was all around.
+Gilby disliked the closeness of the hotel, which was sealed to the outer
+air.
+
+'Whew!' he would say, 'you fellows, let us do something to keep
+ourselves warm.' And after much exercise of his will, which was strong,
+he actually had the younger men all jumping with him from a wood pile
+near the platform to see who could jump farthest. He was not very young
+himself; he was about thirty, and rather bald; the men who were with him
+were much younger, but he thought nothing of that. He led them on, and
+incited them to feats much greater than his own, with boisterous
+challenges and loud bravos. Before he jumped himself he always made mock
+hesitation for their amusement, swinging his arms, and apparently
+bracing himself for the leap. Perhaps the deep frost of the country made
+him frisky because he was not accustomed to it; perhaps it was always
+his nature to be noisy and absurd when he tried to be amusing. Certain
+it was that it never once occurred to him that under the French
+politeness with which he was treated, under the sincere liking which
+they really grew to have for him, there was much quiet amusement at his
+expense. It was just as well that he did not know, for he would have
+been terribly affronted; as it was, he remained on the best of terms
+with them to the end.
+
+The feeling of amusement found vent in his absence in laughter and
+mimicry. Zilda joined in this mimicry; she watched the Frenchmen strut
+along the platform in imitation of Gilby, and smiled when their
+imitation was good. When it was poor she cried, 'Non, ce n'est pas comme
+ça,' and she came out from the doorway and showed them how to do it. Her
+imitation was very good indeed, and excited much laughter. This showed
+that Zilda had been waked into greater vivacity. Six months before she
+could not have done so good a piece of acting.
+
+Zilda's exhibition would go further than this. Excited by success, she
+would climb the wood pile, large and heavy as she was, and, standing
+upon its edge, would flap her arms and flutter back in a frightened
+manner and brace herself to the leap, as Gilby had done. She was aided
+in this representation by her familiarity with the habits of chickens
+when they try to get down from a high roost. The resemblance struck her;
+she would cry aloud to the men--
+
+'Voici Monsieur Geelby, le poulet qui a peur de descendre!'
+
+The fact that at the thought of mimicking Gilby Zilda was roused to an
+unwarranted glow of excitement showed, had any one been wise enough to
+see it, that she felt some inward cause of pleasurable excitement at the
+mention of his name. A narrow nature cannot see absurdity in what it
+loves, but Zilda's nature was not narrow. She had learnt to love little
+Gilby in a fond, deep, silent way that was her fashion of loving.
+
+He had explained to her the principles of ventilation and why he
+disliked close waiting-rooms. Zilda could not make her father learn the
+lesson, but it bore fruit afterwards when she came into power. Gilby had
+explained other things to her, small practical things, such as some
+points in English grammar, some principles of taste in woman's dress,
+how to choose the wools for her knitting, how to make muffins for his
+tea. It was his kindly, conceited, didactic nature that made him
+instruct whenever he talked to her. Zilda learned it all, and learned
+also to admire and love the author of such wisdom.
+
+It was not his fault; it was not hers. It was the result of his gorgeous
+watch-chain and his fine clothes and his worldly knowledge, and also of
+the fact that because of his strict notions and conceited pride it never
+occurred to him to be gallant or to make love to her. Zilda, the
+hotel-keeper's daughter, was accustomed to men who offered her light
+gallantry. It was because she did not like such men that she learned to
+love--rather the better word might be, to adore--little John Gilby. From
+higher levels of taste he would have been seen to be, in external
+notions, a common little man, but from Zilda's standpoint, even in
+matters of outward taste he was an ideal; and Zilda, placed as she was,
+quickly perceived, what those who looked down upon him might not have
+discovered, that the heart of him was very good. 'Mon Dieu, but he is
+good!' she would say to herself, which was simply the fact.
+
+All winter long Gilby came regularly. Zilda was happy in thinking of him
+when he was gone, happy in expecting him when he was coming, happy in
+making fun of him so that no one ever suspected her affection. All that
+long winter, when the snow was deep in the fields, and the engines
+carried snow-ploughs, and the loungers about the station wore buffalo
+coats, Zilda was very happy. Gilby wore a dogskin cap and collar and
+cuffs; Zilda thought them very becoming. Then spring came, and Gilby
+wore an Inverness cape, which was the fashion in those days. Zilda
+thought that little Gilby looked very fascinating therein, although she
+remarked to her father that one could only know he was there because the
+cape strutted. Then summer came and Gilby wore light tweed clothes. The
+Frenchmen always wore their best black suits when they travelled. Zilda
+liked the light clothes best.
+
+Then there came a time when Gilby did not come. No one noticed his
+absence at first but Zilda. Two weeks passed and then they all spoke of
+it. Then some one in St. Armand ascertained that Gilby had had a rise in
+the firm in which he was employed, that he sat in an office all day and
+did not travel any more. Zilda heard the story told, and commented upon,
+and again talked over, in the way in which such matters of interest are
+slowly digested by the country intellect.
+
+Alas! then Zilda knew how far she had travelled along a flowery path
+which, as it now seemed to her, led to nowhere. It was not that she had
+wanted to marry Gilby; she had not thought of that as possible; it was
+only that her whole nature summed itself up in an ardent desire that
+things should be as they had been, that he should come there once a
+week, and talk politics with her father and other men, and set the boys
+jumping, and eat the muffins he had taught her to make for his tea. And
+if this might not be, she desired above all else to see him again, to
+have one more look at him, one more smile from him of which she could
+take in the whole value, knowing it to be the last. How carelessly she
+had allowed him to go, supposing that he would return! It was not her
+wish to express her affection or sorrow in any way; it was not her
+nature to put her emotions into words; but ah, holy saints! just to see
+him again, and at least take leave of him with her eyes!
+
+It was very sad that he should simply cease to come, yet that she knew
+was just what was natural; a man does not bid adieux to a railway
+station, and Zilda knew that she was, as it were, only part of the
+station furniture. She resented nothing; she had nothing to resent.
+
+So the winter came again, and Christmas, and again the days grew longer
+over the snowfields. Zilda always looked for the sunsets now, for she
+had been taught that they were beautiful. She cultivated geraniums and
+petunias in pots at her windows, just as she had done for many winters,
+but she would stop oftener to admire the flowers now.
+
+The men had taken again to congregating in the hot close bar-room, or
+huddling together in their buffalo coats, smoking in the outer air.
+Zilda looked at the wood pile, from which no one jumped now, with weary
+eyes. It had grown intolerable to her that now no one ever mentioned
+Gilby; she longed intensely to hear his name or to speak it. She dared
+not mention him gravely, soberly, because she was conscious of her
+secret which no one suspected. But it was open to her to revive the
+mimicry. 'Voici Monsieur Geelby,' she would cry, and pass along the
+station platform with consequential gait. A great laugh would break from
+the station loungers. 'Encore,' they cried, and Zilda gave the encore.
+
+There was only one other relief she found from the horrible silence
+which had settled down upon her life concerning the object of her
+affection. At times when she lay awake in the quiet night, or at such
+times as she found herself within the big stone church of St. Armand,
+she prayed that the good St. Anne would intercede for her, that she
+might see 'Monsieur Geelby' once more.
+
+This big church of St. Armand has a great pointed roof of shining tin.
+It is a bright and conspicuous object always in that landscape; under
+summer and winter sun it glistens like some huge lighthouse reflector.
+Ever since, whenever Zilda goes out on the station platform, for a
+breath of air, for a moment's rest and refreshing, or, on business
+intent, to chide the loungers there, the roof of this church, at a
+half-mile's distance, twinkles brightly before her eyes, set in green
+fields or in a snow-buried world; and every time it catches her eye it
+brings to her mind more or less distinctly that she has in her own way
+tested religion and found it true, because the particular boon which she
+had demanded at this time was granted.
+
+It was a happy morn of May; the snow had just receded from the land,
+leaving it very wet, and Spring was pushing on all the business she had
+to do with almost visible speed. The early train came in from Montreal
+as usual, and who should step out of it but Gilby himself! He was a
+little stouter, a little more bald, but he skipped down upon the
+platform, radiant as to smile and the breadth of his gold watch-chain,
+and attired in a check coat which Zilda thought was the most perfect
+thing in costume which she had ever beheld.
+
+In a flash of thought it came to Zilda that there would be more than a
+momentary happiness for her. 'Ah, Monsieur Geelby, do you know that the
+river has cut into the line three miles away, and that this train can go
+no farther till it is mended.'
+
+Gilby was distinctly annoyed; he had indeed left town by the earlier of
+the two morning trains in order to stop an hour and take breakfast at
+St. Armand; he had been glad of the chance of doing that, of seeing
+Chaplot and his daughter and the others; but to be stopped at St. Armand
+a whole day--he made exhibition of his anger, which Zilda took very
+meekly. Why had the affair not been telegraphed? Why were busy men like
+himself brought out of the city when they could not get on to do their
+work?
+
+There were other voices besides Gilby's to rail; there were other voices
+besides Zilda's to explain the disaster. In the midst of the babel Zilda
+slipped away to make muffins hastily for Gilby's breakfast. Her heart
+was singing within her, but it was a tremulous song, half dazed with
+delight, half frightened, fearing that with his great cleverness he
+would see some way to proceed on his journey although she saw none.
+
+When she came out of the kitchen with the muffins in her hand her
+sunshine suddenly clouded. Gilby, unconscious that a special breakfast
+was preparing for him, had hastily swallowed coffee and walked on to the
+site of the breakdown to see for himself how long the mending would
+take.
+
+It was as if one, looking through long hours for the ending of night,
+had seen the sunrise, only to see the light go out suddenly again in
+darkness. Zilda felt that her heart was broken. Her disappointment grew
+upon her for an hour, then she could no longer keep back the tears;
+because she had no place in which to weep, she began to walk away from
+the hotel down the line. There was no one to notice her going; she was
+as free to go and come as the wild canaries that hopped upon the budding
+bramble vines growing upon the railway embankment, or the blue-breasted
+swallows that sat on the telegraph wire.
+
+At first she only walked to hide her tears; then gradually the purpose
+formed within her to go on to the break in the road. There was no reason
+why she should not go to see the mishap. Truly there had been many a
+breakdown on this road before and Zilda had never stirred foot to
+examine them, but now she walked on steadily. Her fear told her that
+Gilby might find some means of getting on to the next station, some
+engine laden with supplies for the workmen from the other station might
+take him back with it. If so, what good would this her journey do? Ah,
+but perhaps the good God would allow her to see him first, or--well, she
+walked on, reason or no reason.
+
+The sun was high, the blue of the sky seemed a hundred miles in depth,
+and not wisp or feather of cloud in it anywhere! Where the flat fields
+were untilled they were very green, a green that was almost yellow, it
+was so bright. Within the strip of railway land a tangle of young bushes
+grew, and on every twig buds were bursting. About a mile back from the
+road, on either side, fir woods stood, the trees in close level phalanx.
+Everywhere over the land birds big and little were fluttering and
+flying.
+
+Zilda did not notice any of these things; she had only learned to
+observe two things in nature, both of which Gilby had pointed out to
+her--the red or yellow rose of the winter sunset, the depth of colour in
+the petals of her flowers. Nature was to her like a language of which
+she had only been told the meaning of two words. In the course of the
+next month she learned the meaning of a few more; she never made further
+progress, but what she learned she learned.
+
+The river which, farther on, had done damage to the line, here ran close
+to it for some distance, consequently Zilda came to the river before she
+reached the scene of the disaster. The river banks at this season were
+marshy, green like plush or velvet when it is lifted dripping from green
+vats of the brightest dye. There were some trees by the river bank,
+maples and elms, and every twig was tipped with a crimson gem. Zilda did
+not see the beauty of the river bank either; she regarded nothing until
+she came to a place where a foot-track was beaten down the side of the
+embankment, as if apparently to entice walkers to stray across a bit of
+the meadow and so cut off a large curve of the line. At this point
+Zilda heard a loud chirpy voice calling,'Hi! hi! who's there? Is any one
+there?'
+
+Zilda did not know from whence the voice came, but she knew from whom it
+came. It was Gilby's voice, and she stopped, her soul ravished by the
+music. All the way along, bobolinks, canaries, and song-sparrows had
+been singing to her, the swallows and red-throats had been talking;
+everywhere among the soft spongy mosses, the singing frog of the
+Canadian spring had been filling the air with its one soft whistling
+note. Zilda had not heard them, but now she stopped suddenly with head
+bent, listening eager, enraptured.
+
+'Hi! hi!' called the voice again. 'Is any one there?'
+
+Zilda went down the bank halfway among the bushes and looked over. She
+saw Gilby sitting at the edge of the meadow almost in the river water.
+She saw at once that something was wrong. His attitude was as natural as
+he could make it, such an attitude as a proud man might assume when pain
+is chaining him in an awkward position, but Zilda saw that he was
+injured. Her heart gave a great bound of pleasure. Ah! her bird was
+wounded in the wing; she had him now, for a time at least.
+
+'You! Mam'selle Zilda,' he said in surprise; 'how came you here?'
+
+'I wished to see the broken road, monsieur.' There was nothing in her
+voice or manner then or at any other time to indicate that she took a
+special interest in him.
+
+'Do you often take such long walks?' he asked with curiosity.
+
+Zilda shrugged her shoulders. 'Sometimes; why not?'
+
+She could not have told why she dissembled; it was instinct, just as it
+was the instinct of his proud little spirit to hate to own that he was
+helpless. 'Look here,' he said, 'I slipped on the bank--and I--I think I
+have sprained my ankle.'
+
+'Oui, monsieur,' said Zilda.
+
+Her manner evinced no surprise; her stolidity was grateful to him.
+
+Stooping down, she took his foot in her hand, gently, but as firmly as
+if it had been a horse's hoof. She straightened it, unlaced his muddy
+boot, and with strong hands tore the slit further open until she could
+take it off.
+
+'Look here,' he said, with a little nervous shout of laughter, 'do you
+not know you are hurting me?' It was the only wince he gave, although he
+was faint with pain.
+
+'Oui, monsieur'--with a smile as firm and gentle as her touch.
+
+She took off her hat, and, heedless of the ribbon upon it, filled it
+with water again and again and drenched the swollen leg. It was so
+great a relief to him that he hardly noticed that she stood ankle-deep
+in the river to do it. She wore a little red tartan shawl upon her
+shoulders, and she dipped this also in the river, binding it round and
+round the ankle, and tying it tight with her own boot-lace.
+
+'Thank you,' said he; 'you are really very good, Mam'selle Zilda.'
+
+She stood beside him; she was radiantly happy, but she did not show it
+much. She had him there very safe; it mattered less to her how to get
+him away; yet in a minute she said--
+
+'Monsieur had better move a little higher up; he is very uncomfortable.'
+
+He knew that much better than she, but he had borne all the pain he
+could just then. He nodded as if in dismissal of the idea. 'Presently.
+But, in the meantime, Zilda, sit down and see what a beautiful place
+this is; you have not looked at it.'
+
+So she found a stone to sit on, and immediately her eyes were opened and
+she saw the loveliness around her.
+
+The river was not a very broad one, but ah! how blue it was, with a
+glint of gold on every wave. The trees that stood upon either bank cast
+a lacework of shadow upon the carpet of moss and violets beneath them.
+The buds of the maples were red. On a tree near them a couple of male
+canaries, bright gold in the spring season, were hopping and piping;
+then startled, they flew off in a straight line over the river to the
+other shore.
+
+'See them,' said Gilby; 'they look like streaks of yellow light!'
+
+'I see,' said Zilda, and she did see for the first time.
+
+Now Gilby had a certain capacity for rejoicing in the beauties of
+nature; it was overlaid with huge conceit in his own taste and
+discernment and a love of forcing his observations on other people, but
+the flaws in his character Zilda was not in a position to see. The good
+in him awakened in her a higher virtue than she would otherwise have
+known; she was unconscious of the rest, just as eyes which can see form
+and not colour are unconscious of the bad blending of artificial hues.
+
+Presently Zilda rose up. 'I will make monsieur more comfortable,' she
+said, and she lifted him to a drier place upon the bank.
+
+This was mortifying to little Gilby; his manner was quite huffy for some
+minutes after.
+
+Zilda had her own ideas of what she would do. She presently left him
+alone and walked on swiftly to the place of the breakdown. There she
+borrowed a hand-car; it was a light one that could be worked easily by
+two men, and Zilda determined to work it alone. While she was coming
+back along the iron road on the top of the narrow embankment, Gilby
+could see her from where he sat--a stalwart young woman in homespun
+gown, stooping and rising with regular toilsome movement as she worked
+the rattling machine that came swiftly nearer.
+
+When the carriage thus provided for him was close at hand, the almost
+breathless Zilda actually proposed to exert her strength to carry Gilby
+up to it. He insisted upon hopping on one foot supported by her arm; he
+did not feel the slightest inclination to lean upon her more than was
+needful, he was too self-conscious and proud. Even after she had placed
+him on the car, he kept up an air of offence for a long time just
+because she had proved her strength to be so much greater than his own.
+His little rudenesses of this sort did not disturb Zilda's tranquillity
+in the least.
+
+Gilby sat on the low platform of the hand-car. He looked like a bantam
+cock whose feathers were much ruffled. Zilda worked at the handles of
+the machine; she was very large and strong, all her attitudes were
+statuesque. The May day beamed on the flat spring landscape through
+which they were travelling; the beam found a perfect counterpart in the
+joy of Zilda's heart.
+
+So she brought Gilby safely to the hotel and installed him in the best
+room there. The sprain was a very bad one. Gilby was obliged to lie
+there for a month. Sometimes his friends came out from the town to see
+him, but not very often, and they did not stay long. Zilda cooked for
+him, Zilda waited upon him, Zilda conversed with him in the afternoons
+when he needed amusement. This month was the period of her happiness.
+
+When he was going home, Gilby felt really very grateful to the girl. He
+had not the slightest thought of making love to her; he felt too
+strongly on the subject of his dignity and his principles for that; but
+although he haggled with Chaplot over the bill, he talked in a bombastic
+manner about making Zilda a present.
+
+It did not distress Zilda that he should quarrel with her father's bill;
+she had no higher idea in character than that each should seek his own
+in all things; but when Gilby talked of giving her a present she shrank
+instinctively with an air of offence. This air of offence was the one
+betrayal of her affection which he could observe, and he did not gather
+very much of the truth from it.
+
+'I will give you a watch, Zilda,' he said, 'a gold watch; you will like
+that.'
+
+'No, monsieur.' Zilda's face was flushed and her head was high in the
+air.
+
+'I will give you a ring; you would like that--a golden ring.'
+
+'No, monsieur; I would not like it at all.'
+
+Gilby retired from the discussion that day feeling some offence and a
+good deal of consternation. He thought the best thing would be to have
+nothing more to do with Zilda; but the next day, in the bustle of his
+departure, remembering all she had done for him, he relented entirely,
+and he gave her a kiss.
+
+Afterwards, when the train was at the station, and Chaplot and Zilda had
+put his bags and his wraps beside him on a cushioned seat, Gilby turned
+and with great politeness accosted two fine ladies who were travelling
+in the same carriage and with whom he had a slight acquaintance. His
+disposition was at once genial and vain; he had been so long absent from
+the familiar faces of the town that his heart warmed to the first
+townsfolk he saw; but he was also ambitious: he wished to appear on good
+terms with these women, who were his superiors in social position.
+
+They would not have anything to do with him, which offended him very
+much; they received his greeting coldly and turned away; they said
+within themselves that he was an intolerably vulgar little person.
+
+But all her life Zilda Chaplot lived a better and happier woman because
+she had known him.
+
+
+
+
+VII
+
+THE SYNDICATE BABY
+
+
+Some miles above the city of La Motte, the blue Merrian river widens
+into the Lake of St. Jean. In the Canadian summer the shores of this
+lake are as pleasant a place for an outing as heart could desire. The
+inhabitants of the city build wooden villas there, and spend the long
+warm days in boats upon the water. The families that live in these
+wooden villas do not take boarders; that was the origin of 'The
+Syndicate.' It consisted of some two dozen bachelors who were obliged to
+sit upon office stools all day in the hot city. 'If,' said they, 'we
+could live upon the lake, we could have our morning swim and our evening
+sail; and the trains would take us in and out of the city.'
+
+The one or two uncomfortable hotels of this region were already
+overcrowded, so these bachelors said to each other--'Go to; we will put
+our pence together, and build us a boat-house with an upper story, and
+live therein.'
+
+They bought a bit of the beach for a trifle of money. They built a
+boat-house, of which the upper half was one long dormitory, with a great
+balcony at the end over the water which served as kitchen and
+dining-hall. The ground floor was the lake itself, and each man who
+could buy a boat tethered it there. The property, boats excepted, was in
+common. By and by they bought a field in which they grew vegetables;
+later they bought two cows and a pasture. The produce of the herd and
+the farm helped to furnish forth the table. This accretion of wealth
+took several years; some of the older men grew richer, and took to
+themselves wives and villas; the ranks were always filled up by more
+impecunious bachelors. The bachelors called themselves 'The Syndicate.'
+
+The plan worked well, chiefly because of the fine air and the sunshine,
+the warm starry nights, and, above all, the witchery of the lake, which
+is to every man who has spent days and nights upon it like a mystical
+lady-love, ever changeful and ever charming. Then, too, there was the
+contrast with the hot city; the sense of need fulfilled makes men
+good-natured. The one servant of the establishment, an old man who made
+the beds and the dinners, was not a professional cook; the meals were
+often indifferent; yet the Syndicate did not quarrel among themselves.
+
+Some outlet for temper perhaps was needful. At any rate they had one
+outside quarrel with an old Welshman named Johns, a farmer of great
+importance in the place, who had sold them the land and tried, in their
+opinion, to cheat them afterwards about the boundaries. Their united
+rage waxed hot against Johns, and he, on his side, did nothing to
+propitiate. The quarrel came to no end; it was a feud. 'Esprit de
+corps,' like the fumes of wine, gives men a wholly unreasonable sense of
+complacence in themselves and their belongings, whatever the belongings
+may happen to be. The Syndicate learned to cherish this feud as a
+valuable possession.
+
+The Syndicate, as has been seen, had one house, one servant, and one
+enemy. It also had one Baby. The Baby was the youngest member of the
+community, a pretty boy who by some chance favour had obtained a bed in
+the dormitory at the hoyden age of nineteen. He had a tendency to
+chubbiness, and his moustache, when it did come, was merely a silken
+whisp, hardly visible. He did some fagging in return for the
+extraordinary favour of adoption. The Baby from the first was entirely
+accustomed to being 'sat upon.' He had no unnecessary independence of
+mind. At twenty-one he still continued to be 'Baby.'
+
+All the affairs of the Syndicate flourished, including the feud with
+the neighbouring landowner. All went well with the men and their boats
+and the Baby, until, at length, upon one fateful day for the latter,
+there came a young person to the locality who made an addition to the
+household of Farmer Johns.
+
+'Old Johns has got a niece,' said the bachelors sitting at dinner, as if
+the niece had come fresh to the world as babies do, and had not held the
+same relation to old Johns for twenty-five years. Still, it was true she
+had never been in the old man's possession before, and now she had
+arrived at his house, a sudden vision of delight as seen from the road
+or on the verandah.
+
+Now Helen Johns was a beauty; no one unbiassed by the party spirit of a
+time-honoured feud would have denied that. She was not, it is true, of
+the ordinary type of beauty, whose chief ornament is an effort at
+captivation. She did not curl her hair; she did not lift her eyes and
+smile when she was talking to men; she did not trouble herself to put on
+her prettiest gown when the evening train came in, bringing the
+bachelors from the city. She was tall--five foot eight in her stockings;
+all her muscles were well developed; there was nothing sylph-like about
+her waist, but all her motions had a strong, gentle grace of their own
+that bespoke health and dignity. She had a profession, too, which was
+much beneath most of the be-crimped and smile-wreathed maidens who
+basked in the favour of the bachelors. She had been to New York and had
+learned to teach gymnastics, the very newest sort; 'Delsart' or
+'Emerson,' or some such name, attached to the rhythmic motions she
+performed. The Syndicate had no opportunity to criticise the gymnastic
+performance, for they had not the honour of her acquaintance; they
+criticised everything else, the smooth hair, the high brow, the
+well-proportioned waist, the profession; they decided that she was not
+beautiful.
+
+There were, roughly speaking, two classes of girls in this summer
+settlement, each held in favour by the Syndicate men according as
+personal taste might dispose. There were the girls who in a cheerful
+manner were ever to be found walking or boating in such hours and places
+as would assuredly bring them into contact with the happy bachelors, and
+there were those who would not 'for the world' have done such a thing,
+who sedulously shunned such paths, and had to be much sought after
+before they were found. Now it chanced that Helen Johns was seen to row
+alone in her uncle's boat right across the very front of the Syndicate
+boat-house, at the very hour when the assembled members were eating
+roast beef upon the verandah above and arriving at their decisions
+concerning her, and she did not look as if she cared in the least
+whether twenty-four pair of eyes were bent upon her or not. To be sure,
+it was her nearest way home from the post-office across the bay, and the
+post came in at this evening hour. No one could find any fault, not even
+any of the bachelors, but none the less did the affront sink deep into
+their hearts. It added a new zest to the old feud. 'We do not see that
+she is beautiful,' they cried over their dinner. 'We should not care for
+Helen of Troy if she looked like that.'
+
+The Baby dissented; the Baby actually had the 'cheek' to say, right
+there aloud at the banquet, that he might not be a man of taste, but,
+for his part, he thought she looked 'the jolliest girl' he had ever
+seen. In his heart he meant that he thought she looked like a goddess or
+an angel (for the Baby was a reverent youth), but he veiled his real
+feeling under this reticent phrase.
+
+One and all they spoke to him, spoke loudly, spoke severely. 'Baby,'
+they said, 'if you have any dealings with the niece of Farmer Johns
+we'll kick you out of this.'
+
+It was a romantic situation; love has proverbially thriven in the
+atmosphere of a family feud. The Baby felt this, but he felt also that
+he could not run the risk of being kicked out of the Syndicate. The Baby
+did sums in a big hot bank all day; he had no dollars to spare, there
+was no other place upon the lake where he could afford to live, and he
+had a canoe of his own which his uncle had given him. Hiawatha did not
+love the darling of his creation more than the Baby loved his cedar-wood
+canoe. All this made him conceal carefully that mysterious sensation of
+unrestful delight which he experienced every time he saw Miss Helen
+Johns. This, at least, in the first stage of his love-sickness.
+
+Fate was hard; she led the Baby, all cheerful and unsuspecting, to spend
+an evening at a picnic tea in a wood a mile or more from the shore.
+Mischievous Fate! She led him to flirt frivolously until long after dark
+with a girl that he cared nothing at all about, and then whispered in
+his ear that he would get home the quicker if in the obscurity he ran
+across the Johns' farm. Fate, laughing in her sleeve, led him to pass
+with noiseless footsteps quite near the house itself; then she was
+content to leave him to his own devices, for through the open window he
+caught sight of Helen Johns doing her gymnastics. Her figure was all
+aglow with the yellow lamplight; she was happy in the poetry of her
+motions and in the delight that the family circle took in watching them.
+The Baby was in the dark and the falling dew; he was uncomfortable, for
+he had to stand on tiptoe, but nothing would have induced him to ease
+his strained attitude. The pangs of a fierce discontent took possession
+of his breast.
+
+Art was consulted in the gymnasium in which Miss Johns had studied; the
+theory was that only that which is beautiful is healthful. Sometimes she
+poised herself on tiptoe with one arm waved toward heaven, an angel all
+ready, save the wings, for aerial flight. Sometimes she seemed to hover
+above the ground like a running Mercury. Sometimes she stood, a hand
+behind her ear, listening as a maid might who was flying from danger in
+some enchanted land. Often she waved her hands slowly as if weaving a
+spell.
+
+A spell was cast over the soul of the Baby; he held himself against the
+extreme edge of a verandah; his mouth remained open as if he were
+drinking in the beams from the bright interior and all the beautiful
+pictures that they brought with them. It was only when the show was over
+that he noiselessly relaxed his strained muscles, and crept away over
+the dew-drenched grass, hiding under the shadow of maple boughs, guilty
+trespasser that he was.
+
+After that, one evening, Farmer Johns and his niece had an errand to
+run; at a house about two miles away on the other side of the bay there
+was a parcel which it was their duty to fetch. They had started out in
+the calm white light of summer twilight; a slight wind blew, just enough
+to take their sail creeping over the rippled water, no more. The lake
+within a mile of the shore was thickly strewn with small yachts, boats,
+and canoes. Upon the green shore the colours of the gaily painted villas
+could still be seen among the trees, and most conspicuous of all the
+great barn-like boat-house of the Syndicate, which was painted red. By
+and by the light grew dimmer and stars came out in the sky; then one
+could no longer distinguish the outline of the shore, but in every
+window a light twinkled, like a fallen star.
+
+Helen sat in the side of the tiny ship as near the prow as might be; her
+uncle sat at the tiller and managed the sails. They were a silent pair,
+the one in a suit of tweeds with a slouch hat, the other in a muslin
+gown with a veil of black lace wrapped about her head.
+
+The sailing of the boat was an art which Helen had not exerted herself
+to understand; she only knew that every now and then there was a minute
+of bluster and excitement when her uncle shouted to her, and she was
+obliged to cower while the beam and the sail swung over her head with a
+sound of fluttering wind. When she was allowed to take her seat after
+this little hurly-burly the two lighthouses upon the lake and all the
+lights upon the shore had performed a mysterious dance; they all lay in
+different places and in different relation to one another. She had not
+learned to know the different lights. When dusk came she was lost to her
+own knowledge. She only knew that the sweet air blew upon her face and
+that she trusted her uncle.
+
+The moonless night closed in. Now and then, as they passed a friendly
+craft, evening greetings were spoken across the dark space. By the time
+they got to the place for which they were bound they were floating
+almost alone upon the black water.
+
+Johns descended into a small boat and secured the sailing-boat to the
+buoy which belonged to the house whither he was going, or rather, he
+thought that he secured it.
+
+Helen heard the plash of his oars until he landed. The shore was but
+twenty yards away, but she could hardly see it. The sail hung limp,
+wrinkled, and motionless. She began to sing, and there alone in the
+darkness she fell in love with her own voice, and sang on and on,
+thinking only of the music.
+
+Her uncle was long in coming; she became conscious of movement in the
+water, like the swell of waves outside rolling into the cove. She heard
+the sound of swaying among all the trees on the shore. She looked up and
+saw that the stars of one half the sky were obscured, that the darkness
+was rolling onward toward those that were still shining.
+
+She stopped her own singing, and the song of the waters beneath her prow
+was curiously like the familiar sound when the boat was in motion. She
+strained her eyes, but could not see how far she was from the near
+shore. She looked on the other side and it seemed to her that the lights
+on the home-ward side of the bay were moving. That meant that she was
+moving, at what speed and in what direction she had no means of knowing.
+
+She stood up, lifted her arms in the air and shouted for help; again and
+again her shouts rang out, and she did not wait to hear an answer. She
+thought that the masters of other boats had seen the storm coming and
+gone into shore.
+
+She was out now full in the whistling wind and the boat was leaping. Her
+throat was hoarse with calling, her eyes dazzled by straining.
+
+When she turned in despair from scanning the shore she saw a sight that
+was very strange. At the tiller where her uncle ought to have been, and
+just in the attitude in which he always stood, was a slight white
+figure. A new sort of fear took possession of Helen; at first she could
+not speak or move, but kept her eyes wide open lest the ghostly thing
+should come near her unawares.
+
+This illusion might be a forerunner of the death to which she was
+hastening, the Angel of Death himself steering her to destruction!
+
+Then in a strange voice came the familiar shout, the warning to hold
+down her head. The sail swung over in the customary way; every movement
+of the figure at the helm was so familiar and natural that comfort
+began to steal into her heart. Plainly, whoever had taken command of the
+drifting craft knew his business; might it not be an angel of life, and
+not of death?
+
+Now in plain sober reality, as her pulses ceased to dance so wildly,
+Helen could not believe that her companion was angel or spirit. One does
+not believe in such companionship readily.
+
+She scrambled to her knees and steadied herself by the seat. 'Who are
+you?' she asked.
+
+The figure made a gesture that seemed like a signal of peace, but no
+answer was given.
+
+The lights upon her own part of the shore were now not far distant. She
+looked above and saw breaks in the darkness that had hidden the stars;
+the clouds were passing over.
+
+The squall that was taking them upon their journey was still whistling
+and blowing, but she feared its force less as she realised that she was
+nearing home.
+
+She desired greatly to work herself along the boat and touch the sailor
+curiously with her hand, but she was afraid to do it, and that for two
+reasons: if he was a spirit she had reason for shrinking from such
+contact, and if he was a man--well, in that case she also saw
+objections.
+
+The man at the helm dropped the sail; for a minute or two he stood not
+far from Helen as he busied himself with it.
+
+'Who are you?' she asked again, but she still had not courage to put out
+her hand and touch him.
+
+There was a little wooden wharf upon the shore, and to this the sailor
+held the boat while Helen sprung out. Her feet were no sooner safe upon
+it than the boat was allowed to move away. She saw the black mast and
+the white figure recede together and disappear in the darkness.
+
+Johns had to walk home by the shore, and in no small anxiety. When he
+saw that his niece was safe he chuckled over her in burly fashion.
+
+'Then I suppose,' he said, 'that some fellow got aboard her between the
+puffs of wind. I hope it was none of those Syndicate men; they're a fast
+lot. What was his name? What had he to say for himself?'
+
+'She was flying far too fast for any one to get aboard,' asserted Helen.
+'I don't know what his name was; he didn't say anything; I don't know
+where he went to.'
+
+Then the uncle suggested toddy in an undertone to his wife. The aunt
+looked over her spectacles with solicitude, and then arose and put her
+niece to bed.
+
+When Helen was left alone she lay looking out at the stars that again
+were shining; she wondered and wondered; perhaps the reason that she
+came to no definite conclusion was that she liked the state of wonder
+better. Helen was a modern girl; she had friends who were spiritualists,
+friends who were theosophists, friends who were 'high church' and
+believed in visions of angels.
+
+In the morning Johns' boat was found tethered as usual to the buoy in
+front of his house.
+
+Long before this the Syndicate had suspected the Baby's attachment. The
+strength of that attachment they did not suspect in the least; never
+having seen depths in the Baby, they supposed there were none. They had
+fallen into the habit of taking the Baby by the throat and asking him in
+trenchant tones, 'Have you spoken to her?' The Baby found it convenient
+to be able to give a truthful negative, not that he would have minded
+fibbing in the least, but in this case the fib would certainly have been
+detected; he could not expect his goddess to enter into any clandestine
+parley and keep his secret.
+
+Had the Baby taken the matter less to heart he would have been more rash
+in asserting his independence, but he meditated some great step and 'lay
+low.' What or when the irrevocable move was to be he had no definite
+idea, the thought of it was only as yet an exalted swelling of mind and
+heart.
+
+There was a period, after the affair of the boat, when he spent a good
+deal of time haunting the sacred precincts of the house where Helen
+lived. The precincts consisted of a dusty lane, a flat, ugly fenced
+field where a cow and a horse grazed, and a place immediately about the
+house covered with thick grass and shaded by maple trees. There were
+some shrubs too, behind which one could hide if necessary, but they were
+prickly, uncomfortable to nestle against, and the unmown grass absorbed
+an immense quantity of dew. In imagination, however, the Baby wandered
+on pastoral slopes and in classic shades. At first he paid his visits at
+night when the family were asleep, and he slipped about so quietly that
+no one but the horse and the cow need know where he went or what he did.
+At length, however, he grew more bold, and took his way across the maple
+grove going and coming from other evening errands. Trespassing is not
+much of a fault at the lake of St. Jean. The Baby became expert in
+dodging hastily by, with his eyes upon the windows; the dream of his
+life was to see the gymnastics performed again; at length it was
+realised.
+
+The thing we desire most is often the thing that brings us woe.
+
+The Baby caught sight of Helen practising her beautiful attitudes. He
+hung on to a rail of the verandah, and gazed and gazed. Then he took his
+life in his hand, as it were, and swung himself up on the verandah; he
+moved like a cat, for he supposed that the stalwart Johns was within.
+From this better point of view, peeping about, he now surveyed the whole
+interior of the small drawing-room. What was his joy to find that there
+was no family circle of spectators; Helen was exercising herself alone!
+He hugged to himself the idea that the gracious little spectacle was all
+his own.
+
+Now, as it happened, the Baby in his secret hauntings of this house had
+not been so entirely unseen as he supposed. Certainly Johns had never
+caught sight of him or he would have been made aware of it, but Helen,
+since the night of the boating mystery, had more than once caught sight
+of a white figure passing among the maple shadows. These glimpses had
+added point and colour to all the mystical fancies that clustered round
+the helmsman of the yacht. She hardly believed that some guardian spirit
+was protecting her in visible semblance, or that some human Prince
+Charming, more kingly and wise than any man that she had yet seen, had
+chosen this peculiar mode of courting her; but her wish was the father
+of thoughts that fluttered between these two explanations, and hope was
+fed by the conviction that no man who could see her every day if he
+chose would behave in this romantic manner.
+
+So upon this evening it happened that when Helen, poised upon her toes
+and beating the time of imaginary music with her waving hand, caught
+sight of the Baby's white flannels through the dark window pane, she
+recognised the figure of her dreams and, having long ago made up her
+mind what to do when she had the chance, she ran to the French window
+without an instant's delay, and let herself out of it with graceful
+speed.
+
+The Baby, panic-stricken, felt but one desire, that she might never know
+who had played the spy. He threw himself over the verandah rail with an
+acrobat's skill, and with head in front and nimble feet he darted off
+under the maple trees: but he had to reckon with an agile maiden. Helen
+had grown tired of a fruitless dream. A crescent moon gave her enough
+light to pursue; lights of friendly houses on all sides assured her of
+safety.
+
+Over the log fence into the pasture vaulted the Baby, convinced now that
+he had escaped. Vain thought! He had not considered the new education.
+Over the fence vaulted Helen as lightly: in a minute the Baby heard her
+on his track.
+
+The cow and the horse had never before seen so pretty a chase. There was
+excitement in the air and they sniffed it; they were both young and they
+began to run too. The sound of heavy galloping filled the place.
+
+Of the two sides of the field which lay farthest from the house, one
+looked straight over to the glaring Syndicate windows, and one to the
+rugged bank that rose from the shore. The Baby's one mad desire was to
+conceal his identity. He made for the dark shore. Another fence, he
+thought, or the rocks of the bank, would surely deter her flying feet.
+
+They both vaulted the second fence. The Baby still kept his distance
+ahead, but when he heard that she too sprang over, a fear for her safety
+darted across his excited brain. Would those cantering animals jump
+after and crush her beneath their feet, or would she fall on the rocks
+of the shore which he was going to leap over? The Baby intended to leap
+the shore and lose his identity by a swim in the black water.
+
+It was this darting thought of anxiety for Helen that made him hesitate
+in his leap. Too late to stop, the hesitation was fatal to fair
+performance. The Baby came down on the shore with a groan, his leg under
+him and his head on the earth.
+
+He saw Helen pause beside him, deliberately staring through the dim
+light.
+
+'I'm not hurt,' said the Baby, because he knew that he was.
+
+'You are only the Syndicate Baby!' she exclaimed with interrogatory
+indignation.
+
+'I'm going to cut the Syndicate; I'll never have anything more to do
+with them, Miss Johns.'
+
+Helen did not understand the significance of this eager assurance.
+
+The Baby's brain became clear; he tried to rise, but could not.
+
+'Are you not hurt?' she asked.
+
+'Oh! no, not at all, Miss Johns' (he spoke with eager, youthful
+politeness); 'it's only--it's only that I've doubled my leg and can't
+quite get up.'
+
+The Baby was pretty tough; a few bumps and breaks were matters of small
+importance to him; his employers had already bargained with him not to
+play football as he gained so many holidays in bandages thereby. Just
+now he was quick enough to take in the situation: Helen despised him, it
+was neck or nothing, he must do all his pleading once for all, and the
+compensation for a broken leg was this, that she could not have the
+inhumanity to leave him till he declared himself fit to be left. He
+pulled himself round, and straightened the leg before him as he sat.
+
+Helen was not accustomed to falls and injuries; she was shocked and
+pitiful, but she was stern too; she felt that she had the right.
+
+'I'm very sorry; I will go and get some one to help you, but you know
+it's entirely your own fault. What have you been behaving in this way
+for?'
+
+'If you'd only believe me,' pleaded the Baby, 'I--I--you really can have
+no idea, Miss Johns----'
+
+If she could have seen how white and earnest his young face was she
+might have listened to him, but the light was too dim.
+
+'I want to know this' (severely), 'Was it you who got on to our sailing
+boat that other night?'
+
+'I thought you were alarmed, Miss Johns, and in a rather--rather
+dangerous situation.' The Baby was using his prettiest tones, such as he
+used when he went out to a dance.
+
+If she could have known how heroic it was to utter these mincing accents
+over a broken leg she might have been touched; but she did not even know
+that the leg was broken. She went on rigidly, 'How could you get aboard
+when she was sailing so fast? Where did you come from?'
+
+'Oh! it wasn't difficult at all, I assure you, Miss Johns; I only got on
+between the gusts of the wind. I swam from the Syndicate boat. You know,
+of course, one of us must have gone when we heard you singing out for
+help, and I was only too happy, frightfully happy, I am sure--and it was
+nothing at all to do. If you were much here, and saw us swimming and
+boating, you'd see fellows do that sort of thing every day.'
+
+It was a delicate instinct that made him underrate the feat he had
+performed, for he would have been so glad to have her feel under the
+slightest obligation to him; but as far as her perceptions were
+concerned, the beauty of his sentiment was lost, for when he said that
+the thing that he had done was easy, she believed him.
+
+She still interrogated. 'Why did you not speak and tell me who you
+were?'
+
+There had been an ostensible and a real reason for this conduct on the
+Baby's part. The first was the order which his friends in the Syndicate
+boat had called after him as he jumped into the water, the second he
+spoke out now for the first time to Helen.
+
+'I didn't speak, Miss Johns, because I--I _couldn't_. Oh! you have no
+idea--really, you know, if you'd only believe me--I love you so much,
+Miss Johns, I couldn't say anything or I'd have said more than I ought,
+the sort of thing I'm saying now, you know.'
+
+'Tut!' said Helen sharply, 'what rubbish!'
+
+'Oh! but Miss Johns--yes, I knew you would think it was all rot and that
+sort of thing; that was the reason I didn't say it in the boat, and that
+is the reason I've never dared to ask to be introduced to you, Miss
+Johns. It wasn't that I cared for the Syndicate. You see, the worst of
+it is, I'm so confoundedly poor; they give me no sort of a screw at all
+at the bank, I do assure you. But, Miss Johns, my uncle is one of the
+directors; he's sure to give me a leg up before very long, and if you
+only knew--oh! really if you only knew----,' words failed him quite when
+he tried to describe the strength of his devotion. He only sat before
+her, supporting himself with both hands on the ground and looking up
+with a face that had no rounded outline now, but was white, passionate
+and pathetic; he could only murmur, 'really, really--if you only
+knew----'
+
+The darkness barred her vision and the extravagant words in the boyish
+voice sounded ridiculous to her.
+
+'I will believe you,' she said, 'if you want me to, but it doesn't make
+any difference; I am sorry you are hurt, and sorry you have taken this
+fancy for me. I think you will find some other girl very soon whom you
+will like better; I hope you will. There isn't' (she was becoming
+vehement), 'there isn't the slightest atom of use in your caring for
+me.'
+
+'Isn't there?' asked the Baby despairingly. 'I wish you would say that
+you will think over it, Miss Johns; I wish you would say that I might
+know you and come and see you sometimes. I'd cut the Syndicate and make
+it up with your uncle.'
+
+'It wouldn't be the slightest use,' she repeated excitedly.
+
+'Of course if you go on saying that, I sha'n't bore you any more, but
+do, Miss Johns, do, do just think a minute before you say it again.'
+
+A note in his voice touched her at last; she paused for the required
+minute and then answered gently; her gentleness carried conviction. 'I
+could never care for you. You are not at all the sort of man I could
+ever care for, and I am going back to New York in a few days, so you
+won't be troubled by seeing me any more.'
+
+When Helen rushed breathless to the door of the Syndicate boat-house and
+told of the accident, the bachelors went out in a body and bore the Baby
+home.
+
+They petted him until he was on his feet again. They gained some vague
+knowledge of his interview with Helen, and he kept a very distinct
+remembrance of it. Both he and they believed that his first attempt at
+love had come to nothing, but that was a mistake.
+
+The Baby had loved with some genuine fervour, and his grief made a man
+of him.
+
+
+
+
+VIII
+
+WITCHCRAFT
+
+
+A young minister was walking through the streets of a small town in the
+island of Cape Breton. The minister was only a theological student who
+had been sent to preach in this remote place during his summer holiday.
+The town was at once very primitive and very modern. Many log-houses
+still remained in it; almost all the other houses were built of wood.
+The little churches, which represented as many sects, looked like the
+churches in a child's Dutch village. The town hall had only a brick
+facing. On the hillsides that surrounded the town far and wide were many
+fields, in which the first stumps were still standing, charred by the
+fires that had been kindled to kill them. There were also patches of
+forest still to be seen among these fields, where the land had not yet
+been cleared. In spite of all this, the town was very advanced, every
+improvement being of the newest kind because so recently achieved. Upon
+huge ungainly tree-trunks roughly erected along the streets, electric
+lamps hung, and telephone wires crossed and recrossed one another from
+roof to roof. There was even an electric tram that ran straight through
+the town and some distance into the country on either side. The general
+store had a gaily dressed lay figure in its window,--a female
+figure,--and its gown was labelled 'The Latest Parisian Novelty.'
+
+The theological student was going out to take tea. He was a tall, active
+fellow, and his long strides soon brought him to a house a little way
+out of the town, which was evidently the abode of some degree of taste
+and luxury. The house was of wood, painted in dull colours of red and
+brown; it had large comfortable verandahs under shingled roofs. Its
+garden was not old-fashioned in the least; but though it aspired to
+trimness the grass had not grown there long enough to make a good lawn,
+so the ribbon flower-beds and plaster vases of flowers lacked the
+green-velvet setting that would have made them appear better. The
+student was the less likely to criticise the lawn because a very pretty,
+fresh-looking girl met him at the gate.
+
+She was really a fine girl. Her dress showed rather more effort at
+fashion than was quite in keeping with her very rural surroundings, and
+her speech and accent betrayed a childhood spent among uneducated folk
+and only overlaid by more recent schooling. Her face had the best parts
+of beauty: health and good sense were written there, also flashes of
+humour and an habitual sweet seriousness. She had chanced to be at the
+gate gathering flowers. Her reception of the student was frank, and yet
+there was just a touch of blushing dignity about it which suggested that
+she took a special interest in him. The student also, it would appear,
+took an interest in her, for, on their way to the house, he made a
+variety of remarks upon the weather which proved that he was a little
+excited and unable to observe that he was talking nonsense.
+
+In a little while the family were gathered round the tea-table. The
+girl, Miss Torrance by name, sat at the head of the table. Her father
+was a banker and insurance agent. He sat opposite his eldest daughter
+and did the honours of the meal with the utmost hospitality, yet with
+reserve of manner caused by his evident consciousness that his grammar
+and manners were not equal to those of his children and their guest.
+There were several daughters and two sons younger than Miss Torrance.
+They talked with vivacity.
+
+The conversation soon turned upon the fact that the abundant supply of
+cream to which the family were accustomed was not forthcoming.
+Strawberries were being served with the tea; some sort of cold pudding
+was also on the table; and all this to be eaten without cream,--these
+young people might have been asked to go without their supper, so
+indignant they were.
+
+Now, Mr. Torrance had been decorously trying to talk of the young
+minister's last sermon and of the affairs of the small Scotch church of
+which he was an elder, and Miss Torrance was ably seconding his effort
+by comparing the sentiments of the sermon to a recent magazine article,
+but against her will she was forced to attend to the young people's
+clamour about the cream.
+
+It seemed that Trilium, the cow, had recently refused to give her milk.
+Mary Torrance was about eighteen; she suddenly gave it as her opinion
+that Trilium was bewitched; there was no other explanation, she said, no
+other possible explanation of Trilium's extraordinary conduct.
+
+A flush mounted Miss Torrance's face; she frowned at her sister when the
+student was not looking.
+
+'It's wonderful, the amount of witchcraft we have about here, Mr.
+Howitt,' said the master of the house tentatively to the minister.
+
+Howitt had taken Mary's words in jest. He gave his smooth-shaven face
+the twist that with him always expressed ideas wonderful or grotesque.
+It was a strong, thin face, full of intelligence.
+
+'I never could have conceived anything like it,' said he. 'I come across
+witch tales here, there, everywhere; and the marvellous thing is, some
+of the people really seem to believe them.'
+
+The younger members of the Torrance family fixed their eyes upon him
+with apprehensive stare.
+
+'You can't imagine anything more degrading,' continued the student, who
+came from afar.
+
+'Degrading, of course.' Mr. Torrance sipped his tea hastily. 'The Cape
+Breton people are superstitious, I believe.'
+
+An expression that might have betokened a new resolution appeared upon
+the fine face of the eldest daughter.
+
+'_We_ are Cape Breton people, father,' she said, with dignified
+reproach. 'I hope'--here a timid glance, as if imploring support--'I
+hope we know better than to place any real faith in these degrading
+superstitions.'
+
+Howitt observed nothing but the fine face and the words that appeared to
+him natural.
+
+Torrance looked at them both with the air of an honest man who was still
+made somewhat cowardly by new-fashioned propriety.
+
+'I never put much o' my faith in these things myself,' he said at last
+in broad accents, 'still,'--an honest shake of the head--'there's queer
+things happens.'
+
+'It is like going back to the Middle Ages'--Howitt was still
+impervious--'to hear some of these poor creatures talk. I never thought
+it would be my lot to come across anything so delightfully absurd.'
+
+'Perhaps for the sake of the ministry ye'd better be careful how ye say
+your mind about it,' suggested Mr. Torrance; 'in the hearing of the poor
+and uneducated, of course, I mean. But if ye like to make a study o'
+that sort of thing, I'd advise ye to go and have a talk with Mistress
+Betty M'Leod. She's got a great repertory of tales, has Mistress Betty.'
+
+Mary spoke again. Mary was a young woman who had the courage of her
+opinions. 'And if you go to Mistress M'Leod, Mr. Howitt, will you just
+be kind enough to ask her how to cure poor Trilium? and don't forget
+anything of what she says.'
+
+Miss Torrance gave her sister a word of reproof. There was still upon
+her face the fine glow born of a new resolution never again to listen to
+a word of witchcraft.
+
+As for Howitt, there came across his clever face the whimsical look
+which denoted that he understood Mary's fun perfectly. 'I will go
+to-morrow,' he cried. 'When the wise woman has told me who has bewitched
+Trilium, we will make a waxen figure and stick pins in it.'
+
+The next day Howitt walked over the hills in search of Mistress Betty
+M'Leod. The lake of the Bras d'Or held the sheen of the western sun in
+its breast. The student walked upon green slopes far above the water,
+and watched the outline of the hills on the other side of the inlet, and
+thought upon many things. He thought upon religion and philosophy, for
+he was religious and studious; he thought upon practical details of his
+present work, for he was anxious for the welfare of the souls under his
+charge; but on whatever subject his thoughts dwelt, they came back at
+easy intervals to the fair, dignified face of his new friend, Miss
+Torrance.
+
+'There's a fine girl for you,' he said to himself repeatedly, with
+boyish enthusiasm. He thought, too, how nobly her life would be spent if
+she chose to be the helpmeet of a Christian minister. He wondered
+whether Mary could take her sister's place in the home circle. Yet with
+all this he made no decision as to his own course. He was discreet, and
+in minds like his decisions upon important matters are fruits of slow
+growth.
+
+He came at last to a farm, a very goodly farm for so hilly a district.
+It lay, a fertile flat, in a notch of the green hillside. When he
+reached the house yard he asked for Mistress Betty M'Leod, and was led
+to her presence. The old dame sat at her spinning-wheel in a farm
+kitchen. Her white hair was drawn closely, like a thin veil, down the
+sides of her head and pinned at the back. Her features were small, her
+eyes bright; she was not unlike a squirrel in her sharp little movements
+and quick glances. She wore a small shawl pinned around her spare
+shoulders. Her skirts fell upon the treadle of the spinning-wheel. The
+kitchen in which she sat was unused; there was no fire in the stove. The
+brick floor, the utensils hanging on the walls, had the appearance of
+undisturbed rest. Doors and windows were open to the view of the green
+slopes and the golden sea beneath them.
+
+'You come from Canada,' said the old dame. She left her spinning with a
+certain interested formality of manner.
+
+'From Montreal,' said he.
+
+'That's the same. Canada is a terrible way off.'
+
+'And now,' he said, 'I hear there are witches in this part of the land.'
+Whereupon he smiled in an incredulous cultured way.
+
+She nodded her head as if she had gauged his thought. 'Ay, there's many
+a minister believes in them if they don't let on they do. I mind----'
+
+'Yes,' said he.
+
+'I mind how my sister went out early one morning, and saw a witch
+milking one of our cows.'
+
+'How did you know she was a witch?'
+
+'Och, she was a neighbour we knew to be a witch real well. My sister
+didn't anger her. It's terrible unlucky to vex them. But would you
+believe it? as long as we had that cow her cream gave no butter. We had
+to sell her and get another. And one time--it was years ago, when
+Donald and me was young--the first sacrament came round----'
+
+'Yes,' said he, looking sober.
+
+'And all the milk of our cows would give hardly any butter for a whole
+year! And at house-cleaning time, there, above the milk shelves, what
+did they find but a bit of hair rope! Cows' and horses' hair it was. Oh,
+it was terrible knotted, and knotted just like anything! So then of
+course we knew.'
+
+'Knew what?'
+
+'Why, that the milk was bewitched. We took the rope away. Well, that
+very day more butter came at the churning, and from that time on, more,
+but still not so much as ought by rights to have come. Then, one day, I
+thought to unknot the rope, and I undid, and undid, and undid. Well,
+when I had got it undone, that day the butter came as it should!'
+
+'But what about the sacrament?' asked he.
+
+'That was the time of the year it was. Oh, but I could tell you a sad,
+sad story of the wickedness of witches. When Donald and me was young,
+and had a farm up over on the other hill, well, there was a poor widow
+with seven daughters. It was hard times then for us all, but for her,
+she only had a bit of flat land with some bushes, and four cows and some
+sheep, and, you see, she sold butter to put meat in the children's
+mouths. Butter was all she could sell.
+
+'Well, there came to live near her on the hill an awful wicked old man
+and woman. I'll tell you who their daughter is: she's married to Mr.
+M'Curdy, who keeps the store. The old man and his wife were awful wicked
+to the widow and the fatherless. I'll tell you what they did. Well, the
+widow's butter failed. Not one bit more could she get. The milk was just
+the same, but not one bit of butter. "Oh," said she, "it's a hard world,
+and me a widow!" But she was a brave woman, bound to get along some way.
+So, now that she had nothing to sell to buy meal, she made curds of the
+milk, and fed the children on that.
+
+'Well, one day the old man came in to see her in a neighbouring way, and
+she, being a good woman,--oh, but she was a good woman!--set a dish of
+curds before him. "Oh," said he, "these are very fine curds!" So he went
+away, and next day she put the rennet in the milk as usual, but not a
+bit would the curd come. "Oh," said she, "but I must put something in
+the children's mouths!" She was a fine woman, she was. So she kept the
+lambs from the sheep all night, and next morning she milked the sheep.
+Sheep's milk is rich, and she put rennet in that, and fed the children
+on the curd.
+
+'So one day the old man came in again. He was a wicked one; he was
+dreadful selfish; and as he was there, she, being a hospitable woman,
+gave him some of the curd. "That's good curd," said he. Next day, when
+she put the rennet in the sheep's milk, not a bit would the curd come.
+She felt it bitterly, poor woman; but she had a fine spirit, and she fed
+the children on a few bits of potato she had growing.
+
+'Well, one day, the eldest daughter got up very early to spin--in the
+twilight of the dawn it was--and she looked out, and there was the old
+woman coming from her house on the hill, with a shawl over her head and
+a tub in her arms. Oh, but she was a really wicked one! for I'll tell
+you what she did. Well, the girl watched and wondered, and in the
+twilight of the dawn she saw the old woman crouch down by one of the
+alder bushes, and put her tub under it, and go milking with her hands;
+and after a bit she lifted her tub, that seemed to have something in it,
+and set it over against another alder bush, and went milking with her
+hands again. So the girl said, "Mother, mother, wake up, and see what
+the neighbour woman is doing!" So the mother looked out, and there, in
+the twilight of the dawn, she saw her four cows in the bit of land,
+among the alder bushes, and the old neighbour woman milking away at a
+bush. And then the old woman moved her tub likewise to another bush, and
+likewise, and likewise, until she had milked four bushes, and she took
+up her tub, and it seemed awful heavy, and she had her shawl over it,
+and was going up the hill.
+
+'So the mother said to the girl, "Run, run, and see what she has got in
+it." For they weren't up to the ways of witches, and they were
+astonished like. But the girl, she said, "Oh, mother, I don't like."
+Well, she was timid, anyway, the eldest girl. But the second girl was a
+romping thing, not afraid of anything, so they sent her. By this time
+the wicked old woman was high on the hill; so she ran and ran, but she
+could not catch her before she was in at her own door; but that second
+girl, she was not afraid of anything, so she runs in at the door, too.
+Now, in those days they used to have sailing-chests that lock up; they
+had iron bars over them, so you could keep anything in that was a
+secret. They got them from the ships, and this old woman kept her milk
+in hers. So when the girl bounced in at the door, there she saw that
+wicked old woman pouring milk out of the tub into her chest, and the
+chest half full of milk, and the old man looking on! So then, of course
+they knew where the good of their milk had gone.'
+
+The story was finished. The old dame looked at the student and nodded
+her head with eyes that awaited some expression of formal disapproval.
+
+'What did they know?' asked he.
+
+'Know! Oh, why, that the old woman was an awful wicked witch, and she'd
+taken the good of their milk.'
+
+'Oh, indeed!' said the student; and then, 'But what became of the widow
+and the seven daughters?'
+
+'Well, of course she had to sell her cows and get others, and then it
+was all right. But that old man and his wife were that selfish they'd
+not have cared if she'd starved. And I tell you, it's one of the things
+witches can do, to take the good out of food, if they've an eye to it;
+they can take every bit of nouriture out of it that's in it. There were
+two young men that went from here to the States--that's Boston, ye know.
+Well, pretty soon one, that was named M'Pherson, came back, looking so
+white-like and ill that nothing would do him any good. He drooped and he
+died. Well, years after, the other, whose name was McVey, came back. He
+was of the same wicked stock as the old folks I've been telling ye of.
+Well, one day, he was in low spirits like, and he chanced to be talking
+to my father, and says he, "It's one of the sins I'll have to 'count for
+at the Judgment that I took the good out of M'Pherson's food till he
+died. I sat opposite to him at the table when we were at Boston
+together, and I took the good out of his food, and it's the blackest sin
+I done," said he.
+
+'Oh, they're awful wicked people, these witches! One of them offered to
+teach my sister how to take the good out of food, but my sister was too
+honest; she said, "I'll learn to keep the good of my own, if ye like."
+However, the witch wouldn't teach her that because she wouldn't learn
+the other. Oh, but I cheated a witch once. Donald, he brought me a pound
+of tea. 'Twasn't always we got tea in those days, so I put it in the tin
+box; and there was just a little over, so I was forced to leave that in
+the paper bag. Well, that day a neighbour came in from over the hill. I
+knew fine she was a witch; so we sat and gossiped a bit; she was a real
+pleasant woman, and she sat and sat, and the time of day went by. So I
+made her a cup of tea, her and me; but I used the drawing that was in
+the paper bag. Said she, "I just dropped in to borrow a bit of tea going
+home, but if that's all ye have"--Oh, but I could see her eyeing round;
+so I was too sharp for her, and I says, "Well, I've no more in the paper
+just now, but if ye'll wait till Donald comes, maybe he'll bring some."
+So she saw I was too sharp for her, and away she went. If I'd as much as
+opened the tin, she'd have had every grain of good out of it with her
+eyes.'
+
+At first the student had had the grave and righteous intention of
+denouncing the superstition, but gradually he had perceived that to do
+so would be futile. The artistic soul of him was caught by the curious
+recital. He remembered now the bidding of Mary Torrance, and thought
+with pleasure that he would go back and repeat these strange stories to
+Miss Torrance, and smile at them in her company.
+
+'Now, for instance,' he said aloud, 'if a good cow, that is a great pet
+in the family, should suddenly cease to give her milk, how would you set
+about curing her?'
+
+The dame's small bright eyes grew keener. She moved to her
+spinning-wheel and gave it a turn. 'Ay,' she said, 'and whose is the
+cow?'
+
+He was not without a genuine curiosity. 'What would you do for _any_ cow
+in that case?'
+
+'And is it Torrance's cow?' asked Mistress Betty. 'Och, but I know it's
+Torrance's cow that ye're speiring for.'
+
+The young minister was recalled to a sense of his duty. He rose up with
+brisk dignity. 'I only asked you to see what you would say. I do not
+believe the stories you have been telling me.'
+
+She nodded her head, taking his assertion as a matter of course. 'But
+I'll tell you exactly what they must do,' she said. 'Ye can tell Miss
+Torrance she must get a pound of pins.'
+
+'A pound of pins!' said he.
+
+'Ay, it's a large quantity, but they'll have them at the store, for it's
+more than sometimes they're wanted--a time here, a time there--against
+the witches. And she's to boil them in whatever milk the cow gives, and
+she's to pour them boiling hot into a hole in the ground; and when she's
+put the earth over them, and the sod over that, she's to tether the
+animal there, and milk it there, and the milk will come right enough.'
+
+While the student was making his way home along the hillside, through
+field and forest, the long arm of the sea turned to red and gold in the
+light of the clouds which the sun had left behind when it sank down over
+the distant region that the Cape Breton folk call Canada.
+
+The minister meditated upon what he had heard, but not for long. He
+could not bring his mind into such attitude towards the witch-tales as
+to conceive of belief in them as an actual part of normal human
+experience. Insanity, or the love of making a good story out of notions
+which have never been seriously entertained, must compose the warp and
+woof of the fabric of such strange imaginings. It is thus we account for
+most experiences we do not understand.
+
+The next evening the Torrance family were walking to meeting. The
+student joined himself to Miss Torrance. He greeted her with the
+whimsical look of grave humour. 'You are to take a pound of pins,' he
+said.
+
+'I do not believe it would do any good,' she interrupted eagerly.
+
+It struck him as very curious that she should assert her unbelief. He
+was too nonplussed to go on immediately. Then he supposed it was part of
+the joke, and proceeded to give the other details.
+
+'Mr. Howitt,'--a tremulous pause,--'it is very strange about poor
+Trilium, she has always been such a good, dear cow; the children are
+very fond of her, and my mother was very fond of her when she was a
+heifer. The last summer before she died, Trilium fed out of mother's
+hand, and now--she's in perfect health as far as we can see, but father
+says that if she keeps on refusing to give her milk he will be obliged
+to sell her.'
+
+Miss Torrance, who was usually strong and dignified, spoke now in a very
+appealing voice.
+
+'Couldn't you get an old farmer to look at her, or a vet?'
+
+'But why do you think she has suddenly stopped giving milk?' persisted
+the girl.
+
+'I am very sorry, but I really don't know anything about animals,' said
+he.
+
+'Oh, then if you don't know anything about them----' She paused. There
+had been such an evident tone of relief in her voice that he wondered
+much what would be coming next. In a moment she said, 'I quite agreed
+with you the other night when you said the superstition about witchcraft
+was degrading.'
+
+'No one could think otherwise.' He was much puzzled at the turn of her
+thought.
+
+'Still, of course, _about animals_, old people like Mistress Betty
+M'Leod may know something.'
+
+As they talked they were walking down the street in the calm of the
+summer evening to the prayer meeting. The student's mind was intent upon
+his duties, for, as they neared the little white-washed church, many
+groups were seen coming from all sides across the grassy space in which
+it stood. He was an earnest man, and his mind became occupied with the
+thought of the spiritual needs of these others who were flocking to hear
+him preach and pray.
+
+Inside the meeting-room, unshaded oil lamps flared upon a congregation
+most serious and devout. The student felt that their earnestness and
+devotion laid upon him the greater responsibility; he also felt much
+hindered in his speech because of their ignorance and remote ways of
+thought. It was a comfort to him to feel that there was at least one
+family among his hearers whose education would enable them to understand
+him clearly. He looked with satisfaction at the bench where Mr. Torrance
+sat with his children. He looked with more satisfaction to where Miss
+Torrance sat at the little organ. She presided over it with dignity and
+sweet seriousness. She drew music even out of its squeaking keys.
+
+A few days after that prayer meeting the student happened to be in the
+post-office. It was a small, rough place; a wooden partition shut off
+the public from the postmistress and her helpers. He was waiting for
+some information for which he had asked; he was forced to stand outside
+the little window in this partition. He listened to women's voices
+speaking on the other side, as one listens to that which in no way
+concerns oneself.
+
+'It's just like her, stuck up as she is since she came from school,
+setting herself and her family up to be better than other folks.'
+
+'Perhaps they were out of them at the store,' said a gentler voice.
+
+'Oh, don't tell me. It's on the sly she's doing it, and then pretending
+to be grander than other folks.'
+
+Then the postmistress came to the window with the required information.
+When she saw who was there, she said something else also.
+
+'There's a parcel come for Miss Torrance,--if you happen to be going up
+that way,' the postmistress simpered.
+
+The student became aware for the first time that his friendship with
+Miss Torrance was a matter of public interest. He was not entirely
+displeased. 'I will take the parcel,' he said.
+
+As he went along the sunny road, he felt so light-hearted that, hardly
+thinking what he did, he began throwing up the parcel and catching it
+again in his hands. It was not large; it was very tightly done up in
+thick paper, and had an ironmonger's label attached; so that, though he
+paid small attention, it did not impress him as a thing that could be
+easily injured. Something, however, did soon make a sharp impression
+upon him; once as he caught the parcel he felt his hand deeply pricked.
+Looking closely, he saw that a pin was working its way through the thick
+paper. After that he walked more soberly, and did not play ball. He
+remembered what he had heard at the post-office. The parcel was
+certainly addressed to Miss Torrance. It was very strange. He remembered
+with displeasure now the assumption of the postmistress that he would be
+glad to carry this parcel.
+
+He delivered the pound of pins at the door without making a call. His
+mind had never come to any decision with regard to his feeling for Miss
+Torrance, and now he was more undecided than ever. He was full of
+curiosity about the pins. He found it hard to believe that they were to
+be used for a base purpose, but suspicion had entered his mind. The
+knowledge that the eyes of the little public were upon him made him
+realise that he could not continue to frequent the house merely to
+satisfy his curiosity.
+
+He was destined to know more.
+
+That night, long after dark, he was called to visit a dying man, and the
+messenger led him somewhat out of the town.
+
+He performed his duty to the dying with wistful eagerness. The spirit
+passed from earth while he yet knelt beside the bed. When he was
+returning home alone in the darkness, he felt his soul open to the power
+of unseen spirit, and to him the power of the spiritual unseen was the
+power of God.
+
+Walking on the soft, quiet road, he came near the house where he had
+lately loved to visit, and his eye was arrested by seeing a lantern
+twinkling in the paddock where Trilium grazed. He saw the forms of two
+women moving in its little circle of light; they were digging in the
+ground.
+
+He felt that he had a right to make sure of the thing he suspected. The
+women were not far from a fence by which he could pass, and he did pass
+that way, looking and looking till a beam of the lantern fell full on
+the bending faces. When he saw that Miss Torrance was actually there, he
+went on without speaking.
+
+After that two facts became known in the village, each much discussed in
+its own way; yet they were not connected with each other in the common
+mind. One was that the young minister had ceased to call frequently upon
+Miss Torrance; the other, that Trilium, the cow, was giving her
+milk.
+
+
+
+
+IX
+
+THE GIRL WHO BELIEVED IN THE SAINTS
+
+
+Marie Verine was a good girl, but she was not beautiful or clever. She
+lived with her mother in one flat of an ordinary-looking house in a
+small Swiss town. Had they been poorer or richer there might have been
+something picturesque about their way of life, but, as it was, there was
+nothing. Their pleasures were few and simple; yet they were happier than
+most people are--but this they did not know.
+
+'It is a pity we are not richer and have not more friends,' Madame
+Verine would remark, 'for then we could perhaps get Marie a husband; as
+it is, there is no chance.'
+
+Madame Verine usually made this remark to the Russian lady who lived
+upstairs. The Russian lady had a name that could not be pronounced; she
+spoke many languages, and took an interest in everything. She would
+reply--
+
+'No husband! It is small loss. I have seen much of the world.'
+
+Marie had seen little of the world, and she did not believe the Russian
+lady. She never said anything about it, except at her prayers, and then
+she used to ask the saints to pray for her that she might have a
+husband.
+
+Now, in a village about half a day's journey from the town where Marie
+dwelt, there lived a young girl whose name was Céleste. Her mother had
+named her thus because her eyes were blue as the sky above, and her face
+was round as the round moon, and her hair and eyelashes were like
+sunbeams, or like moonlight when it shines in yellow halo through the
+curly edges of summer clouds. The good people of this village were a
+hard-working, hard-headed set of men and women. While Céleste's father
+lived they had waxed proud about her beauty, for undoubtedly she was a
+credit to the place; but when her parents died, and left her needy, they
+said she must go to the town and earn her living.
+
+Céleste laughed in her sleeve when they told her this, because young
+Fernand, the son of the inn-keeper, had been wooing and winning her
+heart, in a quiet way, for many a day; and now she believed in him, and
+felt sure that he would speak his love aloud and take her home to his
+parents. To be sure, it was unknown in that country for a man who had
+money to marry a girl who had none; but Fernand was strong to work and
+to plan; Céleste knew that he could do what he liked.
+
+It was the time when the April sun smiles upon the meadow grass till it
+is very green and long enough to wave in the wind, and all amongst it
+the blue scilla flowers are like dewdrops reflecting the blue that hangs
+above the gnarled arms of the still leafless walnut trees. The cottage
+where Céleste lived was out from the village, among the meadows, and to
+the most hidden side of it young Fernand came on the eve of the day on
+which she must leave it for ever. Very far off the snow mountains had
+taken on their second flush of evening red before he came, and Céleste
+had grown weary waiting.
+
+'Good-bye,' said Fernand. He was always a somewhat stiff and formal
+young man, and to-night he was ill at ease.
+
+'But,' cried Céleste--and here she wept--'you have made me love you. I
+love no one in the world but you.'
+
+'You are foolish,' said he. 'It is, of course, a pity that we must part,
+but it cannot be helped. You have no dowry, not even a small one. It
+would be unthrifty for the son of an innkeeper to marry a girl without a
+sou. My parents would not allow me to act so madly!' and his manner
+added--'nor would I be so foolish myself.'
+
+Next day Céleste went up to the town, and went into the market-place to
+be hired as a servant.
+
+This was the day of the spring hiring. Many servants were wanting work,
+and they stood in the market-place. All around were the old houses of
+the square; there was the church and the pastor's house, and the house
+and office of the notary, and many other houses standing very close
+together, with high-peaked roofs and gable windows. The sun shone down,
+lighting the roofs, throwing eaves and niches into strong shadow,
+gleaming upon yellow bowls and dishes, upon gay calicoes, upon cheese
+and sausages, on all bright things displayed on the open market-stalls,
+and upon the faces of the maid-servants who stood to be hired. Many
+ladies of the town went about seeking servants: among them was Madame
+Verine, and the Russian lady and Marie were with her. When they came in
+front of Céleste they all stopped.
+
+'Ah, what eyes!' said the Russian lady--'what simple, innocent, trustful
+eyes! In these days how rare!'
+
+'She is like a flower,' said Marie.
+
+Now, they quickly found out that Céleste knew very little about the work
+she would have to do; it was because of this she had not yet found a
+mistress.
+
+'I myself would delight to teach her,' cried the Russian lady.
+
+'And I,' cried Marie. So Madame Verine took her home.
+
+They taught Céleste many things. Marie taught her to cook and to sew;
+the Russian lady taught her to write and to cipher, and was surprised at
+the progress she made, especially in writing. Céleste was the more
+interesting to them because there was just a shade of sadness in her
+eye. One day she told Marie why she was sad; it was the story of
+Fernand, how he had used her ill.
+
+'What a shame!' cried Marie, when the brief facts were repeated.
+
+'It is the way of the country,' said the Russian lady. 'These Swiss
+peasants, who have so fair a reputation for sobriety, are mercenary
+above all: they have no heart.'
+
+Céleste lived with Madame Verine for one year. At the end of that time
+Madame Verine arose one morning to find the breakfast was not cooked,
+nor the fire lit. In the midst of disorder stood Céleste, with flushed
+cheeks and startled eyes, and a letter in her hand.
+
+'Ah, madam,' she faltered, 'what a surprise! The letter, it is from
+monsieur the notary, who lives in the market-place, and to me,
+madam--_to me_!'
+
+When Madame Verine took the letter she found told therein that an aunt
+of Céleste, who had lived far off in the Jura, was dead, and had left to
+Céleste a little fortune of five thousand francs, which was to be paid
+to her when she was twenty-one, or on her marriage day.
+
+'Ah,' cried Céleste, weeping, 'can it be true? Can it be true?'
+
+'Of course, since monsieur the notary says so.'
+
+'Ah, madam; let me run and see monsieur the notary. Let me just ask him,
+and hear from his lips that it is true!'
+
+So she ran out into the town, with her apron over her head, and Marie
+made the breakfast.
+
+The Russian lady came down to talk it over. 'The pretty child is
+distraught, and at _so small_ a piece of good fortune!' said she.
+
+But when Céleste came in she was more composed. 'It is true,' she said,
+with gentle joy, and she stood before them breathless and blushing.
+
+'It will be three years before you are twenty-one,' said Madame Verine;
+'you will remain with me.'
+
+'If you please, madam, no,' said Céleste, modestly casting down her
+eyes; 'I must go to my native village.'
+
+'How!' they cried. 'To whom will you go?'
+
+Céleste blushed the more deeply, and twisted her apron. 'I have good
+clothes; I have saved my year's wages. I will put up at the inn. The
+wife of the innkeeper will be a mother to me now I can pay for my
+lodging.'
+
+At which Madame Verine looked at the Russian lady, and that lady looked
+at her, and said behind her hand, 'Such a baby, and so clever! It is the
+mere instinct of wisdom; it cannot be called forethought.'
+
+It is to be observed that, all the world over, however carefully a
+mistress may guard her maid-servant, no great responsibility is felt
+when the engagement is broken. Madame Verine shrugged her shoulders and
+got another servant. Céleste went down to her village.
+
+After that, when Marie walked in the market-place, she used to like to
+look at the notary's house, and at him, if she could espy him in the
+street. The house was a fine one, and the notary, in spite of iron-grey
+hair and a keen eye, good-looking; but that was not why Marie was
+interested; it was because he and his office seemed connected with the
+romance of life--with Céleste's good fortune.
+
+When summer days grew long, Madame Verine, her friend and daughter, took
+a day's holiday, and out of good nature they went to see Céleste.
+
+'Céleste lives like a grand lady now,' cried the innkeeper's wife, on
+being questioned. 'She will have me take her coffee to her in bed each
+morning.'
+
+'The wages she has saved will not hold out long,' said the visitors.
+
+'When that is finished she gives us her note of hand for the money she
+will get when she is married. She has shown us the notary's letter. It
+is certainly a tidy sum she will have, and our son has some thoughts of
+marrying.'
+
+They saw Céleste, who was radiant; they saw young Fernand, who was
+paying his court to her. They returned home satisfied.
+
+It was not long after that when one morning Céleste came into Madame
+Verine's house; she was weeping on account of the loss of some of her
+money. She had come up to town, she said, to buy her wedding clothes,
+for which the notary had been so good as to advance her a hundred
+francs, but her pocket had been picked in the train. The money was
+gone--quite gone--alas!
+
+So tearful was she that they lent her some money--not much, but a
+little. Then she dried her eyes, and said she would also get some things
+on credit, promising to pay in a month, for it was then she was to be
+married. At the end of the day she came back gaily to show her
+treasures.
+
+'When the rejoicings of your wedding are over,' said Madame Verine, 'and
+your husband brings you to town to claim the money, you may stay here in
+the upper room of this house--it is an invitation.'
+
+In a month came the wedding pair, joyful and blooming. The Russian lady
+made them a supper. They lodged in an attic room that Madame Verine
+rented. In the morning they went out, dressed in their best, to see the
+notary.
+
+An hour later Madame Verine sat in her little salon. The floor was of
+polished wood; it shone in the morning light; so did all the polished
+curves of the chairs and cabinets. Marie was practising exercises on the
+piano.
+
+They heard a heavy step on the stair. The bridegroom came into the room,
+agitated, unable to ask permission to enter. He strode across the floor
+and sat down weakly before the ladies.
+
+They thought he had been drinking wine, but this was not so, although
+his eye was bloodshot and his voice unsteady.
+
+'Can you believe it!' he cried, 'the notary never wrote letters to her;
+there was no aunt; there is no money!'
+
+'It is incredible,' said Madame Verine, and then there was a pause of
+great astonishment.
+
+'It is impossible!' cried the Russian lady, who had come in.
+
+'It is true,' said the bridegroom hoarsely; and he wept.
+
+And now Céleste herself came into the house. She came within the room,
+and looked at the ladies, who stood with hands upraised, and at her
+weeping husband. If you have ever enticed a rosy-faced child to bathe
+in the sea, and seen it stand half breathless, half terrified, yet
+trying hard to be brave, you know just the expression that was on the
+face of the child-like deceiver. With baby-like courage she smiled upon
+them all.
+
+Now the next person who entered the room was the notary himself. He was
+a gentleman of manners; he bowed with great gallantry to the ladies, not
+excepting Céleste.
+
+'She is a child, and has had no chance to learn the arts of cunning,'
+cried the Russian lady, who had thought that she knew the world.
+
+The notary bowed to her in particular. 'Madam, the true artist is born,
+not made.'
+
+Then he looked at Céleste again. There were two kinds of admiration in
+his glance--one for her face, the other for her cleverness. He looked at
+the weeping husband with no admiration at all, but the purpose in his
+mind was steady as his clear grey eye, unmoved by emotion.
+
+'I have taken the trouble to walk so far,' said he, 'to tell this young
+man what, perhaps, I ought to have mentioned when he was at my office.
+Happily, the evil can be remedied. It is the law of our land that if the
+fortune has been misrepresented, a divorce can be obtained.'
+
+Céleste's courage vanished with her triumph. She covered her face. The
+husband had turned round; he was looking eagerly at the notary and at
+his cowering bride.
+
+'Ah, Heaven!' cried the two matrons, 'must it be?'
+
+'I have walked so far to advise,' said the notary.
+
+All this time Marie was sitting upon the piano-stool; she had turned it
+half-way round so that she could look at the people. She was not pretty,
+but, as the morning light struck full upon her face, she had the
+comeliness that youth and health always must have; and more than that,
+there was the light of a beautiful soul shining through her eyes, for
+Marie was gentle and submissive, but her mind and spirit were also
+strong; the individual character that had grown in silence now began to
+assert itself with all the beauty of a new thing in the world. Marie had
+never acted for herself before.
+
+She began to speak to the notary simply, eagerly, as one who could no
+longer keep silence.
+
+'It would be wrong to separate them, monsieur.'
+
+Madame Verine chid Marie; the notary, no doubt just because he was a man
+and polite, answered her.
+
+'This brave young fellow does not deserve to be thus fooled. I shall be
+glad to lend him my aid to extricate himself.'
+
+'He does deserve it,' cried Marie. 'Long ago he pretended to have love
+for her, just for the pleasure of it, when he had not--that is worse
+than pretending to have money! And in any case, it is a _wicked_ law,
+monsieur, that would grant a divorce when they are married, and--look
+now--left to himself he will forgive her, but he is catching at what you
+say. You have come here to tempt him! You dare not go on, monsieur!'
+
+'Dare not, mademoiselle?' said the notary, with a superior air.
+
+'No, monsieur. Think of what the good God and the holy saints would say!
+This poor girl has brought much punishment on herself, but--ah,
+monsieur, think of the verdict of Heaven!'
+
+'Mademoiselle,' said the notary haughtily, 'I was proposing nothing but
+justice; but it is no affair of mine.' And with that he went out
+brusquely--very brusquely for a gentleman of such polite manners.
+
+'I am astonished at you, Marie,' said Madame Verine. This was true, but
+it was meant as a reproach.
+
+'She is beside herself with compassion,' said the Russian lady; 'but
+that is just what men of the world despise most.'
+
+Then Marie went to her room weeping, and the two ladies talked to
+Céleste till her soft face had hard lines about the mouth and her eyes
+were defiant. Young Fernand slipped out and went again to the
+market-place.
+
+'I come to ask your aid, monsieur the notary.'
+
+'I do not advise you.'
+
+'But, monsieur, to whom else can I apply?'
+
+'I am too busy,' said the notary.
+
+Fernand and Céleste walked back to their village, hand in hand, both
+downcast, both peevish, but still together.
+
+Now the notary was not what might be called a bad man himself, but he
+believed that the world was very bad. He had seen much to confirm this
+belief, and had not looked in the right place to find any facts that
+would contradict it. This belief had made him hard and sometimes even
+dishonest in his dealings with men; for what is the use of being good in
+a world that can neither comprehend goodness nor admire it? On the
+whole, the notary was much better satisfied with himself than with human
+nature around him, although, if he had only known it, he himself had
+grown to be the reflex--the image as in a mirror--of what he thought
+other men were; it is always so. There was just this much truth in him
+at the bottom of his scorn and grumbling--he flattered himself that if
+he could see undoubted virtue he could admire it; and there was in him
+that possibility of grace.
+
+After he left Madame Verine's door he thought with irritation of the
+girl who had rebuked him. Then he began to remember that she was only a
+woman and very young, and she had appealed to his heart--ah, yes, he had
+a heart. After all, he was not sure but that her appeal was charming.
+Then he thought of her with admiration. This was not the result of
+Marie's words--words in themselves are nothing; it is the personality of
+the speaker that makes them live or die, and personality is strongest
+when nourished long in virtue and silence and prayer. When it came to
+pass that the notary actually did the thing Marie told him to do, he
+began to think of her even with tenderness in his heart.
+
+Now a very strange thing happened. In about a week the notary called on
+Madame Verine a second time; he greeted her with all ceremony, and then
+he sat down on a little stiff chair and explained his business in his
+own brief, dry way.
+
+Marie was not there. The little _salon_, all polished and shining, gave
+faint lights and shadows in answer to every movement of its inmates.
+Madame Verine, in a voluminous silk gown, sat all attention, looking at
+the notary; she thought he was a very fine man, quite a great personage,
+and undoubtedly handsome.
+
+'Madam,' began he, 'I am, as you know, at middle age, yet a bachelor,
+and the reason, to be plain with you, is that I have not believed in
+women. Pardon me, I would not be rude, but I am a business man. I have
+no delusions left, yet it has occurred to me that a young woman who
+would make the lives of the saints her rule of life--I do not believe
+in such things myself, but--in short, madam, I ask for your daughter in
+marriage.'
+
+He said it as if he was doing quite a kind thing, as, indeed, he thought
+he was. Madame Verine thought so too, and with great astonishment, and
+even some apologies, gave away her daughter with grateful smiles.
+
+Marie was married to the notary, and he made her very happy. At first
+she was happy because he had good manners and she had such a loving
+heart that she loved him. After a few years he found out that she was
+too good for him, and then he became a better man.
+
+
+
+
+X
+
+THE PAUPERS' GOLDEN DAY
+
+
+Betty Lamb was a comely girl; she was big to look at, being tall and
+strong. She was never plump; she was never well clothed, not even in the
+best days of her youth. She had been brought up in the work-house; after
+that she belonged to no one. Her mind was a little astray: she had
+strong, rude, strange ideas of her own; she would not be humble and work
+day in, day out, like other folk, and for that reason she never throve
+in the world. She lived here and there, and did this and that. All the
+town knew her; she was just 'Betty Lamb'; no one expected aught of her.
+
+It was a small town in the west of Scotland. On different sides of it
+long lanes of humble cottages straggled out into the fields; the
+cottages had grey stone walls and red tiled roofs. There were new grey
+churches in the town, and big buildings, and streets of shops. The
+people in those days thought these very fine; they thought less about
+the real glory of the town--a ruined abbey which stood upon an open
+heath just beyond the houses.
+
+Three walls, two high gothic windows with the slender mullions unbroken,
+a few stately columns broken off at different heights from the ground,
+and one fragment of the high arch of the nave standing up against the
+sky in exquisite outline--these formed the ruin. It was built of the red
+sandstone that in its age takes upon it a delicate bloom of pink and
+white; it looked like a jewel in the breast of the grey hill country.
+Furze grew within the ruin and for acres on all sides. Sheep and goats
+came nibbling against the old altar steps. A fringe of wallflower and
+grass grew upon the top of the highest arch and down the broken
+fragments of the wall.
+
+All around the stately hills looked down upon the town and the ruin, and
+the sky that bent over was more often than not full of cloud, soft and
+grey.
+
+Betty Lamb was getting on to middle age, about thirty, when she had a
+baby. They had put her again in the poorshouse, but she rose when her
+baby was but a day old and went away from the place.
+
+It was summer time then; the sky relented somewhat; there was sunshine
+between the showers, and sometimes a long fair week of silvery weather,
+when a white haze of lifting moisture rose ever, like incense, from the
+hills, and the light shone white upon the yellow bloom of the furze.
+
+Betty Lamb found the ambry niche in the wall of the ruin at the side of
+the place where the altar had been. She laid her baby there. That was
+his cradle, and by sunlight and moonlight she was heard singing loud
+songs to him. The people were afraid of going too near her at that time.
+'It is dangerous,' said they, 'to touch an animal when she has her young
+with her.'
+
+As years went on Betty Lamb and her little boy spent summer after summer
+upon the moor. The child was not christened, unless, indeed, the dew
+falling from the sacred stones and the pity of God for fatherless
+innocents had christened him. In this world, at least, his name was
+written in no book of life, for he had no name.
+
+He grew to be a little lithe lad. Then it was that in every pickle of
+mischief where a little lad could be this elf-child, with his black eyes
+and curly auburn hair, was to be found. So maddening indeed were his
+naughty tricks that the townspeople spoke not so often of beating him,
+as they would have beaten a human child, but of wringing his neck like a
+young thing that had no right to live. Yet it was more often in word
+than in deed that punishment of any sort was inflicted, for the
+preliminary stage was perforce, 'first catch your boy,' and that was far
+from easy.
+
+Even when the catching was accomplished the beating did not always come.
+One day the minister of the Kirk looked out upon his glebe. His
+favourite cow, with a bridle in her mouth, was being galloped at
+greatest speed around the field, Betty's lad standing tip-toe upon her
+back. The minister, with the agility which unbounded wrath gave him,
+caught the boy' and swung his cane.
+
+'I am going to thrash you,' said he.
+
+'Ay, ye maun do that.' The small face was drawn to the aspect of a grave
+judge--'ye maun do that; it's yer juty.'
+
+The minister, who had looked upon his intention rather in the light of
+natural impulse, felt the less inclination for the task. 'Are you not
+afraid of being beaten?' he asked.
+
+'Aweel'--an air of profound reflection--'I'm thinking I can even it ony
+day wi' ridin' on a coo's back when she'll rin like yon.'
+
+The sunlight of habitual benevolence began to break through the cloud of
+wrath upon the good minister's face. 'If I let you off, laddie, what
+will you do for me in return?'
+
+An answering gleam of generosity broke upon the sage face of the child.
+'I'll fair teach ye how to dae't ye'sel'.'
+
+The lad grew apace. The neighbours said that he showed 'a caring' for
+his mother, but no one held toward him a helping hand. They were so sure
+that no good could come of him or of her. The mother had taken to
+drink, and one day it was found that the lad was gone. Just as he had
+often slipped from the grasp of one or other of the angry townsmen,
+dodged, darted, and disappeared for the moment, so now it seemed that he
+had slipped from the grasp of the town, run quickly and disappeared. No
+one knew why he had gone, or whither, or to what end.
+
+Betty Lamb remained in the town, a fine figure of a woman, but bowed in
+the shoulders, dirty, and clad in rags. At last, when her strong
+defiance of poverty and need would no longer serve her, she was seen to
+go about from door to door in the early dawn, raking among the ashes for
+such articles as she chose to put in an old sack and carry upon her
+back. The townsfolk honestly thought that all had been done that could
+be done to make a decent woman of her, and now in her old age she must
+needs go down to the gutter.
+
+One day a man came to the town with circus pictures and a bucket of
+paste. He pasted his pictures upon all the blank spaces of walls which
+he could find. Great was the joy of the children who stood and stared,
+their little hearts made glad by novelty and colour. Great was the
+surprise of the older folk, who said, 'It is a new thing in the world
+when so great a show as this comes out of the accustomed track of shows
+to erect its tent in our small town!' Yet so it was; from some whim of
+the manager, or of some one who had the ear of the manager, the thing
+was decreed.
+
+Upon these circus pictures there figured, in a series of many wonderful
+harlequin attitudes, a certain Signor Lambetti. Very foreign was the
+curl of his hair and the waxen ends of his moustache; very magnificent
+was his physique; he wore the finest of silken tights and crimson small
+clothes, and medals were depicted hanging upon his breast.
+
+When at length the circus came for that one night's entertainment and
+the huge tent was set up upon the common not far from the old red ruin,
+all the town flocked to see the brilliant spectacle. The minister was
+there, and what was more, his wife and daughters too; they were far
+grander than he was, and wore silken furbelows and fringed shawls. The
+minister paid for the best seats for them to sit in. All the shopkeepers
+were there; every man, woman and child in all the town who could find as
+much as sixpence to pay for standing room was there. But the strangest
+circumstance was that before the show began a man went out from the
+brightly-lit doorway and called in a loud voice to the beggars and
+little ragged boys and girls who had come to survey the tent on the
+outside, and he brought them all in and gave them a good part of the
+tent to sit in, although they had not sixpence to pay, nor even a penny.
+
+Ah! in those days it was a very grand sight. There were elephants who
+performed tricks, and camels who walked about with men and bundles on
+their backs just as they do in eastern deserts, and there were wonderful
+ladies who dressed and behaved like fairies, and who rode standing
+tip-toe on the backs of horses and jumped through swinging rings. But
+the crowd had not read the circus bills and the newspapers from all the
+neighbouring cities for nothing. They were a canny Scotch crowd; they
+were not to be taken in by mere glitter, no, not the smallest barefoot
+boy nor the most wretched beggar, for they knew very well that the real
+crisis of the evening was to be the appearance of Signor Lambetti, and
+the word 'wonderful' was not to be spoken until his feats began to be
+performed.
+
+At length he came outside the curtain upon which all eyes had long been
+fixed. The curl of his hair and the waxed ends of his moustache proved
+him to be beyond doubt from foreign parts. He was indeed a most grand
+and handsome gentleman. His dress was, if anything, more superb than it
+had been in the pictures; all his well-formed muscles showed through the
+silken gauze that he wore. His velvet trappings were trimmed with gold
+lace and his medals shone like gold.
+
+He walked upon a tight rope away up in the peaked roof of the tent; he
+held a wand in his hand by which to balance himself and in the other
+hand a cup of tea which he drank in the very middle of his walk;
+tossing it off, bowing to the crowd below, and bringing the cup and
+saucer to the other end in safety.
+
+The crowd gave deep sighs, partly of satisfaction for being permitted to
+see so wonderful a sight, partly out of relief for the safety of the
+performer. 'Ay me,' they said to one another, 'did ye ever see the licht
+o' that?' It meant more from them than the loudest clamour of applause,
+yet they applauded also.
+
+Then Signor Lambetti, looking quite as fresh and jaunty as at first,
+ascended a small platform, standing out upon it in the full light of all
+the lamps. He made a little speech to the effect that he was now going
+to perform a feat which was so difficult and dangerous that hitherto he
+had kept it solely for the benefit of crowned heads, before whom on many
+occasions he had had the privilege of appearing. He said, in an airy
+way, that the reason he did the town the honour of beholding this most
+wonderful of all his feats was merely that he had taken a liking to the
+place.
+
+'Ay, but he's grond,' said the little barefoot boys to one another as
+they huddled against the front of the stand allotted to them. 'Ay me,
+but he's grond'; and all the rest of the townsfolk said the same to
+themselves or each other, but they expressed it in all the different
+ways of that dignified caution common to the Scotch.
+
+There was a series of swings, one trapeze fixed higher than another,
+like a line of gigantic steps, to the very pinnacle of the tent. 'The
+Signor' announced that he was going to swing himself up upon these
+hanging bars until he reached the topmost, and from that he would leap
+through the air down, down into the lighted abyss below, and catch a
+rope that was stretched at the foot of the Grand Stand.
+
+Merely to hear him tell what he was going to do made the crowd draw
+breath with thrills of joyful horror.
+
+Up and up he went, swinging himself with lissome grace, raising each
+trapeze with the force of his swing until he could reach the one above
+it.
+
+He looked smaller as he travelled higher in his wonderful flying
+progress. The little boys had not breath left now even to say, 'Ay me,
+but he's grond.' There was silence among all the crowd.
+
+To every one in all that crowd--to all except one--the spectacle was
+that of a strange man performing a strange feat; one poor woman present
+saw a different sight, one alone in all that crowd knew that the acrobat
+was not a stranger.
+
+In a corner of the beggars' gallery sat Betty Lamb. Dirty and clothed in
+rags as she was, she held up her head at this hour with the old queenly
+defiance of her youthful days. Her eyes, bleared and sunken, had
+descried her son; her mother's heart, mad though all pronounced her to
+be, had vibrated to the first sound of her son's voice. She knew him as
+certainly as if she had seen him standing before her again, the little
+lad of past years, or the infant cradled in the ambry of the ruined
+chancel.
+
+The monarchs of whom Lambetti had been glibly speaking were not more
+noble in rank or more surrounded with glory in the thought of Betty Lamb
+than was this hero of the circus, and he her son! What constitutes
+glory? Is it not made up of the glare of lamps and the wearing of
+shining clothes, the shout of a thousand voices in applause, the glance
+of a thousand eyes in admiration, and the renown that spreads into the
+newspapers? In the mind of Betty Lamb there was no room for gradations;
+she knew glory, she knew shame; she herself had sunk to shame; but now
+that was past, her son had attained to glory, and her soul went out, as
+it were, from the circumstances of her own degradation and accepted his
+glory as her own.
+
+They said (the townsfolk said) that Betty Lamb had not lacked
+opportunity. Ah well, God knows better than we what to each soul may be
+its opportunity.
+
+Betty Lamb watched her son in his perilous upward flight, and, for the
+first time in her life, prayed that Heaven would forgive her misdeeds.
+By some inborn instinct she assumed that it was this prayer she must
+pray in order to obtain that desire of her eyes, his safety. When he
+reached the highest swing, when he made his leap from that awful height
+and caught the lower rope, there had come a change in Betty Lamb's soul.
+It had seemed hours, nay, years to her, the space of time in which he
+was swinging himself up and leaping down. Perhaps, half-witted as she
+had been, this was in reality her life, not the other that for sixty
+years she had been visibly living. She saw that his eye was fixed upon
+her; she knew that the kisses were thrown to her. She rose and walked
+erect, in her heart a new sense of responsibility and of the value of
+life.
+
+Next day in Betty Lamb's cellar-room a shadow darkened the doorway, and
+her son stood before her. He did not kiss her--that had not been their
+way, even when he was an infant and she had sung her songs to him in the
+lonely ruin--but he bowed to her with all the foreign graces that he had
+learned, just as if she were one of the queens before whom he had
+performed. She feasted her eyes upon him.
+
+He looked round upon the cellar. 'You must not live here any longer,'
+said he.
+
+For the first time in her life humility reigned in her heart and she
+resigned her gypsy freedom. 'I'm thinking,' she replied modestly, 'that
+it's nae fit for the mither of sich as ye are noo.'
+
+With the minister Lambetti left money that would defray the expenses of
+a decent habitation for his mother, and, to the wonder of all, from that
+day forth the mother lived in it decently. She was even charitable with
+her little store; she was even known to raise the fallen.
+
+When she was dead Lambetti was dead too. He had lived his life fast,
+and, if gold be of worth, it seemed as if he had lived it to some
+purpose. Lambetti left money to the town, money for two purposes which
+in due time the long-headed townsmen carried into effect. An asylum was
+built upon the moor; it is called 'Betty Lamb's Home for the Young and
+the Aged.' The old Abbey also was walled in; lawns and flower beds were
+spread about the broken stones, and where the walls might totter they
+were supported. The honour of this change too is ascribed to the famous
+son of Betty Lamb, who had no name but his mother's.
+
+
+
+
+XI
+
+THE SOUL OF A MAN
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+
+A man was standing on one of the highroads in the south of
+Gloucestershire. He was a man of science; his tools and specimens were
+in his hand, and he was leaning against the wayside paling, enjoying a
+well-earned rest. A long flock of birds fluttered over the autumn
+fields; beneath them a slow ploughman trudged with his horses, breaking
+the yellow stubble. The sky hung low, full of sunshine yet full of
+haze--an atmosphere of blue flame, and the earth was bright with the
+warm autumn colours of woods and hedgerow.
+
+Just as the birds were flying past, a young woman came by upon the road,
+treading with quick powerful step upon the fallen leaves. She was a poor
+woman; her beauty, which would have been almost perfect in a simpler
+gown, was marred by garments cut in cheap conformity to fashionable
+dress. It could not be hidden, however, and her large symmetrical
+figure, swinging as she walked, attracted the attention of the man; as
+he stood there, leaning against the paling, he felt by no means
+disinclined to while away his hour of rest by a few soft words with the
+comely stranger. If he had put his thoughts into words, he would have
+held it as good luck that she had come to amuse his leisure, thinking
+very little about luck as it concerned her. His dog lying at his feet
+stirred to look at the woman, and the man, following the same instinct
+of nature, accosted her.
+
+'Can you tell me, my girl, what time it is?'
+
+She stopped short and looked at him. 'That I can't, sir,' she said in
+clear hearty tones, and turned to continue her walk.
+
+'But tell me what time you think it is, my good girl; I am not good at
+reading the sun.'
+
+She turned again, and looked at him with a longer pause, but, if there
+was suspicion or disapproval in her thoughts, she expressed nothing in
+her face.
+
+'Yer a gent; I'd 'a thought ye'd 'a had a watch.'
+
+'But mine is at the watchmaker's getting mended,' he said with a smile.
+He was neither young nor handsome, but he was clever, and that goes
+further than either in dealing with a woman.
+
+She still stood staring at him in rude independence.
+
+'The shadows is longer 'an they was a while by; mebbe it's three.'
+
+He sighed and shifted his position wearily against the paling, as though
+faint with fatigue.
+
+'You can't tell me of any place near where I can get something to eat? I
+have been working hard since daybreak, and now I am out of my reckoning,
+and tired and hungry.' He glanced down at his tools and earth-stained
+clothes.
+
+He won his wish; the woman, who would not have tarried a moment for
+selfish pleasure, remained out of generous pity.
+
+'I've the piece mother put up, mebbe it's big enou' for we two.'
+
+'But I could not think of taking your luncheon,' he exclaimed, with a
+gallantry that was meant to be impressive, but was quite lost on his
+practical companion. She proceeded to open her parcel and examine the
+contents to see whether or not there was enough for two. He also
+examined it critically with his eyes, in some alarm at her prompt
+response to his appeal, but the thick slices of bread and meat, if not
+dainty, were clean, and of excellent quality.
+
+She took the largest and thickest bit and thrust it into his hand, very
+much as a mother would feed her child with the portion she considered
+its fair share.
+
+''Ere, ye may 'ev that, fur I shan't want it.'
+
+'You are very kind,' he said, with a touch of sarcasm too fine for her.
+
+It appeared that, having taken out the food, she thought well to make
+her own meal, for she went a few steps farther on, and, sitting down on
+the grass with her back to the paling, began to eat. A large tuft of
+weeds grew midway between him and her. Truly we can foresee consequences
+but a very little way in our dealings with a fellow-creature, and this
+man, as he stood munching his bread, uncertain how to proceed in winning
+favour from the bold beauty, was hardly pleased with the result of his
+encounter. His dog went and laid its head upon her knee, and she fed it
+with crumbs; its master, after watching them a minute, stepped out on
+the road with the intention of sitting down between them and the weeds.
+As he did so he caught sight, as he thought, of a man seated in the very
+place he intended to occupy. So strong was the impression that he
+started and stared; but again, as before, there was no one to be seen.
+The sunshine was bright upon all things; the palings were so far apart
+that he could see everything in the fields behind; there was no one far
+or near but the ploughman at half a field's distance, and they two, and
+the dog.
+
+The woman turned coolly round and looked through the paling, as if she
+supposed he had seen something behind her. 'Was't a haër?' she asked,
+eyeing him with interest; 'ye ain't feared o' the like o' that?'
+
+'No, it was not a hare; I did not see a hare.'
+
+'What was't ye seed then?' she asked, looking at him with bold
+determination.
+
+'What did I see?' he repeated vaguely, 'I saw nothing.'
+
+'Thought ye looked as if ye'd seed something',' she remarked
+incredulously, and then went on eating and feeding the dog, as
+indifferent to his presence as she was to the presence of the weeds.
+
+'Are you going far to-night?' he asked at length, thinking he would make
+more progress toward friendship before he sat down.
+
+'To th' town.'
+
+'Indeed, as far as that! Which town, may I ask?' he said, with
+mechanical politeness, for his mind was running on what he had seen.
+
+'Yer a fool and noä mistake,' she replied with emphasis. 'There's but
+one town wi'in a walk.'
+
+'On the contrary, I am considered a man of great learning,' he replied,
+with more eager self-assertion than he could hitherto have believed
+possible under the circumstances.
+
+'Is't larning ye've got?' she asked, with much greater interest than she
+had before evinced.
+
+'Yes; I am a man who spends his life seeking for knowledge.'
+
+'Are ye wiser ner parson?'
+
+'Very much wiser,' replied the man of science, with honest conviction.
+
+She looked much more impressed than he had hoped; and thinking that he
+had made himself sufficiently interesting, he began to speak about her
+own affairs, supposing they would please her better.
+
+'You are not a married woman?' he said, looking at her ringless hand.
+
+'Married or no,' she replied, 'it's nowt to you.'
+
+'I beg your pardon; everything which concerns such a beautiful woman
+must be of interest to me.'
+
+At that she laughed outright in hard derision, and went on eating her
+bread and meat.
+
+'But won't you tell me if you are married or not?' he pleaded, pursuing
+a subject which he thought must interest her. He was surprised to see
+the sudden expression of womanly sorrow that came over her face, giving
+her eyes new depth and light. She answered him sadly, looking past him
+into the sunny distance--
+
+'No, nor like to be.'
+
+'I must disagree with you there. If you are not married yet, I am sure
+you will be very soon. I never saw a more likely lassie than yourself.'
+
+Manlike, he was quite unconscious of the consummate impertinence of the
+form this compliment had taken; but afterwards he realised it when his
+idle words recurred to his mind.
+
+She turned her eyes full upon him, and said with energy: 'Ye know nowt
+at all about it;' and then added more meditatively, 'neither do
+parson.'
+
+She had been so absorbed in her thoughts for a few minutes that she had
+ceased to stroke the dog, and, resenting this, it raised its silky head
+from her lap and laid it upon her breast. Thus reminded, she smiled down
+into the eyes of the dog and caressed it, pressing its head closer
+against her bosom. The man stood a few paces away, watching these two
+beautiful creatures as they sat in the hazy autumn sunlight, with their
+background of weeds and moss-grown paling. He felt baffled and
+perplexed, for he knew that he stood apart, excluded from their
+companionship by something he could not define. So intolerable did this
+feeling become that he resolved to break through it, and made a hasty
+movement to sit down beside them; but, as he stepped forward, he was
+suddenly aware that there was another man in the place he would have
+taken, embracing and protecting the girl. He swore a loud oath, and
+flung himself backwards to stand by the hedge on the opposite side of
+the road, that he might the better review the situation. It was all as
+it had been before--that quiet autumn landscape--only the woman appeared
+much interested in his sudden movements.
+
+'What was't ye seed; was't a snaïke?' she inquired loudly, at the same
+time moving her skirts to look for that dangerous reptile.
+
+'No,' he shouted, putting his whole energy into the word.
+
+'What was't ye seed, cutting them capers as if ye was shot, an' saying
+o' words neyther fit fur heaven above nor earth beneath?'
+
+So loudly did she ask, and so resolutely did she wait for an answer,
+that he was forced into speech. 'I don't know,' he said, with another
+oath, milder than the first.
+
+'Well, sure enow,' she said, still speaking loudly, ''ere's somethin'
+awful queer, ye says yer a man that's got larning more ner parson, an'
+ye sees somethin', an' can't tell what ye's seed. That's twice this
+short while; are ye often took bad the like o' that?'
+
+The bold derision of this speech fell without effect upon its object,
+because he perceived a gleam of mischievous intelligence in her eyes
+which she had intended to conceal, but she was no adept in the art of
+concealment. The conviction that the woman knew perfectly what he had
+seen and did not in reality despise him for his conduct, took the sting
+from her jeers but did not make his position pleasanter. The repeated
+shock to his nerves had produced a chilly feeling of depression and
+almost fear, which he could not immediately shake off, and he stood back
+against the opposite hedge, with his half-eaten bread in his hand,
+conscious that he looked and felt more like a whipped schoolboy than, as
+he had fondly imagined when he first stopped the woman, the hero of a
+rural love scene. That was nothing; he was, as he had described
+himself, a man who devoted his life to the search for knowledge, and
+personal consciousness was almost lost in the intense curiosity which
+the circumstances had aroused in him. With the trained mind of one
+accustomed to investigation, he instantly perceived that his only clue
+to the explanation of the phenomenon lay in the personality of the
+woman. His one eager desire was to probe her thought through and
+through, but how was he to approach the interior portals of a mind
+guarded by a will as free and strong as his own? He would fain have
+bound down her will with strong cords and analysed the secrets of her
+mind with ruthless vivisection. But how? His tact, trained by all the
+subtleties of a life cast in cultured social relations, was unequal to
+the occasion, and, fearing to lose ground by a false step, he remained
+silent.
+
+The woman finished eating and shook herself free of the crumbs. He
+supposed, almost with a sense of desperation, that she was about to
+leave him before he could begin his inquiry, but instead of moving she
+motioned him to come near, and he went, and stood on the road in front
+of her.
+
+'Ye says yer a man o' larning, an' I b'lieves ye, she began.
+
+He was about to reply that he was only a seeker after truth, but he was
+checked by the knowledge that she would accept no answer she could not
+understand. He fell back on the truth as it was to her, and said
+simply, 'Yes.'
+
+'I wants to ask ye two questions; will ye answer like an honest man?'
+
+She had laid aside all her loud rudeness, and was speaking with intense
+earnestness--an earnestness that won his entire respect.
+
+'I will indeed answer you honestly, if I can answer.'
+
+'Then tell me this--What's the soäl o' a man?'
+
+He stood with lips sealed, partly by surprise at the question, and
+partly by self-acknowledged ignorance of the answer.
+
+'The soäl o' a man,' she repeated more distinctly, 'ye knows what I mean
+surely?'
+
+Yes, he knew what she meant, but he knew also that his own most honest
+convictions hovered between a materialist philosophy and faith in the
+spiritual unseen. If at that moment he could have decided between the
+two he would gladly have done so, for the sake of the eager woman
+sitting at his feet, but he knew that he did not know which was the
+truth.
+
+She, still labouring under the impression that she had not made her
+meaning plain, endeavoured to explain. 'Ye knows when a man dies,
+there's two parts to him; one they buries, and one goes--' she pointed
+upward with her thumb, not irreverently, but as merely wishing to
+indicate a fact without the expense of words.
+
+'Yes, I understand what you mean,' he said slowly, 'and under that
+theory, the soul----'
+
+'Under what?' she said sharply.
+
+'I mean that if you say the soul is divided from the body at death----'
+
+'But it is--ain't it?' she interrupted.
+
+'Yes, it is,' he said, feeling that it was better to perjure himself
+than to shake her faith.
+
+'Go on,' she said, 'for parson says the soäl is the thing inside that
+thinks; but when a man's luny, ye knows--off his head like--has he no
+soäl then? I've looked i' the Catechis', an' i' Bible, an' i'
+Prayer-book, an' fur the life o' me, I doän't know.'
+
+'I don't wonder at that,' he said, with mechanical compassion, casting
+about in his mind for some possible motive for her extraordinary
+vehemence.
+
+He felt as certain, standing there, that this was a true woman, true to
+all the highest attributes of her nature, as if he had been able to
+weigh all the acts of her life and find none of them wanting. In the
+midst of his perplexity he found time to ask himself whence he had this
+knowledge. Did he read it in the lines of her face, or was it some
+unseen influence of her mind upon his own? He had only time to question,
+not to answer, for she looked up in his face with the trust and
+expectation of a child, awaiting his words.
+
+He spoke. 'You say when a man dies he is divided into two parts--the
+body that rots and the part "that lives elsewhere."' He was speaking
+very slowly and distinctly. 'If that part of a man which lives goes to
+Heaven, where everything is quite different from this, he could have no
+use for most of his thoughts--what we call opinions, for they are formed
+on what he sees, and hears, and feels here. Look here!'--he held out his
+arm and moved it up and down from the elbow--'there are nerves and
+muscles; behind them is something we call life--we don't know what it
+is. And behind your thoughts and feeling there is the same life--we
+don't know what it is. The part of you that you say goes to Heaven must
+be that life. If you ask me what I think, I think the greater part of
+what you call mind is part of your body. If your body can live a spirit
+life, so can it; but it would need as much changing first.'
+
+It was most extraordinary to him to see the avidity with which she drank
+in his words, and also the intelligence with which she seemed to master
+them, for she cried--
+
+'What's i' the soäl then? When ye _will_ to do a thing agen all costs,
+is that i' the soäl?'
+
+'Certainly the spirit must be the self, and the will, as far as we know,
+is that self--more that self than anything else is.' He spoke in the
+pleased tone of a schoolmaster who finds that the mind beneath his
+touch is being moulded into the right shape; and besides he supposed he
+could question her next.
+
+'I _knowed_ that,' she said, with an intensity of conviction that
+confounded her listener, 'I _knowed_ the soäl was will.'
+
+'It must be intelligence, and will, and probably memory,' he said,
+beguiled into the idea that she was interested in the nicety of his
+theory, 'but not in any sense that activity of mind which shows itself
+in the opinions most men conceive so important.'
+
+But of this she took no heed. 'When a man's off his head or par'lysed,
+wi' no more life in him than babe unborn--yet when he's living and not
+dead--where's his soäl then? Parson he says the soäl's sleeping inside
+him afore going to glory, like a grub afore it turns into a fly; but I
+asked him how he knowed, and he just said he knowed, an' I mun b'lieve,
+and that's no way to answer an honest woman.'
+
+'He did not really know.'
+
+'Well, tell what you knows,' she said.
+
+'Indeed, I do not know anything about it.'
+
+'Ye doän't know!'
+
+'I do not know.'
+
+The animation of hope slowly faded from her face, giving place to a look
+of bitter disappointment. It was as if a little child, suddenly denied
+some darling wish, should have strength to restrain its tears and mutely
+acquiesce in the inevitable.
+
+'Then there's nowt to say,' she said, rising, sullen in the first moment
+of pain.
+
+'But you'll tell me why you have asked?' he begged; 'I am very sorry
+indeed that I cannot answer.'
+
+'Noä, I'll not tell ye, fur it's no concern o' yours; but thank ye
+kindly, sir, all the same. Yer an honest man. Good-day.'
+
+With that she walked resolutely away, nor would she accept his offer of
+payment for the food she had given. He stood and watched her, feeling
+checkmated, until he saw her exchange greetings with the ploughman, who
+reached the end of his furrow as she passed the side of the field.
+Seeing this, he took up his specimens and walked slowly in the same
+direction, waiting for the ploughman's next return. As he stood at the
+hedge he noticed that the labourer, who appeared to be a middle-aged man
+of average intelligence, surveyed him with more than ordinary interest.
+
+'Good-day,' he said.
+
+'Good-day, sir.' There was a clank of the chains, a shout and groan to
+the horses, and they stopped beside the hedge.
+
+'Can you tell me the name of the young woman who passed down the road
+just now?'
+
+'Jen Wilkes, sir; "Jen o' the glen" they calls 'er, for she lives in the
+holler down there, a bit by on the town road, out of West Chilton.'
+
+'She has not lived here long, surely; she seems a north country woman by
+her speech.'
+
+'Very like, sir; it's a while by sin' she came with 'er mother to live
+i' Chilton.'
+
+It was evident that the ploughman had much more to say, and that he
+wished to say it, but his words did not come easily.
+
+'Can you tell me anything more about her?' The man rubbed his coarse
+beard down upon his collar, and clanked his chains, and made guttural
+sounds to his horses, which possibly explained to them the meaning he
+did not verbally express. Then he looked up and made a facial
+contortion, which clearly meant that there was more to be said
+concerning Jen if any one could be found brave enough to say it.
+
+'I feel assured she is everything that is good and respectable.'
+
+At this the ploughman could contain himself no longer, but heaving up
+one shoulder and looking round to see that there was no one to hear, he
+blurted out--''Ave you seen 'er shadder, sir?'
+
+'Her what?'
+
+''Er shadder. I seen you so long with 'er on the road I thought maybe
+you'd tried to 'ave a kiss. Gentlemen mostly thinks a sight of Jen's
+looks; an' it ain't no harm as I knows on to kiss a tidy girl, if
+y'ain't married, or th' missus don't object.'
+
+'And if I did, what has that to do with it? What do you mean by her
+shadow?'
+
+'Oh, I dunno; I h'ain't seen nothing myself; but they says, whenever any
+has tried to be friendly with 'er, they's seed something not just o' the
+right sort. They calls it 'er shadder--but I dunno, I h'ain't seen
+nothing myself.'
+
+When we are suddenly annoyed, by whatever cause, we are apt to vent our
+annoyance upon the person nearest to us; and at this unlooked-for
+corroboration of his unpleasant vision, the gentleman said rudely,
+'You're not such a fool as to believe such confounded trash as that, are
+you?'
+
+'No sir, I'm no fool,' said the ploughman sulkily, starting his horses
+to go up the furrow. In vain the other called out an attempted apology,
+and tried to delay him; the accustomed shout and clank of the chains was
+all he got in answer. The birds that had settled upon the field rose
+again at the return of the horses, and curveted in a long fluttering
+line above their heads. The man on the road turned reluctantly away,
+and, too perplexed almost for thought, walked off to catch his
+home-bound train.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+
+The man of science, Skelton by name, passed some seven days in business
+and pleasure at home among men of his own class, and then, impelled by
+an intolerable curiosity, he went to seek the home of the woman with
+whom he had so strange a meeting. Concerning the mad delusion from which
+he had suffered in her presence, his mind would give him no rest. Some
+further effort he must make to understand the cause of an experience
+which he could not reason from his memory. The effort might be futile;
+he could form no plan of action; yet he found himself again upon the
+highroad which led from the nearest station to the village of West
+Chilton.
+
+The autumn leaf that had bedecked the trees was lying upon the ground,
+its brightness soiled and tarnished. The cloud rack hung above, a vault
+of gloom in which the upper winds coursed sadly.
+
+'This is the field,' said Skelton within himself. 'The ploughman has
+finished his work, but the crows are still flapping about it. I wonder
+if they are the same crows! That is the clump of weeds by which she sat;
+it was as red as flame then, but now it is colourless as the cinders of
+a fire that is gone out.'
+
+His words were like straws, showing the current of his thoughts.
+
+Just then in the west the cloud masses in the horizon, being moved by
+the winds, rent asunder, exposing the land to the yellow blaze of the
+setting sun. The distant hills stood out against the glow in richer
+blue, and far and near the fields took brighter hues--warm brown of
+earth ready to yield the next harvest, yellow of stubble lands at rest,
+bright green of slopes that fed the moving cows. There were luminous
+shadows, too, that gathered instantly in the copses, as if they were the
+forms of dryads who could sport unseen in the murk daylight, but must
+fly under each shrub for refuge in the sudden sunshine. Close at his
+feet lay the patch of cabbages--purple cabbages they were, throwing back
+from each glossy leaf and stalk infinite gradations of crimson light.
+Parts of the leaves were not glossy but were covered with opaque bloom
+of tender blue, and here and there a leaf had been broken, disclosing
+scarlet veins. They were very beautiful--Skelton stood looking down into
+their depth of colour.
+
+It had been difficult for him to conjecture a possible cause for the
+phantom he had thought he saw a week before, but one theory which had
+floated in his mind had been that from these cabbages, which had lain a
+trifle too long in sun and moisture; gases might have arisen which had
+disturbed his senses. It was true that his theory did not account for
+other instances of the same optical delusion to which the talk of the
+ploughman had seemed to point, but Skelton could not bring himself to
+attach much importance to his words. He meditated on them now as he
+stood.
+
+'I dare not go to the young woman and ask her to show me her "shadder."
+If she knew I was here she would only try to defeat my purpose. I _can_
+only interview her neighbours; and this first rustic whom I questioned
+shut himself up like an oyster; if all the rest act in this way, what
+can I do? And if I can hear all the vulgar superstition there is to be
+heard, will there be in the whole of it the indication of a single
+fact?'
+
+So he mused by the road-side while the sun hung in the dream temple of
+fire made by the chasm of cloud. Then the earth moved onward into the
+night, and he walked on upon his curious errand.
+
+The darkness of evening had already fallen, and he was still about a
+mile from the village when he discerned a woman coming towards him on
+the road. It was the very woman about whom his mind was occupied. There
+was a house at one side; the gate leading to it was close to him, and,
+not wishing to be recognised at the moment, he turned in through it to
+wait in the darkness of some garden shrubs till she had passed.
+
+But she did not pass. She came up, walking more and more slowly, till
+she stood on the road outside the gate. She looked up and down the road
+with a hesitating air, and then, clasping her hands behind her, leaned
+back against a heavy gate-post and composed herself to wait. There was
+light enough to see her, for there was a moon behind the clouds, and
+also what was left of the daylight in the west was glimmering full upon
+her. The house was close to the road--apparently an old
+farmstead--turning blank dark walls and roofs to them, so that it was
+evidently uninhabited or else inhabited only at the other side. The
+young woman looked up at it, apparently not without distrust, but even
+to her keen scrutiny there was no sign of life. For the rest, the road
+lay through a glen, the village was out of sight, and the hills around
+them were like the hills in Hades--silent, shadowy and cold.
+
+It seemed an unearthly thing that she should have come there to stand
+and lean against the gate, as if to shut him into his self-sought trap;
+and there was no impatience about this woman--she stood quite still in
+that dark, desolate place, as though she was perfectly contented to wait
+and wait--for what? how long?--these were the questions he asked
+himself. Was this dark house the abode of evil spirits with which she
+was in league? and if so, what result would accrue to him? There are
+circumstances which suggest fantastic speculations to the most learned
+man.
+
+At length he heard a footfall. He could not tell where at first, but, as
+it approached, he saw a countryman in a carter's blouse coming across
+the opposite field. He got through the hedge and came toward the gate.
+Then the girl spoke in her strong voice and north-country accent, but
+Skelton would hardly have known the voice again, it was so soft and sad.
+
+'I've been waiting on ye, Johnnie; some women thinks shame to be first
+at the trysting, but that's not me when I loves ye true.'
+
+At this Skelton by an impulse of honour thought to pass out of ear-shot,
+and then another motive held him listening. He thought of the ghostly
+thing he had seen by this girl, of the wild tale the ploughman had told.
+The passion of investigation, which had grown lusty by long exercise,
+rose within him triumphing over his personal inclinations. Too much was
+at stake to miss a chance like this. Honour in this situation seemed
+like a flimsy sentiment. He waited for the answer of the girl's lover
+with breathless interest.
+
+The man was evidently a fine young fellow, tall and strong, and when he
+spoke it was not without a touch of manly indignation in his tone.
+
+'If you love me true, Jen, I can't think what the meaning of your doings
+is. It's two years since you came to live in the glen, and you can't say
+as you've not understood my meaning plain since the first I saw you;
+it's to take you to church and take care of you as a woman ought to be
+took care of by a man. And you know I could do it, Jen, for my wages is
+good; but you've shied an' shied whenever you've seen me, and baulked
+an' baulked when you couldn't shy, so as no skittish mare is half so
+bad.'
+
+'Because, Johnnie, I wouldn't ha' yer heart broke the way mine is. I
+loved ye too true for that.'
+
+'But what's to hinder that we may be like other folks is? There's
+troubles comes to all, but we can bear them like the rest. What's to
+hinder? I thought there was some one else, an' that you didn't like. God
+knows, Jen, if that 'ad been the way, I'd never 'ev troubled you again;
+but last night when we heard your mother was took bad, an' mother an' me
+stepped round to see what we could do, an' you let on as you did 'ave a
+caring for me, I says,--"Let's be cried in the church," so as your
+mother could die happy, if die she must. But when you says, "no," and as
+you'd meet me here an' tell me why, I was content to wait an' come here;
+an' now what I want to know is--why? what's to hinder, Jen?'
+
+'Ye knows as well as me the tales about me, Johnnie.'
+
+'Tales!' said the young man passionately; 'what tales? All along I've
+knocked down any man as 'ud say a word against you.'
+
+'Ay, but the women, Johnnie; ye couldn't knock them down; that's why a
+woman's tale's allus the worst.'
+
+'An' what can they say? the worst is that if any man comes nigh you for
+a kiss or the like o' that--and no offence, Jen, but you're an uncommon
+tidy girl to kiss--he sees another man betwixt himself an' you. Fools
+they be to believe such trash! If you'd give me the leave--which I'm not
+the fellow to take without you say the word--I'd soon show as no shadder
+'ud come betwixt.'
+
+He came a step nearer, reproachful in his frank respect, as if he would
+claim the liberty he asked; but she drew back, holding up her hand to
+ward him off.
+
+'I believe you half believe the nonsense yourself, Jen.'
+
+'Heaven knows, Johnnie, I've reason to b'lieve it weel, none knows
+better ner me. It's that I've comed to tell ye to-night; an' there's
+nowt fur it but we mun part. An' if I trouble yer peace staying here i'
+the glen, I'll go away out o' yer sight. It wasn't a wish o' mine to
+bring ye trouble. None knows better ner me how hard trouble's to bear.'
+
+Her voice trembled as if with some physical pain; he only answered by a
+sound of incredulous surprise.
+
+'I'll tell ye the whole on't, Johnnie. Ye sees, we lived i'
+Yarm--mother and me. Mother, she sewed books fur a book-binding man; an'
+we'd a little coming in as father'd saved. Well, mother, she was feared
+lest I'd fall into rough ways like, an' she kep' me in a good bit, an'
+there was a man as helped i' the book-binding----' she stopped, and then
+said half under her breath--
+
+'His name was Dan'el, Dan'el McGair, it was.'
+
+'Go on, Jen.'
+
+'He was a leän man and white to look at. He was very pious, and knowed
+lots o' things. Least, I don't know if he was pious, fur he didn't go to
+church, but he'd his own thoughts o' things, an' he was steady, an' kep'
+himself to himself. He niver telled me his thoughts o' things--he said
+it 'ud unsettle me like--but he taught me reading; an' mother, she liked
+his coming constant to see us. As fur as I knows, he was a good man; but
+I tell ye, Johnnie, that man had a will--whatsoever thing Dan'el McGair
+wanted, that thing he mun have, if he died i' the getting. He was about
+forty, an' I was nigh on twenty; it was after he'd taught me reading,
+an' whenever I'd go out here or there, or do this or that he didn't
+like, he'd turn as white as snow, an' tremble like a tree-stem i' the
+wind, an' dare me to do anything as he didn't like. Ye sees he allus had
+that power over mother to make her think like him, but I wouldn't give
+in to him. If I'd gived in--well, I doänt know what 'ud 'a comed. God
+knows what did come were bad enow.' She stopped speaking and toed the
+damp ground--crushing her boot into the frosty mud and drawing it
+backwards and forwards as she stood against the gate.
+
+'Go on, Jen.'
+
+'Ye sees, what he willed to get, that he mun have, an' at the end he
+willed to have me--mind, body, an' soäl. He'd 'a had me, only I made a
+stand fur my life. Mother, she was all on his side, only she didn't want
+fur me to do what I wouldn't; but she cried like, an' talked o' his
+goodness--an' Dan'el, he wouldn't ask out an' out, or I could 'a told
+him my mind an' 'a done wi' it; but he went on giving us, an' paying
+things, an' mother she took it all, till I was fairly mad wi' the shame
+an' anger on't. I doänt say as I acted as I ought; I knowed I'd a power
+over him to drive him wild like wi' a smile or a soft word, an' power's
+awful dangerous fur a young thing--it's like as if God gave the wind a
+will o' its own, an' didn't howd it in His own hand. Then I was feared
+o' Dan'el's power over mother, an' give in times when I ought to 'a held
+my own. An' I liked to have him fur a sarvint to me, an' I led him on
+like. So it went on--he niver doubted I'd marry wi' him, an' I held out
+fur my life. Then at th' end, some words we had made things worse. 'Twas
+i' spring--i' March I think--he walked out miles an' miles on the bad
+roads to bring me the first flowers. I was book-binding then, out late
+at night, an' I comed home to find he'd left them fur me--snowdrops they
+was, an' moss wi' a glint o' green light on't, like sun shining through
+th' trees; an' there was a grey pigeon's feather he'd picked up
+somewheres, all clean and unroughed, like a bit o' the sky at th' dawn;
+an' there was a twig wi' a wee pink toädstood on't, all pink an' red.
+The sight o' them fairly made me mad. 'Twas bad enow to buy me wi' munny
+an' the things munny can buy, but it seemed he'd take the very thoughts
+o' God A'mighty and use them to get his will. I were mad; but if he'd
+comed to our house I couldn't 'a spoke fur mother's being there; so I
+just took them bits o' Spring i' my hand, an' went out i' the dark to
+his house, an' went into his room, an' threw 'em on the floor, an'
+stamped 'em wi' my foot, an' I told him how he'd sneaked round to bind
+me to him, an' as how I'd die first. I was mad, an' talked till I
+couldn't speak fur my voice give out, an' that wasn't soon. He just sat
+still hearing me, but he was white, an' shook like a man wi' the palsy.
+They said he'd had fits once an' that made him nervous, but I didn't
+think o' him like that. He was strong, fur he could make most all men do
+as he wanted. He was spoiling my life wi' his strength, an' I didn't
+think o' him as weakly. When I'd raged at him an' couldn't say more, I
+went out an' was going home i' the dark, howding by the wall, as weak as
+a baby; an' just afore I got home, I seed him stand just in front' o'
+me. I thought he'd runned after me--mebbe he did--but I've thought
+since, mebbe not, that his body mayn't 'a been there at all; but anyway
+I seed him stand just afore me, wi' his eyes large and like fire, an'
+him all white and trembling. He said, "I tell ye, Jen, I will have ye
+mine, an' as long as I live no other man shall," an' wi' that I went
+past him into the house.'
+
+'Go on, Jen,' said the carter.
+
+'All I knows is that the word he spoke was a true word. Next day they
+comed and telled us he was found all par'lysed in his chair, an' he
+couldn't move nor speak. From that time the doctors 'ud sometimes come
+from a long way off; they said as there was somethin' strange about his
+sickness. I doänt know what they said, I niver seed him again. There's
+part o' him lies i' the bed, an' the parish feeds him, an' the doctors
+they talk about him. I niver seed him again sin' that night, but I knows
+what he said was true, an' there's many a man as 'as seed him anear me
+sin' that day. I tell ye, Johnnie, there's trouble to face i' this world
+worse ner death,--not worse ner our own death, fur that's most times a
+good thing, but worse ner the death o' them we love most true--an' worse
+ner parting i' this world, Johnnie, an' worse _a'most_ than sin itself;
+but, thank God, not _quite_ worse ner sin. But I never knowed, lad, how
+bad my own trouble was--though it's a'most drove me hard at times, not
+recking much what I said or did--I niver knowed, my lad, how bad it was
+till I knowed it was yer trouble too.'
+
+The young carter stood quite silent. His blue blouse glimmered white in
+the darkness and flapped a little in the wind, but he stood still as a
+rock, with his strong arms crossed upon his breast, and the silence
+seemed filled with the expression of thoughts for which words would have
+been useless. It was evident that her strong emotion had brought to his
+mind a conviction of the truth of her words which could not have been
+conveyed by the words alone. So they stood there, he and she, in all the
+rugged power of physical strength, confronted with their life's problem.
+At last, after they had been silent a long time, and it seemed that he
+had said many things, and that she had answered him, he appeared
+suddenly to sum up his thoughts to their conclusion, and stretched out
+both his strong arms to take her and all her griefs into his heart. It
+seemed in the darkness as though he did clasp her and did not, for she
+gave a low terrible cry and fled from him--a cry such as a spirit might
+give who, having ascended to Heaven's gate with toil and prayer, falls
+backward into Hell; and she ran from him--it seemed that with only her
+human strength she could not have fled so fast. He followed her, dashing
+with all his strength into the darkness. They went towards the village,
+and in the mud their footfalls were almost silent.
+
+The listener came out of his hiding and went back on the road by which
+he had come.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+
+Next morning Skelton travelled northward to Yarm. After some difficulty
+he succeeded in discovering the paralytic whom he sought. The medical
+interest which had at first been aroused by the case appeared to have
+died away; and it was only after some time spent in interviewing
+officials that he at last found the man, Daniel McGair. A parish
+apothecary had him in charge. The apothecary was a coarse good-natured
+fellow, one of that class of ignorant men upon whose brains the dregs of
+a refined agnosticism have settled down in the form of arrogant
+assumption. He had enough knowledge of the external matters of science
+to know, upon receiving Skelton's card, that he was receiving a visitor
+of distinction. 'Yes, sir,' he said, leading the way out of the
+dispensary, 'I'll exhibit the case. I don't know that there's much
+that's remarkable about it. Of course, to us who take an interest in
+science, all these things are interesting in their way.'
+
+It was quite clear he did not know in what way the most special interest
+accrued to this case.
+
+'No sir, he ain't in the Union; he saved, and bought his cottage before
+his stroke, so that's where he is. He ain't got no kith or kin, as far
+as we know.'
+
+It was bright noonday when they walked through the narrow streets of
+mean houses, passing among the numerous children which swarm in such
+localities. The sun was shining, the children were shouting, the women
+were gossiping at their doors, when the apothecary stopped at a low
+one-roomed cottage, the home of Daniel McGair. He opened the door with a
+key and went in, as though the house were empty.
+
+It was a plain bare room; there was no curtain on the window and the sun
+shone in. There was a smouldering fire in the grate, a bookshelf on one
+side, still holding its dusty and unused volumes; there was an
+arm-chair--was that the chair in which he had sat to see his love-gifts
+trampled down, in which he had received that mysterious stroke from the
+unseen enemy? There was also a table in the room, and a chest, and, in
+the corner, a pallet-bed, upon which lay the withered body of a man.
+That was all, except some prints that hung upon the wall, dusty and
+lifeless-looking. Such changes do years of disuse make in dwellings
+which, when inhabited, have been replete with human interest. Even yet
+there was abundant indication that the room had once been the abode of
+one who put much of his own personality into his surroundings. The chair
+and the chest were carved with a rude device--the Devil grappling with
+the Son of God. The prints were crude allegorical representations of
+Life and Death. The books were full of the violent polemic of the
+Reformation. A flowerpot stood on the window-sill; perhaps ten years ago
+it had had a flower in it, but now it held the apothecary's empty
+phials. Everything proclaimed the room tenantless.
+
+Skelton walked to the bed and looked down upon it with profound
+curiosity. Only the head lay above the coverlet; withered and shrunken
+it was, yet the brow was high, and it was plain that the features had
+been fine and strong, betokening the once keen and sensitive
+nerve--there was nothing sensitive now; all thought and feeling had for
+ever fled. The half-shut lids disclosed the vacant eyes; the hair lay
+clammy and matted on the wrinkled brow; there was nothing of life left
+but the breath.
+
+'It's my opinion, sir, that he'll live out his natural time. It's a
+theory of mine that we are all born with a certain length of life in us,
+and, barring accident, that time we'll live. Well, of course this man
+had the accident of his stroke, which by rights ought to have done for
+him, but by some fluke he weathered it, and now he'll live out his time.
+If one could find out his ancestors and see how long they each lived,
+with a little calculation I could tell you how long he'd lie there.'
+With that the apothecary poked his patient in the cheek, and jerked him
+by the arm, to show Skelton how completely consciousness was gone. He
+would have treated a corpse with more respect: the lowest of us has some
+reverence for death.
+
+Just then the door, which had been left ajar, was pushed open, and a
+slight, sweet-faced woman came in from the street. She was evidently a
+district Bible-reader, but, although perceiving that she had entered a
+house where she was not needed, she advanced as far as the bed and
+looked down upon it with a passion of tenderness and pity depicted on
+her face.
+
+'Bless you, mum, he ain't suff'ring,' said the apothecary.
+
+'I was thinking of his soul, not of his body,' she said. 'I was
+wondering if he had been prepared to meet his Creator.'
+
+'Where do you suppose his soul is?' asked Skelton curiously. He asked
+the question in all reverence; she was not a lady apparently, only a
+working woman, but there was about her the strong majesty of a noble
+life.
+
+'He is not dead yet,' she replied with evident astonishment.
+
+'Lor, mum,' said the apothecary, 'his brain ain't in working order just
+at present, and as for his spirit apart from his body, that's an unknown
+quantity we scientific men don't deal in.'
+
+She looked at them both with a look of indescribable compassion, and
+went away. Skelton would fain have followed the woman out into the sunny
+street, but he remained to pay that courtesy which was due to the
+brusque good nature of his companion.
+
+After examining the room and finding nothing more of interest, he went
+and talked over the physical circumstances of the case with the parish
+doctor. He did not gain much information about the patient's diseased
+body, and naturally none whatever concerning the whereabouts of his
+soul. The peculiar interest of the case he did not mention to any one.
+Afterwards he went back to the neighbourhood by himself, and
+endeavoured, as quietly as possible, to find out what traces the man's
+past life had left upon the minds of his neighbours. Ten years bring
+more change to any community than we are apt to suppose; and among the
+poor, where rude necessity rules rather than choice, there is more
+change than among the rich. There were a few who had seen McGair moving
+up and down the streets, and knew him to have been a book-binder by
+trade. One or two remembered the widow Wilkes and her daughter, and
+could affirm that they had been friends of McGair and had moved away
+after his illness. Whither they had gone no one knew.
+
+When there was nothing more to be seen or heard at Yarm, Skelton went
+home. Again he threw himself into all the daily interests of his life in
+order that he might think the more dispassionately of the circumstances
+of this strange case. In truth it was not now entirely out of curiosity
+that he was tempted to think of it; his sympathy had been stirred by the
+courage and sorrow of the woman whom he had so idly accosted on that
+bright autumn day only a few weeks before. She had appealed to him
+because he had knowledge. Was all his knowledge, then, powerless to help
+her? He believed that the shadowy appearance which dogged her footsteps
+could only be some projection of mind, whether or not its cause was the
+strong will of the paralytic transcending the ordinary limits of time
+and space, he could not tell. Certainly no discussion as to its nature
+and origin could in any way aid its victim, and he could only fall back
+upon the comfort material kindness and sympathy could give. At last he
+went down once more to West Chilton, this time for the express purpose
+of seeing Jen.
+
+He found the cottage in the glen road near the village, and his knock
+was answered by Jen herself. She recognised him instantly, but was too
+pre-occupied to take much interest in the fact of his coming. He learned
+that her mother had just died, and that the neighbours were in the
+house, keeping vigil during the few sad days preceding the burial. It
+was evident that there was little real sympathy between them and the
+bereaved daughter, so he easily persuaded her to come out and walk a bit
+up the road with him. She did so, evidently supposing that he had some
+business with her, but too deeply buried in her sorrow to inquire what
+it was.
+
+They came to the house by the roadside where he had last seen her and
+she had been unconscious of his presence. The place seemed to rouse her
+from the dulness of grief, and she suddenly raised her head, like a
+beautiful animal scenting some cause of excitement, and stood still,
+looking round with brightened eyes, taking long deep breaths in the pure
+frosty air. No doubt she had passed the same road many times since the
+tryst, but the mind which has lately stood face to face with death
+perceives more clearly the true relations of all things to itself; and,
+in this spot, among all life's shiftings of the things that seem and are
+not, she had stood and wrestled with the reality of her ghostly bondage.
+
+All about them the hills were covered with the year's first snow. How
+bright the light was upon their heights! how soft the shadows that
+gathered in their slopes! The fields were white also, and the
+hedgerows. Above them the sky was veiled with snow clouds, soft and
+grey, except that at the verge of east and west there were faint
+metallic lines, such as one sees upon clouds across snowfields, like the
+pale reflections of a distant fire. Jen had come to a full stop now. She
+raised her hands to her face and sobbed out like a little child.
+
+Skelton stood by her, feeling his own feebleness. 'I know you are in
+great trouble,' he said.
+
+Her sobs did not last long; she soon mastered them, not by any art of
+concealment but by rude force. Then standing shame-faced, with
+half-averted head, she wiped her eyes with her apron.
+
+'Yes, sir, I'm in great trouble, greater ner ye can know, fur death's
+neither here nor there--it's living that's hard. Parson, he speaks out
+about preparing to die, but to my mind it takes a sight more preparing
+to know how to go on living.'
+
+'I know that you have greater trouble than your mother's death. I know
+that you love a young man who loves you, and also what it is that you
+think keeps you apart from him.'
+
+'And how do you know that, sir?' she asked, still with averted face.
+
+Then he confessed, humbly enough, just how he did know it, and all that
+he knew, and told her about his visit to Yarm. When he spoke of Yarm
+and his visit to Daniel McGair she turned and looked full at him,
+drinking in every word with hungry curiosity.
+
+'Yes, sir, we left the place, an' I haven't heard o' him this nine year,
+but I knowed he wasn't dead.'
+
+'How did you know that, Jen?'
+
+'Because, sir, when God A'mighty sees fit that he should die, I'll be
+free o' him, that's all.'
+
+'And aren't you going to marry?'
+
+'Noä, sir. Johnnie an' me has talked it over, an' he says as how he'll
+wait till such time as I'm free. An' I didn't say "no" to him, fur when
+one knows what it is to love true, sir, one knows well it's noä use to
+say as this thing's best or t'other, but just it's like being taken up
+like a leaf by the wind an' moved whether one will or no. There's just
+this diff'rence betwixt true love an' the common kind--the common kind
+o' love moves ye i' the wrong way, an' true love i' the right; fur it's
+a true word the blessed St. John said when he said that love is God.'
+
+'Did St. John say that?' said Skelton.
+
+'Yes, sir, I read it to mother just afore she died. An' Johnnie's gone
+across the sea, sir, wi' his mother; he got a right good chance to
+better hisself, an' I made him go. His ship sailed the day after
+Christmas; an' I said, "Johnnie, I'll bide here, an' God 'ull take care
+o' me as well as ye could yerself;" an' I said, "Johnnie, I'll pray
+every day, night an' morning, that if ye can forget me, ye will; for if
+ye can forget, then yer love's not o' the right sort, as I could take,
+or God 'ud want ye to give; and if ye can't forget, then there's nowt to
+say but as I'll bide here." An' I said, sir, as he munna think as loving
+him made me sad, fur I was a big sight happier to love him, if he
+forgets or if he comes again.'
+
+'Will you live here; Jen, where the neighbours distrust you?'
+
+'It 'ud just be the same any other place, sir, an' here I can work i'
+the fields, spring and harvest, an' earn my own bread. I know the
+fields, sir, an' the hills--they's like friends to me now, an' I knows
+the dumb things about, an' they all knows me. It's a sight o' help one
+can get, sir, when one's down wi' the sorrow o' all the world lying on
+the heart, to have a kind look an' a word wi' the dogs an' cows when
+they comes down the hills fur the milking. An' the children they mostly
+lets come to me now, though they kep 'em from me at first.
+
+Then he told her that he had come a long way on purpose to see if he
+could help her; that he felt ashamed of having listened to her story,
+and that it would give him happiness in some way or other to make her
+life more easy. He explained that he had a great deal of money and many
+friends, and could easily give her anything that these could procure. In
+saying this he did not disguise from himself for a moment that his
+motive was mixed, and that he desired to gain some hold over her, such
+as benevolence could give, that he might further examine the problem of
+her extraordinary misfortune. Even as he spoke he marvelled at the
+strength of his respect for her, which could so outweigh his own
+interest as to make it impossible that he should interfere in her
+affairs otherwise than with all deference, as if she were a lady.
+
+When he had made it quite clear to her that he was able and willing to
+give her anything she should ask, she thought of his words a while, and
+then answered--
+
+'I thank ye, sir, but there's nowt ye can do o' that sort, fur if there
+was I'd take it from Johnnie an' none other. But there's one thing I'll
+ask, sir, an' wi' all yer kind offers ye can't but agree to it, fur it's
+not much. Ye've found out this tale o' my life; there's none else as
+knows it, save mother lying dead, an' Johnnie I telled fur love's sake,
+an' him as lies palsied i' Yarm--God A'mighty only knows, sir, what
+Dan'el McGair could tell on't--but this I ask, sir,--that ye'll keep all
+ye knows an' say nowt. I did Dan'el a great wrong, for I smiled on him
+whiles for the sake o' power; not but what he did me a worse wrong, so
+far worse that whiles I think no woman has so sore a life as me; but I
+did do him wrong, sir, and fur that reason I'll not ha' his name blazed
+abroad, hanging on to a tale as 'ud buzz i' the ears o' all. To tell it
+'ud not make _my_ life worse but better, fur now them as sees this thing
+says dark things, an' speaks o' the devil an' worse. The times ha' been
+when I cursed God an' prayed to die, but, thank Heaven, when I learned
+what love was, I learned as God A'mighty can love us in spite o' our
+wrong-doing, an' the pain it brings. Th' use o' such sore pain as mine,
+sir, isna fur us to say, or to think great things to bear it patient;
+but the use o' life, sir, to my thinking, is to keep all His creatures
+from pain if we can, an' to take God's love like the sunshine, an' be
+thankful. So I'll ask ye to keep what ye knows o' this tale an' not
+speak on't, an' go no more to Yarm; an' if ye'll give me yer hand on
+that, sir, I'll thank ye kindly.'
+
+So he gave her his hand on it, and went away.
+
+
+
+
+XII
+
+A FREAK OF CUPID
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+
+The earth was white, the firmament was white, the plumage of the wind
+was white. The wind flew between curling drift and falling cloud,
+brushing all comers with its feathers of light dry snow. At the sides of
+the road the posts and bars of log-fences stood above the drifts; on the
+side of the hill the naked maple trees formed a soft brush of grey; just
+in sight, and no more, the white tin roof and grey walls of a huge
+church and a small village were visible; all else was unbroken snow. The
+surface of an ice-covered lake, the sloping fields, the long straight
+road between the fences, were as pure, in their far-reaching whiteness,
+as the upper levels of some cloud in shadeless air.
+
+A young Englishman was travelling alone through this region. He had set
+out from the village and was about to cross the lake. A shaggy pony, a
+small sleigh, a couple of buffalo-robes and a portmanteau formed his
+whole equipment. The snow was light and dry; the pony trotted, although
+the road was soft; the young man, wrapped in his fur-lined coat, had
+little to do in driving.
+
+In England no one would set out in such a storm; but this traveller had
+learned that in Canada the snowy vast is regarded as a plaything, or a
+good medium of transit, or at the worst, an encumbrance to be plodded
+through as one plods through storms of rain. He had found that he was
+not expected to remain at an inn merely because it snowed, and, being a
+man of spirit, he had on this day, as on others, done what was expected
+of him.
+
+To-day, in the snow and wind, there was a slight difference from the
+storms of other days. The innkeeper, who had given him his horse an hour
+before by the walls of the great tin-roofed church, had looked at the
+sky and the snow, and asked if he knew the road well; but this had been
+accepted as an ignorant distrust of the foreign gentleman. Having
+learned his lesson, that through falling snow he must travel, into the
+heart of this greater snowstorm he travelled, valiant, if somewhat
+doubtful.
+
+When he descended upon the ice of the lake he was no longer accompanied
+by the grey length of the log-fences. This road across the lake had been
+well tracked after former snowfalls, and so the untrodden snow rose
+high on either side; branches of fir and cedar, stuck at short intervals
+in these snow walls, marked out the way. The pony ceased to trot. The
+driver was only astonished that this cessation of speed had not come
+sooner.
+
+Standing up in his sleigh and looking round he could see two or three
+other sleighs travelling across nearer the village. The village he could
+no longer see, scarcely even the hill, nor was there any communication
+over the deep untrodden snow between his road and that other on which
+there were travellers.
+
+Another hour passed, and now, as he went on slowly up the length of the
+lake, all sound and sight of other sleighs were lost. The cloud was not
+dark; the snow fell in such small flakes that it did not seem that even
+an infinite number of them could bury the world; the wind drifting them
+together, though strong, was not boisterous; the March evening did not
+soon darken: and yet there was something in the determined action of
+cloud and wind and snow, making the certainty that night would come with
+no abatement, which caused even the inexperienced Englishman to perceive
+that he was passing into the midst of a heavy storm.
+
+As is frequently the case with travellers, he had certain directions
+concerning the road which appeared to be adequate until he was actually
+confronted with that small portion of the earth's surface to which it
+was necessary to apply them. He was to take the first road which crossed
+his, running from side to side of the lake; but the first cross track
+appeared to him so narrow and so deeply drifted that he did not believe
+it to be the public road he sought. 'Some farm, hidden in the level
+maple bush just seen through the falling snow, sends an occasional cart
+to the village by this by-path,' so he reassured himself; and the pony,
+who had spied the track first and paused to have time to consider it, at
+the word of command obediently plodded its continuous route. A quarter
+of a mile farther on the traveller saw something on the road in front;
+as the sound of his pony's jangling bells approached, a horse lifted its
+head and shook its own bells. The horse, the sleigh which it ought to
+have been drawing, were standing still, full in the centre of the road.
+The first thought, that it was cheering to come upon the trace of
+another wayfarer, was checked by the gloomy idea that some impassable
+drift must bar the way.
+
+The other sleigh was a rough wooden platform on runners. Upon it a man,
+wrapped in a ragged buffalo-skin, lay prostrate. The Englishman jumped
+to the ground and waded till he could lay his hand upon the recumbent
+figure.
+
+At the touch the man jumped fiercely, and shook himself from sleep.
+Warm, luxurious sleep, only that, seemed to have enthralled him. His
+cheeks were red, his aquiline nose, red also, suggested some amount of
+strong drink; but his black eyes were bright, showing that the senses
+were wholly alive. He looked defiant, inquiring. He was a
+French-Canadian, apparently a _habitant_, but he understood the English
+questions addressed to him. The curious thing was that he seemed to have
+no reason for stopping. When he had with difficulty made way for the
+gentleman to pass him on the road, he followed slowly, as it seemed
+reluctantly. A mile farther on the Englishman, now far in front,
+suspected that the other had again stopped, and wondered much. The man's
+face had impressed him; the high cheek bones, the aquiline nose, the
+clearness of the eye and complexion--these had not expressed dull folly.
+
+Now the Englishman came to another cross road, wider but more deeply
+drifted than the track he was on. He turned into it and ploughed the
+drifts. When he reached the shore, where the land undulated, the drifts
+were still deeper. There were no trees here; he could see no house;
+there was hardly any evidence, except the evergreen branches stuck in
+the sides, that the road had ever been trodden. The March dusk had now
+fallen, yet not darkly. The full moon was beyond the clouds, and
+whatever wave of light came from declining day or rising night was held
+in by, and reflected softly from, the storm of pearl. After some debate
+he turned back to the lake and his former road. It must lead somewhere;
+he pressed steadily on toward the western end of the lake.
+
+The western shore was level; he hardly knew when he was upon the land.
+The glimmering night blinded the traveller; no ray of candle light was
+in sight. He began to think that he was destined to see his horse slowly
+buried, and himself to fight, as long as might be, a losing battle with
+the fiends of the air.
+
+At last the plodding pony stopped again resolutely. Long lines of
+Lombardy poplars here met the road. They were but as the ghosts of
+trees; their stately shape, their regular succession, inspired him with
+some sentiment of romance which he did not stay to define. He dimly
+discerned shrubs as if planted in a pleasure-ground. Wading and fumbling
+he found a paling and a gate. The pony turned off the high road with
+renewed courage in its motion; the Englishman, letting loose the rein,
+found himself drawn slowly up a long avenue of the ghostly poplar trees.
+The road was straight, the land was flat, the poplars were upright. The
+simplicity affected him with the notion that he was coming to an
+enchanted palace. The pony approached the door of a large house, dim to
+the sight; its huge pointed tin roof, its stone sides, mantled as they
+were with snowflakes and fringed with icicles at eaves and lintels,
+hardly gave a dark outline in the glimmering storm. The rays of light
+which twinkled through chinks of shutters might be analogous to the
+stars produced by a stunned brain; it seemed to the Englishman that if
+he went up and tried to knock on the door the ghostly house, the ghostly
+poplar avenue, would vanish. The thought was born of the long monotony
+of a danger which had called for no activity of brain or muscle on his
+part. The pony knew better; it stopped before the door.
+
+The traveller stood in a small porch raised a step or two from the
+ground. The door was opened by a middle-aged Frenchwoman clad in a
+peasant's gown of bluish-grey. Behind her, holding a lamp a little above
+her head, stood a young girl, large, womanly in form, with dimpled
+softness of face, and dressed in a rich but quaint garment of amber
+colour. With raised and statuesque wrist she held the lamp aloft to keep
+the light from dazzling her eyes. She was looking through the doorway
+with the quiet interest of responsibility, nothing of which was
+expressed in the servant's furrowed countenance.
+
+'Is the master of the house at home?'
+
+'There is no master.'
+
+The girl spoke with a mellow voice and with a manner of soft dignity;
+yet, having regarded the stranger, there leaped into her face, as it
+seemed to him, behind the outward calm of the dark eyes and dimpling
+curves, a certain excited interest and delight. The current of thought
+thus revealed contrasted with the calm which she instinctively turned to
+him, as the words which an actor speaks aside contrast with those which
+are not soliloquy.
+
+With more hesitation, more obvious modesty, he said--
+
+'May I speak to the mistress of the house?'
+
+'I am the mistress.'
+
+He could but look upon her more intently. She could not have been more
+than eighteen years of age. Her hair had the soft and loose manner of
+lying upon her head that is often seen in hair which has, till lately,
+been allowed to hang loose to the winds. Her dress, folded over the full
+bosom and sweeping to the ground in ample curves, was, little as he
+could have described a modern fashion, even to his eyes evidently
+fantastic--such as a child might don at play. Above all, as evidence of
+her youth, there was that inward quiver of delight at his appearance and
+presence, veiled perfectly, but seen behind the veil, as one may detect
+glee rising in the heart of a child even though it be upon its formal
+behaviour.
+
+'Can you tell me if there is any house within reach where I can stop
+for the night?' He gave a succinct account of his journey, the lost
+road, the increasing storm. 'My horse is dead tired, but it might go a
+mile or so farther.'
+
+The serving-woman, evincing some little curiosity, received from the
+girl an interpretation in low and rapid French. The woman expressed by
+her gestures some pity for man and beast. The girl replied with gentle
+brevity--
+
+'We know that the roads are snowed up. The next house is three miles
+farther on.'
+
+He hesitated, but his necessity was obvious.
+
+'I am afraid I must beg for a night's shelter.'
+
+He had been wondering a good deal what she would say, how she would
+accede, and then he perceived that her dignity knew no circumlocution.
+'I will send the man for your horse.' She said it with hardly a moment's
+pause.
+
+The woman gave him a small broom, an implement to the use of which he
+had grown accustomed, and disappeared upon the errand. The girl stood
+still in her statuesque pose of light-bearer. The young man busied
+himself in brushing the snow from cap and coat and boots. As he brushed
+himself he felt elation in the knowledge, not ordinarily uppermost, that
+he was a good-looking fellow and a gentleman.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+
+'My name is Courthope.' The visitor, denuded of coat and cap, presented
+his card, upon which was written, 'Mr. George Courthope.'
+
+He began telling his hostess whence he came and what was his business. A
+quarry which a dead relative had bequeathed to him had had sufficient
+attraction to bring him across the sea and across this railless region.
+His few words of self-introduction were mingled with and followed by
+regrets for his intrusion, expressions of excessive gratitude. All the
+time his mind was questioning amazedly.
+
+By the time the speeches which he deemed necessary were finished, he had
+followed the girl into a spacious room, furnished in the large gay style
+of the fifties, brilliantly lit, as if for a festival, and warmed by a
+log fire of generous dimensions. Having led him in, listening silently
+the while, and put her additional lamp upon the table, she now spoke,
+with no _empressement_, almost with a manner of _insouciance_.
+
+'You are perfectly welcome; my father would never have wished his house
+to be inhospitable.'
+
+With her words his own apologies seemed to lose their significance; he
+felt a little foolish, and she, with some slight evidence of childish
+awkwardness, seemed to seek a pretext for short escape.
+
+'I will tell my sister.' These words came with more abruptness, as if
+the interior excitement was working itself to the surface.
+
+The room was a long one. She went out by a door at the farther end, and,
+as with intense curiosity he watched her quickly receding form, he
+noticed that when she thought herself out of his sight she entered the
+other room with a skip. At that same end of the room hung a full-length
+portrait of a gentleman. It was natural that Courthope should walk
+towards it, trying to become acquainted with some link in the train of
+circumstances which had raised this enchanted palace in the wilderness;
+he had not followed to hear, but he overheard.
+
+'Eliz, it's a _real_ young man!'
+
+'No! you are only making up, and' (here a touch of querulousness) 'I've
+often told you that I don't like make-ups that one wants too much to be
+true. I'll only have the Austens and Sir Charles and Evelina and----'
+
+'Eliz! He's _not_ a make-up; the fairies have sent him to our party.
+Isn't it just fairilly entrancing? He has a curly moustache and a nice
+nose. He's English, like father. He says "cawn't," and "shawn't," and
+"heah," and "theyah,"--genuine, no affectation. Oh' (here came a little
+gurgle of joy), 'and to-night, too! It's the first _perfectly_ joyful
+thing that has _ever_ come to us.'
+
+Courthope moved quietly back and stood before the blazing logs, looking
+down into them with a smile of pure pleasure upon his lips.
+
+It was not long before the door, which she had left ajar, was re-opened,
+and a light-wheeled chair was pushed into the room. It contained a
+slight, elfin-like girl, white-faced, flaxen-haired, sharp-featured, and
+arrayed in gorgeous crimson. The elder sister pushed from behind. The
+little procession wore an air of triumphant satisfaction, still tempered
+by the proprieties.
+
+'This is my sister,' said the mistress of the house.
+
+'I am very glad to see you, Mr. Courthope.' The tones of Eliz were sharp
+and thin. She was evidently acting a part, as with the air of a very
+grand lady she held out her hand.
+
+He was somewhat dazzled. He felt it not inappropriate to ask if he had
+entered fairyland. Eliz would have answered him with fantastic
+affirmative, but the elder sister, like a sensible child who knew better
+how to arrange the game, interposed.
+
+'I'll explain it to you. Eliz and I are giving a party to-night. There
+hasn't been any company in the house since father died four years ago,
+and we know he wouldn't like us to be dull, so when our stepmother went
+out, and sent word that she couldn't come back to-night, we decided to
+have a grand party. There are only to be play-people, you know; all the
+people in Miss Austen's books are coming, and the nice ones out of _Sir
+Charles Grandison_.'
+
+She paused to see if he understood.
+
+'Are the _Mysteries of Udolpho_ invited?' he asked.
+
+'No, the others we just chose here and there, because we liked
+them--Evelina, although she was rather silly and we told her that we
+couldn't have Lord Ormond, and Miss Matty and Brother Peter out of
+_Cranford_, and Moses Wakefield, because we liked him best of the
+family, and the Portuguese nun who wrote the letters. We thought we
+would have liked to invite the young man in _Maud_ to meet her, but we
+decided we should have to draw the line somewhere and leave out the
+poetry-people.'
+
+The girl, leaning her forearms slightly on the back of her sister's
+chair, gave the explanation in soft, business-like tones, and there was
+only the faintest lurking of a smile about the corners of her lips to
+indicate that she kept in view both reality and fantasy.
+
+'I think that I shall have to ask for an introduction to the Portuguese
+nun,' said Courthope; 'the others, I am happy to say, I have met
+before.'
+
+A smile of approval leapt straight out of her dark eyes into his, as if
+she would have said: 'Good boy! you have read quite the right sort of
+books!'
+
+Eliz was not endowed with the same well-balanced sense of proportion;
+for the time the imaginary was the real.
+
+'The only question that remains to be decided,' she cried, 'is what
+_you_ would prefer to be. We will let you choose--Bingley, or Darcy,
+or----'
+
+'It would be fair to tell him,' said the other, her smile broadening
+now, 'that it's only the elderly people and notables who have been
+invited to dinner, the young folks are coming in after; so if you are
+hungry----' Her soft voice paused, as if suspended in mid-air, allowing
+him to draw the inference.
+
+'It depends entirely on who you are, who I would like to be.' He did not
+realise that there was undue gallantry in his speech; he felt exactly
+like another child playing, loyally determined to be her mate, whatever
+the character that might entail. 'I will even be the idiotic Edward if
+you are Eleanor Dashwood.'
+
+Her chin was raised just half-an-inch higher; the smile that had been
+peeping from eyes and dimples seemed to retire for the moment.
+
+'Oh, we,' she said, 'are the hostesses. My sister is Eliz King and I am
+Madge King, and I think you had better be a real person too; just a Mr.
+Courthope, come in by accident.'
+
+'Well, then, he can help us in the receiving and chatting to them.' Eliz
+was quite reconciled.
+
+He felt glad to realise that his mistake had been merely playful. 'In
+that case, may I have dinner without growing grey?' He asked it of
+Madge, and her smile came back, so readily did she forget what she had
+hardly consciously perceived.
+
+When the sharp-voiced little Eliz had been wheeled into the dining-room
+to superintend some preparations there before the meal was ready,
+Courthope could again break through the spell that the imaginary
+reception imposed. He came from his dressing-room to find Madge at the
+housewifely act of replenishing the fire. Filled with curiosity,
+unwilling to ask questions, he remarked that he feared she must often
+feel lonely, that he supposed Mrs. King did not often make visits
+unaccompanied by her daughters.
+
+'She does not, worse luck!' Madge on her knees replied with childish
+audacity.
+
+'I hope when she returns she may not be offended by my intrusion.'
+
+'Don't hope it,'--she smiled--'such hope would be vain.'
+
+He could not help laughing.
+
+'Is it dutiful then of you'--he paused--'or of me?'
+
+'Which do you prefer--to sleep in the barn, or that I should be
+undutiful and disobey my stepmother?'
+
+In a minute she gave her chin that lift in the air that he had seen
+before.
+
+'You need not feel uncomfortable about Mrs. King; the house is really
+mine, not hers, and father always had his house full of company. I am
+doing my duty to him in taking you in, and in making a feast to please
+Eliz when the stepmother happens to be away and I can do it peaceably.
+And when she happens to be here I do my duty to him by keeping the peace
+with her.'
+
+'Is she unkind to you?' he asked, with the ready, overflowing pity that
+young men are apt to give to pretty women who complain.
+
+But she would have him know that she had not complained.
+
+There was no bitterness in her tone--her philosophy of life was all
+sweetness. 'No! Bless her! God made her, I suppose, just as He made us;
+so, according to the way she is made, she packs away all the linen and
+silver, she keeps this room shut up for fear it will get worn out, and
+we never see any visitors. But to-day she went away to St. Philippe to
+see a dying man--I think she was going to convert him or something; but
+he took a long time to die; and now we may be snowed up for days, and we
+are going to have a perfectly glorious time.' She added hospitably, 'You
+need not feel under the slightest obligation, for it gives us pleasure
+to have you, and I know that father would have taken you in.'
+
+Courthope rose up and followed her glance, almost an adoring glance, to
+the portrait he had before observed. He went and stood again face to
+face with it.
+
+A goodly man was painted there, dressed in a judge's robe. Courthope
+read the lineaments by the help of the living interpretation of the
+daughter's likeness. Benevolence in the mouth, a love of good cheer and
+good friends in the rounded cheeks, a lurking sense of the poetry of
+life in the quiet eyes, and in the brow reason and a keen sense of right
+proportion dominant. He would have given something to have exchanged a
+quiet word with the man in the portrait, whose hospitality, living after
+him, he was now receiving.
+
+Madge had been arranging the logs to her satisfaction, she would not
+accept Courthope's aid, and now she told him who were going to dine with
+them. She had great zest for the play.
+
+'Mr. and Mrs. Bennett, of course, and we thought we might have Mr.
+Knightley, because he is a squire and not so very young, even though he
+is not yet married. Miss Bates, of course, and the Westons. Mrs.
+Dashwood has declined, of which we are rather glad, but we are having
+Mrs. Jennings.' So she went on with her list. 'We could not help asking
+Sir Charles with Lord and Lady G----, because he is so important; but
+Grandmamma Shirley is "mortifying" at present. She wrote that she could
+not stand "so rich a regale." Sir Hargrave Pollexfen will come
+afterwards with Harriet, and I am thankful to say that Lady Clementina
+is not in England at present, so could not be invited.' She stopped,
+looking up at him freshly to make a comment. 'Don't you detest Lady
+Clementina?'
+
+When they went into the dining-room, the choice spirits deemed worthy to
+be at the board were each introduced by name to the Lady Eliz, who
+explained that because of her infirmities she had been unable to have
+the honour of receiving them in the drawing-room. She made appropriate
+remarks, inquiring after the relatives of each, offering congratulations
+or condolences as the case demanded. It was cleverly done. Courthope
+stood aside, immensely entertained, and when at last he too began to
+offer spirited remarks to the imaginary guests, he went up in favour so
+immensely that Eliz cried, 'Let Mr. Courthope take the end of the table.
+Let Mr. Courthope be father. It's much nicer to have a master of the
+house.' She began at once introducing him to the invisible guests as her
+father, and Madge, if she did not like the fancy, did not cross her
+will. There was in Madge's manner a large good-humoured tolerance.
+
+The table was long, and amply spread with fine glass and silver; nothing
+was antique, everything was in the old-fashioned tasteless style of a
+former generation, but the value of solid silver was not small. The
+homely serving-woman in her peasant-like dress stood aside, submissive,
+as it seemed, but ignorant of how to behave at so large a dinner.
+Courthope, who in a visit to the stables had discovered that this
+Frenchwoman with her husband and one young daughter were at present the
+whole retinue of servants, wondered the more that such precious articles
+as the young girls and the plate should be safe in so lonely a place.
+
+Madge was seated at the head of the table, Courthope at the foot; Eliz
+in her high chair had been wheeled to the centre of one side. Madge,
+playing the hostess with gentle dignity, was enjoying herself to the
+full, a rosy, cooing sort of joy in the play, in the feast that she had
+succeeded in preparing, in her amusement at the literary sallies of
+Eliz, and, above all perhaps, in the company of the new and unexpected
+playmate to whom, because of his youth, she attributed the same perfect
+sympathy with their sentiments which seemed to exist between themselves.
+Courthope felt this--he felt that he was idealised through no virtue of
+his own; but it was a delightful sensation, and brought out the best
+that was in him of wit and pure joyfulness. To Eliz the creatures of
+her imagination were too real for perfect pleasure; her face was tense,
+her eyes shot sparkles of light, her voice was high, for her the
+entertainment of the invisible guests involved real responsibility and
+effort.
+
+'Asides are allowed, of course?' said Eliz, as if pronouncing a
+debatable rule at cards.
+
+'Of course,' said Madge, 'or we could not play.'
+
+'It's the greatest fun,' cried Eliz, 'to hear Sir Charles telling Mr.
+John Knightley about the good example that a virtuous man ought to set.
+With "hands and eyes uplifted" he is explaining the duty he owes to his
+Maker. It's rare to see John Knightley's face. I seated them on purpose
+with only Miss Matty between them, because I knew she wouldn't
+interrupt.'
+
+Courthope saw the smile in Madge's eyes was bent upon him as she said
+softly, 'You won't forget that you have Lady Catherine de Bourg at your
+right hand to look after. I can see that brother Peter has got his eye
+upon her, and I don't know how she would take the "seraphim" story.'
+
+'If she begins any of her dignified impertinence here,' he answered, 'I
+intend to steer her into a conversation with Charlotte, Lady G----.'
+
+Courthope had a turkey to carve. He was fain to turn from the guests to
+ask advice as to its anatomy of Madge, who was carving a ham and
+assuring Mr. Woodhouse that it was 'thrice baked, exactly as Serle
+would have done it.'
+
+'Stupid!--it was apples that were baked,' whispered Eliz.
+
+'You see,' said Madge, when she had told him how to begin upon the
+turkey, 'we wondered very much what a dinner of "two full courses" might
+be, and where the "corner dishes" were to be set. We did not quite
+know--do you?'
+
+'You must not have asides that are not about the people,' cried Eliz
+intensely. 'Catherine Moreland's mother is talking common sense to
+General Tilney and Sir Walter Eliot, and there'll be no end of a row in
+a minute if you don't divert their attention.'
+
+Eliz had more than once to call the other two to account for talking
+privately adown the long table.
+
+'What a magnificent ham!' he exclaimed. 'Do you keep pigs?'
+
+Madge had a frank way of giving family details. 'It was once a _dear_
+little pig, and we wanted to teach it to take exercise by running after
+us when we went out, but the stepmother, like Bunyan, "penned it"--
+
+
+     '"Until at last it came to be,
+     For length and breadth, the bigness which you see."'
+
+
+More than once he saw Madge's quick wit twinkle through her booklore.
+When he was looking ruefully at a turkey by no means neatly carved, she
+gave the comforting suggestion, '"'Tis impious in a good man to be
+sad."'
+
+'I thought it one of the evidences of piety.'
+
+'It is true that he was "Young" who said it, but so are we; let us
+believe it fervently.'
+
+When Madge swept across the drawing-room, with her amber skirts
+trailing, and Eliz had been wheeled in, they received the after-dinner
+visitors. Courthope could almost see the room filled with the quaint
+creations to whom they were both bowing and talking incessantly.
+
+'Mr. Courthope--Miss Jane Fairfax--I believe you have met before.'
+Madge's voice dropped in a well-feigned absorption in her next guest;
+but she soon found time again to whisper to him a long speech which Miss
+Bates had made to Eliz. Soon afterwards she came flying to him in the
+utmost delight to repeat what she called a "lovely sneap" which Lady
+G---- had given to Mrs. Elton; nor did she forget to tell him that Emma
+Woodhouse was explaining to the Portuguese nun her reasons for deciding
+never to marry. 'Out of sheer astonishment she appears to become quite
+tranquillised,' said Madge, as if relating an important fact.
+
+His curiosity concerning this nun grew apace, for she seemed a favourite
+with both the girls.
+
+When it was near midnight the imaginary pageant suddenly came to an
+end, as in all cases of enchantment. Eliz grew tired; one of the lamps
+smoked and had to be extinguished; the fire had burned low. Madge
+declared that the company had departed.
+
+She went out of the room to call the servant, but in a few minutes she
+came back discomfited, a little pout on her lips. 'Isn't it tiresome!
+Mathilde and Jacques Morin have gone to bed.'
+
+'It is just like them,' fretted Eliz.
+
+At the fretful voice Madge's face cleared. 'What does it matter?' she
+cried. 'We are perfectly happy.'
+
+She lifted the lamp with which he had first seen her, and commenced an
+inspection of doors and shutters. It was a satisfaction to Courthope to
+see the house. It was a French building, as were all the older houses in
+that part of the country, heavily built, simple in the arrangements of
+its rooms. Every door on the lower floor stood open, inviting the heat
+of a large central stove. Insisting upon carrying the lamp while Madge
+made her survey, he was introduced to a library at the end of the
+drawing-room, to a large house-place or kitchen behind the dining-room;
+these with his own room made the square of the lower story. A wing
+adjoining the further side was devoted to the Morins. Having performed
+her duty as householder, Madge said good-night.
+
+'We have enjoyed it ever so much more because you were here.' She held
+out her hand; her face was radiant; he knew that she spoke the simple
+truth.
+
+She lifted the puny Eliz in her arms and proceeded to walk slowly up the
+straight staircase which occupied one half of the long central hall. The
+crimson scarfs hanging from Eliz, the length of her own silk gown,
+embarrassed her; she stopped a moment on the second step, resting her
+burden upon one lifted knee to clutch and gather the gorgeous raiment in
+her hand.
+
+'You see we put on mother's dresses, that have always been packed away
+in the garret.'
+
+Very simply she said this to Courthope, who stood holding a lamp to
+light them in their ascent. He waited until the glinting colours of
+their satins, the slow motion of the burden-bearer's form, reached the
+top and were lost in the shadows of an open door.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+
+Courthope opened the shutters of his window to look out upon the night;
+they were heavy wooden shutters clasped with an iron clasp. A French
+window he could also open; outside that a temporary double window was
+fixed in the casement with light hooks at the four corners. The wind was
+still blustering about the lonely house, and, after examining the
+twilight of the snow-clad night attentively, he perceived that snow was
+still falling. He thought he could almost see the drifts rising higher
+against the out-buildings.
+
+Two large barns stood behind the house; from these he judged that the
+fields around were farmed.
+
+It was considerations concerning the project of his journey the next day
+which had made him look out, and also a restless curiosity regarding
+every detail of the _ménage_ whose young mistress was at once so
+child-like and so queenlike. While looking out he had what seemed a
+curious hallucination of a dark figure standing for a moment on the top
+of the deep snow. As he looked more steadily the figure disappeared. All
+the outlines at which he looked were chaotic to the sight, because of
+the darkness and the drifting snow, and the light which was behind him
+shimmering upon the pane. If half-a-dozen apparitions had passed in the
+dim and whirling atmosphere of the yards, he would have supposed that
+they were shadows formed by the beams of his lamp, being interrupted
+here and there by the eddying snow where the wind whirled it most
+densely. He did not close his shutters, he even left his inner window
+partially open, because, unaccustomed to a stove, he felt oppressed by
+its heat. When he threw himself down, he slept deeply, as men sleep
+after days among snowfields, when a sense of entire security is the
+lethargic brain's lullaby.
+
+He was conscious first of a dream in which the sisters experienced some
+imminent danger; he heard their shrieks piercing the night. He woke to
+feel snow and wind driving upon his face, to realise a half-waking
+impression that a man had passed through his room, to know that the
+screams of a woman's voice were a reality. As he sprang for his clothes
+he saw that the window was wide open, the whole frame of the outer
+double glass having been removed, but the screams of terror he heard
+were within the house. Opening the door to the dark hall he ran, guided
+by the sound, to the foot of the staircase which the girls had ascended,
+then up its long straight ascent. He took its first steps in a bound,
+but, as his brain became more perfectly awake, confusion of thought,
+wonder, a certain timidity because now the screaming had ceased, caused
+him to slacken his pace. He was thus hesitating in the darkness when he
+found himself confronted by Madge King. She stood majestic in grey
+woollen gown, candle in hand, and her dark eyes blazed upon him in
+terror, wrath and indignation.
+
+It seemed for a moment that she could not speak; some movement passed
+over the white sweep of her throat and the full dimpling lips, and
+then--
+
+'Go down!' She would have spoken to a dog with the same authority, but
+never with such contemptuous wrath. 'Go down at once! How dare you!'
+
+Abashed, knowing not what he might have done to offend, Courthope fell
+back a step against the wall of the staircase. From within the room Eliz
+cried, 'Is he there? Come in and lock the door, Madge, or he'll kill
+you!' The voice, sharp, high with terror, rose at the end, and burst
+into one of those piercing shrieks which seemed to fill the night, as
+the voices of some small insects have the power to make the welkin ring
+in response.
+
+Before Courthope could find a word to utter, another light was thrown
+upon him from a lamp at the foot of the stair. It was held by Jacques
+Morin, grey-haired, stooping, dogged. The Morin family--man, wife and
+daughter--were huddling close together. They, too, were all looking at
+him, not with the wrath and contempt to which Madge had risen, but with
+cunning desire for revenge, mingled with the cringing of fear. There was
+a minute's hush, too strong for expression, in which each experienced
+more intensely the shock of the mysterious alarm.
+
+It was Madge who broke the silence. Her voice rang clear, although
+vibrating.
+
+'Jacques Morin, he came into our room to rob!' She pointed at
+Courthope.
+
+The thin voice of Eliz came in piercing parenthesis: 'I saw him in the
+closet, and when I screamed he ran.'
+
+Madge began again. 'Jacques Morin, what part of the house is open? I
+feel the wind.' All the time Madge kept her eyes upon Courthope, as upon
+some wild animal whose spring she hoped to keep at bay.
+
+That she should appeal to this dull, dogged French servant for
+protection against him, who only desired to risk his life to serve her,
+was knowledge of such intense vexation that Courthope could still find
+no word, and her fixed look of wrath did actually keep him at bay. It
+took from him, by some sheer physical power which he did not understand,
+the courage with which he would have faced a hundred Morins.
+
+When Jacques Morin began to speak, his wife and daughter took courage
+and spoke also; a babel of French words, angry, terrified, arose from
+the group, whose grey night-clothes, shaken by their gesticulations,
+gave them a half-frenzied appearance.
+
+In the midst of their talking Courthope spoke to Madge at last. 'I ran
+up to protect you when I heard screams; I did not wake till you
+screamed. Some one has entered the house. He has entered by the window
+in my room; I found it open.'
+
+With his own words the situation became clear to him. He saw that he
+must hunt for the house-breaker. He began to descend the stairs.
+
+The Morin girl screamed and ran. Morin, producing a gun from behind his
+back, pointed it at Courthope, and madam, holding the lamp, squared up
+behind her husband with the courage of desperation.
+
+It was not this fantastic couple that checked Courthope's downward rush,
+but Madge's voice.
+
+'Keep still!' she cried, in short strong accents of command.
+
+Eliz, becoming aware of his movement, shrieked again.
+
+Courthope, now defiant and angry, turned towards Madge, but, even as he
+waited to hear what she had to say, reflected that her interest could
+not suffer much by delay, for the thief, if he escaped, could make but
+small speed in the drifting storm over roads which led to no near place
+of escape or hiding.
+
+It was the judge's daughter which Courthope now saw in Madge--the desire
+to estimate evidence, the fearless judgment.
+
+'We took you in last night, a stranger; and now we have been robbed,
+which never happened before in all our lives. My sister says it was you
+she saw in our room. As soon as I could get the candle lit I found you
+here, and Jacques Morin says that you have opened your window so that
+you would be able to escape at once. What is the use of saying that you
+are not a robber?'
+
+He made another defiant statement of his own version of the story.
+
+The girl had given some command in French to Morin; to Courthope she
+spoke again in hasty sentences, reiterating the evidence against him.
+Her manner was a little different now--it had not the same
+straightforward air of command. He began to hope that he might persuade
+her, and then discovered suddenly that she had been deliberately
+riveting his attention while the command which he had not understood was
+being obeyed. A noose of rope was thrown round his arms and instantly
+tightened; with a nimbleness which he had not expected Morin knotted it
+fast. Courthope turned fiercely; for a moment he struggled with all his
+force, bearing down upon Morin from his greater height, so that they
+both staggered and reeled to the foot of the stair. At his violence the
+voices of the Morin women, joined by that of Eliz, were lifted in such
+wild terror that a few moments were sufficient to bring Courthope to
+reason. He spoke to Madge with haughty composure.
+
+'Tell him to untie this rope at once. There is some villain about the
+house who may do you the greatest injury; you are mad to take from me
+the power of arresting him.'
+
+Madam Morin, seeing the prisoner secured, hastened with her lamp to his
+bedroom.
+
+Madge, feeling herself safer now, came a little way down the stair with
+her candle. 'How can we tell what you would do next?' she asked. 'And I
+have the household to protect; it is not for myself that I am afraid.'
+
+The anger that he had felt toward her died out suddenly.
+
+It was not for herself that she was afraid! She stood a few steps above
+him; her little candle, flashing its rays into the darkness of the upper
+and lower halls, made walls and balustrades seem vast by its flickering
+impotence to oust the darkness. Surely this girl, towering in her
+sweeping robe and queenly pose, was made to be loved of men and gods!
+Hero, carrying her vestal taper in the temple recesses, before ever
+Leander had crossed the wave, could not have had a larger or more noble
+form, a more noble and lovely face.
+
+Well, if she chose to tie his arms he would have preferred to have them
+tied, were it not for the maddening thought that more miscreants than
+one might be within reach of her, and that they would, if skilled, find
+the whole household an easy prey.
+
+Madam Morin came back from the room with the open window, making
+proclamation in the most excited French.
+
+'What do they say?' asked Courthope of Madge.
+
+The Morin girl was following close to her mother, and Jacques Morin was
+eagerly discussing their information.
+
+Madge passed Courthope in silence. They all went to the window to see;
+Courthope, following in the most absurd helplessness, trailing the end
+of his binding-cord behind him, brought up the rear of the little
+procession. Madge walked straight on into his room, where Madam Morin
+was again opening the window-shutters.
+
+'They say,' said Madge to Courthope, 'that you have had an accomplice,
+and that he is gone again; they saw his snow-shoe tracks.'
+
+He begged her to make sure that the man was gone, to let him look at the
+tracks himself and then to search the house thoroughly. Outside the
+window the same chaotic sweep and whirl of the atmosphere prevailed. It
+was difficult, even holding a lantern outside, to see, but they did see
+that a track had come up to the window and again turned from it. After
+that they all searched the house, Courthope allowed to be of the
+company, apparently because he could thus be watched. The thief of the
+night had come and gone; some silver and jewellery which had been
+stored in a closet adjoining the bedroom of the sisters had been taken.
+
+Courthope understood very little of the talk that went on. At length, to
+his great relief, Madge gave her full attention to him in parley.
+
+'Won't you believe that I know nothing whatever of the doings of this
+sneak-thief?'
+
+Some of her intense excitement had passed away, succeeded by distress,
+discouragement, and perhaps perplexity, but that last she did not
+express to him. She leaned against the wall as she listened to him with
+white face.
+
+'We never took in any one we didn't know anything about before, and we
+never were robbed before.' She added, 'We treated you kindly; how could
+you have done it? If you did it'--his heart leaped at the 'if' as at a
+beam of sunshine on a rainy day--'you must have known all about us,
+although I can't think how; you must have known where we kept things,
+and that mamma had taken our other man-servant away. You must have
+brought your accomplice to hide in the barn and do the work while you
+played the gentleman! That is what Jacques Morin says; he says no one
+but a child would have taken you in as I did, and that you might have
+murdered us all. They are very angry with me.'
+
+There was conflict in her manner; a few words would be said haughtily,
+as to some one not worthy of her notice, and then again a few words as
+to a friend. He saw that this conflict of her mind was increasing as she
+stood face to face with him, and with that consolation he submitted, at
+her request, to be more securely bound--the rope twisted round and
+round, binding his arms to his sides. It was a girl's device; he made no
+complaint.
+
+It seemed that Morin had no thought of following the thief; his
+faithfulness was limited to such service as he considered necessary, and
+was of a cowardly rather than a valiant sort. Courthope, when his first
+eagerness to seek passed off, was comforted by reflecting that, had he
+himself been free, it would have been futile for him to attempt such a
+quest while darkness lay over the land in which he was a stranger.
+
+He was allowed to rest on the settle in the large inner kitchen,
+securely locked in, and so near Morin's room that his movements could be
+overheard. There, still in bonds, he spent the rest of the night.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+
+When the March morning shone clear and white through the still-falling
+snow, and the Morins began to bustle about their work for the day, the
+mental atmosphere in the kitchen seemed to have lost something of the
+excited alarm that had prevailed in the night. Courthope arose; the
+garments which he had donned in the night with frantic speed clothed but
+did not adorn him; he knew that he must present a wild appearance, and
+the domestic clothes-line, bound round and round his arms, prevented him
+from so much as pushing back the locks of hair which straggled upon his
+brow. He was rendered on the whole helpless; however murderous might be
+his heart, a tolerably safe companion. He interested himself by
+considering how Samson-like he could be in breaking the cords, or, even
+tied, how vigorously he could kick Morin, if he were not a girl's
+prisoner. He reflected with no small admiration upon the quick resource
+and decision that she had displayed; how, in spite of her almost
+child-like frankness, she had beguiled him into turning his back to the
+noose when a supposed necessity pressed her. He meditated for a few
+minutes upon other girls for whom he had experienced a more or less
+particular admiration, and it seemed to him that the characters of these
+damsels became wan and insipid by comparison. He began to have a
+presentiment that Love was now about to strike in earnest upon the harp
+of his life, but he could not think that the circumstances of this
+present attraction were propitious. What could he say to this girl, so
+adorably strong-minded, to convince her of his claim to be again treated
+as a man and a brother? Letters? He had offered them to her last night,
+and she had replied that any one could write letters. Should he show
+that he was not penniless? She might tell him in the same tone that it
+was wealth ill-gotten. It was no doubt her very ignorance of the world
+that, when suspicion had once occurred, made her reject as unimportant
+these evidences of his respectability, but he had no power to give her
+the eyes of experience.
+
+These thoughts tormented him as he stood looking out of the window at
+the ever-increasing volume of the snow. How long would he be detained a
+prisoner in this house, and, when the roads were free, how could he find
+for Madge any absolute proof of his innocence? The track of the midnight
+thief was lost for ever in the snow; if he had succeeded in escaping as
+mysteriously as he had come--but here Courthope's mind refused again to
+enter upon the problem of the fiend-like enemy and the impassable
+snowfields, which in the hours of darkness he had already given up,
+perceiving the futility of his speculation until further facts were
+known.
+
+Courthope strolled through the rooms, the doors of which were now open.
+Morin permitted this scant liberty chiefly, the prisoner thought,
+because of a wholesome fear of being kicked. In the library at the back
+of the drawing-room he found amusement in reading the titles of the
+books down one long shelf and up another. Every book to which Madge had
+had access had an interest for him. Three cases were filled with books
+of law and history; there was but one from which the books had of late
+been frequently taken. It was filled with romance and poetry, nothing so
+late as the middle of the present century, nothing that had not some
+claim upon educated readers, and yet it was a motley collection. Upon
+the front rim of the upper shelf some one, perhaps the dead father in
+his invalid days, had carved a motto with a knife, the motto that is
+also that of the British arms. It might have been done out of mere
+patriotism; it might have had reference to this legacy of books left to
+the child-maidens, for whom, it seemed, other companionship had not been
+provided.
+
+At length Courthope realised that there was one book which he greatly
+desired to take from the shelf. The Morin daughter was dusting in the
+room, and, with some blandishments, he succeeded in persuading her to
+lay it open upon the table where he could peruse it. To his great
+amusement he observed that she was very careful not to come within a
+yard or two of him, darting back when he approached, evidently thinking
+that the opening of the book might be a ruse to attack her by a sudden
+spring. At first the curious consciousness produced by this damsel's
+awkward gambols of fear so absorbed him that he could not fix his
+attention upon the book; flashes of amusement and of grave annoyance
+chased themselves through his mind like sunshine and shadow over
+mountains on a showery day; he knew not which was the more rational
+mood. Then, attempting the book again, and turning each leaf with a good
+deal of contortion and effort, he became absorbed. It was the _Letters
+of a Portuguese Nun_, and in the astonishment of its perusal he forgot
+the misfortune that had befallen the household, and his own discomfort
+and ignominy. The Morin girl had left him in the room, shutting the
+door.
+
+An hour passed--it might have been about nine of the clock--when
+Courthope began to be roused from his absorption in the book by a sound
+in the next room. It was a low uncertain sound, but evidently that of
+sobbing and tears. He stopped, listened; his heart was wrung with pity.
+It was not the sharp little Eliz who cried like that! He knew such sobs
+did not come from the stormy and uncontrolled bosoms of the French
+servants. He was convinced that it was Madge who was weeping, that she
+was in the long drawing-room, where the portrait of the judge hung near
+the door.
+
+He went nearer the door. His excited desire to offer her some sympathy,
+to comfort, or if possible to help, became intolerable. So conscious was
+he of a common interest between them that not for a moment did the sense
+of prying enter his mind.
+
+He heard then a few words whispered as if to the portrait: 'Father, oh,
+father, we were so happy with him! It is almost the only time that we
+have been quite happy since you went away.'
+
+The sense of the broken whispers came tardily to Courthope's
+understanding through the smothering door. The handle of the door was on
+a level with the hands that were bound to his sides; he turned himself
+in order to bring his fingers near it.
+
+Before he touched it he heard Madge sob and whisper again: 'I was so
+happy, father; I thought it was such fun he had come. I like gentlemen,
+and we never, never see any except the ones that come out of books.'
+
+To Courthope it suddenly seemed that the whole universe must have been
+occupied with purpose to bring him here in order to put an end to her
+gloom and flood her life with sunshine; the universe could not be foiled
+in its attempt. Young love argues from effect to cause, and so limitless
+seemed the strength of his sentiment that the simplicity of her mind and
+the susceptibility of her girlhood were to him like some epic poem which
+arouses men to passion and strong deeds. Ignominiously bound as he was,
+his heart lightened; all doubt of his mission to love her and its
+ultimate success passed from him. He turned the handle and pushed the
+door half open.
+
+The long drawing-room was almost dark; the shutters had not been opened;
+the furniture remained as it had stood when the brilliant assembly of
+the previous evening had broken up; the large fireplace was full of
+ashes; the atmosphere was deadly cold. Courthope stood in the streak of
+light which entered with him. Upon the floor, crouching, her cheek
+leaning against the lower part of her father's picture, was Madge King.
+She was dressed in a blanket coat; moccasins were upon her feet; a fur
+cap lay upon the ground beside her. At the instant of his entrance she
+lifted her bare head, and across the face flushed with tears and prayers
+there flashed the look of haughty intolerance of his presence. She had
+thought that he was locked up in one of the kitchens; she told him so,
+intensely offended that he should see her tears. It was for that reason
+that she did not rise or come to the light, only commanding and
+imploring him to be gone.
+
+'I am quite helpless, even if I wanted to harm you.' He spoke
+reproachfully, knowing instinctively that if she pitied him she would
+accept his pity.
+
+'You have harmed us enough already,' she sighed; 'all the rest of our
+silver, all my dear father's silver is gone. We found that out this
+morning, for what we had used for the feast had been put in a basket
+until we could store it away; it is all taken.'
+
+He was shocked and enraged to hear of this further loss. He did not
+attempt to reason with her; he had ceased to reason with himself.
+
+'You trusted me when you let me in last night,' he said. 'Don't you
+think that you would have had some perception of it last night if I had
+been entirely unworthy? Think what an utter and abominable villain I
+must be to have accepted your hospitality--to have been so very happy
+with you----' So he went on appealing to her heart from the sentiments
+that arose in his own.
+
+Madge listened only for a reasonable period; she rose to her feet. 'I
+must go,' she said.
+
+He found that she proposed to walk on snow-shoes three miles to the
+nearest house, which belonged to a couple of parish priests, where she
+would be certain of obtaining a messenger to carry the news of the
+robbery to the telegraph station. She could not be brought even to
+discuss the advisability of her journey; Morin could not be sent, for
+the servants and Eliz would go mad with terror if left alone.
+
+To Courthope's imagination her journey seemed to be an abandonment of
+herself to the utmost danger. If between the two houses she failed to
+make progress over high drifts and against a heavy gale, what was to
+hinder her from perishing? Then, too, there was that villain, who had
+seemed to stalk forth from the isolated house afar into the howling
+night as easily as the Frankenstein demon, and might even now be
+skulking near--a dangerous devil--able to run where others must trudge
+toilsomely.
+
+Madge, it seemed, had only come to that room to make her confession and
+invoke protection at the shrine of the lost father; she was ready to set
+forth without further delay. She would not, in spite of his most
+eloquent pleading, set Courthope at liberty to make of him either
+messenger or companion.
+
+'The evidence,' she said sadly, 'is all against you. I am very sorry.'
+
+A wilder unrest and vexation at his position returned upon his heart
+because of the lightening that had come with the impulse of love. That
+impulse still remained, an under-current of calm, a knowledge that his
+will and the power of the world were at one, such as men only feel when
+they yield themselves to some sudden conversion; but above this
+new-found faith the cross-currents of strife now broke forth again. Thus
+he raged--
+
+'What was the use of my coming here? Why should the Fates have sent me
+here if I cannot go this errand for you, or if I cannot go with you to
+protect you? If this beast is walking about on snow-shoes, how do you
+know that he will not attack you as soon as you are out of sight of the
+house?'
+
+She seemed to realise that it was strange to be discussing her own
+safety with her prisoner. Very curious was the conflict in her face; her
+strong natural companionableness, her suspicion of him, and her sense of
+the dignity which her situation demanded, contending together. It seemed
+easier for her to disregard his words than to give all the answers which
+her varying feelings would prompt. She was tying on a mink cap by
+winding a woollen scarf about her head.
+
+'Miss Madge! Miss King! It is perfectly intolerable! It--it is
+intolerable!' He stepped nearer as he spoke. A thought came over him
+that even the conventional title of 'Miss' which he had given her was
+wholly inappropriate in a situation so strong--that he and she, merely
+as man and woman, as rational beings, were met together in a wilderness
+where conventions were folly. 'I cannot allow you to risk your life in
+this way.' There was a tense emphasis in his words; he felt the natural
+authority of the protector over the tender thing to be protected, the
+intimate authority which stress of circumstance may give.
+
+She dropped her hands from tying the scarf under her chin, returning for
+his words a look of mingled curiosity, indecision, and distrust.
+
+Quick as she looked upon him, his mind's eye looked upon himself; there
+he stood in grotesque undress, bound around with the cords of an
+extraordinary disgrace. He blamed himself at the moment for not having
+had his hair cut more recently, for he knew that it stood in a wild
+shock above his head, and he felt that it dangled in his eyes. Then a
+gust of emotion, the momentary desire for laughter or groans of
+vexation, rose and choked his utterance, and in the minute that he was
+mute the girl, sitting down upon a low stool, began tightening the
+strings of her moccasins, which, after the first putting on, had relaxed
+with the warmth of the feet. Her business-like preparations for the road
+maddened him.
+
+'Don't you see,' he said, 'what disgrace you are heaping upon me? What
+right have you to deny to me, a gentleman and your guest, the right to
+serve and protect you? Consider to what wretchedness you consign me if I
+am left here to think of you fighting alone with this dangerous storm,
+or attacked by blackguards who we know may not be far away!'
+
+She said in a quiet, practical, girlish way, 'It was I who was
+responsible for letting you in last night, and then this happened--this
+most unheard-of thing. We never heard of any but a petty theft ever
+committed in this whole region before. Now I am bound to keep you here
+until we can hear where father's silver is.'
+
+'You don't believe that I have done it! I am sure you do not' (he
+believed what he said). 'Why haven't you the courage to act upon your
+conviction? You will never regret it.'
+
+'Eliz says that she saw you quite distinctly.'
+
+'Eliz is a little fool,' were the words that arose within him, but what
+he said was, 'Your sister is excitable and nervous; she saw the thief
+undoubtedly, and by some miserable freak of fortune he may have
+resembled me.'
+
+'Does that seem at all likely?'
+
+'Well, then, there was no resemblance, and she fancied it.'
+
+She stood up, looking harassed, but without relenting. 'I must go--there
+is nothing else to be done. Do you think I would stay here when a day
+might make all the difference in recovering the things which belonged to
+my father? Do you think that I am going to lose the things that belonged
+to him just because I am too much of a coward to go out and give the
+alarm?'
+
+She walked away from him resolutely, but the thought of the lost
+treasures and all the dear memories that in her mind were identified
+with them seemed to overcome her. She drew her hand hastily across her
+eyes, and then, to his dismay, the sorrow for her loss emphasised her
+wavering belief in his guilt; for the first time he realised how strong
+that sorrow was. Impelled by emotion she turned again and came
+shrinkingly back into his presence.
+
+'I have not reproached you,' she said, 'because I thought it would be
+mean in case you had not done it; but it seems that you must have done
+it. Won't you tell me where the other man has taken our things? They
+cannot be of any value to you compared with their value to us; and, oh,
+indeed I would much rather give you as much money as you could possibly
+make out of them, and more too, if you would only tell me which way this
+man has gone, and send word to him that he must give them back! I will
+pledge you my word of honour that----'
+
+For the first time he was offended with her. He stepped back with a
+gesture of pride, which in a moment he saw she had construed into
+unwillingness to give the booty up.
+
+'I could promise to give you the money; I could promise that you should
+not be tracked and arrested. I have enough in the savings-bank of my own
+that I could get out without our lawyer or mamma knowing, and you don't
+know how dear, how very dear, everything that belonged to father is to
+Eliz and me. If you wait here tied until my stepmother comes she will
+not give any money to get the things back; she would not care if you
+kept them, so long as she could punish you.'
+
+Every word of her gentle pleading made the insult deeper and more gross,
+and the fact that she was who she was only made the hurt to his pride
+the sorer. He would not answer; he would not explain; he would let her
+think what she liked; it is the way of the injured heart.
+
+Angry, and confirmed in her suspicion, she too turned proudly away. He
+saw her, as she crossed the hall, take up a pair of snow-shoes that she
+had left leaning against the wall, and without further farewell to any
+one turn toward the front door.
+
+He knew then what he must do. Without inward debate, without even
+weighing what his act's ultimate consequences might be, he followed her.
+
+'I will do what you ask. I give you my word of honour--and there is
+honour, you know, even among thieves--that I will do all in my power to
+bring back everything that has been stolen. Give me snow-shoes. Keep my
+horse and my watch and my luggage as surety that I mean what I say. I
+cannot promise that I can get back the silver from the other man, but I
+will do far more than you can do. I will do more than any one else could
+do. If it is within my power I will bring it back to you.'
+
+She considered for a little time whether she would trust him or not. It
+seemed, curiously enough, that from first to last she had never
+distrusted her first instinct with regard to his character, but that her
+child-like belief that in the unknown world all things were possible,
+allowed her to believe also in his criminality. Now that he had, as she
+thought, made his confession and promised restitution, it was perhaps
+the natural product of her conflicting thoughts and feelings that she
+should trust to his oft-repeated vows, and make the paction with him.
+
+She did not consult the Morins; perhaps she knew that she would only
+provoke their opposition, or perhaps she knew that they would only be
+too glad to get rid of the man they feared, caring for nothing but the
+actual safety of the lives in the household. She brought him his coat
+and cap and also a man's moccasins and snow-shoes. With a courage that,
+because somewhat shy and trembling, evoked all the more his admiration,
+she untied the first knot of his rope, unwound the coil, and then untied
+the last knot. The process was slow because of the trembling of her
+fingers, which he felt but could not see. She stood resolute, making him
+dress for the storm upon the threshold of the door. He did not know how
+to strap on the snow-shoes. She watched his first attempt with great
+curiosity; looking up, he was made the more determined to succeed with
+them by seeing the pain of incredulity returning to her eyes.
+
+'How do you expect me to know how to manage things that I have never
+handled in my life before?'
+
+'But if you don't know how to put them on how can you walk in them?'
+
+'I have seen men walk in them, and there are a great many things we can
+do when something depends upon it.'
+
+She directed him how to cross and tie the straps; she continued to watch
+him, increasing anxiety betraying itself in her face.
+
+The snow was so light that even the snow-shoes sank some four or five
+inches. It was just below the porch that he had tied his straps, and
+when he first moved forward he trod with one shoe on the top of the
+other. He had not expected this; he felt that no further progress was
+within the bounds of possibility. For some half minute he stood, his
+back to the door, his face turned to the illimitable region of drifts
+and feathery air, unable to conceive how to go forward and without a
+thought of turning back. When his pulses were surging and tingling with
+the discomfort of her gaze, he heard the door shut sharply. Perhaps she
+thought that he was shamming and was determined not to yield again;
+perhaps--and this seemed even worse--she had been overcome in the midst
+of her stern responsibility by the powers of laughter; perhaps, horrid
+thought, she had gone for Morin to bid him again throw the noose over
+his treacherous shoulders. The last thought pricked him into motion. By
+means of his reason he discovered that if he was to make progress at all
+the rackets must not overlap one another as he trod; his next effort was
+naturally to walk with his feet so wide apart that the rackets at their
+broadest could not interfere. The result was that in a few moments he
+became like a miniature Colossus of Rhodes, fixed again so that he could
+not move, his feet upon platforms at either side of a harbour of snow.
+
+He heard the door open now again sharply, and he felt certain, yes,
+certain, that the lasso was on its way through the air; this time he was
+not going to submit. As men do unthinkingly what they could in no way do
+by thought, he found himself facing the door, his snow-shoes truly
+inextricably mixed with one another, but still he had turned round.
+There was no rope, no Morin; Madge was standing alone upon the outer
+step of the porch, her face aflame with indignation.
+
+'This is either perfect folly or you have deceived me,' she cried.
+
+'I shall learn how to use them in a minute,' he said humbly. He was
+conscious as he spoke that his twisted legs made but an unsteady
+pedestal, that the least push would have sent him headlong into the
+drift.
+
+'How could you say that you would go?' she asked fiercely.
+
+He looked down at his feet as schoolboys do when chidden, but for
+another reason. The question as to whether or not he could get his
+snow-shoes headed again in the right direction weighed like lead upon
+his heart.
+
+'I thought that I could walk upon these things,' he said, and he added,
+with such determination as honour flying from shame only knows, 'and I
+will walk on them and do your errand.'
+
+With that, by carefully untwisting his legs, he faced again in the right
+direction, but, having lifted his right foot too high in the untwisting
+process, he found that the slender tail of its snow-shoe stuck down in
+the snow, setting the shoe pointing skyward and his toe, tied by the
+thongs, held prisoner about a foot above the snow. He tried to kick, but
+the shoe became more firmly embedded. He lost his balance, and only by a
+wild fling of his body, in which his arms went up into the air, did he
+regain his upright position. The moment of calm which succeeded produced
+from him another remark.
+
+'It seems to me that you have got me now in closer bonds than before.'
+As he spoke he turned his glance backward and saw that comment of his
+was needless.
+
+The girl had at last yielded to laughter. Worn out, no doubt, by a
+long-controlled excitement, laughter had now entirely overcome her.
+Leaning her head on her hand and her shoulders against a pillar of the
+porch, she was shaking visibly from head to foot, and the effort she
+made to keep the sound of her amusement within check only seemed to make
+its hold upon her more absolute.
+
+'I don't wonder you laugh,' he said, feebly beginning to laugh himself a
+little.
+
+But she did not make the slightest reply. Her face was crimson; the
+ripples of her laughter went over her form as ripples of wind over a
+young tree.
+
+He was forced to leave her thus. By a miracle of determination, as it
+seemed, he freed his right shoe and made slow and wary strides forward.
+He saw that he had exaggerated the width of his snow-shoes, but his
+progress now was still made upon the plan of keeping his feet wide
+apart, although not too wide for motion. He knew that this was not the
+right method; he knew that she peered at him between her fingers and was
+more convulsed with laughter at his every step. He was thankful to think
+that the falling flakes must soon begin to obscure his figure, but he
+did not dare to try another plan of walking while she watched, lest she
+should see him stop again.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+
+Courthope had struck across to the main road at right angles to the
+poplar avenue. The poplars stood slim, upright, more like a stiff and
+regular formation of feathery seaweed growing out of a frozen ocean than
+like trees upon a plain. He was nearing a grove of elm and birch which
+he had not seen the evening before; by the almost hidden rails of the
+fence there were half-buried shrubs. So dry, so hard, so absolutely
+without bud or sere leaf was the interlacing outline of the trees and
+shrubs, that they too seemed to be some strange product of this new sort
+of ocean; they did not remind him of verdant glades. Not that beauty was
+absent, nor charm, but the scene was strange, very strange; the domain
+of the laughing princess, on whom he had turned his back, was, in the
+daylight, more than ever an enchanted land which he could fancy to be
+unknown in story and until now unexplored by man. Such ideas only came
+to him by snatches; the rest of him, mind and body, was summed up in a
+fierce determination to catch the thief and bring back his spoils.
+Whether by this he would prove himself honest or guilty, he neither knew
+nor felt that he cared.
+
+Gradually, as he thought less about his snow-shoes, he found that the
+wide lateral swing which he had been giving to his leg was unneeded.
+Strange as it seemed, the large rackets did not interfere when he took
+an ordinary step. Having made this pleasant discovery he quickened
+speed. He did not know whether the girl had stopped laughing and had
+gone into the house again, but he knew that the falling snow and the
+branches of the trees must now hinder her from seeing him distinctly.
+
+In a moment he was glad of this, for, becoming incautious, he fell.
+
+Both arms, put out to save himself, were embedded to the very shoulder
+straight down in snow that offered no bottom to his touch; when his next
+impulse was to move knees and feet he found that the points of his
+snow-shoes were dug deep, and his toes, tied to them, held the soles of
+his feet in the same position.
+
+What cursed temerity had made him confess to a criminal act in order to
+be allowed to come on this fool's errand? Fool, indeed, had he been to
+suppose that he could walk upon a frozen cloud without falling through!
+Such were Courthope's reflections.
+
+By degrees he got himself up, but only by curling himself round and
+taking off his snow-shoes. By degrees he got the snow-shoes put on
+again, and mounted out of the hole which he had made, with snow
+adhering to all his garments and snow melting adown his neck and wrists.
+He now realised that he had spent nearly half an hour in walking not a
+quarter of a mile. With this cheerless reflection as a companion he went
+doggedly on, choosing now the drifted main road for a path.
+
+Having left behind him the skeleton forms of the trees, he was trudging
+across an open plain, flat almost as the surface of the lake which he
+had traversed yesterday. Sometimes the fences at the side of the road
+were wholly hidden, more often they showed the top of their posts or
+upper bar; sometimes he could see cross-fences, as if outlining fields,
+so that he supposed he still walked through lands farmed from the lonely
+stone house, that he was still upon his lady's domain. He meditated upon
+her, judging that she was sweet beyond compare, although why he thought
+so, after her mistrust and derision, was one of those secrets which the
+dimpled Cupid only could explain. He was forced to acknowledge the fact
+that thus he did think, because here he was walking, whither he hardly
+knew, how he hardly knew, battling with the gale, hustled roughly by its
+white wings, in danger at every turn of falling off the two small moving
+rafts of his shoes into a sea in which no man could swim very long. He
+wondered, should his snow-shoes break, if he would be able to flounder
+to the rim of the fence? How long could he sit there? Certainly it would
+seem, looking north and south and east and west, that he would need to
+sit as long as the life in him might endure the frost.
+
+At length a shed or small barn met his eye. His own approach seemed to
+have been heard and answered from within; the neigh of a horse greeted
+him. At first he supposed that some horses belonging to the house were
+stabled here, and neglected because the roads were impassable; then he
+judged that so slight a shed could not be intended for a stable.
+
+He answered the animal's cry by seeking the door. Against it the drift
+was not deep, for, as it opened on the sheltered side, he had only the
+snowfall to scrape away. The door, which had very recently been freed
+from its crust of frost, yielded easily. He found a brown shaggy horse
+tied within, and beside it a sleigh, such as he had frequently seen, a
+mere platform of wood upon runners. Otherwise the shed was empty.
+Courthope was quickly struck by the recognition of something which set
+his memory working. The old buffalo-skin on the sleigh was such as was
+common, but the way it was stretched upon a heap of sacks made him
+remember the sleigh that he had yesterday passed upon the river, and the
+keen sinister face of the driver, which had ill contrasted with his
+apparent sleep and stupidity.
+
+Courthope tossed aside the skin with a jerk. A rum bottle, a small hoard
+of frozen bread and bacon, a heavy blanket folded beneath, all seemed to
+prove that the driver had made provision for a longer journey. The horse
+had no food before it; no blanket was upon its back. Probably its driver
+had not intended to leave it here so long. Where was the driver? This
+quickly became in Courthope's mind the all-important question. Why had
+he been skulking on the most lonely part of the lake? And now, recalling
+again the man's face, he believed that he had had an evil design.
+
+Courthope pursued his way; for, whether the thief had gone farther or
+remained in this vicinity, it was evidently desirable to have help from
+the nearest neighbours to seek and capture him. Courthope soon reached
+what seemed to be a dip or hollow in the plain; in this the wind had
+been very busy levelling the surface with the higher ground. At first he
+supposed that, for some reason, road and fences had come to an abrupt
+ending; then he discovered that he merely walked higher above the
+natural level. The thought came to him that if here he should break his
+snow-shoes there would not even be the neighbouring fence-top on which
+to perch and freeze.
+
+Suddenly all his attention was concentrated upon a dark something, like
+a bit of cloth fallen in the snow. As he came close and touched the
+cloth he found it to be the covering of a basket almost buried; pushing
+away the snow-crusted covering and feeling with eager fingers among the
+icy contents, he quickly knew that this was no other than the stolen
+silver of which he was in quest. A thrill of gratitude to Fortune for so
+kindly a freak had hardly passed through his mind before his eye sought
+a depression in the snow just beyond. He saw now that a man was lying
+there. The head resting upon an arm was but slightly covered with snow;
+the whole form had sunk by its own heat into a cavity like a grave.
+
+Courthope lifted the head; the face was that of the man whom he had seen
+yesterday upon the river. The arms, when he raised them, fell again to
+the snow like lead, yet he perceived that life was not extinct. Even in
+the frost the odour of rum was to be perceived, and breath, although so
+feeble as to be unseen, still passed in and out of the tightly-drawn
+nostrils. The touch, that would have been reverent to a corpse, was now
+rough. He shook the fallen man and shouted. He raised him to a sitting
+posture, but finding that, standing as he did upon soft snow, to lift
+him was impossible, he laid him again in the self-made grave. That
+posture at least would be most conducive to the continued motion of the
+heart.
+
+Standing upon the other side of the body, Courthope's shoe struck upon
+another hard object which he found to be a case, stolen locked as it
+was, which contained, no doubt, the other valuables whose loss Madge had
+first discovered. The wretch, weighted by a burden in each hand, had
+apparently missed his way when endeavouring to return to the shed in
+which he had left his horse, and wandering in circles, perhaps for
+hours, had evidently succumbed to drink and to cold, caught as in a trap
+by the unusual violence of the storm.
+
+There was nothing to be done but return to the house for Morin's aid,
+and, lifting the handles of basket and case in either hand, Courthope
+doubled back upon his own track, thankful that he had already attained
+to some skill in snow-shoeing. As he neared the house his heart beat
+high at the excitement of seeing Madge's delight. He closely scanned the
+windows, even the tiny windows in the pointed tin roof, but no eager
+eyes were on the look-out.
+
+Loudly he thumped upon the heavy front door. There was somewhat of a
+bustle inside at the knock. The snow-bound household collected quickly
+at the welcome thought of a message from the outside world. When the
+door was opened Madge and the Morins were there to behold Courthope
+carrying the plunder. He perceived at once that his guilt, if doubted
+before, was now proved beyond all doubt. There was a distinct measure of
+reserve in the satisfaction they expressed. Madge especially was very
+grave, with a strong flavour of moral severity in her words and
+demeanour.
+
+Courthope explained to her that the other man was dying in the snow,
+that if his life was to be saved no time must be lost. She repeated the
+story in French to Morin, and thereupon arose high words from the
+Frenchman. Madge looked doubtfully at Courthope, and then she
+interpreted.
+
+It seemed that the Frenchman's desire was to put him out again and lock
+up the house, leaving the two accomplices to shift for themselves as
+best they might. Courthope urged motives of humanity. He described the
+man and his condition.
+
+At length he prevailed. Madge insisted that if Morin did not go she
+would. In a few moments both she and Morin were preparing to set out.
+
+It seemed useless for Courthope to precede them; he went into the
+dining-room, demanding food of Madam Morin.
+
+He found that Eliz had been carried down and placed in her chair in the
+midst of domestic activities.
+
+As soon as she spied him, being in a nervous, hysterical state, she
+opened her mouth and shrieked sharply; the shriek at this time had more
+the tone of a child's anger than of a woman's fear. With a strong sense
+of humour he sat down at the table, and she, realising that he was not
+immediately dangerous, railed upon him.
+
+'Viper in the bosom!' said Eliz.
+
+Courthope, almost famished, ate fast.
+
+'Daughter of the horse-leech crying "give," and sucking blood from the
+hand it gives!' she continued.
+
+'Sir Charles Grandison would never have kicked a man when he was down,'
+he said. 'He would have tried to do good even to the viper he had
+nourished.'
+
+The memory of Sir Charles's well-known method even with the most
+villainous, appeared to distract her attention for a moment.
+
+'And then they all sent for him and confessed and made amends, just as I
+have done,' Courthope went on; but the fact that a laugh was gleaming in
+his eyes enraged the little cripple.
+
+'How dare you talk to me, sitting there pretending to be a gentleman!'
+
+'I would rather be allowed to make a better toilet if my reputation were
+to rest upon a pretence. I never heard of a gentlemanly villain who went
+about without collar and cuffs, and had not been allowed access to his
+hair-brush.'
+
+'A striped jacket and shaved head is generally what he goes about in
+after he's unmasked. If I had been Madge I would not have let you off.'
+
+'Come, remember how sorry Elizabeth Bennett was when she found she had
+given way to prejudice. If I remember right she lay awake many nights.'
+
+'Are you adding insult to injury by insinuating that either of us might
+bestow upon you----?'
+
+'Oh! certainly not, I merely wish to suggest that a young lady
+possessing lively talents and "remarkably fine eyes" might yet make
+great mistakes in her estimate of the masculine character.'
+
+The cripple, who perhaps had never before heard her one beautiful
+feature praised by masculine lips, was obliged to harden herself.
+
+'Accomplished wretch!' she cried, in accents worthy of an irate Pamela.
+
+'Do you suppose it was the last time I was serving my term in gaol that
+I read our favourite novels?' he asked.
+
+By this time Morin had passed out of the door to put on his snow-shoes,
+and Courthope, who had swallowed only as much food as was necessary to
+keep him from starvation, turned out to repeat the process of putting on
+his, this time more deftly.
+
+Morin had a toboggan upon which were piled such necessaries as Madge had
+collected. They began their march three abreast into the storm.
+
+They went a long way without conversation, and yet Courthope found in
+this march keen enjoyment. His heart was absurdly light. To have
+performed so considerable a service for Madge, now to be walking beside
+her on an errand of mercy, was as much joy as the present hour could
+hold.
+
+It was difficult for him to keep up with the others, yet in doing so
+there was the pleasure of the athlete in having acquired a new mastery
+over his muscles; and the fascination of being at home in the snow as a
+sea-bird is at home in the surf, which is the chief element of delight
+in all winter sports, was his for the first time. With the drunken
+wretch who was almost frozen he felt small sympathy, but he had the
+sense that all modern men have on such occasions, that he ought to be
+concerned, which kept him grave.
+
+The other two were not light-hearted. Morin, dragging the toboggan
+behind him and walking with his grey head bent forward to the gale, was
+sullen at being driven in the service of thieves; afraid lest some
+sinister design was still intended, he cast constant glances of cunning
+suspicion at Courthope. As for Madge, she appeared grave and
+pre-occupied beyond all that was natural to her, suffering, he feared,
+from the pain of her first disillusionment. This was a suffering that he
+was hardly in a position to take seriously, and yet his heart yearned
+over her. He thought also that she was pondering over the problem of
+her next responsibility, and the evidence of this came sooner than he
+had expected.
+
+When they got to the place where his first track diverged straight to
+the shed, she and Morin stopped to exchange remarks; they evidently
+perceived in this the clearest evidence of all against him. Had he not
+gone straight to the place where the accomplice had agreed to wait? Then
+Madge fell back a little to where he was now plodding in the rear. She
+accosted him in the soft tones that had from the first so charmed him,
+contrasting with her sister's voice as the tones of a reed-pipe contrast
+with those from metal, or as the full voice of the cuckoo with the
+shrill chirp of the sparrow. The soft voice was very serious, the manner
+more than sedate, the words studied.
+
+'I am afraid that nothing that I can say will persuade you to alter a
+way of life which you seem to have chosen, but it seems to me very sad
+that one of your ability should so degrade himself.'
+
+She stopped with a little gasp for breath, as if frightened at her own
+audacity. Her manner and phrases were an evident imitation of the way in
+which she had heard advice bestowed upon vagrant or criminal by the
+benevolent judge whose memory she so tenderly cherished. It was second
+nature to her to act as she fancied he would have acted. Courthope
+composed himself to receive the judicial admonition with becoming
+humility; his whole sympathy was with her, his mind was aglow with the
+quaint humour of it.
+
+'You must know,' rebuked Madge, 'how very wrong it is; and it is not
+possible that you could have difficulty in getting some honest
+employment.'
+
+'It is very kind of you to interest yourself in me.' He kept his eyes
+upon the ground.
+
+'I do not know, of course, what led you to begin a life of crime, or in
+what way you found out what houses in this country were worth robbing,
+but I fear you must have led a wicked life for a long time' (she was
+very severe now). 'You are young yet; why should you carry on your
+nefarious schemes in a new country, where, if you would, you could
+easily reform?' (Again a little gasp for breath.) 'I have promised to
+let you go without giving you into the hands of the law. I am afraid I
+did a selfish and weak thing, because others may suffer from your
+crimes, and I wish you could take this opportunity, which my leniency
+gives you, and try to reform before you have lost your reputation as
+well as your character.'
+
+'It is very kind of you,' he murmured again; and still as he walked he
+looked upon his feet. He had no thought now of again denying his guilt;
+having denied and, as she thought, confessed, he felt that to change
+once more would only evoke her greater scorn. 'Let be,' his heart said.
+'Let come what will, I will not confuse her further to-day.'
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+
+They passed the shed, making a straight march, as swift as might be, for
+the fallen man; but before they reached him they saw some one coming, a
+black, increasing form in the snowy distance. Morin hesitated. If the
+thief had arisen, strong and able-bodied, it was clear that they had
+again been tricked for an evil purpose. Even Madge looked alarmed, and
+they both raised a halloo in the _patois_ of the region. The answer that
+came across the reach of the storm cheered them.
+
+The new-comer, a messenger from the nearest village, became voluble as
+soon as he was within speaking distance. He addressed Madge in broken
+English, but so quickly and with so strong a French accent that
+Courthope only gathered part of his errand. He had come, it seemed, from
+the stepmother to tell something concerning a certain Xavier, who had
+been sent to them the evening before. Before he had finished calling,
+Madge and Morin had come to the place where the thief lay, and, looking
+down upon him, Madge gave a little cry.
+
+The new-comer came up. He looked as if he might be of the grade of a
+notary's clerk or a country chemist. He did not seem surprised to see
+who the man was. He began at once with great activity to chafe his hands
+and face with handfuls of the snow. Madge and Morin were also active
+with the restoratives. The thief was lifted and laid upon the toboggan.
+They trod the snow all about to know that nothing remained, and found
+only a corkless flask containing a few drops of rum. They were all so
+busy that Courthope had little to do; he stood aside, wondering above
+all at the way they rubbed the man with the snow, and at the
+astonishment that Madge expressed. The stranger was very nimble and very
+talkative; pouring out words now in French to Madge, he walked with her
+in all haste to the shed from which the horse again whinnied. Morin,
+awakening to a sense of urgency, started at a trot, dragging the
+toboggan behind him; it sank heavily in snow so light. Courthope lent a
+hand to the loop of rope by which it was drawn. He too essayed the trot
+of the Canadian. He was growing proficient, and if he did not succeed in
+keeping up the running pace, he managed to go more quickly than before.
+They made fair progress. Looking back, Courthope saw Madge and the
+stranger emerge upon the road with the little horse. He had not time to
+look back often to see how they helped it to make its way. They were
+still some distance behind when he and Morin reached the house.
+
+The man called Xavier was carried into the kitchen amid wild
+exclamations from the Morin women. As they all continued the work of
+restoring him with a hearty goodwill and an experience of which
+Courthope could not boast, he was glad to betake himself to his own
+room, wondering whether he was now a thief or a gentleman in the eyes of
+this small snow-bound world. There was, in any case, no one at leisure
+to prohibit him from making free with his own possessions.
+
+When he was dressed a certain shyness prohibited him from entering the
+dining-room in which he heard Madge, Eliz, and the stranger talking
+French together. He betook himself to the library, to the _Letters of
+the Portuguese Nun_ and an easy-chair. They might oust him with
+severity, but it was as well to enjoy a short interval of luxury. The
+room was warmed with a stove; the book was in the old-fashioned type; an
+almost sleepless night was behind him; soon he slept.
+
+It was almost midday when he slept; the afternoon was advancing when he
+awakened. Madam Morin was standing beside him arranging a tray of food
+upon the table.
+
+'Eh!' she said, and smiled upon him.
+
+Then she pointed to the food, and demanded in pantomime if it suited
+him. Courthope concluded that he had ceased to be in disgrace. He would
+rather, much rather, have been summoned to a family meal, but that was
+not his lot. He had taken many things philosophically in the course of
+recent hours, and he took this also. What right had he to intrude
+himself? He ate his meal alone. His roving glance soon brought him
+pleasure, for he found that some one had tip-toed into the room while he
+slept and laid the choicest volumes of romance near his chair.
+
+The wind had dropped, the snow had ceased falling. Before Courthope had
+finished his luncheon the young man who looked like a notary's clerk
+came in, using his broken English. He remarked that the storm was over
+and that they were now going to get out a double team to plough through
+the road. He suggested that Courthope should help him to drive it, and
+to transport the prisoner to the gaol in the village. One man must be
+left to protect the young ladies and the house; one man must help him
+with the team and its burden. The speaker shrugged his shoulders,
+suggesting that it would be more suitable for Morin to remain, and said
+that for his part he would be much obliged and honoured if Courthope
+would accompany him. Here some plain and easy compliments were thrown in
+about Courthope's strength and the generous activity he had displayed,
+but not a word concerning his temporary disgrace; if this man knew of it
+he did not regard it as of any importance.
+
+He was a matter-of-fact young man, not much interested in Courthope as a
+stranger, immensely interested in the fact of the theft and all that
+concerned it. At the slightest question he poured out excited
+information. Xavier had been a servant in the house. Mrs. King, who was
+religious and zealous, had found in him a convert. He had become a
+Protestant to please her. (At this point the narrator shrugged his
+shoulders again.) Then Xavier had asked higher wages; upon that there
+was a quarrel, and he had left.
+
+The speaker's scanty English was of the simplest. He said, 'Xavier is a
+very bad man, much worse than our people usually are. This winter he
+went to the city and got his wits sharpened, and when he came back he
+made a scheme. He sent word to Mrs. King that his old father was dying
+and would like to be converted too. Mrs. King travels at once with a
+horse and the strongest servant-man. The old father takes a long time to
+die, so Xavier comes here yesterday to say she will stay all night; but
+when he did not come back, his wife she got frightened, and she told
+that the old man was not going to die, that she was afraid there was a
+scheme. Now we have Xavier very safe. He may get five years.'
+
+Upon Courthope's inquiring after the health of the thief, he was told
+that beyond being severely frost-bitten he was little the worse. He was
+again drunk with the stimulants that the Morins had poured down his
+throat. The visitor ended the interview by saying that if Courthope
+would be good enough to drive the team through the drifts his own horse
+and sleigh would be sent after him the next day. Courthope inquired what
+was the wish of the young mistress of the house. The other replied that
+mademoiselle approved of his plan. It was evident that poor Madge was no
+longer the mistress; the clerk was an emissary of Mrs. King's, and as
+such he had taken the control. Still, as he was an amiable and capable
+person, Courthope fell in with his suggestion, inwardly vowing that soon
+of some domain, if not of this one, Madge should again be queen.
+
+Courthope received a message to the effect that the young ladies wished
+to see him. There was something in the formal wording of this message,
+coming after his solitary meal, which made him know that they were ill
+at ease, that they had taken their mistake more deeply to heart than he
+would have wished. He had no sooner entered the room where Madge stood
+than he wished he were well out of it again, so far did his sympathy
+with her discomfort transcend his own pleasure at being in her
+presence.
+
+Madge stood, as upon the first night, behind her sister's chair. Eliz
+looked frightened and excited, yet as half enjoying the novel
+excitement. Madge, pale-faced and distressed, showed only too plainly
+that she had need of all the courage she possessed to lift her eyes to
+his. Yet she was not going to shirk her duty; she was going to make her
+apology, and the apology of the household, just as the judge, her
+father, would have wished to have it made.
+
+It was a little speech, conned beforehand, which she spoke--a quaint
+mixture of her own girlish wording and the formal phrases which she felt
+the occasion demanded. Courthope never knew precisely what she said. His
+feelings were up and in tumult, like the winds on a gusty day, and he
+was embarrassed for her embarrassment, while he smiled for the very joy
+of it all.
+
+Madge confessed with grief that Eliz had mistaken Xavier for Courthope.
+She said the man from the village had shown them what folly it was to
+suppose that the gentleman could be Xavier's accomplice. She begged that
+same gentleman's pardon very humbly. At the end he heard some words
+faltered: she wished it was in their power 'to make any amends.'
+
+Almost before she ceased speaking he took up the word, and his own voice
+sounded to him merry and bold in comparison with her soft distressful
+speech; but he could not help that, he must speak with such powers as
+nature gave him.
+
+'There are two ways by which you can make amends, and first I would beg
+that none of our friends who were here last night should be told of it.
+I should not like to think that Emma and Elizabeth, and Evelina or
+Marianna Alcoforado should ever hear that I was taken for a thief.'
+
+'You are laughing at us,' said Eliz sharply. 'We know that you will go
+away and make fun of us to all your friends.'
+
+'If I do you will have one way of punishing me that would give me more
+pain than I could well endure, you can shut me out next time I come to
+ask for shelter.'
+
+'Oh, but you can't come again,' said Eliz, with vibrating note of fierce
+discontent; 'our stepmother will be here.'
+
+He looked at Madge.
+
+'I was going to say that the other way in which you could make amends
+would be to give me leave to come back; and if _you_ give me leave I
+will come, even if it be necessary, to that end, to get an introduction
+from all the clergy in Great Britain, or from the Royal Family.'
+
+A ray of hope shot into Madge's dark eyes, the first glimmer of a smile
+began to show through her distress.
+
+'It is an old adage that "where there is a will there is a way," and did
+I not walk on your most impossible snow-shoes and bring back your
+silver?'
+
+Madge looked down, a pretty red began to mantle her pale face, and, as
+if the angels who manage the winds and clouds did not wish that the
+blush of so dear a maiden should betray too much, a ray of scarlet light
+from the sinking sun just then came winging through the dispersing
+storm-clouds and caused all the white snow-world to redden, and dyed the
+frost-flowers on the window-pane, and, entering where the pane was bare,
+lit all the room with soft vermilion light. So, in the wondrous blush of
+the white world, the girl's cheeks glowed and yet did not confess too
+much.
+
+'You will allow me to send in your compliments and inquire after Mr.
+Woodhouse as I pass?' This was Courthope's farewell to Eliz, and she
+called joyfully in reply:--
+
+'You need not send back his message, for we shall know that they are
+"all very indifferent."'
+
+Into the scarlet shining of the western sun, an omen of fair weather and
+delight, Courthope set forth again from the square tin-roofed house,
+'leaving,' as the saying is, 'his heart behind him.' The large
+farm-horses, restive from long confinement and stimulated by the frost,
+shook their bells with energy. The Morin women displayed such goodwill
+and even tenderness in their attentions to the comfort of the second
+prisoner, in whom they had found an old friend, that, tied in a blanket
+and lying full length on the straw of a box-sleigh, he looked content
+with himself and the world, albeit he had not as yet returned from the
+happy roving-places of the drunken brain. The talkative clerk was glad
+enough to give Courthope the reins of the masterful horses; he sat on
+one edge of the blue-painted box and Courthope on the other; thus they
+started, bravely plunging into the drifts between the poplars. The
+drifts were all tinged with pink; the poplars, intercepting the red
+light upon their slender upright boughs, cast, each of them, a clear
+shadow that seemed to lie in endless length athwart the glowing sward.
+
+Courthope looked back at the house which had been so dim and
+phantom-like the night before; the red sun lit the icicles that hung
+from eaves and lintels, tinged the drifts, glowed upon the windows as if
+with light from within, and turned the steep tin roof into a gigantic
+rose; but all his glance was centred upon his lady-love, who stood,
+regardless of the cold, at the entrance of the drift-encircled porch and
+watched them as long as the sunlight lay upon the land. Was she looking
+at the plunging sleigh and at its driver, or at the chasms of light in
+the rent cloud beyond? His heart told him, as he drove on into the very
+midst of the sunset which had embraced the glistening land, that the
+maid, although not regardless of the outer glory, only rejoiced in its
+beauty because the vision of her heart was focused upon him. His heart,
+in telling him this, taught him no pride, for had he not learned in the
+same small space of time only to count himself rich in what she gave?
+
+Slow was the progress of the great horses; they passed the grove of high
+elms and birches that, dressed in the snowflakes that had lodged in
+boughs and branches when the wind dropped, stood up clear against the
+gulfs of blue that now opened above and beyond. Then the house was
+hidden, and after that, by degrees, the light of the sunset passed away.
+
+
+
+THE END.
+
+
+Printed by R. & R. CLARK, LIMITED, Edinburgh
+
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+ADVERTISEMENTS
+
+
+A MAN OF HONOUR.
+
+H. C. IRWIN.
+
+
+Crown 8vo, cloth, price 6s.
+
+'We have read many and many a story of the Indian Mutiny, but Mr.
+Irwin's tale has novelty all its own.'--_Glasgow Herald._
+
+'Much good and careful work marks "A Man of Honour." H. C. Irwin is a
+writer of thought and culture, who uses his experience of foreign travel
+to admirable purpose in an interesting book.'--_Black and White._
+
+'All the characters are clearly presented, and you have no difficulty in
+knowing whether you like them or not; and that is a commendation in
+itself.'--_National Observer._
+
+'The novel is well written, vigorous, and interesting, and will well
+repay reading, especially to those who like breezy, outdoor, active
+existence.'--_Scotsman._
+
+'The interest is well sustained throughout, and once fairly embarked on
+the story, it requires no slight moral effort to lay down the book
+before finishing it.'--_Literary World._
+
+'The description of Indian politics and events during the Mutiny years
+is well done, and the account of the battle of Chillianwallah and the
+time immediately preceding it is excellent'--_Standard._
+
+'The literary qualities of the book are high, and the story itself has
+great merit and power, and can be heartily recommended as a book very
+well worth reading.'--_Aberdeen Free Press._
+
+'Essentially interesting and well written.'--_British Review._
+
+'A cleaner book, and one more free, in spite of its _motif_, from the
+trail of the sex-serpent, we scarcely remember to have read.... We need
+more such idealists ... to show us some of the good that is left in the
+world.'--_Blackwood's Magazine._
+
+'The picture furnished of India, of its people and their ways, and of
+the terrible experiences of the Mutiny period, is an admirable bit of
+strong literary work.'--_Belfast News Letter._
+
+'It is a platitude that, to be worth reading, a Mutiny story must be
+unquestionably good. The standard is high, but Mr. Irwin's book comes up
+to it, and fully satisfies the most exacting test'--_The Pioneer,
+Allahabad._
+
+
+A. & C. BLACK, SOHO SQUARE, LONDON.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+THE LIFEGUARDSMAN.
+
+ADAPTED FROM SCHIMMEL'S 'DE KAPTEIN VAN DE LIJFGARDE.'
+
+
+Crown 8vo, cloth, price 6s.
+
+'It is a work of remarkable power and sustained interest. Right to the
+end the interest is maintained, and it is not over-estimating the work
+to say that few historical novels published within recent years are
+superior to this adaptation of the Dutchman's story.'--_Scotsman._
+
+'It is primarily a romance, a story of thrilling adventure, and moves
+forward with dramatic spirit from point to point.'--_Illustrated London
+News._
+
+'We have no other novel giving so intimate an account of how things fell
+out, and what obscure events and persons helped and hindered the
+overthrow of James II. But the chief interest of the book turns round
+the private person, the Lifeguardsman, not all a hero, mistaken, erring,
+unfortunate, yet a brave man, and of the kind that stirs our sympathies
+more than do immaculate heroes.'--_Bookman._
+
+'The work is characterised by great dash and vigour, and the principal
+characters in the story are strongly drawn, while the incidents are
+woven so skilfully together that the reader is carried with absorbing
+interest to the close.'--_Western Times._
+
+'English readers are under a considerable debt of gratitude to the
+anonymous translator who has given them a version in the vernacular of
+Schimmel's "De Kaptein van de Lijfgarde." "The Lifeguardsman" is a
+historical novel of very unusual power and fidelity. In detail and habit
+the scenes and people of that troublous period are "reconstituted" here
+with remarkable skill.'--_Belfast Northern Whig._
+
+'We do not often get the pleasure of handling such a lively and
+thrilling story, and can feel a due measure of gratitude for the
+anonymous "mere adapter" to whose discernment and enterprise we are
+indebted for having brought it to our notice.'--_Literary World._
+
+
+A. & C. BLACK, SOHO SQUARE, LONDON.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+A JAPANESE MARRIAGE
+
+BY DOUGLAS SLADEN.
+
+FIFTH THOUSAND.
+
+
+Crown 8vo, boards, price 2s.; or in cloth, price 2s. 6d.
+
+I. ZANGWILL, _Pall Mall Magazine_, says: 'Bryn, the
+heroine, is a charming creature, and some of the scenes with her
+half-crazed dying sister reveal strong imaginative power.'
+
+MRS LYNN LINTON, in the _Queen_, says: 'Another Little Dear
+has for her main quality unselfishness, penetrated through and through
+by love. Such a character is Mary Avon in Douglas Sladen's striking
+novel, "A Japanese Marriage."'
+
+SILAS K. HOCKING, in the _Family Circle_: 'The stupidity, not
+to say immorality, of the English law, which prevents marriage with the
+deceased wife's sister, has rarely been more strikingly illustrated than
+in Mr. Douglas Sladen's clever novel, "A Japanese Marriage." I could
+wish the whole bench of bishops would read, mark, learn, and inwardly
+digest this sparkling and entertaining story.'
+
+HELEN MATHERS, in the _Literary World_, writes: 'Philip and
+Bryn--these two are so interesting and so true to life, the Japanese
+background against which they move in such noble but intensely human
+fashion is so exquisite, that the dullest of us must feel keen pleasure
+when we mingle intimately with the little people who have quite recently
+asserted their right to be reckoned with the greatest upon earth.'
+
+G. A., in the _Westminster Gazette_, says: 'Mr. Douglas Sladen's first
+novel is a distinct success. To begin with, he has managed to capture a
+real live heroine, as charming and convincing a pretty girl as we have
+met with for years. Her flesh-and-blood reality is quite undeniable. She
+imposes herself upon one from the very first; she is winning and
+genuine, and as fresh as a daisy.'
+
+GILBERT BURGESS, in the _Illustrated London News_: 'This time
+it is the woes of the deceased wife's sister which are brought before us
+in a narrative that is invariably picturesque, and, especially as to the
+latter half of the volume, is of considerable humour and pathos.'
+
+NORMAN GALE, in the _Literary World_: 'Bryn, a girl beautiful
+exceedingly, only a little past twenty years of age--"sweet and twenty"
+indeed!--loving Philip purely, and purely loved by him in return, living
+alone with a young widower. The moment when Bryn proves her love is a
+most exciting one, and shows that Mr. Sladen is a master of vivid
+recital.'
+
+JAS. STANLEY LITTLE, in the _Academy_: 'He writes with
+knowledge and freshness of a country and a people as full of interest as
+Japan and the Japanese.'
+
+MARION HEPWORTH DIXON, in the _Englishwoman_: 'A story
+strikingly told and animated with the doings of English residents in
+Japan.'
+
+RICHARD LE GALLIENNE, in the _Star_: 'An exceedingly sprightly
+and readable novel.'
+
+A. & C. BLACK, SOHO SQUARE, LONDON.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+MERE STORIES.
+
+BY MRS. W. K. CLIFFORD.
+
+
+Crown 8vo, paper covers, in the style of a French novel, price 2s.
+
+'Mrs. W. K. Clifford's "Mere Stories" is not only notable for the
+excellence and uniform interest of the stories it contains, but also for
+the novelty of its shape--that of the yellow French novel pure and
+simple. The innovation deserves encouragement. You do not want, at this
+time of day, an introduction to Mrs. Clifford's many good qualities. She
+has become one of those few writers of English fiction no one of whose
+books one can afford to leave unread.'--_Review of Reviews._
+
+'They are neatly and incisively written, with an unfailing strain of
+humour running through them. Altogether, this is a volume to read, and
+we like its get-up--in paper covers on the French model, only neater and
+more substantial.'--_Daily Mail._
+
+'In type, make-up, and size, it is exactly the volume to buy at the
+book-stall and slip into such convenient receptacle as you may chance to
+carry with you in the railway carriage. It costs you no more than a few
+illustrated papers, and is more handy to bestow when you have read it.
+As for the contents, they are eight slight stories, in Mrs. Clifford's
+best manner. Yet, simple and unpretending as they are, they contain the
+real novelist's touch. There is nature, drama, character, in these short
+histories, and, above all, that command of simple pathos which Mrs.
+Clifford has more than most writers. We do not know many living writers
+who could have done either so well.'--_St. James's Gazette._
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+UNIFORM WITH 'MERE STORIES,'
+
+THE LAST TOUCHES.
+
+BY MRS. W. K. CLIFFORD.
+
+
+'Much skill is devoted to the narration of all these
+stories.'--_Saturday Review._
+
+'Many of them surpass even "Aunt Anne" and "Mrs. Keith's Crime" in
+terseness and brilliant originality.'--_Morning Post._
+
+'One reads them from beginning to end enchanted.'--_National Review._
+
+'There is some very pretty and delicate work in them, which the literary
+world would be the poorer for losing.'--_Daily Telegraph._
+
+'Indeed, in every story there are touches of wonderful cleverness, signs
+of clear insight, of fresh and just observation.'--_Speaker._
+
+'Two or three of the stories reach an uncommon level of thought and
+expression.'--_Standard._
+
+'But they are all good, all original, all distinctive, and we advise
+readers to take care not to miss them.'--_Guardian._
+
+
+A. & C. BLACK, SOHO SQUARE, LONDON.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+THE DREAM-CHARLOTTE.
+
+BY M. BETHAM-EDWARDS.
+
+
+Crown 8vo, cloth, price 6s.
+
+'Miss Betham-Edwards is on her own special ground in her new novel,
+which she calls "The Dream-Charlotte." Provincial France of the
+Revolution time she knows with a detailed knowledge few other English
+writers, if any, possess. It is a first-rate novel for youth, because of
+its irresistible, contagious youthfulness; and its wholesome
+enthusiasms.'--_The Sketch._
+
+'An historical novel of a thoroughly legitimate kind, for the picture
+and the character are brought before us with sufficient vividness, yet
+mainly through the words and thoughts of the fictitious heroine, and
+through her close sympathy with her friend.'--_Athenæum._
+
+'A tale of rare imaginative beauty. Needless to say, the literary charm
+of the book is great, and the atmosphere of the story true to its
+historical setting.'--_Dundee Advertiser._
+
+'No living writer is so thoroughly at home in describing French life as
+Miss Edwards is, or better able to give a life-like picture of the
+social condition of France at the period of Charlotte Corday's daring
+deed.'--_Hastings Observer._
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+THE CURB OF HONOUR.
+
+BY M. BETHAM-EDWARDS.
+
+
+Crown 8vo, cloth, price 3s. 6d.
+
+'The descriptions of scenery in the Pyrenees are very attractive, and
+the author has been most skilful in her delineations of the characters
+of the leading actors.'--_Literary World._
+
+'The concluding chapter is a piece of masterly tragi-comedy. When I say
+that this scene is suggestive of Balzac, I mean a high
+compliment.'--_Academy._
+
+'Miss Betham-Edwards is a popular favourite of longstanding. She loves
+to take her readers into some quiet corner of France, and her gift of
+picturesque description is such that her tales seldom fail to yield
+interest and recreation.'--_Times._
+
+
+A. & C. BLACK, SOHO SQUARE, LONDON.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+AN ISLE IN THE WATER.
+
+BY KATHARINE TYNAN (MRS. HINKSON).
+
+AUTHOR OF 'OH, WHAT A PLAGUE IS LOVE!'
+
+
+Crown 8vo, cloth, price 3s. 6d.
+
+'Here, among the hosts of ladies who write with care and inelegance,
+comes a woman artist. "An Isle in the Water" is a collection of fifteen
+well-conceived and excellently-finished Irish stories, for which it
+would be hard to find anything to say but praise. They are all extremely
+short for the force of their effect, and every touch tells; they are
+gracefully phrased without an appearance of artifice, subtly expressed
+without a suspicion of affectation.'--_Saturday Review._
+
+'I venture to assert that in any one of its fifteen tales there is a
+finer rendering of the very essence of Irish life and character than in
+any half-dozen of the books which are responsible for the conception of
+the conventional Pat or Biddy which has had such a long and prosperous
+vogue on this side of the Channel. The book owes its momentum to its
+fascinating and powerful rendering of the pathos and the tragedy of the
+simple lives with which the writer deals. But this fascination and power
+are far too obvious to stand in need of celebration.'--_New Age._
+
+'Any faults the book may have are redeemed by a page torn from the
+authoress's own heart. "Changing the Nurseries" is a chapter no woman,
+mother, or maid could read without a lump in her throat. The strong
+maternal element, which is the chief virtue of the Irish, is rife in it,
+and the thousand and one little trivialities that our life is made up of
+are admirably commented upon.'--_St. James's Budget._
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+OH, WHAT A PLAGUE IS LOVE!
+
+BY KATHARINE TYNAN (MRS. HINKSON).
+
+
+Crown 8vo, cloth, price 3s. 6d.
+
+'This sparkling story has such freshness as suggests a draught new-drawn
+from Paphian wells. It is, in fact, a vivacious little comedy, agreeably
+diversified with threatenings of tragedy, and radiant with humour from
+first to last.'--_Daily Chronicle._
+
+'Mrs. Hinkson is lively and pleasant in her domestic story--purely
+English this time--which relates the misgivings and manoeuvrings of a
+family of young grown-up people who are ever on the watch for the
+amorous proclivities of a light-hearted father.'--_National Observer._
+
+'Leigh Hunt would have delighted in Mrs. Hinkson. He knew how to value
+high spirit in a writer, and the gaiety of this cheerful story would
+have charmed him immensely.'--_Saturday Review._
+
+
+A. & C. Black, Soho Square, London.
+
+
+
+***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A DOZEN WAYS OF LOVE***
+
+
+******* This file should be named 18086-8.txt or 18086-8.zip *******
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+<h1>The Project Gutenberg eBook, A Dozen Ways Of Love, by Lily Dougall</h1>
+<pre>
+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 <a href = "http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre>
+<p>Title: A Dozen Ways Of Love</p>
+<p>Author: Lily Dougall</p>
+<p>Release Date: March 30, 2006  [eBook #18086]</p>
+<p>Language: English</p>
+<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p>
+<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A DOZEN WAYS OF LOVE***</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<h3>E-text prepared by Robert Cicconetti, Martin Pettit,<br />
+    and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br />
+    (<a href="http://www.pgdp.net/">http://www.pgdp.net/</a>)<br />
+    from page images generously made available by<br />
+    Early Canadiana Online<br />
+    (<a href="http://www.canadiana.org/eco/index.html">http://www.canadiana.org/eco/index.html</a>)</h3>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<table border="0" cellpadding="10" style="background-color: #ccccff;">
+  <tr>
+    <td valign="top">
+      Note:
+    </td>
+    <td>
+      Images of the original pages are available through
+	  Early Canadiana Online. See
+      <a href="http://www.canadiana.org/ECO/ItemRecord/27354?id=1773fdb4bf2c6d8f">
+      http://www.canadiana.org/ECO/ItemRecord/27354?id=1773fdb4bf2c6d8f</a>
+    </td>
+  </tr>
+</table>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr class="full" />
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<h3>A</h3>
+
+<h1>DOZEN WAYS OF LOVE</h1>
+
+<p><br /><br /></p>
+
+<h3>BY</h3>
+
+<h2>L. DOUGALL</h2>
+
+<h4>AUTHOR OF 'BEGGARS ALL,' 'THE ZEITGEIST,' 'THE MADONNA OF A DAY,' ETC.</h4>
+
+<p><br /><br /></p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<h3>LONDON</h3>
+
+<h3>ADAM AND CHARLES BLACK</h3>
+
+<h3>1897</h3>
+
+<hr />
+
+<h4>TO</h4>
+
+<h3>M. S. E.</h3>
+
+<h4>WITHOUT WHOSE AID, I THINK, MY BOOKS WOULD NEVER HAVE BEEN WRITTEN</h4>
+
+<hr />
+<h2>CONTENTS</h2>
+
+<div class="index">
+<ul>
+<li><span class="mono">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#I">I.</a></span>&nbsp;&nbsp;<span class="smcap">Young Love</span></li>
+<li><span class="mono">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#II">II.</a></span>&nbsp;&nbsp;<span class="smcap">A Marriage made in Heaven</span></li>
+<li><span class="mono">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#III">III.</a></span>&nbsp;&nbsp;<span class="smcap">Thrift</span></li>
+<li><span class="mono">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#IV">IV.</a></span>&nbsp;&nbsp;<span class="smcap">A Taint in the Blood</span></li>
+<li><span class="mono">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#Chapter_I"><span class="smcap">Chapter I</span></a></li>
+<li><span class="mono">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#Chapter_II"><span class="smcap">Chapter II</span></a></li>
+<li><span class="mono">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#Chapter_III"><span class="smcap">Chapter III</span></a></li>
+<li><span class="mono">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#Chapter_IV"><span class="smcap">Chapter IV</span></a></li>
+<li><span class="mono">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#V">V.</a></span>&nbsp;&nbsp;<span class="smcap">'Hath not a Jew Eyes?'</span></li>
+<li><span class="mono">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#VI">VI.</a></span>&nbsp;&nbsp;<span class="smcap">A Commercial Traveller</span></li>
+<li><span class="mono">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#VII">VII.</a></span>&nbsp;&nbsp;<span class="smcap">The Syndicate Baby</span></li>
+<li><span class="mono">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#VIII">VIII.</a></span>&nbsp;&nbsp;<span class="smcap">Witchcraft</span></li>
+<li><span class="mono">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#IX">IX.</a></span>&nbsp;&nbsp;<span class="smcap">The Girl who believed in the Saints</span></li>
+<li><span class="mono">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#X">X.</a></span>&nbsp;&nbsp;<span class="smcap">The Pauper's Golden Day</span></li>
+<li><span class="mono">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#XI">XI.</a></span>&nbsp;&nbsp;<span class="smcap">The Soul of a Man</span></li>
+<li><span class="mono">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#Chapter_AI"><span class="smcap">Chapter I</span></a></li>
+<li><span class="mono">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#Chapter_AII"><span class="smcap">Chapter II</span></a></li>
+<li><span class="mono">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#Chapter_AIII"><span class="smcap">Chapter III</span></a></li>
+<li><span class="mono">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#XII">XII.</a></span>&nbsp;&nbsp;<span class="smcap">A Freak of Cupid</span></li>
+<li><span class="mono">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#Chapter_BI"><span class="smcap">Chapter I</span></a></li>
+<li><span class="mono">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#Chapter_BII"><span class="smcap">Chapter II</span></a></li>
+<li><span class="mono">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#Chapter_BIII"><span class="smcap">Chapter III</span></a></li>
+<li><span class="mono">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#Chapter_BIV"><span class="smcap">Chapter VI</span></a></li>
+<li><span class="mono">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#Chapter_BV"><span class="smcap">Chapter V</span></a></li>
+<li><span class="mono">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#Chapter_BVI"><span class="smcap">Chapter VI</span></a></li>
+<li><span class="mono">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>&nbsp;<a href="#ADVERTISEMENTS"><span class="smcap">Advertisements</span></a></li>
+</ul>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="I" id="I"></a>I</h2>
+
+<h3>YOUNG LOVE</h3>
+
+<p>It was after dark on a November evening. A young woman came down the
+main street of a small town in the south of Scotland. She was a
+maid-servant, about thirty years old; she had a pretty, though rather
+strong-featured, face, and yellow silken hair. When she came toward the
+end of the street she turned into a small draper's shop. A middle-aged
+woman stood behind the counter folding her wares.</p>
+
+<p>'Can ye tell me the way to Mistress Macdonald's?' asked the maid.</p>
+
+<p>'Ye'll be a stranger.' It was evident that every one in those parts knew
+the house inquired for.</p>
+
+<p>The maid had a somewhat forward, familiar manner; she sat down to rest.
+'What like is she?'</p>
+
+<p>The shopkeeper bridled. 'Is it Mistress Macdonald?' There was reproof in
+the voice. 'She is much respectet&mdash;none more so. It would be before<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span> you
+were born that every one about here knew Mistress Macdonald.'</p>
+
+<p>'Well, what family is there?' The maid had a sweet smile; her voice fell
+into a cheerful coaxing tone, which had its effect.</p>
+
+<p>'Ye'll be the new servant they'll be looking for. Is it walking ye are
+from the station? Well, she had six children, had Mistress Macdonald.'</p>
+
+<p>'What ages will they be?'</p>
+
+<p>The woman knit her brows; the problem set her was too difficult. 'I
+couldna tell ye just exactly. There's Miss Macdonald&mdash;she that's at home
+yet; she'll be over fifty.'</p>
+
+<p>'Oh!' The maid gave a cheerful note of interested understanding. 'It'll
+be her perhaps that wrote to me; the mistress'll be an old lady.'</p>
+
+<p>'She'll be nearer ninety than eighty, I'm thinking.' There was a
+moment's pause, which the shop-woman filled with sighs. 'Ye'll be aware
+that it's a sad house ye're going to. She's verra ill is Mistress
+Macdonald. It's sorrow for us all, for she's been hale and had her
+faculties. She'll no' be lasting long now, I'm thinking.'</p>
+
+<p>'No,' said the maid, with good-hearted pensiveness; 'it's not in the
+course of nature that she should.' She rose as she spoke, as if it
+behoved her to begin her new duties with alacrity, as there might not
+long be occasion for them. She put another question<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span> before she went.
+'And who will there be living in the house now?'</p>
+
+<p>'There's just Miss Macdonald that lives with her mother; and there's
+Mistress Brown&mdash;she'll be coming up most of the days now, but she dinna
+live there; and there's Ann Johnston, that's helping Miss Macdonald with
+the nursing&mdash;she's been staying at the house for a year back. That's all
+that there'll be of them besides the servants, except that there's Dr.
+Robert. His name is Macdonald, too, ye know; he's a nephew, and he's the
+minister o' the kirk here. He goes up every day to see how his aunt's
+getting on. I'm thinking he'll be up there now; it's about his time for
+going.'</p>
+
+<p>The maid took the way pointed out to her. Soon she was walking up a
+gravel path, between trim, old-fashioned laurel hedges. She stood at the
+door of a detached house. It was an ordinary middle-class
+dwelling&mdash;comfortable, commodious, ugly enough, except that stolidity
+and age did much to soften its ugliness. It had, above all, the air of
+being a home&mdash;a hospitable open-armed look, as if children had run in
+and out of it for years, as if young men had gone out from it to see the
+world and come back again to rest, as if young girls had fluttered about
+it, confiding their sports and their loves to its ivy-clad walls. Now
+there hung about it a silence and sobriety that were like the shadows of
+coming oblivion.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span> The gas was turned low in the hall. The old-fashioned
+omnibus that came lumbering from the railway with a box for the new maid
+seemed to startle the place with its noise.</p>
+
+<p>In the large dining-room four people were sitting in dreary discussion.
+The gas-light flared upon heavy mahogany furniture, upon red moreen
+curtains and big silver trays and dishes. By the fire sat the two
+daughters of the aged woman. They both had grey hair and wrinkled faces.
+The married daughter was stout and energetic; the spinster was thin,
+careworn and nervous. Two middle-aged men were listening to a complaint
+she made; the one was Robert Macdonald the minister, the other was the
+family doctor.</p>
+
+<p>'It's no use Robina's telling me that I must coax my mother to eat, as
+if I hadn't tried that'&mdash;the voice became shrill&mdash;'I've begged her, and
+prayed her, and reasoned with her.'</p>
+
+<p>'No, no, Miss Macdonald&mdash;no, no,' said the doctor soothingly. 'You've
+done your best, we all understand that; it's Mistress Brown that's
+thinking of the situation in a wrong light; it's needful to be plain and
+to say that Mistress Macdonald's mind is affected.'</p>
+
+<p>Robina Brown interposed with indignation and authority.</p>
+
+<p>'My mother has always had her right mind; she's been losing her memory.
+All aged people lose their memories.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>The minister spoke with a meditative interest in a psychological
+phenomenon. 'Ay, she's been losing it backwards; she forgot who we were
+first, and remembered us all as little children; then she forgot us and
+your father altogether. Latterly she's been living back in the days when
+her father and mother were living at Kelsey Farm. It's strange to hear
+her talk. There's not, as far as I know, another being on this wide
+earth of all those that came and went to Kelsey Farm that is alive now.'</p>
+
+<p>Miss Macdonald wiped her eyes; her voice shook as she spoke; the
+nervousness of fatigue and anxiety accentuated her grief. 'She was
+asking me how much butter we made in the dairy to-day, and asking if the
+curly cow had her calf, and what Jeanie Trim was doing.'</p>
+
+<p>'Who was Jeanie Trim?' asked the minister.</p>
+
+<p>'How should I know? I suppose she was one of the Kelsey servants.'</p>
+
+<p>'Curious,' ejaculated the minister. 'This Jeanie will have grown old and
+died, perhaps, forty years ago, and my aunt's speaking of her as if she
+was a young thing at work in the next room!'</p>
+
+<p>'And what did you say to Mistress Macdonald?' the doctor asked, with a
+cheerful purpose in his tone.</p>
+
+<p>'I explained to her that her poor head was wandering.'</p>
+
+<p>'Nay, now, but, Miss Macdonald, I'm thinking if<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> I were you I would tell
+her that the curly cow had her calf.'</p>
+
+<p>'I never'&mdash;tearfully&mdash;'told my mother a falsehood in my life, except
+when I was a very little girl, and then'&mdash;Miss Macdonald paused to wipe
+her eyes&mdash;'she spoke to me so beautifully out of the Bible about it.'</p>
+
+<p>The married sister chimed in mournfully, 'How often have I heard my
+mother say that not one of her children had ever told her a lie!'</p>
+
+<p>'Yes, yes, but&mdash;&mdash;' There was a tone in the doctor's voice as if he
+would like to have used a strong word, but he schooled himself.</p>
+
+<p>'It's curious the notion she has got of not eating,' broke in the
+minister. 'I held the broth myself, but she would have none of it.'</p>
+
+<p>In the next room the flames of a large fire were sending reflections
+over the polished surfaces of massive bedroom furniture. The wind blew
+against this side of the house and rattled the windows, as if angry to
+see the picture of luxury and warmth within. It was a handsome stately
+room, and all that was in it dated back many a year. In a chintz
+arm-chair by the fireside its mistress sat&mdash;a very old lady, but there
+was still dignity in her pose. Her hair, perfectly white, was still
+plentiful; her eye had still something of brightness, and there was upon
+the aged features the cast of thought and the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> habitual look of
+intelligence. Beside her upon a small table were such accompaniments of
+age as daughter and nurse deemed suitable&mdash;the large print Bible, the
+big spectacles and caudle cup. The lady sat looking about her with a
+quick restless expression, like a prisoner alert to escape; she was tied
+to her chair&mdash;not by cords&mdash;by the failure of muscular strength; but
+perhaps she did not know that. She eyed her attendant with bright
+furtive glances, as if the meek sombre woman who sat sewing beside her
+were her jailer.</p>
+
+<p>The party in the dining-room broke up their vain discussion, and came
+for another visit of personal inspection.</p>
+
+<p>'Mother, this is the doctor come to see you. Do you not remember the
+doctor?'</p>
+
+<p>The old lady looked at all four of them brightly enough. 'I haena the
+pleasure of remembering who ye are, but perhaps it will return to me.'
+There was restrained politeness in her manner.</p>
+
+<p>The doctor spoke. 'It's a very bad tale I'm hearing about you to-day,
+that you've begun to refuse your meat. A person of your experience,
+Mistress Macdonald, ought to know that we must eat to live.' He had a
+basin of food in his hand. 'Now just to please me, Mistress Macdonald.'</p>
+
+<p>The old dame answered with the air that a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> naughty child or a pouting
+maiden might have had. 'I'll no eat it&mdash;tak' it away! I'll no eat it.
+Not for you, no&mdash;nor for my mither there'&mdash;she looked defiantly at her
+grey-haired daughter&mdash;'no, nor for my father himself!'</p>
+
+<p>'Not a mouthful has passed her lips to-day,' moaned Miss Macdonald. She
+wrung excited hands and stepped back a pace into the shadow; she felt
+too modest to pose as her mother's mother before the curious eyes of the
+two men.</p>
+
+<p>The old lady appeared relieved when the spinster was out of her sight.
+'I don't know ye, gentlemen, but perhaps now my mither's not here, ye'll
+tell me who it was that rang the door-bell a while since.'</p>
+
+<p>The men hesitated. They were neither of them ready with inventions.</p>
+
+<p>She leaned towards the doctor, strangely excited. 'Was it Mr. Kinnaird?'
+she whispered.</p>
+
+<p>The doctor supposed her to be frightened. 'No, no,' he said in cheerful
+tones; 'you're mistaken&mdash;it wasn't Kinnaird.'</p>
+
+<p>She leaned back pettishly. 'Tak' away the broth; I'll no' tak' it!'</p>
+
+<p>The discomfited four passed out of the room again. The women were
+weeping; the men were shaking their heads.</p>
+
+<p>It was just then that the new servant passed into the sick-room, bearing
+candles in her hands.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>'Jeanie, Jeanie Trim,' whispered the old lady. The whisper had a
+sprightly yet mysterious tone in it; the withered fingers were put out
+as if to twitch the passing skirt as the housemaid went by.</p>
+
+<p>The girl turned and bent a look&mdash;strong, helpful, and kindly&mdash;upon this
+fine ruin of womanhood. The girl had wit 'Yes, ma'am?' she answered
+blithely.</p>
+
+<p>'I'll speak with ye, Jeanie, when this woman goes away; it's her that my
+mither's put to spy on me.'</p>
+
+<p>The nurse retired into the shadow of the wardrobe.</p>
+
+<p>'She's away now,' said the maid.</p>
+
+<p>'Jeanie, is it Mr. Kinnaird?'</p>
+
+<p>'Well, now, would you like it to be Mr. Kinnaird?' The maid spoke as we
+speak to a familiar friend when we have joyful news.</p>
+
+<p>'Oh, Jeanie Trim, ye know well that I've longed sair for him to come
+again!'</p>
+
+<p>The maid set down her candles, and knelt down by the old dame's knee,
+looking up with playful face.</p>
+
+<p>'Well, now, I'll tell ye something. He came to see ye this afternoon.'</p>
+
+<p>'Did he, Jeanie?' The withered face became all wreathed with smiles; the
+old eyes danced with joy. 'What did ye say to him?'</p>
+
+<p>'Oh, well, I just said'&mdash;hesitation&mdash;'I said he was to come back again
+to-morrow.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>'My father doesn't know that he's been here?' There was apprehension in
+the whisper.</p>
+
+<p>'Not a soul knows but meself.'</p>
+
+<p>'Ye didna tell him I'd been looking for him, Jeanie Trim?'</p>
+
+<p>'Na, na, I made out that ye didna care whether he came or not.'</p>
+
+<p>'But he wouldna be hurt in his mind, would he? I'd no like him to be
+affronted.'</p>
+
+<p>'It's no likely he was affronted when he said he'd come back to-morrow.'</p>
+
+<p>The smile of satisfaction came again.</p>
+
+<p>'Did he carry his silver-knobbed cane and wear his green coat, Jeanie?'</p>
+
+<p>'Ay, he wore his green coat, and he looked as handsome a man as ever I
+saw in my life.'</p>
+
+<p>The coals in the grate shot up a sudden brilliant flame that eclipsed
+the soft light of the candles and set strange shadows quivering about
+the huge bed and wardrobe and the dark rosewood tables. The winsome
+young woman at her play, and the old dame living back in a tale that was
+long since told, exchanged nods and smiles at the thought of the
+handsome visitor in his green coat. The whisper of the aged voice came
+blithely&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>'Ay, he is that, Jeanie Trim; as handsome a man as ever trod!'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>The maid rose, and passing out observed the discarded basin of broth.</p>
+
+<p>'What's this?' she said. 'Ye'll no be able to see Mr. Kinnaird to-morrow
+if ye don't take yer soup the night.'</p>
+
+<p>'Gie it to me, Jeanie Trim; I thought he wasna coming again when I said
+I wouldna.'</p>
+
+<p>The nurse slipped out of the shadow of the wardrobe and went out to tell
+that the soup was being eaten.</p>
+
+<p>'Kinnaird,' repeated the minister meditatively. 'I never heard my aunt
+speak the name.'</p>
+
+<p>'Kinnaird,' repeated the daughters; and they too searched in their
+memories.</p>
+
+<p>'I can remember my grandfather and my grandmother&mdash;the married daughter
+spoke incredulously&mdash;'there was never a gentleman called Kinnaird that
+any of the family had to do with. I'm sure of that, or I'd have as much
+as heard the name.'</p>
+
+<p>The minister shook his head, discounting the certainty.</p>
+
+<p>'Maybe John will remember the name; your father, and your grandfather
+too, had great talks with him when he was a lad. I'll write a line and
+ask him. Poor William or Thomas might have known, if they had lived.'</p>
+
+<p>William and Thomas, grey-haired men, respected fathers of families, had
+already been laid by the side<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> of their father in the burying-ground.
+John lived in a distant country, counting himself too feeble now to
+cross the seas. The daughters, the younger members of this flock, were
+passing into advanced years. The mother sat by her fireside, and smiled
+softly to herself as she watched the dancing flame, and thought that her
+young lover would return on the morrow.</p>
+
+<p>The days went on.</p>
+
+<p>'I cannot think it right to tamper with my mother in this false way.'
+The spinster daughter spoke tearfully.</p>
+
+<p>'Would you rather see Mistress Macdonald die of starvation?' The doctor
+spoke sharply; he was tired of the protest. The doctor approved of the
+new maid. 'She's a wise-like body,' he said; 'let her have her way.'</p>
+
+<p>'Don't you know us, mother?' the daughters would ask patiently, sadly,
+day by day. But she never knew them; she only mistook one or the other
+of them at times for her own mother, of whom she stood in some awe.</p>
+
+<p>'Surely ye've not forgotten Ann Johnston, ma'am?' the nurse would ask,
+carefully tending her old mistress.</p>
+
+<p>The force of long habit had made the old lady patient and courteous, but
+no answering gleam came in her face.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>'Ye know who I am?' the new maid would cry in kindly triumph.</p>
+
+<p>'Oh, ay, I know you, Jeanie Trim.'</p>
+
+<p>'And now, look, I brought you a fine cup of milk, warm from the byre.'</p>
+
+<p>'Oh, I canna tak' it; I'm no thinking that I care about eating the day.'</p>
+
+<p>'Well, but I want to tell ye'&mdash;with an air of mystery. 'Who d'ye think's
+downstairs? It's Mr. Kinnaird himself.'</p>
+
+<p>'Did he come round by the yard to the dairy door?'</p>
+
+<p>'That he did; and all to ask how ye were the day.'</p>
+
+<p>The sparkle of the eye returned, and the smile that almost seemed to
+dimple the wrinkled cheek.</p>
+
+<p>'And I hope ye offered him something to eat, Jeanie; it's a long ride he
+takes.'</p>
+
+<p>'Bread and cheese, and a cup of milk just like this.'</p>
+
+<p>'What did he say? Did he like what ye gave him?'</p>
+
+<p>'He said a sup of milk sudna cross his lips till you'd had a cupful the
+like of his; so I brought it in to ye. You'd better make haste and take
+it up.'</p>
+
+<p>'Did he send ye wi' the cup, Jeanie Trim?'</p>
+
+<p>'Ay, he did that; and not a bit nor sup will he tak till ye've drunk it
+all, every drop.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>With evident delight the cup was drained.</p>
+
+<p>'Ye told him I was ailing and couldna see him the day, Jeanie?'</p>
+
+<p>'Maybe ye'll see him to-morrow.' The maid stooped and folded the white
+shawl more carefully over the dame's breast, and smiled in protective
+kindly fashion. She had a good heart and a womanly, motherly touch,
+although many a mistress had called her wilful and pert.</p>
+
+<p>There were times when the minister came and sat himself behind his
+aunt's chair to watch and to listen. He was a meditative man, and wrote
+many an essay upon modern theology, but here he found food for
+meditation of another sort.</p>
+
+<p>There was no being in the world that he reverenced as he had reverenced
+this aged lady. In his childhood she had taught him to lisp the measures
+of psalm and paraphrase; in his youth she had advised him with shrewdest
+wisdom; in his ministerial life she had been to him a friend, always
+holding before him a greater spiritual height to be attained, and
+now&mdash;&mdash; He thought upon his uncle as he had known him, a very reverent
+elder of the kirk, a man who had led a long and useful life, and to whom
+this woman had rendered wifely devotion. He thought upon his cousins, in
+whose lives their mother's life had seemed unalterably bound up. He
+would at times emerge from his corner, and, sitting<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> down beside the
+lady, would take her well-worn Bible and read to her such passages as he
+knew were graven deep upon her heart by scenes of joy or sorrow, parting
+or meeting, or the very hours of birth or death, in the lives that had
+been dearer to her than her own. He was not an emotional man, but yet
+there was a ringing pathos in his voice as he read the rhythmic words.
+At such times she would sit as if voice and rhythm soothed her, or she
+would bow her head solemnly at certain pauses, as if accustomed to agree
+to the sentiment expressed. Heart and thought were not awake to him, nor
+to the book he read, nor to the memories he tried to arouse. The fire of
+the lady's heart sprang up only for one word, that word a name, the name
+of a man of whose very existence, it seemed, no trace was left in all
+that country-side.</p>
+
+<p>The minister would retreat out of the lady's range of vision; and so
+great did his curiosity grow that he instigated the maid to ask certain
+questions as she played at the game of the old love-story in her
+sprightly, pitying way.</p>
+
+<p>'Now I'll tell ye a thing that I want to know,' said the maid, pouring
+tea in a cup. 'What's his given name? Will ye tell me that?'</p>
+
+<p>'Is it Mr. Kinnaird ye mean?'</p>
+
+<p>'It's Mr. Kinnaird's christened name that I'm speering for.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>'An' I canna tell ye that, for he never told it to me. It'd be no place
+of mine to ask him before he chose to speak o' it himsel'.'</p>
+
+<p>'Did ye never see a piece of paper that had his name on it, or a card,
+maybe?'</p>
+
+<p>'I dinna mind that I have, Jeanie. He's a verra fine gentleman; it's
+just Mr. Kinnaird that he's called.'</p>
+
+<p>'What for will ye no let me tell the master that he comes every day?'</p>
+
+<p>'Ye must no tell my father, Jeanie Trim'&mdash;querulously. 'No, no; nor my
+mither. They'll maybe be telling him to bide away.'</p>
+
+<p>'Why would they be telling him to bide away?'</p>
+
+<p>'Tuts! How can I tell ye why, when I dinna ken mysel'? Why will ye fret
+me? I'll tak' no more tea. Tak' it away!'</p>
+
+<p>'I tell ye he'll ask me if ye took it up. He's waiting now to hear that
+ye took a great big piece of bread tae it. He'll no eat the bread and
+cheese I've set before him till ye've eaten this every crumb.'</p>
+
+<p>'Is that sae? Well, I maun eat it, for I wouldna have him wanting his
+meat.'</p>
+
+<p>The meal finished, the maid put on her most winsome smile.</p>
+
+<p>'Now and I'll tell ye what I'll do; I'll go back to Mr. Kinnaird, and
+I'll tell him ye sent yer <i>love</i> tae him.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>'Ye'll no do sic a thing as that, Jeanie Trim!' All the dignity and
+authority of her long womanhood returned in the impressive air with
+which she spoke. 'Ye'll no do sic a thing as that, Jeanie Trim! It's no
+for young ladies to be sending sic messages to a gentleman, when he
+hasna so much as said the word "love."'</p>
+
+<p>Had he ever said the word 'love,' this Kinnaird, whose memory was a
+living presence in the chamber of slow death? The minister believed that
+he had not. There was no annal in the family letters of his name,
+although other rejected suitors were mentioned freely. Had he told his
+love by look or gesture, and left it unspoken, or had look and gesture
+been misunderstood, and the whole slight love-story been born where it
+had died, in the heart of the maiden? 'Where it had died!'&mdash;it had not
+died. Seventy years had passed, and the love-story was presently
+enacting itself, as all past and all future must for ever be enacting to
+beings for whom time is not. Then, too, where was he who, by some means,
+whether of his own volition or not, had become so much a part of the
+pulsing life of a young girl that, when all else of life passed from her
+with the weight of years, her heart still remained obedient to him?
+Where was he? Had his life gone out like the flame of a candle when it
+is blown? Or, if he was anywhere in the universe of living spirits, was
+he conscious of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> the power which he was wielding? Was it a triumph to
+him to know that he had come, gay and debonair, in the bloom of his
+youth, into this long-existing sanctuary of home, and set aside, with a
+wave of his hand, husband, children, and friends, dead and living?</p>
+
+<p>Whatever might be the psychical aspects of the case, one thing was
+certain, that the influence of Kinnaird&mdash;Kinnaird alone of all those who
+had entered into relations with the lady&mdash;was useful at this time to
+come between her and the distressing symptoms that would have resulted
+from the mania of self-starvation. For some months longer she lived in
+comfort and good cheer. This clear memory of her youth was oddly
+interwoven with the forgetful dulness of old age, like a golden thread
+in a black web, like a tiny flame on the hearth that shoots with
+intermittent brilliancy into darkness. She was always to see her lover
+upon the morrow; she never woke to the fact that 'to-day' lasted too
+long, that a winter of morrows had slipped fruitless by.</p>
+
+<p>The interviews between Jeanie Trim and Kinnaird were not monotonous. All
+else was monotonous. December, January, February passed away. The
+mornings and the evenings brought no change outwardly in the sick-room,
+no change to the appearance of the fine old face and still stately
+figure, suggested<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> no variety of thought or emotion to the lady's
+decaying faculties; but at the hours when she sat and contentedly ate
+the food that the maid brought her, her mental vision cleared as it
+focused upon the thought of her heart's darling. It was she whose
+questions suggested nearly all the variations in the game of imagination
+which the young woman so aptly played.</p>
+
+<p>'Was he riding his black mare, Jeanie Trim?'</p>
+
+<p>'I didna see the beast. He stood on his feet when he was tapping at the
+door.'</p>
+
+<p>'Whisht! Ye could tell if he wore his boots and spurs, an' his drab
+waistcoat, buttoned high?'</p>
+
+<p>'Now that ye speak of it, those were the very things he wore.'</p>
+
+<p>'It'd be the black mare he was riding, nae doubt; he'll have tied her to
+the gate in the lane.' Or again: 'Was it in the best parlour that ye saw
+him the day? He'd be drinking tea wi' my mither.'</p>
+
+<p>'That he was; and she smiling tae him over the dish of tea.'</p>
+
+<p>'Ay, he looks fine and handsome, bowing to my mither in the best
+parlour, Jeanie Trim. Did ye notice if he wore silk stockings?'</p>
+
+<p>'Fine silk stockings he wore.'</p>
+
+<p>'And his green coat?'</p>
+
+<p>'As green and smart as a bottle when ye polish, it with a cloth.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>'Did ye notice the fine frills that he has to his shirt? I've tried to
+make my father's shirts look as fine, but they never have the same
+look.' The hands of the old dame would work nervously, as if eager to
+get at the goffering-irons and try once more. 'An' he'd lay his hat on
+the floor beside him; it's a way he has. Did my mither tell him that I
+was ailing? His eyes would be shining the while. Do ye notice how his
+eyes shine, Jeanie?'</p>
+
+<p>'Ay, do I; his eyes shine and his hair curls.'</p>
+
+<p>'Ye're mistaken there, his hair doesna curl, Jeanie Trim&mdash;ye've no'
+obsairved rightly; his hair is brown and straight; it's his beard and
+whiskers that curl. Eh! but they're bonny! There's a colour and shine in
+the curl that minds me of the lights I can see in the old copper kettle
+when my mither has it scoured and hung up on the nail; but his hair is
+plain brown.'</p>
+
+<p>'He's a graun' figure of a man!' cried the blithe maid, ever
+sympathetic.</p>
+
+<p>'Tuts! What are ye saying, Jeanie! He's no' a great size at all; the
+shortest of my brithers is bigger than him! Ye might even ca' him a wee
+man; it's the spirit that he has wi' it that I like.'</p>
+
+<p>Thus, by degrees, touch upon touch, the portrait of Kinnaird was
+painted, and whatever misconceptions they might form of him were
+corrected one by one. There was little incident depicted, yet the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span>
+figure of Kinnaird was never drawn passive, but always in action.</p>
+
+<p>'Did my father no' offer to send him home in the spring-cart? It's sair
+wet for him to be walking in the wind and the rain the day.' Or: 'He had
+a fine bloom on his cheeks, I'll warrant, when he came in through this
+morning's bluster of wind.' Or again: 'He'll be riding to the hunt with
+my father to-day; have they put their pink coats on, Jeanie Trim?'</p>
+
+<p>The relations between Kinnaird and the father and mother appeared to be
+indefinite rather than unfriendly. There were times, it is true, when he
+came round by the dairy and gave private messages to Jeanie Trim, but at
+other times he figured as one of the ordinary guests of a large and
+hospitable household. No special honour seemed to be paid him; there was
+always the apprehension in the love-sick girl's heart that such timely
+attentions as the offer of proper refreshment or of the use of the
+spring-cart might be lacking. The parents were never in the daughter's
+confidence. She always feared their interference. There was no beginning
+to the story, no crisis, no culmination.</p>
+
+<p>'Now tell me when ye first saw Mr. Kinnaird?' asked the maid.</p>
+
+<p>But to this there was no answer. It had not been love at first sight,
+its small beginnings had left<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> no impression; nor was there ever any
+mention of a change in the relation, or of a parting, only that
+suggestion of a long and weary waiting, given in the beginning of this
+phase of memory, when she refused to touch her food, and said she was
+'sair longing' to see him again.</p>
+
+<p>The household at Kelsey Farm had flourished in the palmy days of
+agriculture. Hunters had been kept and pink coats worn, and the mother,
+of kin with the neighbouring gentry, had kept her carriage to ride in.
+There had been many pleasures, no doubt, for the daughter of such a
+house, but only one pleasure remained fixed on her memory, the pleasure
+of seeing Kinnaird's eyes shining upon her. These days of the lady's
+youth had happened at a time when religion, if strong, was a sombre
+thing; and to those who held the pleasures of life in both hands, it was
+little more than a name and a rite. So it came to pass that no religious
+sentiment was stirred with the thought of this old joy and succeeding
+sorrow.</p>
+
+<p>The minister never failed to read some sacred texts when he sat beside
+her; and when he found himself alone with the old dame, he would kneel
+and pray aloud in such simple words as he thought she might understand.
+He did it more to ease his own heart because of the love he bore her
+than because he supposed that it made any difference in the sight<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span> of
+God whether she heard him or not. He was past the prime of life, and had
+fallen into pompous and ministerial habits of manner, but in his heart
+he was always pondering to find what the realities of life might be; he
+seldom drew false conclusions, although to many a question he was
+content to find no answer. He wore a serious look&mdash;people seldom knew
+what was passing in his mind; the doctor began to think that he was
+anxious for the safety of the old dame's soul.</p>
+
+<p>'I am not without hope of a lucid interval at the end,' he said; 'there
+is wonderful vitality yet, and it's little more than the power of memory
+that is impaired.'</p>
+
+<p>At this hope the daughters caught eagerly. They were plain women, narrow
+and dull, but their mother had been no ordinary woman; her power of love
+had created in them an affection for her which transcended ordinary
+filial affection. They had inherited from her such strong domestic
+feelings that they felt her defection from all family ties for the sake
+of the absent father and brothers, felt it with a poignancy which the
+use and wont of those winter months did not seem to blunt.</p>
+
+<p>No sudden shock or fit came to bring about the end. Gradually the old
+dame's strength failed. There came an hour in the spring time&mdash;it was
+the midnight hour of an April night&mdash;when she lay<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> upon her bed, sitting
+up high against white pillows, gasping for the last breaths that she
+would ever draw. They had drawn aside the old-fashioned bed-curtains, so
+that they hung like high dark pillars at the four posts. They had opened
+wide the windows, and the light spring wind blew through the room fresh
+with the dews of night. Outside, the moon was riding among her clouds;
+the night was white. The budding trees shook their twigs together in the
+garden. Inside the room, firelight and lamplight, each flickering much
+because of the wind, mingled with the moonlight, but did not wholly
+obscure its misty presence. They all stood there&mdash;the minister, the
+doctor, the grey-haired daughters sobbing, looking and longing for one
+glance of recognition, the nurse, and the new maid.</p>
+
+<p>They all knelt, while the minister said a prayer.</p>
+
+<p>'She's looking differently now,' whispered the home-keeping daughter.
+She had drawn her handkerchief from her eyes, and was looking with awed
+solicitude at her mother's face.</p>
+
+<p>'Yes, there's a change coming,' said the married daughter; her large
+bosom heaved out the words with excited emotion.</p>
+
+<p>'Speak to her of my father&mdash;it will bring her mind back again,' they
+appealed to the minister, pushing him forward to do what they asked.</p>
+
+<p>The minister took the lady's hands in his, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> spoke out clearly and
+strongly in her ear; but he spoke not, at first, of husband or children,
+but of the Son of God.</p>
+
+<p>Memories that had lain asleep so long seemed slowly to awaken for one
+last moment.</p>
+
+<p>'You know what I am saying, auntie?' The minister spoke strongly, as to
+one who was deaf.</p>
+
+<p>There was a smile on the handsome old face.</p>
+
+<p>'Ay, I know weel: "The Lord is my Shepherd; I shallna want ... though I
+walk through the valley o' the shadow of death."'</p>
+
+<p>'My uncle, and Thomas, and William have gone before you, auntie.'</p>
+
+<p>'Ay'&mdash;with a satisfied smile&mdash;'they've gone before.'</p>
+
+<p>'You know who I am?' he said again.</p>
+
+<p>She knew him, and took leave of him. She took leave of each of her
+daughters, but in a calm, weak way, as one who had waded too far into
+the river of death to be much concerned with the things of earth.</p>
+
+<p>The doctor pressed her hand, and the faithful nurse. The minister,
+feeling that justice should be done to one whose wit had brought great
+relief, bid the maid go forward.</p>
+
+<p>She was weeping, but she spoke in the free, caressing way that she had
+used so long.</p>
+
+<p>'Ye know who I am, ma'am?'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>The dying eyes looked her full in the face, but gave no recognition.</p>
+
+<p>'It's Jeanie Trim.'</p>
+
+<p>'Na, na, I remember a Jeanie Trim long syne, but you're not Jeanie
+Trim!'</p>
+
+<p>The maid drew back discomfited.</p>
+
+<p>The minister began to repeat a psalm that she loved. The daughters sat
+on the bedside, holding her hands. So they waited, and she seemed to
+follow the meaning of the psalm as it went on, until suddenly&mdash;&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>She turned her head feebly towards a space by the bed where no one
+stood. She drew her aged hands from her daughters', and made as if to
+stretch them out to a new-comer. She smiled.</p>
+
+<p>'Mr. Kinnaird!' she murmured; then she died.</p>
+
+<p>'You might have thought that he was there himself,' said the daughters,
+awestruck.</p>
+
+<p>And the minister said within himself, 'Who knows but that he was
+there?'</p>
+
+<hr />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="II" id="II"></a>II</h2>
+
+<h3>A MARRIAGE MADE IN HEAVEN</h3>
+
+<p>In the backwoods of Canada, about eighty miles north of Lake Ontario,
+there is a chain of three lakes, linked by the stream of a rapid river,
+which leads southward from the heart of a great forest. The last of the
+three lakes is broad, and has but a slow current because of a huge dam
+which the early Scottish settlers built across its mouth in order to
+form a basin to receive the lumber floated down from the lakes above.
+Hence this last lake is called Haven, which is also the name of the
+settlement at the side of the dam. The worthy Scotsmen, having set up a
+sawmill, built a church beside it, and by degrees a town and a
+schoolhouse. The wealth of the town came from the forest. The half-breed
+Indian lumber-men, toiling anxiously to bring their huge tree-trunks
+through the twisting rapids, connected all thoughts of rest and plenty
+with the peaceful Haven Lake and the town where they<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> received their
+wages; and, perhaps because they received their first ideas of religion
+at the same place, their tripping tongues to this day call it, not
+'Haven,' but 'Heaven.'</p>
+
+<p>The town throve apace in its early days, and no one in it throve better
+than Mr. Reid, who kept the general shop. He was a cheerful soul; and it
+was owing more to his wife's efforts than his own that his fortune was
+made, for she kept more closely to the shop and had a sharper eye for
+the pence.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Reid was not cheerful; she was rather of an acrid disposition.
+People said that there was only one subject on which the shopkeeper and
+his wife agreed, that was as to the superiority of their daughter in
+beauty, talent, and amiability, over all other young women far or near.
+In their broad Scotch fashion they called this daughter Eelan, and the
+town knew her as 'Bonnie Eelan Reid'; everyone acknowledged her charms,
+although there might be some who would not acknowledge her preeminence.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. and Mrs. Reid carried their pride in their daughter to a great
+extent, for they sent her to a boarding-school in the town of Coburgh,
+which was quite two days' journey to the south. When she came back from
+this educating process well grown, healthy, handsome, and, in their
+eyes, highly accomplished, the parents felt that there was no rank<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> in
+the Canadian world beyond their daughter's reach, if it should be her
+pleasure to attain it.</p>
+
+<p>'It wouldn't be anything out of the way even,' chuckled the happy Mr.
+Reid, 'if our Eelan should marry the Governor-General.'</p>
+
+<p>'Tuts, father, Governors!' said his wife scornfully, not because she had
+any inherent objection to Governors as sons-in-law, but because she
+usually cried down what her husband said.</p>
+
+<p>'The chief difficulty would be that they are usually married before they
+come to this country&mdash;aren't they, father?' Eelan spoke with a twinkling
+smile. She did not choose to explain to any one what she really thought;
+she had fancies of her own, this pretty backwoods maiden.</p>
+
+<p>'Well, well, there are lads enough in town, and I'll warrant she'll pick
+and choose,' said the jolly father in a resigned tone. He was not
+particular as to a Governor, after all.</p>
+
+<p>That conversation happened when Eelan first came home; but a year or two
+after, the family conferences took a more serious tone. She had learnt
+to keep her father's books in the shop, and had become deft at
+housework; but there was no prospect of her settling in a house of her
+own; many of the best young men in the place had offered themselves as
+lovers and been refused.</p>
+
+<p>'Oh! what's the use o' talking, father,' cried Mrs.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> Reid; 'if the girl
+won't, she won't, and that's all.&mdash;But I can tell <i>you</i>, Eelan Reid,
+that all your looks and your manners won't save you from being an old
+maid, if you turn your back on the men.'</p>
+
+<p>'I wasn't talking,' said Mr. Reid humbly; 'I was only saying to the
+lassie that I didn't want her to hurry; but I'd be right sorry when I'm
+getting old not to have some notion where I was going to leave my
+money&mdash;it'll more than last out Eelan's day, if it's rightly taken care
+of.'</p>
+
+<p>'But I can't marry unless I should fall in love,' said Eelan wistfully.
+Her parents had a vague notion that this manner of expressing herself
+was in some way a proof of her high accomplishments.</p>
+
+<p>Life was by no means dull in the little town. There were picnics in
+summer, sleigh-drives in winter, dances, and what not; and Eelan was no
+recluse. Still, she loved the place better than the people, and there
+was not a spot of ground in the neighbourhood that she did not know by
+heart.</p>
+
+<p>In summer, the sparkling water of the lake rippled under a burning sun,
+and the thousand tree-trunks left floating in it, held near to the edge
+by the floating boom of logs, became hot and dry on the upper side,
+while the green water-moss caught them from beneath. It was great fun
+for the school children to scamper out daringly on these floating fields
+of lumber; and Eelan liked to go with them,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> and sometimes walk far out
+alone along the edge of the boom. She would listen to the birds singing,
+the children shouting, to the whir of the saws in the mill, and the
+plash of the river falling over the dam; and she would feel that it was
+enough delight simply to live without distressing herself about marriage
+yet awhile.</p>
+
+<p>When winter came, Eelan was happier still. All the roughness and
+darkness of the earth was lost in a downy ocean of snow. Where the
+waterfall had been there was a fairy palace of icicles glancing in the
+sun, and smooth white roads were made across the frozen lake. Eelan
+never drew back dazzled from the glittering landscape; she was a child
+of the winter, and she loved its light. She would often harness her
+father's horse to the old family sleigh and drive alone across the lake.
+She took her snow-shoes with her, and, leaving the horse at some
+friendly farmhouse, she would tramp into the woods over the trackless
+snow. The girl would stand still and look up at the solemn pines and
+listen, awed by their majestic movement and the desolate loveliness all
+around. At such time, if the thought of marriage came, she did not put
+it aside with the light fancy that she wished still to remain free; she
+longed, in the drear solitude, for some one to sympathise with her, some
+one who could explain the meaning of the wordless thoughts that welled
+up<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> within her, the vague response of her heart to the mystery of
+external beauty. Alas! among all her suitors there was not such a
+friend.</p>
+
+<p>There was no one else in the town who cared for country walks as Eelan
+did&mdash;at least, no one but the schoolmaster. She met him occasionally,
+walking far from home; he was a quaint, old-looking man, and she thought
+he had a face like an angel's. She might have wished sometimes to stop
+and speak to him, but when they met he always appeared to have his eyes
+resting on the distant horizon, and his mind seemed wrapped in some
+learned reverie, to the oblivion of outward things. The schoolmaster
+lived in the schoolhouse on the bank of the curving river, a bit below
+the waterfall. He took up his abode there a few months before Eelan Reid
+came home from school. He had come from somewhere nearer the centres of
+education&mdash;had been imported, so to speak, for the special use of Haven
+Settlement, for the leading men of the place were a canny set and knew
+the worth of books. His testimonials had told of a higher standard of
+scholarship than was usual in such schools, and the keen Scots had
+snapped at the chance and engaged him without an interview; but when he
+arrived they had been grievously disappointed. He was a gentle,
+unsophisticated man, shy as a girl, and absent-minded withal.</p>
+
+<p>'Aweel, I'll not say but he'll do to put sums and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> writing into the
+youngsters' heads and teach them to spout their poems; but he's not just
+what I call a <i>man</i>.' This was the opinion which Macpherson, the portly
+owner of the mill, had delivered to his friends.</p>
+
+<p>'There's something lacking, I'm thinking,' said one; 'he's thirty-six
+years old, and to see him driving his cow afield, you'd say he was
+sixty, and him not sickly either.'</p>
+
+<p>'I doubt he's getting far too high a salary,' said Macpherson solemnly.
+'To pass examinations is all very well; but he's not got the grit in him
+that I'd like to see.'</p>
+
+<p>So they had called a school committee meeting, and suggested to the new
+schoolmaster, as delicately as they could, that they were much
+disappointed with his general manner and appearance, but that, as he had
+come so far, they were graciously willing to keep him if he would
+consent to take a lower salary than that first agreed on. At this the
+schoolmaster grew very red, and, with much stammering, he managed to
+make a speech. He said that he liked the wildness and extreme beauty of
+the country, and the children appeared to him attractive; he did not
+wish to go away; and as to salary, he would take what they thought him
+worth.</p>
+
+<p>In this way they closed the bargain with him on terms quite satisfactory
+to themselves.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>'But hoots,' said the stout Macpherson as he ambled home from the
+meeting, 'I've only half a respect for a man that can't stand up for
+himself;' and this sentiment was more or less echoed by them all.</p>
+
+<p>Happily, the schoolmaster did not desire society. The minister's wife
+asked him to tea occasionally; and he confided to her that, up to that
+time, he had always lived with his mother, and that it was because of
+her death that he had left his old home, where sad memories were too
+great a strain upon him, and come farther west. No one else took much
+notice of him, partly because he took no notice of them. At the ladies'
+sewing meeting the doctor's wife looked round the room with an injured
+air and asked: 'How is it possible to ask a gentleman to tea when you
+know that he'll meet you in the street next morning and won't remember
+who you are?'</p>
+
+<p>'A lady who respected herself couldn't do it,' replied Mrs. Reid
+positively; and then in an undertone she remarked to herself, 'The
+gaby!'</p>
+
+<p>Miss Ann Blakely pursed her lips and craned her thin neck over her work.
+'As to that I don't know, Mrs. Reid; no one could visit the school, as I
+have done, and fail to observe that the youth of the town are more
+obedient than formerly. In my opinion, a gentleman who can command the
+respect of the growing masculine mind&mdash;&mdash;' She finished the sentence
+only by an expressive wave of her head.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>'There is much truth in Miss Blakely's remark,' said a timid little
+mother of six sons.</p>
+
+<p>People married early, as a general thing, in Haven Settlement, and Miss
+Blakely, having been accidentally overlooked, had, before he came,
+indulged in some soft imaginations of her own with regard to the new
+schoolmaster; like others, she was disappointed in him; but she had not
+yet decided 'whether,' to use her own phrase, 'he would not, after all,
+be better than none.' She poised this question in her mind with a nice
+balancing of reasons for and against for about three years, and the man
+who was thus the object of her interest continued to live peacefully,
+ignorant alike of hostile criticism and tender speculation.</p>
+
+<p>It was a terrible day for the schoolmaster when the honest widow who
+lived with him as housekeeper was called by the death of a
+daughter-in-law to go and keep the house of her son in another town. She
+could only tell of her intention two weeks before it was necessary to
+leave; and very earnestly did the schoolmaster consult with her in the
+interval as to what he could possibly do to supply her place, for
+servants in Haven Settlement were rare luxuries.</p>
+
+<p>'I don't know, I'm sure, sir, what you can do,' said Mrs. Sims
+hopelessly. 'The girls in these parts are far too proud to be hired to
+work in a house. Why, the best folks in town mostly does their own<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span>
+work; there's Mrs. Reid, so rich, just has a woman to do the charing;
+and Eelan&mdash;that's the beauty, you know&mdash;makes the pies and keeps the
+house spick-and-span. But you couldn't keep your own house clean, could
+you, sir?&mdash;let alone the meals; and you wouldn't live long if you hadn't
+<i>them</i>.'</p>
+
+<p>As the days wore on, the schoolmaster became more urgent in his appeals
+for advice, but he did not get encouragement to expect to find a servant
+of any sort, for the widow was too sincere to suggest hope when she felt
+none, and the difficulty was not an easy one to solve. She made various
+inquiries among her friends. It was suggested that the master should go
+to 'the boarding-house,' which was a large barn-like structure, in which
+business men who did not happen to have families slept in uncomfortable
+rooms and dined at a noisy table. Mrs. Sims reported this suggestion
+faithfully, and added: 'But it's my belief it would kill you outright.'</p>
+
+<p>The schoolmaster looked at his books and the trim arrangements of his
+neat house, and negatived the proposition with more decision than he had
+ever shown before.</p>
+
+<p>After a while, Mrs. Sims received another idea of quite a different
+nature; but she did not report this so hastily&mdash;it required more
+finesse. It was entrusted to her care with many injunctions to be
+'tactful,' and it was suggested that if there was a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> mess made of it, it
+would be her fault. The idea was nothing less than that it would be
+necessary for the master to marry; and it was the gaunt Miss Ann Blakely
+herself who confided to his present housekeeper that she should have no
+objections to become his bride, provided he wrote her a pretty enough,
+humble sort of letter that she could show to her friends.</p>
+
+<p>'For, mind you, I'd not go cheap to the like of him,' she said, raising
+an admonishing finger, as she took leave of her friend: 'I'd rather
+remain single, far.'</p>
+
+<p>'I think he could write the letter,' replied Mrs. Sims; 'leastways, if
+he can't do that, I don't know what he can do, poor man.'</p>
+
+<p>Having been solemnly enjoined to be careful, Mrs. Sims thought so long
+over what she was to say before she said it, that she made herself quite
+nervous, and when she began, she forgot the half. Over her sewing in the
+sitting-room one evening she commenced the subject with a flustered
+little run of words. 'I'm sure such an amiable man as you are, sir,
+almost three years I've been in this house and never had a word from
+you, not one word'&mdash;it is to be remarked that the widow did not intend
+to assert that the schoolmaster had been mute&mdash;'and you are nice in all
+your ways, too; if I do say it, quite the gentleman.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>'Oh!' said the schoolmaster, in a tone of surprise, not because he had
+heard what she said, but because he was surprised that she should begin
+to talk to him when he was correcting his books.</p>
+
+<p>'And not a servant to be had far or near,' she went on with agitated
+volubility; 'and as for another like myself, of course that's too much
+to be hoped for.' She did not say this out of conceit, but merely as
+representing the actual state of affairs.</p>
+
+<p>The schoolmaster began to look frightened. He was not a matter-of-fact
+person, but, as long as a man is a man, the prospect of being left
+altogether without his meals must be appalling.</p>
+
+<p>'So, why you shouldn't get married, I don't know.' She added this in
+tremulous excitement, speaking in an argumentative way, as if she had
+led him by an ordered process of thought to an inevitable conclusion.</p>
+
+<p>'Oh!' exclaimed the schoolmaster in surprise again, this time because he
+<i>had</i> heard what was said.</p>
+
+<p>The worst was over now; and Mrs. Sims, having once suggested the
+desperate idea of the necessity of marriage, could proceed more calmly.
+She found, however, that she had to explain the notion at length before
+he could at all grasp it, and then she was obliged to urge its necessity
+for some time before he was willing to consider it. He became agitated
+in his turn, and, rising, walked up and down the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> room, his arms folded
+and an absent look in his eyes, as though he were thinking of things
+farther off.</p>
+
+<p>'I do not mind telling you, for I believe you are a motherly woman, Mrs.
+Sims, that it is not the first time that the thought of marriage has
+crossed my mind' (with solemn hesitation). 'I <i>have</i> thought of it
+before; but I have always been hindered from giving it serious
+consideration from the belief that no woman would be willing to&mdash;ah&mdash;to
+marry me.'</p>
+
+<p>'Well, of course there's some truth in that, sir,' said his faithful
+friend, reluctantly obliged by her conscience to say what she thought.</p>
+
+<p>'Just so, Mrs. Sims,' said the schoolmaster with a patient sigh; 'and
+therefore, perhaps it will be unnecessary to discuss the subject
+further.'</p>
+
+<p>'Still, there's no accounting for tastes; there might be some found that
+would.'</p>
+
+<p>'It would not be necessary to find more than one,' said he, with a quiet
+smile.</p>
+
+<p>'No, that's true, sir, which makes the matter rather easier. It's always
+been my belief that while there is life there is hope.'</p>
+
+<p>'True, true,' he replied; and then he indulged in a long fit of musing,
+which she more than suspected had little to do with the immediate
+bearing of the subject on his present case. It was necessary to rouse
+him, for there was no time to be lost.</p>
+
+<p>'Of course I don't say that there's many that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> would have you; there's
+girls enough&mdash;but laws! they'd all make game of you if you were to go
+a-courting to them, and, I take it, courting's not the sort of thing
+you're cleverest at.'</p>
+
+<p>'True,' said the schoolmaster again, and again he sighed.</p>
+
+<p>'But now, a good sensible woman, like Miss Blakely, as would keep you
+and your house clean and tidy, not to speak of cooking&mdash;I make bold to
+say you couldn't do better than to get such a one, if she might be so
+minded.'</p>
+
+<p>'Who is Miss Blakely?' he asked wonderingly.</p>
+
+<p>'It's her that visits the school so often; you've seen her time and
+again.'</p>
+
+<p>'I recollect,' he said; 'but I have not spoken much with her.'</p>
+
+<p>'That's just what I said,' she observed triumphantly. 'You'd be no more
+up to courting than cows are up to running races. Now, as to Miss
+Blakely, not being as young as some, nor to say good-looking, she might
+not stand on the ceremony of much courting; if you just wrote her one
+letter, asking her quite modest, and putting in a few remarks about
+flowers and that sort of thing, as you could do so well, being clever at
+writing, I give it as my opinion it's not unlikely she'd take you out of
+hand; not every one would, of course, but she has a kind heart, has Miss
+Blakely.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>'Kind is she?' said he, with a tone of interest; 'and sweet-tempered?'</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Sims said more in favour of the scheme; it required that she should
+say much, for the schoolmaster was not to be easily persuaded. She had,
+however, three strong arguments in its favour, which she reiterated
+again and again, with more and more assurance of certitude as she warmed
+to the subject. The first point was, that if he did not marry, he must
+either starve at home or go to the boarding-house, and at the latter
+place she assured him again, as she had done at first, he would probably
+soon die. Her second point was, that no one else would be willing to
+marry him except Miss Blakely; and her third&mdash;although in this matter
+she expressed herself with some mysterious caution&mdash;that Miss Blakely
+would marry him if asked. Mrs. Sims bridled her head, spoke in lower
+tones than was her wont, and said that she had the secret of Miss
+Blakely's partiality from good authority. She sighed; and he heard her
+murmur over her sewing that the heart was always young. In fact, without
+saying it in so many words, she gave her listener to understand clearly
+that Miss Blakely had conceived a very lively affection for him. And
+this last, if she had but known it, was the only argument that carried
+weight, for the schoolmaster could have faced either the prospect of
+starvation or a lingering death in the rude noise<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> of a boarding-house;
+but he was tender-hearted, and, moreover, he had a beautiful soul, and
+supposed all women to be like his mother, whom he had loved with all his
+strength.</p>
+
+<p>'You'd better make haste, sir,' said Mrs. Sims, 'for I must leave on
+Thursday, and now it's Saturday night. There's not overmuch time for
+everything&mdash;although, indeed, Mrs. Graham, that goes out charing, might
+come in and make you your meals for a week, though it will cost you half
+a quarter's salary, charing is that expensive in these parts.'</p>
+
+<p>The schoolmaster proceeded to think over the matter&mdash;that is to say, he
+proceeded to muse over it; by which process he did not face the facts as
+they were&mdash;did not become better acquainted with the real Miss Blakely,
+but made some sort of progress in another way, for he conjured up an
+ideal Miss Blakely, gentle and good, cheerful, with intellectual tastes
+like his own, a person who, like himself, had not fared very happily in
+the world until now, and for whom his love and protection would make a
+paradise. It did occur to him, occasionally, that the picture he was
+drawing might not be quite correct, and at those times he would seek
+Mrs. Sims, and ask a few questions of this oracle by way of adjusting
+his own ideas to the truth. Poor Mrs. Sims, between her extreme honesty
+and her desire to see the schoolmaster, whom she really loved, assured
+of future<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> comfort, had much ado to be 'tactful' and say the right
+thing. She naturally regarded comfort as pertaining solely to the outer
+man, and fully believed that this marriage was the best step he could
+take; so her answers, when they could not be satisfactory, were vague.</p>
+
+<p>'How can you doubt, sir, that you'll be much happier with a wife to cook
+your meals regular, and no more bother about changements all your life?
+I'm sure if I were you, sir, I wouldn't hesitate between the joys of
+matrimony and single life.'</p>
+
+<p>'Perhaps not, Mrs. Sims; but I, being I, do hesitate. It is a very
+important step to take, just because, as you say, there will be no more
+change.'</p>
+
+<p>'And it's just you that have been telling me that the very thing you
+dislike most in this world is change. And there are other advantages,
+too, in having kith and kin, for it's lonesome without when you're old;
+and just think how beautiful for a wife to weep over you when you're
+a-dying&mdash;and she'll do all that, Miss Blakely will, sir; I'm sure, as
+her friend, I can answer for it.'</p>
+
+<p>'The wills above be done,' murmured the schoolmaster, 'but I would fain
+die a dry death.'</p>
+
+<p>Time pressed; the schoolmaster procrastinated; the very evening before
+the widow's departure had arrived, and yet nothing was done. Then it
+happened, as is frequently the case when the mind is balancing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> between
+two opinions, that a very small circumstance determined him to write the
+all-important note. The circumstance was none other than his having a
+convenient opportunity of sending it; for to him, as to many other
+unpractical minds, the small difficulties in the way of any action had
+as great a deterring power as more important considerations. Miss
+Blakely happened to live on the other side of the town, and though the
+master walked much farther than that himself every day, he felt that in
+this case it would hardly be dignified to be his own messenger.</p>
+
+<p>It was early in the evening, and the master's window was open to the
+soft spring air that came in full of the freshness of young leaves and
+the joyous splash of the flooded river. Two of his schoolboys were
+loitering under the window, wishing to speak to him, yet too bashful; he
+got up and sat on the window-sill, smiled at them, and they smiled back.
+They had a tale to tell; but, as it was of a somewhat delicate nature
+and hard to explain, he had to listen very patiently. They had a
+dollar&mdash;a brown and green paper dollar&mdash;which they gave him with an air
+of solemn importance. They said that they and some of their comrades had
+been a long way from home gathering saxifrage, and that they had met one
+of the young ladies of the town. She had her arms full of flowers, and
+her pocket quite full of moss, so<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> full that she had had to take her
+purse and handkerchief out and hold them in her hand with the flowers
+because the moss was wet. When she came upon them, they were trying to
+get some saxifrage that was on a ledge of rock; they could only climb
+half-way up the rock, and were none of them tall enough to reach it; so
+she put down all her flowers and things and climbed up and got it for
+them; but in the meantime one of them opened the purse and took out the
+dollar. She never found it out, and went away.</p>
+
+<p>'Not either of you?' said the schoolmaster.</p>
+
+<p>'No, sir; one of the other fellows did it. But he's sorry, and wants to
+give it back; so we said that we would tell you, and perhaps you would
+give it to her.'</p>
+
+<p>'Why couldn't you go and give it to her, just as you have given it to
+me?'</p>
+
+<p>'Because we knew you'd b'lieve us that it was just the way we said; and
+her folks, you know, might think we'd done it when we said we hadn't.
+Or, mother said, if you didn't want to be troubled, perhaps you'd just
+write a line to say how it was, and we'll go and leave it at the house
+after dark and come away quick.'</p>
+
+<p>The master had no objection to this; so he brought the boys in and got
+out his best note-paper&mdash;he was fastidious about some things&mdash;and wrote
+a note beginning 'Dear Madam,' telling in a few lines that the money had
+been stolen and restored.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>'What is the lady's name?' he asked, taking up the envelope.</p>
+
+<p>'It was Eelan Reid, sir; Mr. Reid's daughter that keeps the shop.'</p>
+
+<p>So the schoolmaster wrote 'Miss Eelan Reid' in a fair round hand, and
+then he paused for a moment. He was making up his mind to the
+all-decisive action.</p>
+
+<p>'Perhaps you can wait for another note and take that for me at the same
+time,' he said. He gave them some picture papers to look at. Then he
+wrote the note of such moment to himself, beginning, as before, 'Dear
+Madam,' and doing his best to follow the many instructions which the
+faithful Mrs. Sims had given him. It was a curious specimen of
+literature, in which a truly elegant mind and warm heart were veiled,
+but not hidden, by an embarrassed attempt at conventional phrases&mdash;a
+letter that most women would laugh at, and that the best women would
+reverence. He addressed that envelope too, and sealed the notes and sent
+away the boys.</p>
+
+<p>There was no sleep for the schoolmaster that night. With folded arms he
+paced his room in restless misery. Now that the die was cast, the ideal
+Miss Blakely faded from his mind; he felt instinctively that she was
+mythical. He saw clearly that he had forfeited the best possibilities of
+life for the sake of temporary convenience, that he had sold his
+birthright for a mess of pottage.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>The long night passed at length, as all nights pass. The sun rose over
+purple hills to glow upon the spring-stirred forest and to send golden
+shafts deep down into the clear heart of lake and stream. The fallen
+beauty of past woodland summers had tinged the water till it glowed like
+nut-brown wine; so brown it was that the pools of the river, where it
+swirled and rushed past the schoolhouse bend, seemed to greet the sun
+with the soft dark glances of fawn-eyed water-sprites. The glorious sky,
+the tender colours of the budding wood, the very dandelions on the
+untrimmed bank, contrived their hues to accord and rejoice with the
+laughing water, and the birds swelled out its song. In the rapture of
+spring and of morning there was no echo of grief; for the unswerving law
+of nature, moving through the years, had set each thing in its right
+home. It is only the perplexed soul that is forced to choose its own way
+and suffer from the choice, and the song of our life is but set to the
+accompaniment of a sad creed if we may not trust that, above our human
+wills, there is a Power able to overrule the mistakes of true hearts, to
+lead the blind by unseen paths, and save the simple from their own
+simplicity.</p>
+
+<p>Very early in the morning the schoolmaster, haggard and worn, slipped
+out of his own door to refresh himself in the sunlight that gleamed down
+upon his bit of green through the budding willow trees<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> that grew by the
+river-side. He stood awhile under the bending boughs, watching the full
+stream as it tossed its spray into the lap of the flower-fringed shore.
+He looked, as he stood there, like a ghost of the preceding night,
+caught against his will and embraced by the joyous morning. Just then he
+had a vision.</p>
+
+<p>A girl came towards him across the grass and stood a few paces distant.
+The slender willow twigs, with their hanging catkins and tiny golden
+leaves, made a sort of veil between them. She was very beautiful, at
+least so the schoolmaster thought; perhaps she was the personification
+of the morning, perhaps she was a wood-nymph&mdash;it did not matter much; he
+felt, in his excitement and exhaustion, that her beauty and grace were
+not real, but only an hallucination of moving sun and shade. She took
+the swaying willow-twigs in her pretty hands and looked through them at
+him and stroked the downy flowers.</p>
+
+<p>'Why did you send me that letter?' she said at last, with a touch of
+severity in her voice.</p>
+
+<p>'The letter,' he stammered, wondering what she could mean.</p>
+
+<p>He remembered, with a sort of dull return of consciousness, that he
+<i>was</i> guilty of having sent a letter&mdash;terribly guilty in his own
+estimation&mdash;but it was sent to Miss Blakely, and this was not Miss<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span>
+Blakely. That one letter had so completely absorbed all his mind that he
+had quite forgotten any others that he might have written in the course
+of his whole life.</p>
+
+<p>'Do not be angry with me,' he said imploringly. He had but one idea,
+that was, to keep this radiant dream of beauty with him as long as
+possible.</p>
+
+<p>'I'm not angry; I am not angry at all&mdash;indeed'&mdash;and here she looked down
+at the twigs in her hand and began pulling the young leaves rather
+roughly&mdash;'I am not sure but that I am rather pleased. I have so often
+met you in the woods, you know; only I didn't know that you had ever
+noticed me.'</p>
+
+<p>'I never did,' said the schoolmaster; but happily his nervous lips gave
+but indistinct utterance to the words, and his tone was pathetic. She
+thought he had only made some further pleading.</p>
+
+<p>'I&mdash;I&mdash;I like you very much,' she said. 'I suppose, of course, everybody
+will be very much surprised, and mother may not be pleased, you know,
+just at first; but she's good and dear, mother is, in spite of what she
+says; and father will be glad about anything that pleases me.'</p>
+
+<p>He did not understand what she said; but he felt distressed at the
+moment to notice that she was twisting the tender willow leaves, albeit
+he saw that she only did so because, in her embarrassment, her fingers
+worked unconsciously. He came forward and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> took her hands gently, to
+disentangle them from the twigs. She let them lie in his, and looked up
+in his face and smiled.</p>
+
+<p>'I will try to be a good wife, and manage all the common things, and not
+tease you to be like other men, if you will sometimes read your books to
+me and explain to me what life means, and why it is so beautiful, and
+why things are as they are.'</p>
+
+<p>'I'm afraid I don't understand these matters myself very well,' he said;
+'but we can talk about them together.'</p>
+
+<p>While he held her hands, she drooped her head till it touched his
+shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>He had kissed no one since his mother died, and the great joy that took
+possession of his heart brought, by its stimulus, a sudden knowledge of
+what had really happened to his mind. In a marvellously tender way, for
+a man who could not go a-courting, he put his hand under the pretty chin
+and looked down wonderingly, reverently, at the serious upturned face.
+'And this is bonnie Eelan Reid?'</p>
+
+<p>Then Eelan, thinking that he was teasing her gently for being so easily
+won when she had gained the reputation of being so proud, cast down her
+eyes and blushed.</p>
+
+<p>So they were married, and lived happily, very happily, although they had
+their sorrows, as others<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> have. The schoolmaster was man enough to keep
+the knowledge of his blunder a secret between himself and God.</p>
+
+<p>As for Miss Blakely, she never quite understood who had stolen the
+dollar, or when, or where; but she was glad to get it back. She never
+forgave Mrs. Sims for having managed her trust so ill, although the
+widow declared, with tears in her eyes, that she had done her best.</p>
+
+<p>'He would have taken in the knowingest person, he would indeed, Ann
+Blakely; and, to my notion, a straightforward woman like you is well
+quit of a man who, while he looked so innocent, could act so deep.'</p>
+
+<hr />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="III" id="III"></a>III</h2>
+
+<h3>THRIFT</h3>
+
+<p>The end of March had come. The firm Canadian snow roads had suddenly
+changed their surface and become a chain of miniature rivers, lakes
+interspersed by islands of ice, and half-frozen bogs.</p>
+
+<p>A young priest had started out of the city of Montreal to walk to the
+suburb of Point St. Charles. He was in great haste, so he kilted up his
+long black petticoats and hopped and skipped at a good pace. The hard
+problems of life had not as yet assailed him; he had that set of the
+shoulders that belongs to a good conscience and an easy mind; his face
+was rosy-cheeked and serene.</p>
+
+<p>Behind him lay the hill-side city, with its grey towers and spires and
+snow-clad mountain. All along his way budding maple trees swayed their
+branches overhead; on the twigs of some there was the scarlet moss of
+opening flowers, some were tipped with red buds and some were grey. The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span>
+March wind was surging through them; the March clouds were flying above
+them,&mdash;light grey clouds with no rain in them,&mdash;veil above veil of mist,
+and each filmy web travelling at a different pace. The road began as a
+street, crossed railway tracks and a canal, ran between fields, and
+again entered between houses. The houses were of brick or stone, poor
+and ugly; the snow in the fields was sodden with water; the road&mdash;&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>'I wish that the holy prophet Elijah would come to this Jordan with his
+mantle,' thought the priest to himself.</p>
+
+<p>This was a pious thought, and he splashed and waded along
+conscientiously. He had been sent on an errand, and had to return to
+discharge a more important duty in the same afternoon.</p>
+
+<p>The suburb consisted chiefly of workmen's houses and factories, but
+there were some ambitious-looking terraces. The priest stopped at a
+brick dwelling of fair size. It had an aspect of flaunting
+respectability; lintel and casements were shining with varnish; cheap
+starched curtains decked every window. When the priest had rung a bell
+which jingled inside, the door was opened by a young woman. She was not
+a servant, her dress was fur-belowed and her hair was most elaborately
+arranged. She was, moreover, evidently Protestant; she held the door and
+surveyed the visitor with an air that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> was meant to show easy
+independence of manner, but was, in fact, insolent.</p>
+
+<p>The priest had a slip of paper in his hand and referred to it. 'Mrs.
+O'Brien?' he asked.</p>
+
+<p>'I'm not Mrs. O'Brien,' said the young woman, looking at something which
+interested her in the street.</p>
+
+<p>A shrill voice belonging, as it seemed, to a middle-aged woman, made
+itself heard. 'Louisy, if it's a Cath'lic priest, take him right in to
+your gran'ma; it's him she's expecting.'</p>
+
+<p>A moment's stare of surprise and contempt, and the young woman led the
+way through a gay and cheaply furnished parlour, past the door of a best
+bedroom which stood open to shew the frills on the pillows, into a room
+in the back wing. She opened the door with a jerk and stared again as
+the priest passed her. She was a handsome girl; the young priest did not
+like to be despised; within his heart he sighed and said a short prayer
+for patience.</p>
+
+<p>He entered a room that did not share the attempt at elegance of the
+front part of the house; plain as a cottage kitchen, it was warm and
+comfortable withal. The large bed with patchwork quilt stood in a
+corner; in the middle was an iron stove in which logs crackled and
+sparkled. The air was hot and dry, but the priest, being accustomed to
+the atmosphere of stoves, took no notice, in fact, he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> noticed nothing
+but the room's one inmate, who from the first moment compelled his whole
+attention.</p>
+
+<p>In a wooden arm-chair, dressed in a black petticoat and a scarlet
+bedgown, sat a strong old woman. Weakness was there as well as strength,
+certainly, for she could not leave her chair, and the palsy of
+excitement was shaking her head, but the one idea conveyed by every
+wrinkle of the aged face and hands, by every line of the bowed figure,
+was strength. One brown toil-worn hand held the head of a thick
+walking-stick which she rested on the floor well in front of her, as if
+she were about to rise and walk forward. Her brown face&mdash;nose and chin
+strongly defined&mdash;was stretched forward as the visitor entered; her
+eyes, black and commanding, carried with them something of that
+authoritative spell that is commonly attributed to a commanding mind.
+Great physical size or power this woman apparently had never had, but
+she looked the very embodiment of a superior strength.</p>
+
+<p>'Shut the door! shut the door behind ye!' These were the first words
+that the youthful confessor heard, and then, as he advanced, 'You're
+young,' she said, peering into his face. Without a moment's intermission
+further orders were given him: 'Be seated; be seated! Take a chair by
+the fire and put up your wet feet. It is from Father M'Leod of St.
+Patrick's Church that ye've come?'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>The young man, whose boots were well soaked with ice-water, was not loth
+to put them up on the edge of the stove. It was not at all his idea of a
+priestly visit to a woman who had represented herself as dying, but it
+is a large part of wisdom to take things as they come until it is
+necessary to interfere.</p>
+
+<p>'You wrote, I think, to Father M'Leod, saying that as the priests of
+this parish are French and you speak English&mdash;&mdash;'</p>
+
+<p>Some current of excitement hustled her soul into the midst of what she
+had to say.</p>
+
+<p>''Twas Father Maloney, him that had St. Patrick's before Father M'Leod,
+who married me; so I just thought before I died I'd let one of ye know a
+thing concerning that marriage that I've never told to mortal soul. Sit
+ye still and keep your feet to the fire; there's no need for a young man
+like you to be taking your death with the wet because I've a thing to
+say to ye.'</p>
+
+<p>'You are not a Catholic now,' said he, raising his eyebrows with
+intelligence as he glanced at a Bible and hymn-book that lay on the
+floor beside her.</p>
+
+<p>He was not unaccustomed to meeting perverts; it was impossible to have
+any strong emotion about so frequent an occurrence. He had had a long
+walk and the hot air of the room made him somewhat sleepy; if it had not
+been for the fever and excite<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span>ment of her mind he might not have picked
+up more than the main facts of all she said. As it was, his attention
+wandered for some minutes from the words that came from her palsied
+lips. It did not wander from her; he was thinking who she might be, and
+whether she was really about to die or not, and whether he had not
+better ask Father M'Leod to come and see her himself. This last thought
+indicated that she impressed him as a person of more importance and
+interest than had been supposed when he had been sent to hear her
+confession.</p>
+
+<p>All this time, fired by a resolution to tell a tale for the first and
+last time, the old woman, steadying as much as she might her shaking
+head, and leaning forward to look at the priest with bleared yet
+flashing eyes, was pouring out words whose articulation was often
+indistinct. Her hand upon her staff was constantly moving, as if she
+were about to rise and walk; her body seemed about to spring forward
+with the impulse of her thoughts, the very folds of the scarlet bedgown
+were instinct with excitement.</p>
+
+<p>The priest's attention returned to her words.</p>
+
+<p>'Yes, marry and marry and marry&mdash;that's what you priests in my young
+days were for ever preaching to us poor folk. It was our duty to
+multiply and fill the new land with good Cath'lics. Father Maloney, that
+was his doctrine, and me a young girl just come out from the old country
+with my parents,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span> and six children younger than me. Hadn't I had enough
+of young children to nurse, and me wanting to begin life in a new place
+respectable, and get up a bit in the world? Oh, yes! but Father Maloney
+he was on the look-out for a wife for Terry O'Brien. He was a widow man
+with five little helpless things, and drunk most of the time was Terry,
+and with no spirit in him to do better. Oh! but what did that matter to
+Father Maloney when it was the good of the Church he was looking for,
+wanting O'Brien's family looked after? O'Brien was a good, kind fellow,
+so Father Maloney said, and you'll never hear me say a word against
+that. So Father Maloney got round my mother and my father and me, and
+married me to O'Brien, and the first year I had a baby, and the second
+year I had another, so on and so on, and there's not a soul in this
+world can say but that I did well by the five that were in the house
+when I came to it.</p>
+
+<p>'Oh! "house"!&mdash;-- d'ye think it was one house he kept over our heads?
+No, but we moved from one room to another, not paying the rent. Well,
+and what sort of a training could the children get? Father Maloney he
+talked fine about bringing them up for the Church. Did he come in and
+wash them when I was a-bed? Did he put clothes on their backs? No, and
+fine and angry he was when I told him that that was what he ought to
+have done!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> Oh! but Father Maloney and I went at it up and down many a
+day, for when I was wore out with the anger inside me, I'd go and tell
+him what I thought of the marriage he'd made, and in a passion he'd get
+at a poor thing like me teaching him duty.</p>
+
+<p>'Not that I ever was more than half sorry for the marriage myself,
+because of O'Brien's children, poor things, that he had before I came to
+them. Likely young ones they were too, and handsome, what would they
+have done if I hadn't been there to put them out of the way when O'Brien
+was drunk, and knocking them round, or to put a bit of stuff together to
+keep them from nakedness?</p>
+
+<p>'"Well," said Father Maloney to me, "why isn't it to O'Brien that you
+speak with your scolding tongue?" Faix! and what good was it to spake to
+O'Brien, I'd like to know? Did you ever try to cut water with a knife,
+or to hurt a feather-bed by striking at it with your fist? A nice
+good-natured man was Terry O'Brien&mdash;I'll never say that he wasn't
+that,&mdash;except when he was drunk, which was most of the time&mdash;but he'd no
+more backbone to him than a worm. That was the sort of husband Father
+Maloney married me to.</p>
+
+<p>'The children kept a-coming till we'd nine of them, that's with the five
+I found ready to hand; and the elder ones getting up and needing to be
+set out in the world, and what prospect was there for them? What<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> could
+I do for them? Me always with an infant in my arms! Yet 'twas me and no
+other that gave them the bit and sup they had, for I went out to work;
+but how could I save anything to fit decent clothes on them, and it
+wasn't much work I could do, what with the babies always coming, and
+sick and ailing they were half the time. The Sisters would come from the
+convent to give me charity. 'Twas precious little they gave, and
+lectured me too for not being more submiss'! And I didn't want their
+charity; I wanted to get up in the world. I'd wanted that before I was
+married, and now I wanted it for the children. Likely girls the two
+eldest were, and the boy just beginning to go the way of his father.'</p>
+
+<p>She came to a sudden stop and breathed hard; the strong old face was
+still stretched out to the priest in her eagerness; the staff was
+swaying to and fro beneath the tremulous hand. She had poured out her
+words so quickly that there was in his chest a feeling of answering
+breathlessness, yet he still sat regarding her placidly with the
+serenity of healthy youth.</p>
+
+<p>She did not give him long rest. 'What did I see around me?' she
+demanded. 'I saw people that had begun life no better than myself
+getting up and getting up, having a shop maybe, or sending their
+children to the "Model" School to learn to be teachers,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> or getting them
+into this business or that, and mine with never so much as knowing how
+to read, for they hadn't the shoes to put on&mdash;&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>'And I had it in me to better them and myself. I knew I'd be strong if
+it wasn't for the babies, and I knew, too, that I'd do a kinder thing
+for each child I had, to strangle it at it's birth than to bring it on
+to know nothing and be nothing but a poor wretched thing like Terry
+O'Brien himself&mdash;&mdash;'</p>
+
+<p>At the word 'strangle' the young priest took his feet from the ledge in
+front of the fire and changed his easy attitude, sitting up straight and
+looking more serious.</p>
+
+<p>'It's not that I blamed O'Brien over much, he'd just had the same sort
+of bringing up himself and his father before him, and when he was sober
+a very nice man he was; it was spiritiness he lacked; but if he'd had
+more spiritiness he'd have been a wickeder man, for what is there to
+give a man sense in a rearing like that? If he'd been a wickeder man I'd
+have had more fear to do with him the thing I did. But he was just a
+good sort of creature without sense enough to keep steady, or to know
+what the children were wanting; not a notion he hadn't but that they'd
+got all they needed, and I had it in me to better them. Will ye dare to
+say that I hadn't?</p>
+
+<p>'After Terry O'Brien went I had them all set out in the world, married
+or put to work with the best,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> and they've got ahead. All but O'Brien's
+eldest son, every one of them have got ahead of things. I couldn't put
+the spirit into <i>him</i> as I could into the littler ones and into the
+girls. Well, but he's the only black sheep of the seven, for two of them
+died. All that's living but him are doing well, doing well' (she nodded
+her head in triumph), 'and their children doing better than them, as
+ought to be. Some of them ladies and gentlemen, real quality. Oh! ye
+needn't think I don't know the difference' (some thought expressed in
+his face had evidently made its way with speed to her brain)&mdash;'my
+daughter that lives here is all well enough, and her girl handsome and
+able to make her way, but I tell you there's some of my grandchildren
+that's as much above her in the world as she is above poor Terry
+O'Brien&mdash;young people that speak soft when they come to see their poor
+old grannie and read books, oh! I know the difference; oh! I know very
+well&mdash;not but what my daughter here is well-to-do, and there's not one
+of them all but has a respect for me.' She nodded again triumphantly,
+and her eyes flashed. 'They know, they know very well how I set them out
+in the world. And they come back for advice to me, old as I am, and see
+that I want for nothing. I've been a <i>good</i> mother to them, and a good
+mother makes good children and grandchildren too.'</p>
+
+<p>There was another pause in which she breathed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> hard; the priest grasped
+the point of the story; he asked&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>'What became of O'Brien?'</p>
+
+<p>'I drowned him.'</p>
+
+<p>The priest stood up in a rigid and clerical attitude.</p>
+
+<p>'I tell ye I drowned him.' She had changed her attitude to suit his; and
+with the supreme excitement of telling what she had never told, there
+seemed to come to her the power to sit erect. Her eagerness was not that
+of self-vindication; it was the feverish exaltation with which old age
+glories over bygone achievement.</p>
+
+<p>'I'd never have thought of it if it hadn't been O'Brien himself that put
+it into my head. But the children had a dog, 'twas little enough they
+had to play with, and the beast was useful in his way too, for he could
+mind the baby at times; but he took to ailing&mdash;like enough it was from
+want of food, and I was for nursing him up a bit and bringing him round,
+but O'Brien said that he'd put him into the canal. 'Twas one Sunday that
+he was at home sober&mdash;for when he was drunk I could handle him so that
+he couldn't do much harm. So says I, "And why is he to be put in the
+canal?"</p>
+
+<p>'Says he, "Because he's doing no good here."</p>
+
+<p>'So says I, "Let the poor beast live, for he does no harm."</p>
+
+<p>'Then says he, "But it's harm he does taking the children's meat and
+their place by the fire."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>'And says I, "Are ye not afraid to hurry an innocent creature into the
+next world?" for the dog had that sense he was like one of the children
+to me.</p>
+
+<p>'Then said Terry O'Brien, for he had a wit of his own, "And if he's an
+innocent creature he'll fare well where he goes."</p>
+
+<p>'Then said I, "He's done his sins, like the rest of us, no doubt."</p>
+
+<p>'Then says he, "The sooner he's put where he can do no more the better."</p>
+
+<p>'So with that he put a string round the poor thing's neck and took him
+away to where there was holes in the ice of the canal, just as there is
+to-day, for it was the same season of the year, and the children all
+cried; and thinks I to myself, "If it was the dog that was going to put
+their father into the water they would cry less." For he had a peevish
+temper in drink, which was most of the time.</p>
+
+<p>'So then, I knew what I would do. 'Twas for the sake of the children
+that were crying about me that I did it, and I looked up to the sky and
+I said to God and the holy saints that for Terry O'Brien and his
+children 'twas the best deed I could do; and the words that we said
+about the poor beast rang in my head, for they fitted to O'Brien
+himself, every one of them.</p>
+
+<p>'So you see it was just the time when the ice<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> was still thick on the
+water, six inches thick maybe, but where anything had happened to break
+it the edges were melting into large holes. And the next night when it
+was late and dark I went and waited outside the tavern, the way O'Brien
+would be coming home.</p>
+
+<p>'He was just in that state that he could walk, but he hadn't the sense
+of a child, and we came by the canal, for there's a road along it all
+winter long, but there were places where if you went off the road you
+fell in, and there were placards up saying to take care. But Terry
+O'Brien hadn't the sense to remember them. I led him to the edge of a
+hole, and then I came on without him. He was too drunk to feel the pain
+of the gasping. So I went home.</p>
+
+<p>'There wasn't a creature lived near for a mile then, and in the morning
+I gave out that I was afraid he'd got drowned, so they broke the ice and
+took him up. And there was just one person that grieved for Terry
+O'Brien. Many's the day I grieved for him, for I was accustomed to have
+him about me, and I missed him like, and I said in my heart, "Terry,
+wherever ye may be, I have done the best deed for you and your children,
+for if you were innocent you have gone to a better place, and if it were
+sin to live as you did, the less of it you have on your soul the better
+for you; and as for the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> children, poor lambs, I can give them a start
+in the world now I am rid of you!" That's what I said in my heart to
+O'Brien at first&mdash;when I grieved for him; and then the years passed, and
+I worked too hard to be thinking of him.</p>
+
+<p>'And now, when I sit here facing the death for myself, I can look out of
+my windows there back and see the canal, and I say to Terry again, as if
+I was coming face to face with him, that I did the best deed I could do
+for him and his. I broke with the Cath'lic Church long ago, for I
+couldn't go to confess; and many's the year that I never thought of
+religion. But now that I am going to die I try to read the books my
+daughter's minister gives me, and I look to God and say that I've sins
+on my soul, but the drowning of O'Brien, as far as I know right from
+wrong, isn't one of them.'</p>
+
+<p>The young priest had an idea that the occasion demanded some strong form
+of speech. 'Woman,' he said, 'what have you told me this for?'</p>
+
+<p>The strength of her excitement was subsiding. In its wane the
+afflictions of her age seemed to be let loose upon her again. Her words
+came more thickly, her gaunt frame trembled the more, but not for one
+moment did her eye flinch before his youthful severity.</p>
+
+<p>'I hear that you priests are at it yet. "Marry and marry and marry,"
+that's what ye teach the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> poor folks that will do your bidding, "in
+order that the new country may be filled with Cath'lics," and I thought
+before I died I'd just let ye know how one such marriage turned; and as
+he didn't come himself you may go home and tell Father M'Leod that, God
+helping me, I have told you the truth.'</p>
+
+<p>The next day an elderly priest approached the door of the same house.
+His hair was grey, his shoulders bent, his face was furrowed with those
+benign lines which tell that the pain which has graven them is that
+sympathy which accepts as its own the sorrows of others. Father M'Leod
+had come far because he had a word to say, a word of pity and of
+sympathy, which he hoped might yet touch an impenitent heart, a word
+that he felt was due from the Church he represented to this wandering
+soul, whether repentance should be the result or not.</p>
+
+<p>When he rang the bell it was not the young girl but her mother who
+answered the door; her face, which spoke of ordinary comfort and good
+cheer, bore marks of recent tears.</p>
+
+<p>'Do you know,' asked the Father curiously, 'what statement it was that
+your mother communicated to my friend who was here yesterday?'</p>
+
+<p>'No, sir, I do not.'</p>
+
+<p>'Your mother was yesterday in her usual health and sound mind?' he
+interrogated gently.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>'She was indeed, sir,' and she wiped a tear.</p>
+
+<p>'I would like to see your mother,' persisted he.</p>
+
+<p>'She had a stroke in the night, sir; she's lying easy now, but she knows
+no one, and the doctor says she'll never hear or see or speak again.'</p>
+
+<p>The old man sighed deeply.</p>
+
+<p>'If I may make so bold, sir, will you tell me what business it was my
+mother had with the young man yesterday or with yourself?'</p>
+
+<p>'It is not well that I should tell you,' he replied, and he went
+away.</p>
+
+<hr />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="IV" id="IV"></a>IV</h2>
+
+<h3>A TAINT IN THE BLOOD</h3>
+
+<h3><a name="Chapter_I" id="Chapter_I"></a><span class="smcap">Chapter I</span></h3>
+
+<p>The curate was walking on the cliffs with his lady-love. All the sky was
+grey, and all the sea was grey. The soft March wind blew over the rocky
+shore; it could not rustle the bright green weed that hung wet from the
+boulders, but it set all the tufts of grass upon the cliffs nodding to
+the song of the ebbing tide. The lady was the vicar's daughter; her name
+was Violetta.</p>
+
+<p>'Let us stand still here,' said the curate, 'for there is something I
+must say to you to-day.' So they stood still and looked at the sea.</p>
+
+<p>'Violetta,' said the curate, 'you cannot be ignorant that I have long
+loved you. Last night I took courage and told your father of my hope and
+desire that you should become my wife. He told me what I did not know,
+that you have already tasted the joy of love<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> and the sorrow of its
+disappointment. I can only ask you now if this former love has made it
+impossible that you should love again.'</p>
+
+<p>'No,' she answered; 'for although I loved and sorrowed then with all the
+strength of a child's heart, still it was only as a child, and that is
+past.'</p>
+
+<p>'Will you be my wife?' said the curate.</p>
+
+<p>'I cannot choose but say "yes," I love you so much.'</p>
+
+<p>Then they turned and went back along the cliffs, and the curate was very
+happy. 'But tell me,' he said, 'about this other man that loved you.'</p>
+
+<p>'His name was Herbert. He was the squire's son. He loved me and I loved
+him, but afterwards we found that his mother had been mad&mdash;&mdash;' Violetta
+paused and turned her sweet blue eyes upon the sea.</p>
+
+<p>'So you could not marry?' said the curate.</p>
+
+<p>'No,' said Violetta, casting her eyes downward, 'because the taint of
+madness is a terrible thing.' She shuddered and blushed.</p>
+
+<p>'And you loved him?'</p>
+
+<p>'Dearly, dearly,' said Violetta, clasping her hands. 'But madness in the
+blood is too terrible; it is like the inheritance of a curse.'</p>
+
+<p>'He went away?' said the curate.</p>
+
+<p>'Yes, Herbert went away; and he died. He loved me so much that he
+died.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>'I do not wonder at that,' said the curate, 'for you are very lovely,
+Violetta.'</p>
+
+<p>They walked home hand in hand, and when they had said good-bye under the
+beech trees that grew by the vicarage gate, the curate went down the
+street of the little town. The shop-keepers were at their doors
+breathing the mild spring air. The fishermen had hung their nets to dry
+in the market-place near the quay. The western cloud was turning
+crimson, and the steep roofs and grey church-tower absorbed in sombre
+colours the tender light. The curate was going home to his lodgings, but
+he bethought him of his tea, and turned into the pastry-cook's by the
+way.</p>
+
+<p>'Have you any muffins, Mrs. Yeander?' he asked.</p>
+
+<p>'No, sir,' said the portly wife of the baker, in a sad tone, 'they're
+all over.'</p>
+
+<p>'Crumpets?' said he.</p>
+
+<p>'Past and gone, sir,' said the woman with a sigh. She had a coarsely
+poetical cast of mind, and commonly spoke of the sale of her goods as
+one might speak of the passing of summer flowers. The curate was turning
+away.</p>
+
+<p>'I would make bold, sir,' said the woman, 'to ask if you've heard that
+we've let our second-floor front for a while. It's a great thing for us,
+sir, as you know, to 'ave it let, not that you'll approve the person as
+'as took it.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>'Oh!' said the curate, 'how is that?'</p>
+
+<p>'He's the new Jewish rabbi, sir, being as they've opened the place of
+their heathenish worship again. It's been shut this two year, for want
+of a Hebrew to read the language.'</p>
+
+<p>'Oh, no, Mrs. Yeander; you're quite mistaken in calling the Jews
+heathens.'</p>
+
+<p>'The meeting-place is down by the end of the street, sir&mdash;a squarish
+sort of house. It's not been open in your time; likely you'll not know
+it. The new rabbi's been reading a couple of weeks to them. They do say
+it's awful queer.'</p>
+
+<p>'Oh, indeed!' said the curate; 'what are their hours of service?'</p>
+
+<p>'Well, to say the truth, sir, they'll soon be at it now, for it's Friday
+at sunset they've some antics or other in the place. The rabbi's just
+gone with his book.'</p>
+
+<p>'I think I'll look them up, and see what they're at,' said he, going
+out.</p>
+
+<p>He was a thin, hard-working man. His whole soul was possessed by his
+great love for Violetta, but even the gladness of its success could not
+turn him from his work. When the day was over he would indulge in
+brooding on his joy; until then the need of the world pressed. He
+stepped out again into the evening glow. The wind had grown stronger,
+and he bent his head forward and walked against it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> towards the west. He
+felt a sudden sympathy for this stranger who had come to minister in his
+own way to the few scattered children of the Jews who were in the town.
+He knew the unjust sentiment with which he would be surrounded as by an
+atmosphere. The curate was broad in his views. 'All nations and all
+people,' thought he, 'lust for an excuse to deem their neighbour less
+worthy than themselves, that they may oppress him. This is the
+selfishness which is the cause of all sin and is the devil.' When he got
+to this point in his thoughts he came to a sudden stand and looked up.
+'But, thank God,' he said to himself, 'the True Life is still in the
+world, and as we resist the evil we not only triumph ourselves, but make
+the triumph of our children sure.' So reasoned the curate; he was a
+rather fanatical fellow.</p>
+
+<p>The people near gave him 'good-day' when they saw him stop. All up and
+down the street the children played with shrill noises and pattering
+feet. The sunset cloud was brighter, and the dark peaked roofs of tile
+and thatch and slate, as if compelled to take some notice of the fire,
+threw back the red where, here and there, some glint of moisture gave
+reflection to the coloured light. He had come near the end of the town,
+and, where the houses opened, the red sky was fretted with dark twigs
+and branches of elm trees which grew on the grassy slope of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> cliff.
+The elm trees were in the squire's park, and the curate looked at them
+sadly and thought of Herbert who had died.</p>
+
+<p>Up a little lane at the end of the street he found the entrance to a low
+square hall. There was a small ante-room to the place of service, and in
+this a dull-looking man was seated polishing a candlestick. He was a
+crossing-sweeper by trade and a friend of the curate.</p>
+
+<p>'Well, Issachar; so you've got your synagogue open again!'</p>
+
+<p>The man Issachar made some sound meant for a response, but not
+intelligible.</p>
+
+<p>'How many Jews will there be in the town?'</p>
+
+<p>'Twenty that are heads of families, and two grown youths,' said
+Issachar.</p>
+
+<p>'That's enough to keep up a service, for some of them will be rich?'</p>
+
+<p>'Some are very rich,' said Issachar, wrinkling his face with
+satisfaction when he said the words.</p>
+
+<p>'Then how is it you don't always keep up the service?'</p>
+
+<p>But Issachar had no explanation to give. He polished his candlestick the
+more vigorously, and related at some length what he knew of the present
+reader, which was, in fact, nothing, except that he was a foreigner and
+had only offered to read while he was visiting the town.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>'I have come for the service,' said the curate.</p>
+
+<p>'Better not,' said Issachar; 'it's short to-night, and there'll not be
+many.'</p>
+
+<p>The curate answered by opening the inner door and entering. There were
+some high pews up and down the sides of the room. There was a curtain at
+the farther end and a reading desk in the centre, both of which were
+enclosed in a railing ornamented by brass knobs, and in which were set
+high posts supporting gas-lamps, nine in all, which were lit, either for
+heat or ceremony, and turned down to a subdued light. The evening light
+entered through the domed roof. Hebrew texts which the curate could not
+decipher were painted on the dark walls. He took off his hat reverently
+and sat down. There was no one there. He felt very much surprised at
+finding himself alone. To his impressible nervous nature it seemed that
+he had suddenly entered a place far removed in time and space from the
+every-day life with which he was so familiar. He sat a long time; it was
+cold, and the evening light grew dim, and yet no one came. Issachar
+entered now and then, and made brief remarks about sundry things as he
+gave additional polish to the knobs on the railing, but he always went
+out again.</p>
+
+<p>At length a side door opened and the reader came in from his vestry. He
+had apparently waited in hope of a congregation, but now came in to
+perform<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> his duty without their aid. Perhaps he was not so much
+disappointed as the curate was. It would have been very difficult to
+tell from looking at him what his emotions were. He was a stout large
+man with a coarse brown beard. There was little to be seen of his face
+but the hair upon it, and one gathered the suggestion, although it was
+hard to know from what, that the man and his beard were not as clean as
+might be. He wore a black gown and an ordinary high silk hat, although
+pushed much farther back on his head than an Englishman would have worn
+it. He walked heavily and clumsily inside the railing, and stood before
+the desk, slowly turning over backward the leaves of the great book.
+Then suddenly he began to chant in the Hebrew tongue. His voice fell
+mellow and sweet upon the silence, filling it with drowsy sound, as the
+soft music of a humble-bee will suddenly fill the silence of a woodland
+glade. There was no thought, only feeling, conveyed by the sound.</p>
+
+<p>Issachar had gone out, and the Anglican priest sat erect, gazing at the
+Jew through the fading light, his attention painfully strained by the
+sense of loneliness and surprise. From mere habit he supposed the chant
+to be an introduction to a varied service, but no change came. On and on
+and on went the strange music, like a potent incantation, the big Jew
+swaying his body slightly with the rhythm, and at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> long intervals came
+the whisper of paper with the turning of the leaf.</p>
+
+<p>The curate gazed and wondered until he forgot himself. Then he tried
+with an effort to recall who he was, and where he was, and all the
+details of the busy field of labour he had left just outside the door.
+He wished that the walls of the square room were not so thick, that some
+sound from the town might come in and mingle with the chant. He strained
+his ear in vain to catch a word of the Hebrew which might be
+intelligible to him. He wondered much what sort of a man this Jew might
+be, actuated by what motives, impelled by what impulses to his lonely
+task. All the sorrow of a hope deferred through ages, and a long torture
+patiently borne, seemed gathered in the cadence; but the man&mdash;surely the
+man was no refined embodiment of the high sentiment of his psalm! And
+still the soft rich voice chanted the unknown language, and the daylight
+grew more dim.</p>
+
+<p>The curate was conscious that again he tried to remember who he was, and
+where; and then the surroundings of the humble synagogue fell away, and
+he himself was standing looking at a jewel. It was a purple stone,
+oval-shaped and polished, perhaps about as large as the drop of dew
+which could hang in a harebell's heart. The stone was the colour of a
+harebell, and there was a ray of light in it, as if in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> the process of
+its formation the jewel had caught sight of a star, and imprisoned the
+tiny reflection for ever within itself. The curate moved his head from
+side to side to see if the ray within the stone would remain still, but
+it did not, turning itself to meet his eye as if the tiny star had a
+life and a light of its own. Then he looked at the setting, for the
+stone was set in steel. A zigzag-barred steel frame held it fast, and
+outside the zigzag bars there was a smooth ring, with some words cut
+upon it in Hebrew. The characters were very small; he knew, rather than
+saw, that they were Hebrew; but he did not know what they meant. All
+this time he had been stooping down, looking at this thing as if it lay
+very near the ground. Then suddenly he noticed upon what it was lying.
+There was a steel chain fastened to it, and the chain was around the
+neck of a woman who lay upon the earth; the jewel was upon her breast.
+But how white and cold the breast was! Surely there was no life in it.
+And he observed with horror that the garments which had fallen back were
+oozing with water, and that the hair was wet. He hardly saw the face;
+for a moment he thought he saw it, and that it was the face of a Jewess,
+young and beautiful, but the vision passed from him. The chant had
+ceased, and the rabbi was kissing his book.</p>
+
+<p>Very solemnly the Jew bowed himself three<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span> times and kissed the book,
+and then in the twilight of the nine dim lamps he stumbled out and shut
+the door, without giving a glance to his one listener.</p>
+
+<p>As for the young Christian priest, he was panic-stricken. When our
+senses themselves deceive us we are cut off from our cheerful belief in
+the reality of material things, or forced to face the unpleasant fact
+that we hold no stable relationship to them. He rushed out into the
+street. Issachar was at the entrance as he passed, and he fancied he saw
+the face of the reader peeping at him from the vestry window, but he
+crushed his hat hard down on his head and strode away, courting the
+bluster of the wind, striving by the energy of action to cast off the
+trance that seemed to enslave him.</p>
+
+<p>When he reached his own door he found the baker's wife sitting on the
+doorstep. It was quite dusk; perhaps that was the reason he did not
+recognise her at first.</p>
+
+<p>'La, sir, I found them two muffins lying unbeknown in the corner of the
+shelf, so I brought them round, thinking you mightn't 'ave 'ad your
+tea.'</p>
+
+<p>'Muffins?' said the curate, as if he were not quite sure what muffins
+might be. Then he began to wonder if he was really losing his wits, and
+he plunged into talk with the woman, saying anything and everything to
+convince himself that he was not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> asleep or mad. 'Do you know, Mrs.
+Yeander, that I am going to be married?'</p>
+
+<p>'Well, I am sure, sir,' said she, curtseying and smiling. 'It's a great
+compliment to me to hear it from your own lips; not that it's
+unexpected. Miss Violetta's a sweet saint, just like her ma, she is, an'
+her ma's a saint if there ever was one. Mr. Higgs, the verger, says that
+to see her pray that length of time on her knees after the service is
+over in church is a touching sight.'</p>
+
+<p>'But I don't think Miss Violetta is like her mother,' said the curate.</p>
+
+<p>'Well no, sir; now that you mention it, perhaps she's not&mdash;at least, not
+in looks. But lor' sir, she's wonderful like her ma when it comes to
+paying a bill, not but what they're to be respected for keeping a heye
+on the purse. I often tell Yeander that if we were a bit more saving,
+like the vicar's lady, we'd lay by a bit for our old age.'</p>
+
+<p>'Yes, Mrs. Yeander, yes; that would be an excellent plan,' said the
+curate, fumbling with his latch-key in the door. 'Suppose you come in
+and make my tea for me, Mrs. Yeander. I'm all alone to-night.'</p>
+
+<p>'I bethought I might do that, sir, when I came along. Yeander was in the
+shop, and I said, Mrs. Jones having gone to see her son, that you'd 'ave
+no one, so I just says to Yeander, "I'll step round, an' if I'm asked
+I'll make tea."'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>The curate lit his lamp and poked his fire, and the portly woman began
+to toast his muffins. The flame lit up the placid wrinkles of her face
+as she knelt before it:</p>
+
+<p>'But I don't think Miss Violetta is in the least like her mother,' said
+he again.</p>
+
+<p>'Lor' sir, don't you? Well, you ought to know best. They do say what's
+bred in the bone comes out in the flesh; but it'll be none the worse for
+you if she looks sharp after the spending. You're not much given to
+saving.'</p>
+
+<p>The curate walked nervously up and down his small room.</p>
+
+<p>'Make the tea strong to-night,' he said.</p>
+
+<p>'Mr. Higgs, the verger, do hate the vicar's lady, sir&mdash;he do, and no
+mistake&mdash;but he says anybody could see with 'alf a heye that she was a
+real saint. The subscriptions she puts down to missions and church
+restorings&mdash;it's quite wonderful.'</p>
+
+<p>The curate ran his hand wearily through his hair. He felt called upon to
+say something. 'I have the highest respect for Mrs. Moore,' he began. 'I
+know her to be a most devoted helpmeet to the vicar, and a truly good
+woman. At the same time'&mdash;he coughed&mdash;'at the same time, I should wish
+to say distinctly that after being niggardly in her domestic affairs,
+which is unfortunately the case, I do not think it adds to her stock of
+Christian<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> virtues to give the money thus saved to church work.'</p>
+
+<p>The curate cleared his throat. It was because he was flying from himself
+that he had let the woman talk until this speech of his had been made
+necessary; but at all times his humble friends in this town were well
+nigh irrepressible in their talk. This woman was in full tide now.</p>
+
+<p>'They do say, sir, there's a difference between honest saving and greed.
+Mr. Higgs said to Yeander one day, says he, "Mrs. Moore's folks far back
+made their money by sharp trading, and greed's in the family, and it's
+the worst sort of greed, for it grasps both at 'eaven and earth, both at
+this life and the 'eavenly. And," says he, "no one could doubt that the
+lady's that way constituted that she couldn't cut a loaf of bread in
+'alf without giving herself the largest share, even if it were the bread
+of life."'</p>
+
+<p>'My good Mrs. Yeander&mdash;&mdash;' began the curate in stern rebuke.</p>
+
+<p>'Oh, no, sir, Mr. Higgs don't mean no harm. He only gets that riled at
+Mrs. Moore sometimes that he kind of lets off to Yeander and me.'</p>
+
+<p>'And I don't think, Mrs. Yeander,' said the curate, for the third time,
+'that Miss Violetta is at all like her mother.'</p>
+
+<p>'She's young yet, sir,' said the woman. Then she<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> went away, leaving the
+curate to interpret her last remark as he chose.</p>
+
+<hr class='smler' />
+<h3><a name="Chapter_II" id="Chapter_II"></a><span class="smcap">Chapter</span> II</h3>
+
+<p>About a week after that there was a fine dinner given at the vicarage to
+welcome the curate into the family. The old squire was invited, but he
+refused to come. Violetta's mamma wrote and asked some of her relatives
+to come down from town. 'Our chosen son-in-law is not rich,' she wrote,
+'but he comes of an old family, and that is a great thing. Dear Violetta
+will, of course, inherit my own fortune, which will be ample for them,
+and his good connections, with God's blessing, will complete their
+happiness.' So they came down. There was the vicar's brother, who was a
+barrister, and his wife. Then there were two sisters of Mrs. Moore, who
+were both very rich. One was an old maid, and one was married to a
+dean&mdash;she brought her husband. 'You see,' said Violetta's mamma to the
+curate, 'our relatives are all either law or clergy.'</p>
+
+<p>There were very grand preparations made for the dinner, and Mrs. Higgs,
+the wife of the verger, came to the curate's rooms the day before and
+took away his best clothes, that she might see they were well brushed
+for the occasion. She did up his collar and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> wristbands herself, and
+gave them a fine gloss. Higgs brought them back just in time for the
+dinner.</p>
+
+<p>'It's just about five years since they had such a turn-out at the
+vicarage,' said Higgs in a crisp little voice. 'Miss Violetta was
+nineteen then; she'll be twenty-four now.'</p>
+
+<p>'Yes,' said the curate absently; 'what was up then?'</p>
+
+<p>''Twas a dinner much of a muchness to this. Mrs. Higgs, she was just
+reminding me of it. But that was in honour of Mr. Herbert, of the 'All.
+You'll 'ave heard of him?'</p>
+
+<p>'Oh, yes,' said the curate, 'all that was very sad.'</p>
+
+<p>'The more so,' said Higgs briskly, 'that when it was broke hoff, Mr.
+Herbert died of love. He went to some foreign countries and took up with
+low company, and there he died. Squire hasn't held his head up straight
+since that day.'</p>
+
+<p>'All that was before I came,' said the curate very gravely, for he did
+not know exactly what to say.</p>
+
+<p>'Lor' bless you, sir,' said Higgs, 'I was in no way blaming you. There's
+no blame attaching to any, that I know; squire's wife was as mad as a
+hare. Miss Violetta, she cried her pretty eyes nigh out for Mr. Herbert;
+it's time she'd another.'</p>
+
+<p>The curate went to the dinner, and it was a very fine affair indeed.
+Violetta wore a silk gown and looked<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> charming. She does not look a day
+older than she did when I saw her five years ago,' said the dean to the
+curate, meaning to be very polite, but the curate did not smile at the
+compliment.</p>
+
+<p>'How fine your flowers are!' said the maiden aunt to Violetta. 'Where
+did you get them, my dear?'</p>
+
+<p>'The squire sent them to me,' said Violetta, with a droop of her eyelids
+which made her look more charming than ever. Then they had dinner, and
+after dinner Violetta gave them some music. It was sacred music, for
+Mrs. Moore did not care for anything else.</p>
+
+<p>When the song was over Mrs. Moore said to the curate, 'It has been my
+wish to give dear Violetta a little gift as a slight remembrance of this
+happy occasion, and I thought that something of my own would be more
+valuable than&mdash;&mdash;' Here the mother's voice broke with very natural
+emotion, and she pressed her handkerchief to her eyes. 'You must excuse
+me,' she murmured, 'she is such a dear&mdash;such a very dear girl, and she
+is our only child.'</p>
+
+<p>'Indeed, I can well understand,' said he, with earnest sympathy.</p>
+
+<p>'Such a dear&mdash;such a very dear girl,' murmured Mrs. Moore again. Then
+she rose and embraced Violetta and wept, and the aunts all shed tears,
+and the vicar coughed. Violetta's own blue eyes over-flowed with very
+pretty tears.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>The curate felt very uncomfortable indeed, and said again that he quite
+understood, and that it was quite natural. The dean and the barrister
+both said what they ought. The dean remarked that these dear parents
+ought not to sorrow at losing a daughter, but rejoice at finding a son.
+The barrister pointed out that as the bride was only expected to move
+into the next house but one after her marriage, all talk of parting was
+really quite absurd. The vicar did not say anything; he rarely did when
+his wife was present. Then Mrs. Moore became more composed, and put a
+ring on her daughter's finger. The curate did not see the ring at the
+moment. He was leaning against the mantel-shelf, feeling very much
+overcome by the responsibility of his new happiness.</p>
+
+<p>'Oh, mamma, how lovely!' cried Violetta. 'How perfectly beautiful!'</p>
+
+<p>'A star-amethyst!' said the barrister in a tone of surprise.</p>
+
+<p>'Is it a star-amethyst indeed?' said the dean, looking over the
+shoulders of the group with his double eye-glass. 'I am not aware that I
+ever saw one before; they are a very rare and beautiful sort of gem.'</p>
+
+<p>'Where did you get it, sister Matilda?' asked the maiden aunt.</p>
+
+<p>Now, although Mrs. Moore was in a most gracious humour, she never liked
+being asked questions at any<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> time. 'I am surprised that you should ask
+me that, Eliza. I have had it for many years.'</p>
+
+<p>'But you must have got it somewhere at the beginning of the years,'
+persisted Eliza, who was of a more lively disposition.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Moore gave her a severe glance for the frivolous tone of her
+answer. 'I was just about to explain that this stone has been lying for
+years among the jewellery which poor uncle Ford bequeathed to me. I
+thought it a pity that such a beautiful stone should lie unnoticed any
+longer.'</p>
+
+<p>'Oh, a great pity!' they all cried.</p>
+
+<p>'I should not have supposed that poor dear uncle Ford possessed such a
+rare thing,' said the wife of the dean.</p>
+
+<p>'It is very curious you never mentioned it before,' said Eliza.</p>
+
+<p>But Eliza was not in favour.</p>
+
+<p>'Not at all,' said Mrs. Moore; 'I take very little interest in such
+things. Life is too short to allow our attention to be diverted from
+serious things by mere ornaments.'</p>
+
+<p>'That is very true,' said the dean.</p>
+
+<p>Violetta broke through the little circle to show her lover the ring.
+'Look,' she said, holding up her pretty hand. 'Isn't it lovely? Isn't
+mamma very kind?'</p>
+
+<p>The curate turned his eyes from the fire with an<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> effort. He had been
+listening to all they said in a state of dreamy surprise. He did not
+wish to look at the stone, and the moment he saw it he perceived it was
+what he had seen before. It was not exactly the same shade of purple,
+but it appeared to him that he had seen it before by daylight, and now
+the lamps were lit. It was the same shape and size, and the tiny
+interior star was the same. He moved his head from side to side to see
+if the ray moved to meet his eye, and he found that it did so. He looked
+at Violetta. How beautiful she was in her white gown, with her little
+hand uplifted to display the shining stone, and her face upturned to
+his! The soft warm curve of the delicate breast and throat, the red lips
+that seemed to breathe pure kisses and holy words, the tender eyes
+shining like the jewel, dewy with the sacred tears she had been
+shedding, and the yellow hair, smooth, glossy, brushed saintly-wise on
+either side of the nunlike brow&mdash;all this he looked at, and his senses
+grew confused. The sad rise and fall of the Hebrew chant was in his ears
+again; the bright room and the people were not there, but the chant
+seemed in some strange way to rise up in folds of darkness and surround
+Violetta like a frame; and everything else was dark and filled with the
+music, except Violetta, who stood there white and shining, holding up
+the ring for him to look at; and at her feet lay that other woman, wet
+and dead, with the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> same stone in the steel chain at her throat. 'Isn't
+it lovely? Isn't mamma very kind?' Violetta was saying.</p>
+
+<p>'My dear, I think he is ill,' said the vicar.</p>
+
+<p>They took him by the arm, putting him on a chair, and fetched water and
+a glass of wine. He heard them talking together.</p>
+
+<p>'I daresay it has been too much for him,' said the dean. 'Joy is often
+as hard to bear as grief.'</p>
+
+<p>'He is such a fellow for work,' said the vicar, 'I never knew any one
+like him.'</p>
+
+<p>The curate sat up quite straight. 'Did any of you ever see an amethyst
+like this set in steel?'</p>
+
+<p>'In steel? What an odd idea!' said the maiden aunt.</p>
+
+<p>'He is not quite himself yet,' said the dean in a low voice, tapping her
+on the shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>'I think it would be very inappropriate, indeed very wrong, to set a
+valuable stone in any of the baser metals,' said Mrs. Moore. She spoke
+as if the idea were a personal affront to herself, but then she had an
+immense notion of her own importance, and always looked upon all
+wrong-doing as a personal grievance.</p>
+
+<p>'Whatever made you think of it?' asked Violetta.</p>
+
+<p>'I daresay it was rather absurd,' said the curate meekly.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>'By no means,' said the barrister; 'the idea of making jewellery
+exclusively of gold is modern and crude. In earlier times many beautiful
+articles of personal ornamentation were made of brass and even of iron.'</p>
+
+<p>'Mamma,' said Violetta, 'I remember one day seeing a curious old thing
+in the bottom of your dressing-case. It looked as if it might be made of
+steel. It was a very curious old thing&mdash;chain, and a pendant with some
+inscription round it.'</p>
+
+<p>'Did you?' said Mrs. Moore. 'I have several old trinkets. I do not know
+to which you refer.'</p>
+
+<p>She bade Violetta ring for tea. 'I am sure you will be the better for a
+cup of tea,' she said, turning to the curate.</p>
+
+<p>'I am quite well,' he replied. 'I think, if you will excuse me, I will
+walk home at once; the air will do me good.'</p>
+
+<p>But they would not hear of his walking home. They made him drink tea and
+sit out the evening with them. Violetta gave them some more music; and
+they all made themselves exceedingly agreeable. When the evening was
+over they sent the curate home in the carriage.</p>
+
+<hr class='smler' />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span></p>
+<h3><a name="Chapter_III" id="Chapter_III"></a><span class="smcap">Chapter</span> III</h3>
+
+<p>The night was frosty, calm, and clear, and quite light, for the March
+moon was just about to rise from the eastern sea.</p>
+
+<p>When the carriage set him down at his own door the curate had no mind to
+go in. He waited till the sound of the horse's feet had died away, and
+then he walked back down the empty street. The town was asleep; his
+footsteps echoed sharply from roofs and walls.</p>
+
+<p>He was not given to morbid fancies or hallucinations, and he was
+extremely annoyed at what had taken place. Twice in the last eight days
+he had been the subject of a waking dream, and now he was confronted
+with what seemed an odd counterpart of his vision in actual fact. It was
+no doubt a mere coincidence, but it was a very disagreeable one. Of
+course if he saw the old trinket described by Violetta, the chances were
+that it would be quite different from the setting of the stone which the
+dead woman wore; but even if the two were exactly the same, what
+difference could it make? A dream is nothing, and that which appears in
+a dream is nothing. The coincidence had no meaning.</p>
+
+<p>He turned by the side of the church down the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> lane which led to the
+little quay. The tide was halfway up the dark weed, and the
+fishing-boats were drawn near to the quay, ready for the cruise at dawn;
+their dark furled sails were bowing and curtseying to one another with
+all ceremony, like ghosts at a stately ball. To the east and south lay
+the sea, vacant, except that on the eastern verge stood a palace of
+cloud, the portals of which were luminous with the light from within,
+and now they were thrown open with a golden flash, and yellow rays shot
+forth into the upper heavens, spreading a clear green light through the
+deep midnight of the sky where the other worlds wandered. Then the
+yellow moon came from her palace, wrapping herself at first with a
+mantle of golden mist, as if&mdash;Godiva-like&mdash;she shrank from loosening her
+garments; but the need of the darkling earth pressed upon her, and she
+dropped her covering and rode forth in nakedness.</p>
+
+<p>Everything was more lovely now, for there was light to see the
+loveliness. The bluff wind that came from the bosom of the sea seemed
+only to tell of a vast silence and a world asleep. The rocky shore, with
+its thin line of white breakers, stretched round to the west. About a
+mile away there was a rugged headland, with some crags at its feet,
+which had been broken off and rolled down into the sea by the Frost
+Demon of bygone years. The smallest was farthest out, and wedged behind
+it and sheltered by it was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> the black hulk of a wrecked vessel. This
+outermost rock lay so that it broke the waves as they came against the
+wreck, and each was thrown high in a white jet and curl of spray, and
+fell with a low sob back into the darkness of the sea.</p>
+
+<p>The curate turned and walked toward the headland on the cliff path where
+he had walked a week before with Violetta. The cliffs were completely
+desolate, except for some donkeys browsing here and there, their brown
+hair silvered by the frost. There was a superstition in the town that
+the place was haunted on moonlight nights by the spirit of a woman who
+had perished in the wreck. It had been a French vessel, wrecked five
+years before, and all on board were drowned&mdash;six men and one woman, the
+wife of the skipper. They had all been buried in one grave in the little
+cemetery that was on the top of the headland; and it was easy to see how
+the superstition of the haunting came about, for as the curate watched
+the spray on the rock near the wreck rise up in the moonlight and fall
+back into the sea, he could almost make himself believe that he saw in
+it the supple form of a woman with uplifted hands, praying heaven for
+rescue.</p>
+
+<p>The wind was pretty rough when he got to the head of land, and he walked
+up among the graves to find a place where he might be sheltered and yet
+have advantage of the view. He knew that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> close by the edge of the
+cliff, over the grave of the shipwrecked people, stood a marble cross,
+large enough to shelter a man somewhat if he leaned against it. Upon
+this cross was a long inscription giving a touching account of the
+wreck, and stating that it was erected by Matilda Moore, wife of the
+vicar, out of grief for the sad occurrence, and with an earnest prayer
+for the unknown bereaved ones.</p>
+
+<p>The curate was rather fond of reading this inscription, as we all are
+apt to be fond of going over words which, although perfectly familiar to
+us, still leave some space for curiosity concerning their author and
+origin, and he was wondering idly as he walked whether there would be
+light enough from the moon to read them now. The wind came, like the
+moonlight, from the south-east, and he walked round by the western side
+of the graveyard in order to come up the knoll on which the cross stood
+by the sheltered side. Everything around him was intensely bleak and
+white, for the moon, having left the horizon, had lost her golden light,
+and the colouring of the night had toned down to white and purple.
+Patches of wild white cloud were scudding across the pallid purple sky
+beneath the stars, and there was a silver causeway across the purple
+sea. The purple was not unlike that of an amethyst. The cliffs sloped
+back to the town; the boats and peaked roofs and church tower were seen
+by the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> sharp outline of their masses of light and shade. The street
+lamps were not lit in the town because of the moon, and only in two or
+three places there was the warm glow of a casement fringed with the rays
+of a midnight candle. To the left of the cliffs, close to the town, were
+the trees of the squire's park and the roof of the Hall. Perhaps it was
+because the curate was looking at these things, as he walked among the
+graves, that he did not look at the monument towards which he was making
+way, until he came within half a dozen yards of it; then he suddenly saw
+that there was another man leaning against it, half hid in the shadow.
+He stopped at once and stood looking.</p>
+
+<p>The man had thrown his arms backward over the arms of the cross, and was
+leaning, half hanging, upon it; the young priest was inexpressibly
+shocked and startled by the attitude. He knew that none of the humbler
+inhabitants of the town would venture near such a place at such a time,
+nor could he think of any one else who was likely to be there. Besides,
+although he could not see the stranger distinctly, he himself was
+standing in full moonlight, and yet the man in the shadow of the cross
+made no sign of seeing him. At that moment he would gladly have gone
+home without asking further question, but that would have looked as if
+he were afraid.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>He tried a chance remark. 'It is a fine night,' he said, as lightly as
+might be.</p>
+
+<p>'Yes,' said the other, and moved his arms from the arms of the cross. It
+was only one word, but the curate recognised the soft voice at once. It
+was the Jewish rabbi.</p>
+
+<p>'I was at one of your services the other day,' he said, advancing
+nearer.</p>
+
+<p>'Yes.'</p>
+
+<p>'I felt sorry your people did not turn out better.'</p>
+
+<p>There was no answer.</p>
+
+<p>'It is a very cold wind,' said the curate. 'I hardly know why I came out
+so far.'</p>
+
+<p>'Shall I tell you?' asked the Jew softly. He spoke good English, but
+very slowly, and with some foreign accent.</p>
+
+<p>'Certainly, if you can.'</p>
+
+<p>'I desired very much to see you.'</p>
+
+<p>'But you did not tell me, so that could not be the reason. Your will
+could not influence my mind. I assure you I came of my own free will; it
+would be terrible if one man should be at the mercy of another's
+caprice.'</p>
+
+<p>'Be it so; let us call it chance then. I desired that you should come,
+and you came.'</p>
+
+<p>'But you do not think that you have a power over other men like that?'</p>
+
+<p>'I do not know; I find that with some men such<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> correspondence between
+my will and their thoughts and actions is not rare; but I could not
+prove that it is not chance. It makes no difference to me whether it be
+chance or not. I have been thinking of you very much, desiring your aid,
+and twice you have come to me&mdash;as you say&mdash;of your own free will.'</p>
+
+<p>'If you have such a power, you may be responsible for a very
+disagreeable dream I had in your synagogue the other day.'</p>
+
+<p>'What was the dream?'</p>
+
+<p>'Nay, if you created it you should be able to tell me what it was.'</p>
+
+<p>'I have no idea what it was; if I influenced your imagination I did so
+unconsciously.'</p>
+
+<p>There was about this Jew such a complete gentleness and repose, such
+earnestness without eagerness, such self-confidence without
+self-assertion, that the curate's heart warmed to him instinctively.</p>
+
+<p>'I believe you are an honest Christian,' said the Jew very simply.</p>
+
+<p>'I hope honest Christians are not rare.'</p>
+
+<p>'I think a wholly honest man is very rare, because to see what is honest
+it is necessary to look at things without self-interest or desire.'</p>
+
+<p>'I am certainly not such a man. The most I can say is that I try to be
+more honest every day.'</p>
+
+<p>'That is very well said,' said the Jew. 'If you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span> had believed in your
+own honesty, I should have doubted it.' Then, in a very simple and quiet
+way, he told the curate a strange story.</p>
+
+<p>He said that he lived in Antwerp. They were five in one family&mdash;the
+parents, a sister and brother, and himself. His father and brother did
+business with the English ships, but he was a teacher and reader in the
+synagogue. There had been in their family a very sacred heirloom in the
+form of an amulet or charm. Their forefathers had believed that it came
+from Jerusalem before their nation lost the holy city; but he himself
+did not think that this could be true; he only knew that it was ancient,
+and possessed very valuable properties as a talisman to those who knew
+how to use it. About five years before, his sister, who was beautiful
+and wayward, had loved and married a French sea-captain. The father
+cursed his daughter, but the mother could not let her go from them under
+the fear of this curse, and she hung the amulet about her neck as a
+safeguard. Alas for such safeguard! in a few weeks the captain's ship
+was wrecked, and all on her were drowned. He said that it was that same
+ship which lay near them, a wreck among the waves, and his sister lay
+buried beneath their feet.</p>
+
+<p>The family did not hear of the wreck till some time after the burial,
+and then they knew for the first time what their mother had done with
+the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span> amulet. His brother came over at once to this town to seek it, but
+in vain. The people said they had not seen the necklace; that it had
+certainly not been buried with the girl. The people seemed simple and
+honest; the brother was a shrewd man, and he believed that they spoke
+the truth. He returned home, in distress; they could not tell what to
+think, for they knew their sister would not have dared to take off the
+necklace, and the chain was too strong to be broken by the violence of
+the waves.</p>
+
+<p>Some months after they heard that there was a young Englishman dying in
+Antwerp who came from this town. The name of the town was graven on
+their hearts, and they went to see him. He was a mere boy, a pretty boy,
+and when they asked him about the wreck he became excited in his
+weakness and fever, and told them all the story of it as he had seen it
+with his own eyes.</p>
+
+<p>It was an October afternoon. A storm had been lowering and partially
+breaking over the town for three days, and that day there was a glare of
+murky light from the cloud that made the common people think that the
+end of the world was come. When the ship struck, the fisher-people ran
+out of the town to the shore nearest her, and this boy would have run
+out with them and been among the foremost but that a very pious and
+charitable lady of the place had besought him to take her with him.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span>
+There was a great rain and wind, and it was with difficulty that he led
+the lady out and helped her down to the shore. By that time the wreck
+had been dashed to pieces, and the fishermen were bringing in the dead
+bodies of the crew. There was a woman among them, and when they brought
+her body in, they did not lay it with the bodies of the sailors, but
+carried it respectfully and laid it close to the lady who stood in the
+shelter of some rocks. The wet clothes had fallen back from her
+breast&mdash;the boy remembered it well, for it had been his first sight of
+death, and his heart was touched by the girl's youth and beauty. He had
+not seen her again, for he had gone to help with the boats, and the
+fishermen's wives had run at the lady's bidding and brought coverings to
+wrap her in.</p>
+
+<p>The Jewish father then told the dying man about the amulet. He said
+that, to the best of his memory, some such thing had been about the neck
+of the dead girl, but that he was certain that none of the fisher-people
+would have been bad enough to steal from the dead. They entreated him to
+think well what he said, and to consider again if there was no doubtful
+character there who might have had the opportunity and the baseness to
+commit the crime. At that the dying man fell into profound thought, and
+when he looked at them again the fever-flush had mounted to his face,
+and there was a light in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> his eyes. He told them that if there was any
+one upon the shore that day who would have done such a thing it was the
+very rich and pious lady that he himself had taken to the wreck. She had
+been alone with the body when she sent the other women for wrappings.
+They thought that perhaps his mind was wandering, and left him,
+promising to return next day; but when they came again he was dead.</p>
+
+<p>'I have learned since I came here,' said the Jew, 'that he was the son
+of the old man who lives in the great house down there among the trees.'</p>
+
+<p>They both looked down at the park. The leafless elms stood up like giant
+feathers in the white mist of the moonbeams, and the chimney-stacks of
+the house threw a deep shadow on the shining roof.</p>
+
+<p>'But we felt,' said the Jew, 'that even if the judgment of the dying boy
+were a true one, and this lady had committed the crime, we still had no
+evidence against her, and that whoever was wicked enough to steal would
+certainly deny the act, and conceal that which was stolen. Hopeless as
+it seemed to wait, doing nothing, our only chance of redress would be
+lost by making any inquiry which might frighten her. We sent a message
+to the goldsmith in London who mends her jewels, asking him to watch for
+this necklace, and so we waited. At last we heard news. An amethyst
+which we do not doubt is ours came<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> to the goldsmith to be put in a
+ring; but there was no necklace with it. I came here to see if I could
+do something, but I have been here for some time and can devise no plan.
+If she still possess the other part, to speak would be to cause its
+destruction, and how can I find out without asking if she still has by
+her the thing that would prove her crime? Do not be angry with me when I
+tell you this. Remember it was not I who presumed to suspect the wife of
+your priest, but the English boy, who knew her well.'</p>
+
+<p>'Yes,' said the curate, 'I shall remember that.' He had grown tired of
+standing in the wind, and had sat down on the frosty grass below the
+cross. The blast was very cold, and he crouched down to avoid it,
+hugging his knees with his hands.</p>
+
+<p>'You are about to be united to the family,' said the Jew; 'perhaps you
+have seen the stone. Will you, for the sake of that justice which we all
+hope for, try to find out for me if the other part of the amulet still
+exists? I will give you a drawing of it, and if you find it as I
+describe, you will know that my tale is true. Remember this&mdash;that we
+have no wish to make the wrong public or punish the wrong-doer. We only
+want to obtain our property.'</p>
+
+<p>'Have you got a drawing of it now?'</p>
+
+<p>'Yes, I have it here.'</p>
+
+<p>The curate rose up and took the paper. He lit a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span> match, and held its
+tiny red flame in the shelter of the stone. The paper was soiled and
+untidily folded, but the drawing was clear. It took but a glance to
+satisfy him that what he had seen in his dream was but the reflection in
+his own thought of the idea in the Jew's mind. He did not stop to ask
+any explanation of the fact; the fact itself pressed too hard upon him.
+While the match was still burning he mechanically noticed the Jew's
+face, as it leaned over the paper near his own&mdash;not a handsome face, but
+gentle and noble in its expression. Then the match went out; it dropped
+from his hand, a tiny spark, into the grass, and for a moment
+illuminated the blades among which it fell.</p>
+
+<hr class='smler' />
+<h3><a name="Chapter_IV" id="Chapter_IV"></a><span class="smcap">Chapter</span> IV</h3>
+
+<p>The two men walked back over the bleak cliffs together, and for the
+greater part of the way in silence; at last the curate spoke. He told
+the Jew quite truly that he believed the vicar's wife had his jewel, and
+that he supposed she must have come by it according to his worst
+suspicions. 'But,' he added, 'I believe she is a good woman.'</p>
+
+<p>The other looked at him in simple surprise. 'That is very curious,' he
+said.</p>
+
+<p>'Let us not try to find out her secret by prying;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> let us go to her
+to-morrow, and tell her openly what we think. You fear that she will
+deny her action; I have no such fear; and if she does not stand our
+test, I give you my word for it, you shall not be the loser.'</p>
+
+<p>'I have put my case in your hands,' said the Jew. 'I will do as you
+say.'</p>
+
+<p>They turned into the sleeping town; but when they reached the place of
+parting the curate put his hand on the Jew's arm and said, 'I should not
+have your forbearance. If some one unconnected with myself had wronged
+me so, at the same time making profession of religion, I should think
+she deserved both disgrace and punishment.'</p>
+
+<p>'And that she shall have, but not from us,' he replied. 'The sin will
+surely be visited on her and on her children.'</p>
+
+<p>'Surely not on the children,' said the curate. 'You cannot believe that.
+It would be unjust.'</p>
+
+<p>'You have seen but little of the world if you do not know that such is
+the law. The vagabond who sins from circumstances may have in him the
+making of a saint, and his children may be saints; but with those who
+sin in spite of the good around them it is not so. For them and for
+their children is the curse.'</p>
+
+<p>'God cannot punish the innocent for the guilty,' said the priest
+passionately.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>'Surely not; for that is the punishment&mdash;that they are not innocent. The
+children of the proud are proud; the children of the cruel, cruel; and
+the children of the dishonest are dishonest, unto the third and fourth
+generation. Fight against it as they may, they cannot see the difference
+between right and wrong; they can only, by struggling, come <i>nearer</i> to
+the light. Do you call this unjust of God? Is it unjust that the
+children of the mad are mad, and the children of the virtuous virtuous.'</p>
+
+<p>'You take from us responsibility if we inherit sin.'</p>
+
+<p>'Nay, I increase responsibility. If we inherit obliquity of conscience,
+we are the more responsible for acting not as seems right in our own
+eyes, the more bound to restrain and instruct ourselves, for by this
+doctrine is laid upon us the responsibility of our children and
+children's children, that they may be better, not worse, than we.'</p>
+
+<p>All night long the curate paced up and down his room. The dawn came and
+he saw the fishermen hurry away to the boats at the quay. The sunrise
+came with its dull transient light upon the rain cloud. When the morning
+advanced he went for the Jew, and they walked down the street in the
+driving rain. The wet paving-stones and roofs reflected the grey light
+of the clouds which hurried overhead. The ruddy-twigged beech trees at
+the vicarage gate were shaken and buffeted by the storm.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> The two men
+shook their dripping hats as they entered the house. They were received
+in a private parlour, which was filled with objects of art and devotion.
+Very blandly did the good wife of the vicar greet them, yet with
+business-like condescension.</p>
+
+<p>The Jew, in a few very simple words, told the story of his sister's
+death and the loss of the amulet. He told the peculiar value of the
+amulet, and added, 'I have reason, madam, to believe that it has come
+into your possession. If so, and if you have it still by you, I entreat
+that you will give it to me at once, for to you it can only be a pretty
+trinket, and to us it is like a household god.'</p>
+
+<p>She looked at the Jew with evident emotion. 'I cannot tell you how it
+grieves me to hear you speak as if you attributed to any inanimate
+object the saving power which belongs to God alone,' she said. 'Think
+for a moment, only think, how dishonouring such a superstition is to the
+Creator.'</p>
+
+<p>'Madam!' said the Jew in utmost surprise.</p>
+
+<p>'Consider how wrong such a superstition is,' she said. 'What virtue can
+there be in a stone, or a piece of metal, or an inscription? None. They
+are as dead and powerless as the idols of the heathen; and to put the
+faith in any such thing that we ought to put in God's providence, is to
+dishonour Him. It grieves me to think that you, or any other intelligent
+man, could believe in such a superstition.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>'Madam,' said the Jew again, 'these things are as we think of them. You
+think one way and I another.'</p>
+
+<p>'But you think wrongly. I would have you see your error, and turn from
+it. Can you believe in the Christian faith and yet&mdash;&mdash;'</p>
+
+<p>'I am a Jew,' he said.</p>
+
+<p>'A Jew!' she exclaimed. She began to preach against that error also;
+entering into a long argument in a dull dogmatic way, but with an
+earnestness which held the two men irresolute with wonder and surprise.</p>
+
+<p>'It would seem, madam,' said the Jew, after she had talked much, 'that
+you desire greatly to set an erring world to rights again.'</p>
+
+<p>'And should we not all desire that?' she asked, unconscious of the
+irony. 'For what else are we placed in the world but to pass on to
+others the light that God has entrusted to us?'</p>
+
+<p>'I verily believe, madam,' said he seriously, 'that you think exactly
+what you say, and that you desire greatly to do me good. But, putting
+these questions aside, will you tell me if you have this ornament which
+I venerate?'</p>
+
+<p>'Yes, I have it.'</p>
+
+<p>'You took it from the breast of my sister when she lay dead upon your
+shore?'</p>
+
+<p>'I unfastened it from her neck, and have kept it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> with the greatest
+care. It was an ornament which was quite unsuitable to your sister's
+station in life. I could not have allowed any of our poor women to see
+such a valuable stone on the neck of a girl like themselves in station;
+it would have given them false ideas, and I am careful to teach them
+simplicity in dress. In England we do not approve of people of your
+class wearing jewellery.'</p>
+
+<p>The curate put his arms on the table and bowed his head on his hands.</p>
+
+<p>'Be that as it may,' said the Jew, rising, 'I will thank you if you will
+give me my property now and let me go.'</p>
+
+<p>'I cannot give it to you.' She was a little flustered in her manner, but
+not much. 'It would be against my conscience to give you what you would
+use profanely. Providence has placed it in my care, and I am responsible
+for its use. If I gave it to you it would be tempting you to sin.'</p>
+
+<p>He sat down again and looked at her with wonder in his soft brown eyes.
+'You have had the stone taken out,' he said, 'and set in a ring.'</p>
+
+<p>'Yes, and I have given it to my daughter, so that it is no longer mine
+to return to you. You must be aware that the marble cross stone I set up
+over your sister's grave cost me much more than the value of this stone.
+I am very much surprised that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> you should ask me to give it back. Surely
+any real feeling of gratitude for what I did for her would prompt you to
+be glad that you have something to give me in return.' She paused, then
+harped again upon the other string. 'But under any circumstances I could
+not feel justified in giving you anything that you would put to a bad
+use.'</p>
+
+<p>'That you have stolen my property does not make it yours to withhold,
+whatever may be your sentiments concerning it.'</p>
+
+<p>'"Stolen!" I do not understand you when you use such a word. Do you
+think it possible that I should steal? I took the chain from your
+sister's neck with the highest motives. Do not use such a word as
+"stolen" in speaking to me.'</p>
+
+<p>'Truly, madam,' he said, 'you could almost persuade me that you are in
+the right, and that I insult you.'</p>
+
+<p>She looked at him stolidly, although evidently not without some inward
+apprehension. It was a piteous sight&mdash;the poor distorted reasoning
+faculty grovelling as a slave to the selfish will.</p>
+
+<p>'I cannot give you back the amethyst,' she said, 'for I have given it
+away; but if you will promise me never again to regard it as having any
+value as an amulet or talisman, I will give you the necklace, and I will
+pay you something to have another stone put in.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>The curate looked up. 'Get him the necklace and Violetta's ring,' he
+said, 'and we will go.'</p>
+
+<p>A man had arisen within the curate who was stronger than his
+self-control. They might have argued with her for ever: he frightened
+her into compliance. He took her by the arm and turned her to the door.</p>
+
+<p>'There is not a man, woman or child in this town,' he said, 'who shall
+not hear of this affair if you delay another moment to get him the chain
+and the ring. It is due to his charity if the matter is concealed then.'</p>
+
+<p>When she was gone the Jew was disposed to make remarks. 'I truly
+believe,' he said, 'that it is as you say, that this woman is very
+virtuous in the sight of her own conscience.'</p>
+
+<p>A servant brought them a packet. The Jew opened it, taking out the chain
+and the ring reverently and putting them in his breast. Then they went
+out into the wind and the rain.</p>
+
+<p>The Jew went to his native city, and the curate accompanied him as far
+as London. There he said good-bye to him as to a friend. He did not
+return at once to his parish, but found a substitute to do his work
+there, and went inland for a month, seeking by change and relaxation to
+attain to the true judgment of calm pulses and quiet nerves. It was in
+April and in Lent that he returned.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Higgs, the irrepressible, received him with joy. 'It's you that are the
+good sight for sore eyes,' he said. 'Not but what we've been 'aving an
+uncommon peaceful time for Lent. The vicar's lady she's took bad and
+took to bed.'</p>
+
+<p>The curate reproved the wicked Higgs, but he inquired after the health
+of the invalid.</p>
+
+<p>'I hope Mrs. Moore is not very ill?'</p>
+
+<p>'Bless you, no, sir; she's 'ale and 'earty. Cook says she's sure she've
+fell out with some one. That's her way; she takes to bed when she've
+fell out with any one. It makes them repent of their sins.'</p>
+
+<p>A soft grey mist lay over land and sea. The church and vicarage were
+grey and wet. The beeches at the vicarage gate had broken forth in a
+myriad buds of silver green, and all the buds were tipped with water,
+and the grey stems were stained and streaked. The yew trees in the
+churchyard were bedewed with tiny drops. At the little gate that led
+from the vicarage into the churchyard, between the yew trees and the
+beeches, the curate waited for Violetta, after evensong. She came out of
+the old grey porch and down the path between the graves and the yew
+trees with her prayer-book in her hand. She looked like an Easter lily
+that holds itself in bud till the sadness of Lent is past, so pure, so
+modest, such a perfect thing from the hand of God.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>She stopped and started when she saw her lover, and then greeted him
+with a little smile, but blent with some reproachful dignity.</p>
+
+<p>'I am glad you have come at last, for I have been wanting to speak to
+you. Poor mamma has been very poorly and ill. It has grieved her very
+much indeed that you should have so misunderstood her motives, and
+treated her so rudely. Mamma takes things like that most deeply to
+heart.'</p>
+
+<p>'She told you why I treated her rudely?'</p>
+
+<p>'Yes, she told me, but she did not tell papa anything about it; it would
+only vex papa and do no good. Mamma told me to tell you that she had
+made up her mind to forgive you, and to say no more about it, although
+she was deeply grieved that you should have so misunderstood her.'</p>
+
+<p>'Yes,' said the curate vaguely, for he did not know what else to say.</p>
+
+<p>'Of course, as to the necklace, it may be a matter of opinion as to
+whether mamma judged rightly or not; but no one who knows her could
+doubt that her one desire was to do what was right. It is quite true
+what she says: that the stone was most unsuitable to the station of
+those people; every one says that the man was a very common and
+vulgar-looking person; and of course to regard such a thing with
+superstitious veneration is a very great sin, from which she saved them
+as long as she kept it.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> Mamma says of course she knew she ran the risk
+of being misunderstood in acting as she did, but she thought it her duty
+to run that risk if by that means she could save anything that God had
+entrusted to her keeping from being misused. You know what mamma is;
+there is nothing she would not do if she thought it right.'</p>
+
+<p>'Yes,' he said again, as though simply admitting that he had heard what
+she said.</p>
+
+<p>'So I think we had better not say anything more about it. I know you
+will see that it is wisest to say nothing to papa or any one else.
+People think so differently about such things that it would only cause
+needless argument, and give poor mamma more pain when she has already
+suffered so much.'</p>
+
+<p>'You may trust me. I will never mention the matter to your father, or to
+any one else. No one shall ever hear of it through me.'</p>
+
+<p>'I was sure that you would see that it is wisest not to; I told mamma
+so. When she is better, and you have shown her that you regret having
+misunderstood her, we shall all be very happy again.' She held up her
+pretty face for a kiss.</p>
+
+<p>No one could see them except the chattering starlings in the church
+tower, for they stood in the soft mist between the dewy yew trees and
+the red-budding hedge by the vicarage lawn. The beech<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> trees stretched
+out their graceful twigs above them, the starlings talked to one another
+rather sadly, and far off through the stillness of the mist came the
+sound of the tide on the shore. The curate was very pale and grave. His
+tall frame trembled like a sick woman's as he stooped to give Violetta
+that kiss. He took her hands in his for a moment, and then he clasped
+her in his arms, lifting her from the grass and embracing her in a
+passion of tenderness and love. Then he put her from him.</p>
+
+<p>'Violetta, it is amiable of you, and loyal, to excuse and defend your
+mother, but tell me&mdash;tell me, as you speak before God, that you do not
+think as you have spoken. You are a woman now, with a soul of your own;
+tell me you know that to take this necklace and to keep it secretly was
+a terrible sin.'</p>
+
+<p>'Indeed'&mdash;with candour&mdash;'I do not think anything of the sort. I think it
+is wicked of you to slander mamma in that way. And if you want to know
+what I think'&mdash;with temper now&mdash;'I think it was most unkind of you to
+give away my ring. After it had been given to me on such an occasion,
+too, it was priceless to us, but we could easily have paid that vulgar
+man all it was worth to him.'</p>
+
+<p>'I will not argue with you. I perceive now that that would do no good.'
+There was a heart-broken tone in his voice that frightened Violetta. 'I
+will&mdash;I will only say&mdash;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span>&mdash;'</p>
+
+<p>'What?' she asked. The thin sharp sound in her voice was a note of
+alarm.</p>
+
+<p>'I will not marry you,' moaned the curate.</p>
+
+<p>'Not marry me!' she exclaimed in astonishment.</p>
+
+<p>'I love you. I shall always love you. No other woman shall ever be my
+wife; but I will never marry you; and I shall go away and leave you free
+to forget me.'</p>
+
+<p>'But why? What have I done?' she asked, her breath catching her tones.</p>
+
+<p>'You have done nothing, my poor, poor girl; but&mdash;oh, my darling, I would
+gladly die if by dying I could open your eyes to see the simple
+integrity of unselfishness!'</p>
+
+<p>'It is very absurd for you to speak of unselfishness at the very moment
+when you are selfishly giving me so much pain,' she cried, defiant.</p>
+
+<p>He bent his head and covered his face with his hands.</p>
+
+<p>She stood and looked at him, her cheeks flushed and her breast heaving
+with a great anger.</p>
+
+<p>'Good-bye, Violetta,' he said, and turned slowly away.</p>
+
+<p>'I never heard of anything so dishonourable,' she cried.</p>
+
+<p>And that was what the world said; the curate was in disgrace with
+society for the rest of his life.</p>
+
+<hr />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="V" id="V"></a>V</h2>
+
+<h3>'HATH NOT A JEW EYES?'</h3>
+
+<p>Mr. Saintou the hairdresser was a Frenchman, therefore his English
+neighbours regarded him with suspicion. He was also exceedingly stout,
+and his stoutness had come upon him at an unbecomingly early age, so
+that he had long been the object of his neighbours' merriment. When to
+these facts it is added that, although a keen and prosperous business
+man, he had attained the age of fifty without making any effort to
+marry, enough will have been said to show why he was disliked.</p>
+
+<p>Why was he not married? Were English women not good enough for him? The
+pretty milliner across the street had been heard to remark in his
+presence that she should never refuse a man simply because he was a
+foreigner. Or if he did not want an English wife, why did he not import
+one from Paris with his perfumes? No, there was no reason for his
+behaviour,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> and Mr. Saintou was the object of his neighbours' aversion.</p>
+
+<p>Neighbours are often wrong in their estimates. In the heart of this
+shrewd and stout French hairdresser there lay the rare capacity for one
+supreme and lasting affection. Mr. Saintou's love story was in the past,
+and it had come about in this way.</p>
+
+<p>One day when the hairdresser was still a young man, not long after he
+had first settled in Albert Street, the door of his shop opened, and a
+young woman came in. Her figure was short and broad, and she was lame,
+walking with a crutch. Her face and features were large and peculiarly
+frank in expression; upon her head was a very large hat. When she spoke,
+it was with a loud staccato voice; her words fell after one another like
+hailstones in a storm, there was no breathing space between them.</p>
+
+<p>'I want Mr. Saintou.'</p>
+
+<p>'What may I have the pleasure of showing madame?'</p>
+
+<p>'Good gracious, I told you I wanted to be shown Mr. Saintou. Are you Mr.
+Saintou? None of your assistants for me; I want my hair cut.'</p>
+
+<p>The hairdresser laid his hand upon his heart, as though to point out his
+own identity. He bowed, and as even at that age he was very stout, the
+effort of the bow caused his small eyes to shut and open themselves
+again. There was nothing staccato about<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> the manner of the hairdresser,
+he had carefully cultivated that address which he supposed would be most
+soothing to those who submitted themselves to his operations.</p>
+
+<p>'Very well,' said the little lady, apparently satisfied with the
+identification, 'I want my hair cut. It is like a sheaf of corn. It is
+like a court train. It is like seven horses' manes tied together, if
+they were red. It is like a comet's tail.'</p>
+
+<p>It is probable that the hairdresser only took in that part of this
+speech upon which he was in the habit of concentrating his attention,
+and that the force of the similes which followed one another like
+electric shocks escaped him altogether. He was about to show the new
+customer into the ladies' room, where his staid and elderly sister was
+accustomed to officiate, but she drew back with decision.</p>
+
+<p>'No, not at all; I have come to have my hair cut by Mr. Saintou, and I
+want to have it done in the room with the long row of chairs where the
+long row of men get shaved every morning. I told my sister I should sit
+there. You have no men in at this time of day, have you, Mr. Saintou?
+Now I shall sit here in the middle chair, and you shall wash my hair. My
+father is the baker round the corner. He makes good bread; do you wash
+people's hair as well? Will you squirt water on it with that funny tube?
+Will you put it in my eyes? Now, I am up on the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> chair. Don't put the
+soap in my eyes, Mr. Saintou.'</p>
+
+<p>Saintou was not a man easily surprised. 'Permit me, mademoiselle, would
+it not be better to remove the hat? Mon Dieu! Holy Mary, what hair!' For
+as the Eastern women carry their burdens on the crown of the head to
+ease the weight, so, when the large hat was off, it appeared that the
+baker's daughter carried her hair.</p>
+
+<p>'Like the hair of a woman on a hair-restorer bottle, if it were red,'
+remarked the girl in answer to the exclamation.</p>
+
+<p>'No, mademoiselle, no, it is not red. Mon Dieu! it is not red. Holy
+Mary! it is the colour of the sun. Mon Dieu, what hair!' As he untwined
+the masses, it fell over the long bib, over the high chair, down till it
+swept the floor, in one unbroken flood of light.</p>
+
+<p>'Wash it, and cut it, and let me go home to make my father's dinner,'
+said the quick voice with decision. 'My father is the baker round the
+corner, and he takes his dinner at two.'</p>
+
+<p>'Is it that mademoiselle desires the ends cut?' asked the hairdresser,
+resuming his professional manner.</p>
+
+<p>'Which ends?'</p>
+
+<p>'Which ends?' he exclaimed, baffled. 'Mon Dieu! these ends,' and he
+lifted a handful of the hair on the floor and held it before the eyes of
+the girl.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>'Good Heavens, no! Do you think I am going to pay you for cutting those
+ends? It's the ends at the top I want cut. Lighten it; that's what I
+want. Do you think I am a woman in a hairdresser's advertisement to sit
+all day looking at my hair? I have to get my father's dinner. Lighten
+it, Mr. Saintou; cut it off; that's what I want.'</p>
+
+<p>'Mon Dieu, no!' Saintou again relapsed from the hairdresser into the
+man. He too could have decision. He leant against the next chair and set
+his lips very firmly together. 'By all that is holy, no,' he said; 'you
+may get some villain Englishman to cut that hair, but me, never.'</p>
+
+<p>'You speak English very well, Mr. Saintou. Have you been long in the
+country? Well, wash the hair then, and be done. Don't put the soap in my
+eyes.'</p>
+
+<p>Saintou was in ecstasies. He touched the hair reverently as one would
+touch the garments of a saint. He laid aside his ordinary brushes and
+sponges, and going into the shop he brought thence what was best and
+newest. Do not laugh at him. Have we not all at some time in our lives
+met with what seemed the embodiment of our ideal; have we not set aside
+for the time our petty economies and reserves, and brought forth
+whatever we had that was best, of thought, or smiles, or vesture?</p>
+
+<p>'Ah, mademoiselle,' he said, 'to take care of such<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> hair for ever&mdash;that
+would be heaven. I am a Frenchman; I have a soul; I can feel.'</p>
+
+<p>'Should you be afraid to die a sudden death, Mr. Saintou?' said the
+quick voice from the depths of a shower of water.</p>
+
+<p>'Ciel! We do not speak of such things, mademoiselle. There will come a
+time, I know, when my hair will turn grey; then for the sake of my
+profession I shall be obliged to dye it. There will come a time after
+that when I shall die; but we do not even think of these things, it is
+better not.'</p>
+
+<p>'But should you be afraid to die now?' persisted the girl.</p>
+
+<p>'Very much afraid,' said the hairdresser candidly.</p>
+
+<p>'Then don't feel, Mr. Saintou. I never feel. I make it the business of
+my life not to feel. They tell me there is something wrong at my heart,
+and that if I ever feel either glad or sorry I shall go off, pop, like a
+crow from a tree when it is shot, like a spark that falls into water.'</p>
+
+<p>The hairdresser meditated upon this for some time. He did not believe
+her. He had drawn the bright hair back now from the water, and was
+fondling it with his whitest and softest towels.</p>
+
+<p>'Who was it that said to mademoiselle that her heart was bad?'</p>
+
+<p>'Good gracious, Mr. Saintou, my heart is not bad.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span> I know my catechism
+and go to church, and cook my father's dinner every day, and a very good
+dinner it is too. What put it into your head that I had a bad heart?'</p>
+
+<p>'Pardon! mademoiselle; I mistake. Who told mademoiselle that she was
+sick at heart?'</p>
+
+<p>'Good gracious heavens! I am not sick at heart. To be sure my mother is
+dead, and my sister is ill, and my father is as cross as two sticks, but
+for all that I am not heart-sick. I like this world very well, and when
+I feel sad I put more onions into the soup.'</p>
+
+<p>Saintou went on with his work for some time in silence, then he tried
+again. 'You say I speak good English, and I flatter myself I have the
+accent very well, but what avails if I cannot make you understand? Was
+it a good doctor who said mademoiselle's heart was affected; touched, I
+might say?'</p>
+
+<p>There was a shout of laughter from under the shower of gold.</p>
+
+<p>'My heart touched! One would think I was in love. No, my heart is not
+touched yet; least of all by you, Mr. Saintou.</p>
+
+<p class='center'>'Least of all by you,<br />Mr. Saintou.'</p>
+
+<p>She repeated this last rhyming couplet with a quaint musical intonation,
+as though it was the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> refrain of a song, and after her voice and
+laughter had died away she went on nodding her head in time to the
+brushing as if she were singing it over softly to herself. This
+distressed the hairdresser not a little, and he remained silent.</p>
+
+<p>'What shall I pay you, Mr. Saintou?' said the little lady, when the
+large hat was once more on the head.</p>
+
+<p>'If mademoiselle would but come again,' said the hairdresser, putting
+both hands resolutely behind his back.</p>
+
+<p>'When I come again I shall pay you both for that time and this,' she
+said, with perhaps more tact than could have been expected of her. 'And
+if you want to live long, Mr. Saintou, don't feel. If I should feel I
+should die off, quick, sharp, like a moth that flies into the candle.'
+She made a little gesture with her hand, as if to indicate the ease and
+suddenness with which the supposed catastrophe was to take place, and
+hobbled down the street. Saintou stood in the doorway looking after her,
+and his heart went from him.</p>
+
+<p>He sent her flowers&mdash;flowers that a duchess might have been proud to
+receive. He sent them more than once, and they were accepted; he argued
+much from that. He made friends with the baker in order that he might
+bow to him morning and evening. Then he waited. He said to himself,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span>
+'She is English. If I go to see her, if I put my hand on my heart and
+weep, she will jeer at me; but if I wait and work for her in silence,
+then she will believe.' He made a parlour for her in the room above his
+shop; and every week, as he had time and money, he went out to choose
+some ornament for it. His maiden sister watched these actions with
+suspicion, threw scornful looks at when he observed her watchfulness,
+and lent a kindly helping hand when he was out of sight. The parlour
+grew into a shrine ready for its divinity, and the hairdresser worked
+and waited in silence. In this he made a mistake, but he feared her
+laughter.</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile the girl also waited. She could not go back to the
+hairdresser's shop lest she should seem to invite a renewal of those
+attentions which had given her the sweet surprise of love. The law of
+her woman's nature stood like a lion in the path. She waited through the
+months of the dreary winter till the one gleam of sunshine which had
+come into her hard young life had faded, till the warmth it had kindled
+in her heart died&mdash;as a lamp's flame dies for lack of oil; died&mdash;as a
+flower dies in the drought; died into anger for the man who had
+disturbed her peace, and when she thought she cared for him no more she
+went again to get her hair cut.</p>
+
+<p>'You have come,' said Saintou; but the very strength of his feeling made
+him grave.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>'Good gracious, yes, I have come to have my hair cut. You would not cut
+it when I was here, and I have been very poorly these three months. I
+could not come out, so the other day I had my sister cut it off. My
+father wanted to send for you, but I said "no," and, oh, my! it looks
+just as if a donkey had come behind and mistaken it for hay.'</p>
+
+<p>How quickly a train of thought can flash through the brain! Saintou
+asked himself if he loved the girl or the hair, and his heart answered
+very sincerely that the hair, divine as it was, had been but the outward
+sign which led him to love the inward grace of the girl.</p>
+
+<p>'Mademoiselle ought not to have said "no"; I should have come very
+willingly and would have cut her hair, if I had known it must be so.'</p>
+
+<p>'I made my sister cut it, but it's frightful. It looks as if one had
+tried to mow a lawn with a pair of scissors, or shear a sheep with a
+penknife.'</p>
+
+<p>'I will make all that right,' said Saintou soothingly; 'I will make it
+all right. Just in a moment I will make it very nice.'</p>
+
+<p>Yes, it was too true, the hair was gone; and very barbarously it had
+been handled. 'I shall make it all right,' he said cheerfully; 'I shall
+trim it beautifully for mademoiselle. Ah, the beautiful colour is there
+all the same.'</p>
+
+<p>'As red as a sunset or a geranium,' she said.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>'You do not believe that,' sighed Saintou. He trimmed the hair very
+tenderly, and curled it softly round the white face, till it looked like
+a great fair marigold just beginning to curl in its petals for the
+night. He worked slowly, for he had something he wanted to say, and when
+his work was done he summoned up courage and said it. He told her his
+hopes and fears. He told her the story blunderingly enough, but it had
+its effect.</p>
+
+<p>'Mon Dieu!' said Saintou, but he said it in a tone that made his sister,
+who was listening to every word through the door, leave that occupation
+and dart in to his assistance.</p>
+
+<p>'Qu'elle est morte,' was her brief stern comment. And so it was. The
+baker's daughter had felt, and she had died.</p>
+
+<p>'This is not wholly unexpected,' said the baker sadly, when he came to
+carry away the corpse of his daughter. 'We all expected it,' said the
+neighbours; 'she had heart disease.' And they talked their fill, and
+never discovered the truth it would have pleased them best to talk
+about.</p>
+
+<p>The short hair curled softly about the face of the dead girl as she lay
+in her coffin, and Saintou paid heavily for masses for her sweet soul.
+When they had laid her in the churchyard he came home, and took the key,
+and went into the little parlour all alone. She had never seen it. She
+had never<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> even heard of it. It is sad to bury a baby that is dead; it
+is sadder, if we but knew it, to bury in darkness and silence a child
+that has never lived. A joy that has gone from us for ever is a jewel
+that trembles like a tear on Sorrow's breast, but the brightest stars in
+her diadem are the memories of hopes that have passed away unrealised
+and untold. Ah well, perhaps the gay trappings of the little room, by
+their daily influence on his life, drew him nearer to heaven. He gave
+the key to his sister afterwards, and they used the room as their own;
+but that day he locked himself in alone, and, hiding his face in the
+cushions of her chair, he wept as only a strong man can weep.</p>
+
+<hr />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="VI" id="VI"></a>VI</h2>
+
+<h3>A COMMERCIAL TRAVELLER</h3>
+
+<p>Mam'selle Zilda Chaplot keeps the station hotel at St. Armand, in the
+French country.</p>
+
+<p>The hotel is like a wooden barn with doors and windows, not a very large
+barn either. The station is merely a platform of planks between the
+hotel and the rails. The railroad is roughly made; it lies long and
+straight in a flat land, snow-clad in winter, very dusty in the summer
+sun, and its line is only softened by a long row of telegraph poles,
+which seem to waver and tremble as the eye follows their endless
+repetition into the distance. In some curious way their repetition lends
+to the stark road a certain grace.</p>
+
+<p>When Zilda Chaplot was young there were fewer wires on these telegraph
+poles, fewer railway-lines opposite the station, fewer houses in St.
+Armand, which lies half a mile away. The hotel itself is the same, but
+in those days it was not painted yellow, as it is now, and was not half
+so well kept. The world<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> has progressed by twenty years since mam'selle
+was a girl, and, also, she owns the place herself now, and is a much
+better inn-keeper than was her father.</p>
+
+<p>Mam'selle Chaplot is a very active person, tall, and somewhat stout. Her
+complexion is brown; her eyes are very black; over them there is a
+fringe of iron-grey hair, which she does up in curl-papers every night,
+and which, in consequence, stands in very tight little curls all day.</p>
+
+<p>Mam'selle Chaplot minds her affairs well; she has a keen eye to the main
+chance. She is sometimes sharp, a trifle fiery, but on the whole she is
+good-natured. There are lines about the contour of her chin, and also
+where the neck sweeps upward, which suggest a more than common power of
+satisfaction in certain things, such as dinners and good sound sleep,
+and good inn-keeping&mdash;yes, and in spring flowers, and in autumn leaves
+and winter sunsets. Zilda Chaplot was formed for pleasure, yet there is
+no tendency latent in her which could have made her a voluptuary. There
+are some natures which have so nice a proportion of faculties that they
+are a law of moderation to themselves. They take such keen delight in
+small pleasures that to them a little is enough.</p>
+
+<p>The world would account Mam'selle Chaplot to have had a life of toil and
+stern limitations; a prosperous life, truly, for no one could see her
+without observing her prosperity, but still a hard dry life.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> Even her
+neighbours, whose ideas of enjoyment do not soar above the St. Armand
+level, think that her lot would be softer if she married. Many of the
+men have offered marriage, not with any disinterested motive, it is
+true, but with kindly intent. They have been set aside like children who
+make requests unreasonable, but so natural for them to make that the
+request is hardly worth noticing. The women relatives of these rejected
+suitors have boasted to mam'selle of their own domestic joys, and have
+drawn the contrast of her state in strong colour. Zilda only says
+'Chut!' or she lifts her chin a little, so that the pretty upward sweep
+of the neck is apparent, and lets them talk. Mam'selle is not the woman
+to be turned out of her way by talk.</p>
+
+<p>The way of single blessedness is not chosen by Zilda Chaplot because of
+any fiction of loyalty to a quondam lover. Her mind is such that she
+could not have invented obligations for herself, because she has not the
+inventive faculty. No, it is simply this: Mam'selle Chaplot loved once,
+and was happy; her mind still hugs the memory of that happiness with
+exultant reserve; it is enough; she does not desire other happiness of
+that sort.</p>
+
+<p>When she looks out on the little station platform and sees the loungers
+upon it, once and again she lets her busy mind stop in its business to
+think of some one else she was once accustomed to see there. When<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> she
+looks with well-practised critical eye down the hotel dining-room, which
+is now quite clean and orderly, when she is scolding a servant, or
+serving a customer, her mind will revert to the room in its former rough
+state, and she will remember another customer who used to eat there.
+When the spring comes, and far and near there is the smell of wet moss,
+and shrubs on the wide flat land shoot forth their leaves, and the
+fields are carpeted with violets, then mam'selle looks round and hugs
+her memories, and thinks to herself, 'Ah! well, I have had my day.' And
+because of the pleasant light of that day she is content with the
+present twilight, satisfied with her good dinners and her good
+management.</p>
+
+<p>This is the story of what happened twenty years ago.</p>
+
+<p>St. Armand is in the French country which lies between the town of
+Quebec and the townships where the English settlements are. At that time
+the railway had not been very long in existence; two trains ran
+southward from the large towns in the morning, and two trains ran
+northward to the large towns in the evening; besides these, there was
+just one local train which came into St. Armand at noon, and passengers
+arriving at noon were obliged to wait for the evening train to get on
+farther.</p>
+
+<p>There were not many passengers by this short local line. Even on the
+main line there was little<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span> traffic that affected St. Armand. Yet most
+of the men of the place found excuse of business or pleasure to come and
+watch the advent of the trains. The chief use of the station platform
+seemed to be for these loungers; the chief use of the bar at the hotel
+was to slake their thirst, although they were not on the whole an
+intemperate lot. They stood about in homespun clothes and smoked. A
+lazy, but honest set of humble-minded French papists were the men at St.
+Armand.</p>
+
+<p>It was on the station platform that Zilda Chaplot came out in society,
+as the phrase might be. She was not a child, for when her father took
+the place she was twenty-four. There was red in her cheeks then, and the
+lashes of her eyes were long; her hair was not curled, for it was not
+the fashion, but brushed smoothly back from broad low brows. She was
+tall, and not at all thin. She was very strong, but less active in those
+days, as girls are often less active than women. When Zilda had leisure
+she used to stand outside the hotel and watch the men on the platform.
+She was always calm and dignified, a little stupid perhaps. She did not
+attract a great deal of attention from them.</p>
+
+<p>They were all French at St. Armand, but most of the strangers which
+chance brought that way spoke English, so that the St. Armand folks
+could speak English also.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Anything which is repeated at appreciable intervals has to occur very
+often before the unscientific mind will perceive the law of its
+repetition. There was a little red-haired Englishman, John Gilby by
+name, who travelled frequently that way. It was a good while before the
+loungers at the station remarked that upon a certain day in the week he
+always arrived by the local train and waited for the evening train to
+take him on to Montreal. It was, in fact, Gilby himself who pointed out
+to them the regularity of his visits, for he was of a social
+disposition, and could not spend more than a few afternoons at that dull
+isolated station without making friends with some one. He travelled for
+a firm in Montreal; it was his business to make a circuit of certain
+towns and villages in a certain time. He had no business at St. Armand,
+but fate and the ill-adjusted time-table decreed that he should wait
+there.</p>
+
+<p>This little red-haired gentleman&mdash;for gentleman, in comparison with the
+St. Armand folk he certainly was&mdash;was a thorough worldling in the sense
+of knowing the world somewhat widely, and corresponding to its ways,
+although not to its evil deeds. Indeed, he was a very good sort of man,
+but such a worldling, with his thick gold chain, and jaunty clothes, and
+quick way of adjusting himself to passing circumstances, that it was
+some time before his good-<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span>natured sociableness won in the least upon
+the station loungers. They held aloof, as from an explosive, not knowing
+when it would begin to emit sparks. He was short in stature, much
+shorter than the hulking fellows who stood and surveyed him through the
+smoke of their pipes, but he had such a cocky little way with him that
+he overawed them much more than a big man would have done. Out of sheer
+dulness he took to talking to Zilda.</p>
+
+<p>Zilda stood with her back against the wall.</p>
+
+<p>'Fine day,' said Gilby, stopping beside her.</p>
+
+<p>'Oui, monsieur.'</p>
+
+<p>Gilby had taken his cigar from his mouth, and held it between two
+fingers of his right hand. Her countrymen commonly held their pipes
+between their thumb and finger. To Zilda, Gilby's method appeared
+astonishingly elegant, but she hardly seemed to observe it.</p>
+
+<p>'You have a flat country here,' said he, looking round at the dry summer
+fields; 'rather dull, isn't it?'</p>
+
+<p>'Oui, monsieur.'</p>
+
+<p>'Don't you speak English?'</p>
+
+<p>'Yes, sir,' said Zilda.</p>
+
+<p>This was not very interesting for Gilby. He had about him a good deal of
+the modern restlessness that cannot endure one hour without work or
+amusement. He made further efforts to make up to the men; he asked them
+questions with patronising<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> kindness, he gave them scraps of information
+upon all subjects of temporary interest, with a funny little air of
+pompous importance. When by mere force of habit they grew more familiar
+with him, he would strut up and engage them in long conversations,
+listen to all they said with consummate good nature, giving his opinion
+in return. He was wholly unconscious that he looked like a bantam
+crowing to a group of larger and more sleepy fowls, but the Frenchmen
+perceived the likeness.</p>
+
+<p>As the months wore on he did them good. They needed waking up, those men
+who lounged at the station, and he had some influence in that direction;
+not much, of course, but every traveller has some influence, and his was
+of a lively, and, on the whole, of a beneficial sort. The men brought
+forth a mood to greet him which was more in correspondence with his own.</p>
+
+<p>When winter came the weather was very bleak; deep snow was all around.
+Gilby disliked the closeness of the hotel, which was sealed to the outer
+air.</p>
+
+<p>'Whew!' he would say, 'you fellows, let us do something to keep
+ourselves warm.' And after much exercise of his will, which was strong,
+he actually had the younger men all jumping with him from a wood pile
+near the platform to see who could jump farthest. He was not very young<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span>
+himself; he was about thirty, and rather bald; the men who were with him
+were much younger, but he thought nothing of that. He led them on, and
+incited them to feats much greater than his own, with boisterous
+challenges and loud bravos. Before he jumped himself he always made mock
+hesitation for their amusement, swinging his arms, and apparently
+bracing himself for the leap. Perhaps the deep frost of the country made
+him frisky because he was not accustomed to it; perhaps it was always
+his nature to be noisy and absurd when he tried to be amusing. Certain
+it was that it never once occurred to him that under the French
+politeness with which he was treated, under the sincere liking which
+they really grew to have for him, there was much quiet amusement at his
+expense. It was just as well that he did not know, for he would have
+been terribly affronted; as it was, he remained on the best of terms
+with them to the end.</p>
+
+<p>The feeling of amusement found vent in his absence in laughter and
+mimicry. Zilda joined in this mimicry; she watched the Frenchmen strut
+along the platform in imitation of Gilby, and smiled when their
+imitation was good. When it was poor she cried, 'Non, ce n'est pas comme
+&ccedil;a,' and she came out from the doorway and showed them how to do it. Her
+imitation was very good indeed, and excited much laughter. This showed
+that Zilda had been<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> waked into greater vivacity. Six months before she
+could not have done so good a piece of acting.</p>
+
+<p>Zilda's exhibition would go further than this. Excited by success, she
+would climb the wood pile, large and heavy as she was, and, standing
+upon its edge, would flap her arms and flutter back in a frightened
+manner and brace herself to the leap, as Gilby had done. She was aided
+in this representation by her familiarity with the habits of chickens
+when they try to get down from a high roost. The resemblance struck her;
+she would cry aloud to the men&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>'Voici Monsieur Geelby, le poulet qui a peur de descendre!'</p>
+
+<p>The fact that at the thought of mimicking Gilby Zilda was roused to an
+unwarranted glow of excitement showed, had any one been wise enough to
+see it, that she felt some inward cause of pleasurable excitement at the
+mention of his name. A narrow nature cannot see absurdity in what it
+loves, but Zilda's nature was not narrow. She had learnt to love little
+Gilby in a fond, deep, silent way that was her fashion of loving.</p>
+
+<p>He had explained to her the principles of ventilation and why he
+disliked close waiting-rooms. Zilda could not make her father learn the
+lesson, but it bore fruit afterwards when she came into power. Gilby had
+explained other things to her, small practical things, such as some
+points in English<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span> grammar, some principles of taste in woman's dress,
+how to choose the wools for her knitting, how to make muffins for his
+tea. It was his kindly, conceited, didactic nature that made him
+instruct whenever he talked to her. Zilda learned it all, and learned
+also to admire and love the author of such wisdom.</p>
+
+<p>It was not his fault; it was not hers. It was the result of his gorgeous
+watch-chain and his fine clothes and his worldly knowledge, and also of
+the fact that because of his strict notions and conceited pride it never
+occurred to him to be gallant or to make love to her. Zilda, the
+hotel-keeper's daughter, was accustomed to men who offered her light
+gallantry. It was because she did not like such men that she learned to
+love&mdash;rather the better word might be, to adore&mdash;little John Gilby. From
+higher levels of taste he would have been seen to be, in external
+notions, a common little man, but from Zilda's standpoint, even in
+matters of outward taste he was an ideal; and Zilda, placed as she was,
+quickly perceived, what those who looked down upon him might not have
+discovered, that the heart of him was very good. 'Mon Dieu, but he is
+good!' she would say to herself, which was simply the fact.</p>
+
+<p>All winter long Gilby came regularly. Zilda was happy in thinking of him
+when he was gone, happy in expecting him when he was coming, happy in
+making fun of him so that no one ever suspected<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> her affection. All that
+long winter, when the snow was deep in the fields, and the engines
+carried snow-ploughs, and the loungers about the station wore buffalo
+coats, Zilda was very happy. Gilby wore a dogskin cap and collar and
+cuffs; Zilda thought them very becoming. Then spring came, and Gilby
+wore an Inverness cape, which was the fashion in those days. Zilda
+thought that little Gilby looked very fascinating therein, although she
+remarked to her father that one could only know he was there because the
+cape strutted. Then summer came and Gilby wore light tweed clothes. The
+Frenchmen always wore their best black suits when they travelled. Zilda
+liked the light clothes best.</p>
+
+<p>Then there came a time when Gilby did not come. No one noticed his
+absence at first but Zilda. Two weeks passed and then they all spoke of
+it. Then some one in St. Armand ascertained that Gilby had had a rise in
+the firm in which he was employed, that he sat in an office all day and
+did not travel any more. Zilda heard the story told, and commented upon,
+and again talked over, in the way in which such matters of interest are
+slowly digested by the country intellect.</p>
+
+<p>Alas! then Zilda knew how far she had travelled along a flowery path
+which, as it now seemed to her, led to nowhere. It was not that she had
+wanted to marry Gilby; she had not thought of that as possible;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> it was
+only that her whole nature summed itself up in an ardent desire that
+things should be as they had been, that he should come there once a
+week, and talk politics with her father and other men, and set the boys
+jumping, and eat the muffins he had taught her to make for his tea. And
+if this might not be, she desired above all else to see him again, to
+have one more look at him, one more smile from him of which she could
+take in the whole value, knowing it to be the last. How carelessly she
+had allowed him to go, supposing that he would return! It was not her
+wish to express her affection or sorrow in any way; it was not her
+nature to put her emotions into words; but ah, holy saints! just to see
+him again, and at least take leave of him with her eyes!</p>
+
+<p>It was very sad that he should simply cease to come, yet that she knew
+was just what was natural; a man does not bid adieux to a railway
+station, and Zilda knew that she was, as it were, only part of the
+station furniture. She resented nothing; she had nothing to resent.</p>
+
+<p>So the winter came again, and Christmas, and again the days grew longer
+over the snowfields. Zilda always looked for the sunsets now, for she
+had been taught that they were beautiful. She cultivated geraniums and
+petunias in pots at her windows, just as she had done for many winters,
+but she would stop oftener to admire the flowers now.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>The men had taken again to congregating in the hot close bar-room, or
+huddling together in their buffalo coats, smoking in the outer air.
+Zilda looked at the wood pile, from which no one jumped now, with weary
+eyes. It had grown intolerable to her that now no one ever mentioned
+Gilby; she longed intensely to hear his name or to speak it. She dared
+not mention him gravely, soberly, because she was conscious of her
+secret which no one suspected. But it was open to her to revive the
+mimicry. 'Voici Monsieur Geelby,' she would cry, and pass along the
+station platform with consequential gait. A great laugh would break from
+the station loungers. 'Encore,' they cried, and Zilda gave the encore.</p>
+
+<p>There was only one other relief she found from the horrible silence
+which had settled down upon her life concerning the object of her
+affection. At times when she lay awake in the quiet night, or at such
+times as she found herself within the big stone church of St. Armand,
+she prayed that the good St. Anne would intercede for her, that she
+might see 'Monsieur Geelby' once more.</p>
+
+<p>This big church of St. Armand has a great pointed roof of shining tin.
+It is a bright and conspicuous object always in that landscape; under
+summer and winter sun it glistens like some huge lighthouse reflector.
+Ever since, whenever Zilda goes out on the station platform, for a
+breath of air, for a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> moment's rest and refreshing, or, on business
+intent, to chide the loungers there, the roof of this church, at a
+half-mile's distance, twinkles brightly before her eyes, set in green
+fields or in a snow-buried world; and every time it catches her eye it
+brings to her mind more or less distinctly that she has in her own way
+tested religion and found it true, because the particular boon which she
+had demanded at this time was granted.</p>
+
+<p>It was a happy morn of May; the snow had just receded from the land,
+leaving it very wet, and Spring was pushing on all the business she had
+to do with almost visible speed. The early train came in from Montreal
+as usual, and who should step out of it but Gilby himself! He was a
+little stouter, a little more bald, but he skipped down upon the
+platform, radiant as to smile and the breadth of his gold watch-chain,
+and attired in a check coat which Zilda thought was the most perfect
+thing in costume which she had ever beheld.</p>
+
+<p>In a flash of thought it came to Zilda that there would be more than a
+momentary happiness for her. 'Ah, Monsieur Geelby, do you know that the
+river has cut into the line three miles away, and that this train can go
+no farther till it is mended.'</p>
+
+<p>Gilby was distinctly annoyed; he had indeed left town by the earlier of
+the two morning trains in order to stop an hour and take breakfast at
+St. Armand;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span> he had been glad of the chance of doing that, of seeing
+Chaplot and his daughter and the others; but to be stopped at St. Armand
+a whole day&mdash;he made exhibition of his anger, which Zilda took very
+meekly. Why had the affair not been telegraphed? Why were busy men like
+himself brought out of the city when they could not get on to do their
+work?</p>
+
+<p>There were other voices besides Gilby's to rail; there were other voices
+besides Zilda's to explain the disaster. In the midst of the babel Zilda
+slipped away to make muffins hastily for Gilby's breakfast. Her heart
+was singing within her, but it was a tremulous song, half dazed with
+delight, half frightened, fearing that with his great cleverness he
+would see some way to proceed on his journey although she saw none.</p>
+
+<p>When she came out of the kitchen with the muffins in her hand her
+sunshine suddenly clouded. Gilby, unconscious that a special breakfast
+was preparing for him, had hastily swallowed coffee and walked on to the
+site of the breakdown to see for himself how long the mending would
+take.</p>
+
+<p>It was as if one, looking through long hours for the ending of night,
+had seen the sunrise, only to see the light go out suddenly again in
+darkness. Zilda felt that her heart was broken. Her disappointment grew
+upon her for an hour, then she could no longer keep back the tears;
+because she<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> had no place in which to weep, she began to walk away from
+the hotel down the line. There was no one to notice her going; she was
+as free to go and come as the wild canaries that hopped upon the budding
+bramble vines growing upon the railway embankment, or the blue-breasted
+swallows that sat on the telegraph wire.</p>
+
+<p>At first she only walked to hide her tears; then gradually the purpose
+formed within her to go on to the break in the road. There was no reason
+why she should not go to see the mishap. Truly there had been many a
+breakdown on this road before and Zilda had never stirred foot to
+examine them, but now she walked on steadily. Her fear told her that
+Gilby might find some means of getting on to the next station, some
+engine laden with supplies for the workmen from the other station might
+take him back with it. If so, what good would this her journey do? Ah,
+but perhaps the good God would allow her to see him first, or&mdash;well, she
+walked on, reason or no reason.</p>
+
+<p>The sun was high, the blue of the sky seemed a hundred miles in depth,
+and not wisp or feather of cloud in it anywhere! Where the flat fields
+were untilled they were very green, a green that was almost yellow, it
+was so bright. Within the strip of railway land a tangle of young bushes
+grew, and on every twig buds were bursting. About a mile back<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span> from the
+road, on either side, fir woods stood, the trees in close level phalanx.
+Everywhere over the land birds big and little were fluttering and
+flying.</p>
+
+<p>Zilda did not notice any of these things; she had only learned to
+observe two things in nature, both of which Gilby had pointed out to
+her&mdash;the red or yellow rose of the winter sunset, the depth of colour in
+the petals of her flowers. Nature was to her like a language of which
+she had only been told the meaning of two words. In the course of the
+next month she learned the meaning of a few more; she never made further
+progress, but what she learned she learned.</p>
+
+<p>The river which, farther on, had done damage to the line, here ran close
+to it for some distance, consequently Zilda came to the river before she
+reached the scene of the disaster. The river banks at this season were
+marshy, green like plush or velvet when it is lifted dripping from green
+vats of the brightest dye. There were some trees by the river bank,
+maples and elms, and every twig was tipped with a crimson gem. Zilda did
+not see the beauty of the river bank either; she regarded nothing until
+she came to a place where a foot-track was beaten down the side of the
+embankment, as if apparently to entice walkers to stray across a bit of
+the meadow and so cut off a large curve of the line. At this<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span> point
+Zilda heard a loud chirpy voice calling,'Hi! hi! who's there? Is any one
+there?'</p>
+
+<p>Zilda did not know from whence the voice came, but she knew from whom it
+came. It was Gilby's voice, and she stopped, her soul ravished by the
+music. All the way along, bobolinks, canaries, and song-sparrows had
+been singing to her, the swallows and red-throats had been talking;
+everywhere among the soft spongy mosses, the singing frog of the
+Canadian spring had been filling the air with its one soft whistling
+note. Zilda had not heard them, but now she stopped suddenly with head
+bent, listening eager, enraptured.</p>
+
+<p>'Hi! hi!' called the voice again. 'Is any one there?'</p>
+
+<p>Zilda went down the bank halfway among the bushes and looked over. She
+saw Gilby sitting at the edge of the meadow almost in the river water.
+She saw at once that something was wrong. His attitude was as natural as
+he could make it, such an attitude as a proud man might assume when pain
+is chaining him in an awkward position, but Zilda saw that he was
+injured. Her heart gave a great bound of pleasure. Ah! her bird was
+wounded in the wing; she had him now, for a time at least.</p>
+
+<p>'You! Mam'selle Zilda,' he said in surprise; 'how came you here?'</p>
+
+<p>'I wished to see the broken road, monsieur.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> There was nothing in her
+voice or manner then or at any other time to indicate that she took a
+special interest in him.</p>
+
+<p>'Do you often take such long walks?' he asked with curiosity.</p>
+
+<p>Zilda shrugged her shoulders. 'Sometimes; why not?'</p>
+
+<p>She could not have told why she dissembled; it was instinct, just as it
+was the instinct of his proud little spirit to hate to own that he was
+helpless. 'Look here,' he said, 'I slipped on the bank&mdash;and I&mdash;I think I
+have sprained my ankle.'</p>
+
+<p>'Oui, monsieur,' said Zilda.</p>
+
+<p>Her manner evinced no surprise; her stolidity was grateful to him.</p>
+
+<p>Stooping down, she took his foot in her hand, gently, but as firmly as
+if it had been a horse's hoof. She straightened it, unlaced his muddy
+boot, and with strong hands tore the slit further open until she could
+take it off.</p>
+
+<p>'Look here,' he said, with a little nervous shout of laughter, 'do you
+not know you are hurting me?' It was the only wince he gave, although he
+was faint with pain.</p>
+
+<p>'Oui, monsieur'&mdash;with a smile as firm and gentle as her touch.</p>
+
+<p>She took off her hat, and, heedless of the ribbon upon it, filled it
+with water again and again and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> drenched the swollen leg. It was so
+great a relief to him that he hardly noticed that she stood ankle-deep
+in the river to do it. She wore a little red tartan shawl upon her
+shoulders, and she dipped this also in the river, binding it round and
+round the ankle, and tying it tight with her own boot-lace.</p>
+
+<p>'Thank you,' said he; 'you are really very good, Mam'selle Zilda.'</p>
+
+<p>She stood beside him; she was radiantly happy, but she did not show it
+much. She had him there very safe; it mattered less to her how to get
+him away; yet in a minute she said&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>'Monsieur had better move a little higher up; he is very uncomfortable.'</p>
+
+<p>He knew that much better than she, but he had borne all the pain he
+could just then. He nodded as if in dismissal of the idea. 'Presently.
+But, in the meantime, Zilda, sit down and see what a beautiful place
+this is; you have not looked at it.'</p>
+
+<p>So she found a stone to sit on, and immediately her eyes were opened and
+she saw the loveliness around her.</p>
+
+<p>The river was not a very broad one, but ah! how blue it was, with a
+glint of gold on every wave. The trees that stood upon either bank cast
+a lacework of shadow upon the carpet of moss and violets beneath them.
+The buds of the maples were red. On a tree near them a couple of male
+canaries, bright gold in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span> the spring season, were hopping and piping;
+then startled, they flew off in a straight line over the river to the
+other shore.</p>
+
+<p>'See them,' said Gilby; 'they look like streaks of yellow light!'</p>
+
+<p>'I see,' said Zilda, and she did see for the first time.</p>
+
+<p>Now Gilby had a certain capacity for rejoicing in the beauties of
+nature; it was overlaid with huge conceit in his own taste and
+discernment and a love of forcing his observations on other people, but
+the flaws in his character Zilda was not in a position to see. The good
+in him awakened in her a higher virtue than she would otherwise have
+known; she was unconscious of the rest, just as eyes which can see form
+and not colour are unconscious of the bad blending of artificial hues.</p>
+
+<p>Presently Zilda rose up. 'I will make monsieur more comfortable,' she
+said, and she lifted him to a drier place upon the bank.</p>
+
+<p>This was mortifying to little Gilby; his manner was quite huffy for some
+minutes after.</p>
+
+<p>Zilda had her own ideas of what she would do. She presently left him
+alone and walked on swiftly to the place of the breakdown. There she
+borrowed a hand-car; it was a light one that could be worked easily by
+two men, and Zilda determined to work it alone. While she was coming
+back along the iron<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> road on the top of the narrow embankment, Gilby
+could see her from where he sat&mdash;a stalwart young woman in homespun
+gown, stooping and rising with regular toilsome movement as she worked
+the rattling machine that came swiftly nearer.</p>
+
+<p>When the carriage thus provided for him was close at hand, the almost
+breathless Zilda actually proposed to exert her strength to carry Gilby
+up to it. He insisted upon hopping on one foot supported by her arm; he
+did not feel the slightest inclination to lean upon her more than was
+needful, he was too self-conscious and proud. Even after she had placed
+him on the car, he kept up an air of offence for a long time just
+because she had proved her strength to be so much greater than his own.
+His little rudenesses of this sort did not disturb Zilda's tranquillity
+in the least.</p>
+
+<p>Gilby sat on the low platform of the hand-car. He looked like a bantam
+cock whose feathers were much ruffled. Zilda worked at the handles of
+the machine; she was very large and strong, all her attitudes were
+statuesque. The May day beamed on the flat spring landscape through
+which they were travelling; the beam found a perfect counterpart in the
+joy of Zilda's heart.</p>
+
+<p>So she brought Gilby safely to the hotel and installed him in the best
+room there. The sprain was a very bad one. Gilby was obliged to lie
+there<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span> for a month. Sometimes his friends came out from the town to see
+him, but not very often, and they did not stay long. Zilda cooked for
+him, Zilda waited upon him, Zilda conversed with him in the afternoons
+when he needed amusement. This month was the period of her happiness.</p>
+
+<p>When he was going home, Gilby felt really very grateful to the girl. He
+had not the slightest thought of making love to her; he felt too
+strongly on the subject of his dignity and his principles for that; but
+although he haggled with Chaplot over the bill, he talked in a bombastic
+manner about making Zilda a present.</p>
+
+<p>It did not distress Zilda that he should quarrel with her father's bill;
+she had no higher idea in character than that each should seek his own
+in all things; but when Gilby talked of giving her a present she shrank
+instinctively with an air of offence. This air of offence was the one
+betrayal of her affection which he could observe, and he did not gather
+very much of the truth from it.</p>
+
+<p>'I will give you a watch, Zilda,' he said, 'a gold watch; you will like
+that.'</p>
+
+<p>'No, monsieur.' Zilda's face was flushed and her head was high in the
+air.</p>
+
+<p>'I will give you a ring; you would like that&mdash;a golden ring.'</p>
+
+<p>'No, monsieur; I would not like it at all.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Gilby retired from the discussion that day feeling some offence and a
+good deal of consternation. He thought the best thing would be to have
+nothing more to do with Zilda; but the next day, in the bustle of his
+departure, remembering all she had done for him, he relented entirely,
+and he gave her a kiss.</p>
+
+<p>Afterwards, when the train was at the station, and Chaplot and Zilda had
+put his bags and his wraps beside him on a cushioned seat, Gilby turned
+and with great politeness accosted two fine ladies who were travelling
+in the same carriage and with whom he had a slight acquaintance. His
+disposition was at once genial and vain; he had been so long absent from
+the familiar faces of the town that his heart warmed to the first
+townsfolk he saw; but he was also ambitious: he wished to appear on good
+terms with these women, who were his superiors in social position.</p>
+
+<p>They would not have anything to do with him, which offended him very
+much; they received his greeting coldly and turned away; they said
+within themselves that he was an intolerably vulgar little person.</p>
+
+<p>But all her life Zilda Chaplot lived a better and happier woman because
+she had known him.</p>
+
+<hr />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="VII" id="VII"></a>VII</h2>
+
+<h3>THE SYNDICATE BABY</h3>
+
+<p>Some miles above the city of La Motte, the blue Merrian river widens
+into the Lake of St. Jean. In the Canadian summer the shores of this
+lake are as pleasant a place for an outing as heart could desire. The
+inhabitants of the city build wooden villas there, and spend the long
+warm days in boats upon the water. The families that live in these
+wooden villas do not take boarders; that was the origin of 'The
+Syndicate.' It consisted of some two dozen bachelors who were obliged to
+sit upon office stools all day in the hot city. 'If,' said they, 'we
+could live upon the lake, we could have our morning swim and our evening
+sail; and the trains would take us in and out of the city.'</p>
+
+<p>The one or two uncomfortable hotels of this region were already
+overcrowded, so these bachelors said to each other&mdash;'Go to; we will put
+our pence together,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span> and build us a boat-house with an upper story, and
+live therein.'</p>
+
+<p>They bought a bit of the beach for a trifle of money. They built a
+boat-house, of which the upper half was one long dormitory, with a great
+balcony at the end over the water which served as kitchen and
+dining-hall. The ground floor was the lake itself, and each man who
+could buy a boat tethered it there. The property, boats excepted, was in
+common. By and by they bought a field in which they grew vegetables;
+later they bought two cows and a pasture. The produce of the herd and
+the farm helped to furnish forth the table. This accretion of wealth
+took several years; some of the older men grew richer, and took to
+themselves wives and villas; the ranks were always filled up by more
+impecunious bachelors. The bachelors called themselves 'The Syndicate.'</p>
+
+<p>The plan worked well, chiefly because of the fine air and the sunshine,
+the warm starry nights, and, above all, the witchery of the lake, which
+is to every man who has spent days and nights upon it like a mystical
+lady-love, ever changeful and ever charming. Then, too, there was the
+contrast with the hot city; the sense of need fulfilled makes men
+good-natured. The one servant of the establishment, an old man who made
+the beds and the dinners, was not a professional cook; the meals were
+often indifferent;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span> yet the Syndicate did not quarrel among themselves.</p>
+
+<p>Some outlet for temper perhaps was needful. At any rate they had one
+outside quarrel with an old Welshman named Johns, a farmer of great
+importance in the place, who had sold them the land and tried, in their
+opinion, to cheat them afterwards about the boundaries. Their united
+rage waxed hot against Johns, and he, on his side, did nothing to
+propitiate. The quarrel came to no end; it was a feud. 'Esprit de
+corps,' like the fumes of wine, gives men a wholly unreasonable sense of
+complacence in themselves and their belongings, whatever the belongings
+may happen to be. The Syndicate learned to cherish this feud as a
+valuable possession.</p>
+
+<p>The Syndicate, as has been seen, had one house, one servant, and one
+enemy. It also had one Baby. The Baby was the youngest member of the
+community, a pretty boy who by some chance favour had obtained a bed in
+the dormitory at the hoyden age of nineteen. He had a tendency to
+chubbiness, and his moustache, when it did come, was merely a silken
+whisp, hardly visible. He did some fagging in return for the
+extraordinary favour of adoption. The Baby from the first was entirely
+accustomed to being 'sat upon.' He had no unnecessary independence of
+mind. At twenty-one he still continued to be 'Baby.'</p>
+
+<p>All the affairs of the Syndicate flourished, in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span>cluding the feud with
+the neighbouring landowner. All went well with the men and their boats
+and the Baby, until, at length, upon one fateful day for the latter,
+there came a young person to the locality who made an addition to the
+household of Farmer Johns.</p>
+
+<p>'Old Johns has got a niece,' said the bachelors sitting at dinner, as if
+the niece had come fresh to the world as babies do, and had not held the
+same relation to old Johns for twenty-five years. Still, it was true she
+had never been in the old man's possession before, and now she had
+arrived at his house, a sudden vision of delight as seen from the road
+or on the verandah.</p>
+
+<p>Now Helen Johns was a beauty; no one unbiassed by the party spirit of a
+time-honoured feud would have denied that. She was not, it is true, of
+the ordinary type of beauty, whose chief ornament is an effort at
+captivation. She did not curl her hair; she did not lift her eyes and
+smile when she was talking to men; she did not trouble herself to put on
+her prettiest gown when the evening train came in, bringing the
+bachelors from the city. She was tall&mdash;five foot eight in her stockings;
+all her muscles were well developed; there was nothing sylph-like about
+her waist, but all her motions had a strong, gentle grace of their own
+that bespoke health and dignity. She had a profession, too, which was
+much beneath most of the be-crimped and smile-wreathed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span> maidens who
+basked in the favour of the bachelors. She had been to New York and had
+learned to teach gymnastics, the very newest sort; 'Delsart' or
+'Emerson,' or some such name, attached to the rhythmic motions she
+performed. The Syndicate had no opportunity to criticise the gymnastic
+performance, for they had not the honour of her acquaintance; they
+criticised everything else, the smooth hair, the high brow, the
+well-proportioned waist, the profession; they decided that she was not
+beautiful.</p>
+
+<p>There were, roughly speaking, two classes of girls in this summer
+settlement, each held in favour by the Syndicate men according as
+personal taste might dispose. There were the girls who in a cheerful
+manner were ever to be found walking or boating in such hours and places
+as would assuredly bring them into contact with the happy bachelors, and
+there were those who would not 'for the world' have done such a thing,
+who sedulously shunned such paths, and had to be much sought after
+before they were found. Now it chanced that Helen Johns was seen to row
+alone in her uncle's boat right across the very front of the Syndicate
+boat-house, at the very hour when the assembled members were eating
+roast beef upon the verandah above and arriving at their decisions
+concerning her, and she did not look as if she cared in the least
+whether twenty-four pair of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> eyes were bent upon her or not. To be sure,
+it was her nearest way home from the post-office across the bay, and the
+post came in at this evening hour. No one could find any fault, not even
+any of the bachelors, but none the less did the affront sink deep into
+their hearts. It added a new zest to the old feud. 'We do not see that
+she is beautiful,' they cried over their dinner. 'We should not care for
+Helen of Troy if she looked like that.'</p>
+
+<p>The Baby dissented; the Baby actually had the 'cheek' to say, right
+there aloud at the banquet, that he might not be a man of taste, but,
+for his part, he thought she looked 'the jolliest girl' he had ever
+seen. In his heart he meant that he thought she looked like a goddess or
+an angel (for the Baby was a reverent youth), but he veiled his real
+feeling under this reticent phrase.</p>
+
+<p>One and all they spoke to him, spoke loudly, spoke severely. 'Baby,'
+they said, 'if you have any dealings with the niece of Farmer Johns
+we'll kick you out of this.'</p>
+
+<p>It was a romantic situation; love has proverbially thriven in the
+atmosphere of a family feud. The Baby felt this, but he felt also that
+he could not run the risk of being kicked out of the Syndicate. The Baby
+did sums in a big hot bank all day; he had no dollars to spare, there
+was no other place upon the lake where he could afford to live, and he
+had a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span> canoe of his own which his uncle had given him. Hiawatha did not
+love the darling of his creation more than the Baby loved his cedar-wood
+canoe. All this made him conceal carefully that mysterious sensation of
+unrestful delight which he experienced every time he saw Miss Helen
+Johns. This, at least, in the first stage of his love-sickness.</p>
+
+<p>Fate was hard; she led the Baby, all cheerful and unsuspecting, to spend
+an evening at a picnic tea in a wood a mile or more from the shore.
+Mischievous Fate! She led him to flirt frivolously until long after dark
+with a girl that he cared nothing at all about, and then whispered in
+his ear that he would get home the quicker if in the obscurity he ran
+across the Johns' farm. Fate, laughing in her sleeve, led him to pass
+with noiseless footsteps quite near the house itself; then she was
+content to leave him to his own devices, for through the open window he
+caught sight of Helen Johns doing her gymnastics. Her figure was all
+aglow with the yellow lamplight; she was happy in the poetry of her
+motions and in the delight that the family circle took in watching them.
+The Baby was in the dark and the falling dew; he was uncomfortable, for
+he had to stand on tiptoe, but nothing would have induced him to ease
+his strained attitude. The pangs of a fierce discontent took possession
+of his breast.</p>
+
+<p>Art was consulted in the gymnasium in which<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> Miss Johns had studied; the
+theory was that only that which is beautiful is healthful. Sometimes she
+poised herself on tiptoe with one arm waved toward heaven, an angel all
+ready, save the wings, for aerial flight. Sometimes she seemed to hover
+above the ground like a running Mercury. Sometimes she stood, a hand
+behind her ear, listening as a maid might who was flying from danger in
+some enchanted land. Often she waved her hands slowly as if weaving a
+spell.</p>
+
+<p>A spell was cast over the soul of the Baby; he held himself against the
+extreme edge of a verandah; his mouth remained open as if he were
+drinking in the beams from the bright interior and all the beautiful
+pictures that they brought with them. It was only when the show was over
+that he noiselessly relaxed his strained muscles, and crept away over
+the dew-drenched grass, hiding under the shadow of maple boughs, guilty
+trespasser that he was.</p>
+
+<p>After that, one evening, Farmer Johns and his niece had an errand to
+run; at a house about two miles away on the other side of the bay there
+was a parcel which it was their duty to fetch. They had started out in
+the calm white light of summer twilight; a slight wind blew, just enough
+to take their sail creeping over the rippled water, no more. The lake
+within a mile of the shore was thickly strewn<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span> with small yachts, boats,
+and canoes. Upon the green shore the colours of the gaily painted villas
+could still be seen among the trees, and most conspicuous of all the
+great barn-like boat-house of the Syndicate, which was painted red. By
+and by the light grew dimmer and stars came out in the sky; then one
+could no longer distinguish the outline of the shore, but in every
+window a light twinkled, like a fallen star.</p>
+
+<p>Helen sat in the side of the tiny ship as near the prow as might be; her
+uncle sat at the tiller and managed the sails. They were a silent pair,
+the one in a suit of tweeds with a slouch hat, the other in a muslin
+gown with a veil of black lace wrapped about her head.</p>
+
+<p>The sailing of the boat was an art which Helen had not exerted herself
+to understand; she only knew that every now and then there was a minute
+of bluster and excitement when her uncle shouted to her, and she was
+obliged to cower while the beam and the sail swung over her head with a
+sound of fluttering wind. When she was allowed to take her seat after
+this little hurly-burly the two lighthouses upon the lake and all the
+lights upon the shore had performed a mysterious dance; they all lay in
+different places and in different relation to one another. She had not
+learned to know the different lights. When dusk came she was lost to her
+own<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span> knowledge. She only knew that the sweet air blew upon her face and
+that she trusted her uncle.</p>
+
+<p>The moonless night closed in. Now and then, as they passed a friendly
+craft, evening greetings were spoken across the dark space. By the time
+they got to the place for which they were bound they were floating
+almost alone upon the black water.</p>
+
+<p>Johns descended into a small boat and secured the sailing-boat to the
+buoy which belonged to the house whither he was going, or rather, he
+thought that he secured it.</p>
+
+<p>Helen heard the plash of his oars until he landed. The shore was but
+twenty yards away, but she could hardly see it. The sail hung limp,
+wrinkled, and motionless. She began to sing, and there alone in the
+darkness she fell in love with her own voice, and sang on and on,
+thinking only of the music.</p>
+
+<p>Her uncle was long in coming; she became conscious of movement in the
+water, like the swell of waves outside rolling into the cove. She heard
+the sound of swaying among all the trees on the shore. She looked up and
+saw that the stars of one half the sky were obscured, that the darkness
+was rolling onward toward those that were still shining.</p>
+
+<p>She stopped her own singing, and the song of the waters beneath her prow
+was curiously like the familiar sound when the boat was in motion. She
+strained her eyes, but could not see how far she was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span> from the near
+shore. She looked on the other side and it seemed to her that the lights
+on the home-ward side of the bay were moving. That meant that she was
+moving, at what speed and in what direction she had no means of knowing.</p>
+
+<p>She stood up, lifted her arms in the air and shouted for help; again and
+again her shouts rang out, and she did not wait to hear an answer. She
+thought that the masters of other boats had seen the storm coming and
+gone into shore.</p>
+
+<p>She was out now full in the whistling wind and the boat was leaping. Her
+throat was hoarse with calling, her eyes dazzled by straining.</p>
+
+<p>When she turned in despair from scanning the shore she saw a sight that
+was very strange. At the tiller where her uncle ought to have been, and
+just in the attitude in which he always stood, was a slight white
+figure. A new sort of fear took possession of Helen; at first she could
+not speak or move, but kept her eyes wide open lest the ghostly thing
+should come near her unawares.</p>
+
+<p>This illusion might be a forerunner of the death to which she was
+hastening, the Angel of Death himself steering her to destruction!</p>
+
+<p>Then in a strange voice came the familiar shout, the warning to hold
+down her head. The sail swung over in the customary way; every movement
+of the figure at the helm was so familiar and natural that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span> comfort
+began to steal into her heart. Plainly, whoever had taken command of the
+drifting craft knew his business; might it not be an angel of life, and
+not of death?</p>
+
+<p>Now in plain sober reality, as her pulses ceased to dance so wildly,
+Helen could not believe that her companion was angel or spirit. One does
+not believe in such companionship readily.</p>
+
+<p>She scrambled to her knees and steadied herself by the seat. 'Who are
+you?' she asked.</p>
+
+<p>The figure made a gesture that seemed like a signal of peace, but no
+answer was given.</p>
+
+<p>The lights upon her own part of the shore were now not far distant. She
+looked above and saw breaks in the darkness that had hidden the stars;
+the clouds were passing over.</p>
+
+<p>The squall that was taking them upon their journey was still whistling
+and blowing, but she feared its force less as she realised that she was
+nearing home.</p>
+
+<p>She desired greatly to work herself along the boat and touch the sailor
+curiously with her hand, but she was afraid to do it, and that for two
+reasons: if he was a spirit she had reason for shrinking from such
+contact, and if he was a man&mdash;well, in that case she also saw
+objections.</p>
+
+<p>The man at the helm dropped the sail; for a minute or two he stood not
+far from Helen as he busied himself with it.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>'Who are you?' she asked again, but she still had not courage to put out
+her hand and touch him.</p>
+
+<p>There was a little wooden wharf upon the shore, and to this the sailor
+held the boat while Helen sprung out. Her feet were no sooner safe upon
+it than the boat was allowed to move away. She saw the black mast and
+the white figure recede together and disappear in the darkness.</p>
+
+<p>Johns had to walk home by the shore, and in no small anxiety. When he
+saw that his niece was safe he chuckled over her in burly fashion.</p>
+
+<p>'Then I suppose,' he said, 'that some fellow got aboard her between the
+puffs of wind. I hope it was none of those Syndicate men; they're a fast
+lot. What was his name? What had he to say for himself?'</p>
+
+<p>'She was flying far too fast for any one to get aboard,' asserted Helen.
+'I don't know what his name was; he didn't say anything; I don't know
+where he went to.'</p>
+
+<p>Then the uncle suggested toddy in an undertone to his wife. The aunt
+looked over her spectacles with solicitude, and then arose and put her
+niece to bed.</p>
+
+<p>When Helen was left alone she lay looking out at the stars that again
+were shining; she wondered and wondered; perhaps the reason that she
+came to no definite conclusion was that she liked the state of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span> wonder
+better. Helen was a modern girl; she had friends who were spiritualists,
+friends who were theosophists, friends who were 'high church' and
+believed in visions of angels.</p>
+
+<p>In the morning Johns' boat was found tethered as usual to the buoy in
+front of his house.</p>
+
+<p>Long before this the Syndicate had suspected the Baby's attachment. The
+strength of that attachment they did not suspect in the least; never
+having seen depths in the Baby, they supposed there were none. They had
+fallen into the habit of taking the Baby by the throat and asking him in
+trenchant tones, 'Have you spoken to her?' The Baby found it convenient
+to be able to give a truthful negative, not that he would have minded
+fibbing in the least, but in this case the fib would certainly have been
+detected; he could not expect his goddess to enter into any clandestine
+parley and keep his secret.</p>
+
+<p>Had the Baby taken the matter less to heart he would have been more rash
+in asserting his independence, but he meditated some great step and 'lay
+low.' What or when the irrevocable move was to be he had no definite
+idea, the thought of it was only as yet an exalted swelling of mind and
+heart.</p>
+
+<p>There was a period, after the affair of the boat, when he spent a good
+deal of time haunting the sacred precincts of the house where Helen
+lived. The precincts consisted of a dusty lane, a flat, ugly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span> fenced
+field where a cow and a horse grazed, and a place immediately about the
+house covered with thick grass and shaded by maple trees. There were
+some shrubs too, behind which one could hide if necessary, but they were
+prickly, uncomfortable to nestle against, and the unmown grass absorbed
+an immense quantity of dew. In imagination, however, the Baby wandered
+on pastoral slopes and in classic shades. At first he paid his visits at
+night when the family were asleep, and he slipped about so quietly that
+no one but the horse and the cow need know where he went or what he did.
+At length, however, he grew more bold, and took his way across the maple
+grove going and coming from other evening errands. Trespassing is not
+much of a fault at the lake of St. Jean. The Baby became expert in
+dodging hastily by, with his eyes upon the windows; the dream of his
+life was to see the gymnastics performed again; at length it was
+realised.</p>
+
+<p>The thing we desire most is often the thing that brings us woe.</p>
+
+<p>The Baby caught sight of Helen practising her beautiful attitudes. He
+hung on to a rail of the verandah, and gazed and gazed. Then he took his
+life in his hand, as it were, and swung himself up on the verandah; he
+moved like a cat, for he supposed that the stalwart Johns was within.
+From this better point of view, peeping about, he now surveyed the whole
+interior of the small drawing-room. What was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> his joy to find that there
+was no family circle of spectators; Helen was exercising herself alone!
+He hugged to himself the idea that the gracious little spectacle was all
+his own.</p>
+
+<p>Now, as it happened, the Baby in his secret hauntings of this house had
+not been so entirely unseen as he supposed. Certainly Johns had never
+caught sight of him or he would have been made aware of it, but Helen,
+since the night of the boating mystery, had more than once caught sight
+of a white figure passing among the maple shadows. These glimpses had
+added point and colour to all the mystical fancies that clustered round
+the helmsman of the yacht. She hardly believed that some guardian spirit
+was protecting her in visible semblance, or that some human Prince
+Charming, more kingly and wise than any man that she had yet seen, had
+chosen this peculiar mode of courting her; but her wish was the father
+of thoughts that fluttered between these two explanations, and hope was
+fed by the conviction that no man who could see her every day if he
+chose would behave in this romantic manner.</p>
+
+<p>So upon this evening it happened that when Helen, poised upon her toes
+and beating the time of imaginary music with her waving hand, caught
+sight of the Baby's white flannels through the dark window pane, she
+recognised the figure of her dreams and, having<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span> long ago made up her
+mind what to do when she had the chance, she ran to the French window
+without an instant's delay, and let herself out of it with graceful
+speed.</p>
+
+<p>The Baby, panic-stricken, felt but one desire, that she might never know
+who had played the spy. He threw himself over the verandah rail with an
+acrobat's skill, and with head in front and nimble feet he darted off
+under the maple trees: but he had to reckon with an agile maiden. Helen
+had grown tired of a fruitless dream. A crescent moon gave her enough
+light to pursue; lights of friendly houses on all sides assured her of
+safety.</p>
+
+<p>Over the log fence into the pasture vaulted the Baby, convinced now that
+he had escaped. Vain thought! He had not considered the new education.
+Over the fence vaulted Helen as lightly: in a minute the Baby heard her
+on his track.</p>
+
+<p>The cow and the horse had never before seen so pretty a chase. There was
+excitement in the air and they sniffed it; they were both young and they
+began to run too. The sound of heavy galloping filled the place.</p>
+
+<p>Of the two sides of the field which lay farthest from the house, one
+looked straight over to the glaring Syndicate windows, and one to the
+rugged bank that rose from the shore. The Baby's one mad desire was to
+conceal his identity. He made for the dark<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span> shore. Another fence, he
+thought, or the rocks of the bank, would surely deter her flying feet.</p>
+
+<p>They both vaulted the second fence. The Baby still kept his distance
+ahead, but when he heard that she too sprang over, a fear for her safety
+darted across his excited brain. Would those cantering animals jump
+after and crush her beneath their feet, or would she fall on the rocks
+of the shore which he was going to leap over? The Baby intended to leap
+the shore and lose his identity by a swim in the black water.</p>
+
+<p>It was this darting thought of anxiety for Helen that made him hesitate
+in his leap. Too late to stop, the hesitation was fatal to fair
+performance. The Baby came down on the shore with a groan, his leg under
+him and his head on the earth.</p>
+
+<p>He saw Helen pause beside him, deliberately staring through the dim
+light.</p>
+
+<p>'I'm not hurt,' said the Baby, because he knew that he was.</p>
+
+<p>'You are only the Syndicate Baby!' she exclaimed with interrogatory
+indignation.</p>
+
+<p>'I'm going to cut the Syndicate; I'll never have anything more to do
+with them, Miss Johns.'</p>
+
+<p>Helen did not understand the significance of this eager assurance.</p>
+
+<p>The Baby's brain became clear; he tried to rise, but could not.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>'Are you not hurt?' she asked.</p>
+
+<p>'Oh! no, not at all, Miss Johns' (he spoke with eager, youthful
+politeness); 'it's only&mdash;it's only that I've doubled my leg and can't
+quite get up.'</p>
+
+<p>The Baby was pretty tough; a few bumps and breaks were matters of small
+importance to him; his employers had already bargained with him not to
+play football as he gained so many holidays in bandages thereby. Just
+now he was quick enough to take in the situation: Helen despised him, it
+was neck or nothing, he must do all his pleading once for all, and the
+compensation for a broken leg was this, that she could not have the
+inhumanity to leave him till he declared himself fit to be left. He
+pulled himself round, and straightened the leg before him as he sat.</p>
+
+<p>Helen was not accustomed to falls and injuries; she was shocked and
+pitiful, but she was stern too; she felt that she had the right.</p>
+
+<p>'I'm very sorry; I will go and get some one to help you, but you know
+it's entirely your own fault. What have you been behaving in this way
+for?'</p>
+
+<p>'If you'd only believe me,' pleaded the Baby, 'I&mdash;I&mdash;you really can have
+no idea, Miss Johns&mdash;&mdash;'</p>
+
+<p>If she could have seen how white and earnest his young face was she
+might have listened to him, but the light was too dim.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>'I want to know this' (severely), 'Was it you who got on to our sailing
+boat that other night?'</p>
+
+<p>'I thought you were alarmed, Miss Johns, and in a rather&mdash;rather
+dangerous situation.' The Baby was using his prettiest tones, such as he
+used when he went out to a dance.</p>
+
+<p>If she could have known how heroic it was to utter these mincing accents
+over a broken leg she might have been touched; but she did not even know
+that the leg was broken. She went on rigidly, 'How could you get aboard
+when she was sailing so fast? Where did you come from?'</p>
+
+<p>'Oh! it wasn't difficult at all, I assure you, Miss Johns; I only got on
+between the gusts of the wind. I swam from the Syndicate boat. You know,
+of course, one of us must have gone when we heard you singing out for
+help, and I was only too happy, frightfully happy, I am sure&mdash;and it was
+nothing at all to do. If you were much here, and saw us swimming and
+boating, you'd see fellows do that sort of thing every day.'</p>
+
+<p>It was a delicate instinct that made him underrate the feat he had
+performed, for he would have been so glad to have her feel under the
+slightest obligation to him; but as far as her perceptions were
+concerned, the beauty of his sentiment was lost, for when he said that
+the thing that he had done was easy, she believed him.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>She still interrogated. 'Why did you not speak and tell me who you
+were?'</p>
+
+<p>There had been an ostensible and a real reason for this conduct on the
+Baby's part. The first was the order which his friends in the Syndicate
+boat had called after him as he jumped into the water, the second he
+spoke out now for the first time to Helen.</p>
+
+<p>'I didn't speak, Miss Johns, because I&mdash;I <i>couldn't</i>. Oh! you have no
+idea&mdash;really, you know, if you'd only believe me&mdash;I love you so much,
+Miss Johns, I couldn't say anything or I'd have said more than I ought,
+the sort of thing I'm saying now, you know.'</p>
+
+<p>'Tut!' said Helen sharply, 'what rubbish!'</p>
+
+<p>'Oh! but Miss Johns&mdash;yes, I knew you would think it was all rot and that
+sort of thing; that was the reason I didn't say it in the boat, and that
+is the reason I've never dared to ask to be introduced to you, Miss
+Johns. It wasn't that I cared for the Syndicate. You see, the worst of
+it is, I'm so confoundedly poor; they give me no sort of a screw at all
+at the bank, I do assure you. But, Miss Johns, my uncle is one of the
+directors; he's sure to give me a leg up before very long, and if you
+only knew&mdash;oh! really if you only knew&mdash;&mdash;,' words failed him quite when
+he tried to describe the strength of his devotion. He only sat before
+her, supporting him<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span>self with both hands on the ground and looking up
+with a face that had no rounded outline now, but was white, passionate
+and pathetic; he could only murmur, 'really, really&mdash;if you only
+knew&mdash;&mdash;'</p>
+
+<p>The darkness barred her vision and the extravagant words in the boyish
+voice sounded ridiculous to her.</p>
+
+<p>'I will believe you,' she said, 'if you want me to, but it doesn't make
+any difference; I am sorry you are hurt, and sorry you have taken this
+fancy for me. I think you will find some other girl very soon whom you
+will like better; I hope you will. There isn't' (she was becoming
+vehement), 'there isn't the slightest atom of use in your caring for
+me.'</p>
+
+<p>'Isn't there?' asked the Baby despairingly. 'I wish you would say that
+you will think over it, Miss Johns; I wish you would say that I might
+know you and come and see you sometimes. I'd cut the Syndicate and make
+it up with your uncle.'</p>
+
+<p>'It wouldn't be the slightest use,' she repeated excitedly.</p>
+
+<p>'Of course if you go on saying that, I sha'n't bore you any more, but
+do, Miss Johns, do, do just think a minute before you say it again.'</p>
+
+<p>A note in his voice touched her at last; she paused for the required
+minute and then answered gently; her gentleness carried conviction. 'I
+could never care for you. You are not at all the sort of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span> man I could
+ever care for, and I am going back to New York in a few days, so you
+won't be troubled by seeing me any more.'</p>
+
+<p>When Helen rushed breathless to the door of the Syndicate boat-house and
+told of the accident, the bachelors went out in a body and bore the Baby
+home.</p>
+
+<p>They petted him until he was on his feet again. They gained some vague
+knowledge of his interview with Helen, and he kept a very distinct
+remembrance of it. Both he and they believed that his first attempt at
+love had come to nothing, but that was a mistake.</p>
+
+<p>The Baby had loved with some genuine fervour, and his grief made a man
+of him.</p>
+
+<hr />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="VIII" id="VIII"></a>VIII</h2>
+
+<h3>WITCHCRAFT</h3>
+
+<p>A young minister was walking through the streets of a small town in the
+island of Cape Breton. The minister was only a theological student who
+had been sent to preach in this remote place during his summer holiday.
+The town was at once very primitive and very modern. Many log-houses
+still remained in it; almost all the other houses were built of wood.
+The little churches, which represented as many sects, looked like the
+churches in a child's Dutch village. The town hall had only a brick
+facing. On the hillsides that surrounded the town far and wide were many
+fields, in which the first stumps were still standing, charred by the
+fires that had been kindled to kill them. There were also patches of
+forest still to be seen among these fields, where the land had not yet
+been cleared. In spite of all this, the town was very advanced, every
+improvement being of the newest kind because so<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span> recently achieved. Upon
+huge ungainly tree-trunks roughly erected along the streets, electric
+lamps hung, and telephone wires crossed and recrossed one another from
+roof to roof. There was even an electric tram that ran straight through
+the town and some distance into the country on either side. The general
+store had a gaily dressed lay figure in its window,&mdash;a female
+figure,&mdash;and its gown was labelled 'The Latest Parisian Novelty.'</p>
+
+<p>The theological student was going out to take tea. He was a tall, active
+fellow, and his long strides soon brought him to a house a little way
+out of the town, which was evidently the abode of some degree of taste
+and luxury. The house was of wood, painted in dull colours of red and
+brown; it had large comfortable verandahs under shingled roofs. Its
+garden was not old-fashioned in the least; but though it aspired to
+trimness the grass had not grown there long enough to make a good lawn,
+so the ribbon flower-beds and plaster vases of flowers lacked the
+green-velvet setting that would have made them appear better. The
+student was the less likely to criticise the lawn because a very pretty,
+fresh-looking girl met him at the gate.</p>
+
+<p>She was really a fine girl. Her dress showed rather more effort at
+fashion than was quite in keeping with her very rural surroundings, and
+her speech and accent betrayed a childhood spent among<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span> uneducated folk
+and only overlaid by more recent schooling. Her face had the best parts
+of beauty: health and good sense were written there, also flashes of
+humour and an habitual sweet seriousness. She had chanced to be at the
+gate gathering flowers. Her reception of the student was frank, and yet
+there was just a touch of blushing dignity about it which suggested that
+she took a special interest in him. The student also, it would appear,
+took an interest in her, for, on their way to the house, he made a
+variety of remarks upon the weather which proved that he was a little
+excited and unable to observe that he was talking nonsense.</p>
+
+<p>In a little while the family were gathered round the tea-table. The
+girl, Miss Torrance by name, sat at the head of the table. Her father
+was a banker and insurance agent. He sat opposite his eldest daughter
+and did the honours of the meal with the utmost hospitality, yet with
+reserve of manner caused by his evident consciousness that his grammar
+and manners were not equal to those of his children and their guest.
+There were several daughters and two sons younger than Miss Torrance.
+They talked with vivacity.</p>
+
+<p>The conversation soon turned upon the fact that the abundant supply of
+cream to which the family were accustomed was not forthcoming.
+Strawberries were being served with the tea; some sort of cold pudding
+was also on the table; and all this to be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span> eaten without cream,&mdash;these
+young people might have been asked to go without their supper, so
+indignant they were.</p>
+
+<p>Now, Mr. Torrance had been decorously trying to talk of the young
+minister's last sermon and of the affairs of the small Scotch church of
+which he was an elder, and Miss Torrance was ably seconding his effort
+by comparing the sentiments of the sermon to a recent magazine article,
+but against her will she was forced to attend to the young people's
+clamour about the cream.</p>
+
+<p>It seemed that Trilium, the cow, had recently refused to give her milk.
+Mary Torrance was about eighteen; she suddenly gave it as her opinion
+that Trilium was bewitched; there was no other explanation, she said, no
+other possible explanation of Trilium's extraordinary conduct.</p>
+
+<p>A flush mounted Miss Torrance's face; she frowned at her sister when the
+student was not looking.</p>
+
+<p>'It's wonderful, the amount of witchcraft we have about here, Mr.
+Howitt,' said the master of the house tentatively to the minister.</p>
+
+<p>Howitt had taken Mary's words in jest. He gave his smooth-shaven face
+the twist that with him always expressed ideas wonderful or grotesque.
+It was a strong, thin face, full of intelligence.</p>
+
+<p>'I never could have conceived anything like it,' said he. 'I come across
+witch tales here, there,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span> everywhere; and the marvellous thing is, some
+of the people really seem to believe them.'</p>
+
+<p>The younger members of the Torrance family fixed their eyes upon him
+with apprehensive stare.</p>
+
+<p>'You can't imagine anything more degrading,' continued the student, who
+came from afar.</p>
+
+<p>'Degrading, of course.' Mr. Torrance sipped his tea hastily. 'The Cape
+Breton people are superstitious, I believe.'</p>
+
+<p>An expression that might have betokened a new resolution appeared upon
+the fine face of the eldest daughter.</p>
+
+<p>'<i>We</i> are Cape Breton people, father,' she said, with dignified
+reproach. 'I hope'&mdash;here a timid glance, as if imploring support&mdash;'I
+hope we know better than to place any real faith in these degrading
+superstitions.'</p>
+
+<p>Howitt observed nothing but the fine face and the words that appeared to
+him natural.</p>
+
+<p>Torrance looked at them both with the air of an honest man who was still
+made somewhat cowardly by new-fashioned propriety.</p>
+
+<p>'I never put much o' my faith in these things myself,' he said at last
+in broad accents, 'still,'&mdash;an honest shake of the head&mdash;'there's queer
+things happens.'</p>
+
+<p>'It is like going back to the Middle Ages'&mdash;Howitt was still
+impervious&mdash;'to hear some of these poor<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span> creatures talk. I never thought
+it would be my lot to come across anything so delightfully absurd.'</p>
+
+<p>'Perhaps for the sake of the ministry ye'd better be careful how ye say
+your mind about it,' suggested Mr. Torrance; 'in the hearing of the poor
+and uneducated, of course, I mean. But if ye like to make a study o'
+that sort of thing, I'd advise ye to go and have a talk with Mistress
+Betty M'Leod. She's got a great repertory of tales, has Mistress Betty.'</p>
+
+<p>Mary spoke again. Mary was a young woman who had the courage of her
+opinions. 'And if you go to Mistress M'Leod, Mr. Howitt, will you just
+be kind enough to ask her how to cure poor Trilium? and don't forget
+anything of what she says.'</p>
+
+<p>Miss Torrance gave her sister a word of reproof. There was still upon
+her face the fine glow born of a new resolution never again to listen to
+a word of witchcraft.</p>
+
+<p>As for Howitt, there came across his clever face the whimsical look
+which denoted that he understood Mary's fun perfectly. 'I will go
+to-morrow,' he cried. 'When the wise woman has told me who has bewitched
+Trilium, we will make a waxen figure and stick pins in it.'</p>
+
+<p>The next day Howitt walked over the hills in search of Mistress Betty
+M'Leod. The lake of the Bras d'Or held the sheen of the western sun in
+its breast. The student walked upon green slopes far<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span> above the water,
+and watched the outline of the hills on the other side of the inlet, and
+thought upon many things. He thought upon religion and philosophy, for
+he was religious and studious; he thought upon practical details of his
+present work, for he was anxious for the welfare of the souls under his
+charge; but on whatever subject his thoughts dwelt, they came back at
+easy intervals to the fair, dignified face of his new friend, Miss
+Torrance.</p>
+
+<p>'There's a fine girl for you,' he said to himself repeatedly, with
+boyish enthusiasm. He thought, too, how nobly her life would be spent if
+she chose to be the helpmeet of a Christian minister. He wondered
+whether Mary could take her sister's place in the home circle. Yet with
+all this he made no decision as to his own course. He was discreet, and
+in minds like his decisions upon important matters are fruits of slow
+growth.</p>
+
+<p>He came at last to a farm, a very goodly farm for so hilly a district.
+It lay, a fertile flat, in a notch of the green hillside. When he
+reached the house yard he asked for Mistress Betty M'Leod, and was led
+to her presence. The old dame sat at her spinning-wheel in a farm
+kitchen. Her white hair was drawn closely, like a thin veil, down the
+sides of her head and pinned at the back. Her features were small, her
+eyes bright; she was not unlike a squirrel in her sharp little movements
+and quick glances.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span> She wore a small shawl pinned around her spare
+shoulders. Her skirts fell upon the treadle of the spinning-wheel. The
+kitchen in which she sat was unused; there was no fire in the stove. The
+brick floor, the utensils hanging on the walls, had the appearance of
+undisturbed rest. Doors and windows were open to the view of the green
+slopes and the golden sea beneath them.</p>
+
+<p>'You come from Canada,' said the old dame. She left her spinning with a
+certain interested formality of manner.</p>
+
+<p>'From Montreal,' said he.</p>
+
+<p>'That's the same. Canada is a terrible way off.'</p>
+
+<p>'And now,' he said, 'I hear there are witches in this part of the land.'
+Whereupon he smiled in an incredulous cultured way.</p>
+
+<p>She nodded her head as if she had gauged his thought. 'Ay, there's many
+a minister believes in them if they don't let on they do. I mind&mdash;&mdash;'</p>
+
+<p>'Yes,' said he.</p>
+
+<p>'I mind how my sister went out early one morning, and saw a witch
+milking one of our cows.'</p>
+
+<p>'How did you know she was a witch?'</p>
+
+<p>'Och, she was a neighbour we knew to be a witch real well. My sister
+didn't anger her. It's terrible unlucky to vex them. But would you
+believe it? as long as we had that cow her cream gave no butter. We had
+to sell her and get another.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span> And one time&mdash;it was years ago, when
+Donald and me was young&mdash;the first sacrament came round&mdash;&mdash;'</p>
+
+<p>'Yes,' said he, looking sober.</p>
+
+<p>'And all the milk of our cows would give hardly any butter for a whole
+year! And at house-cleaning time, there, above the milk shelves, what
+did they find but a bit of hair rope! Cows' and horses' hair it was. Oh,
+it was terrible knotted, and knotted just like anything! So then of
+course we knew.'</p>
+
+<p>'Knew what?'</p>
+
+<p>'Why, that the milk was bewitched. We took the rope away. Well, that
+very day more butter came at the churning, and from that time on, more,
+but still not so much as ought by rights to have come. Then, one day, I
+thought to unknot the rope, and I undid, and undid, and undid. Well,
+when I had got it undone, that day the butter came as it should!'</p>
+
+<p>'But what about the sacrament?' asked he.</p>
+
+<p>'That was the time of the year it was. Oh, but I could tell you a sad,
+sad story of the wickedness of witches. When Donald and me was young,
+and had a farm up over on the other hill, well, there was a poor widow
+with seven daughters. It was hard times then for us all, but for her,
+she only had a bit of flat land with some bushes, and four cows and some
+sheep, and, you see, she sold butter to put meat in the children's
+mouths. Butter was all she could sell.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>'Well, there came to live near her on the hill an awful wicked old man
+and woman. I'll tell you who their daughter is: she's married to Mr.
+M'Curdy, who keeps the store. The old man and his wife were awful wicked
+to the widow and the fatherless. I'll tell you what they did. Well, the
+widow's butter failed. Not one bit more could she get. The milk was just
+the same, but not one bit of butter. "Oh," said she, "it's a hard world,
+and me a widow!" But she was a brave woman, bound to get along some way.
+So, now that she had nothing to sell to buy meal, she made curds of the
+milk, and fed the children on that.</p>
+
+<p>'Well, one day the old man came in to see her in a neighbouring way, and
+she, being a good woman,&mdash;oh, but she was a good woman!&mdash;set a dish of
+curds before him. "Oh," said he, "these are very fine curds!" So he went
+away, and next day she put the rennet in the milk as usual, but not a
+bit would the curd come. "Oh," said she, "but I must put something in
+the children's mouths!" She was a fine woman, she was. So she kept the
+lambs from the sheep all night, and next morning she milked the sheep.
+Sheep's milk is rich, and she put rennet in that, and fed the children
+on the curd.</p>
+
+<p>'So one day the old man came in again. He was a wicked one; he was
+dreadful selfish; and as he was there, she, being a hospitable woman,
+gave him<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span> some of the curd. "That's good curd," said he. Next day, when
+she put the rennet in the sheep's milk, not a bit would the curd come.
+She felt it bitterly, poor woman; but she had a fine spirit, and she fed
+the children on a few bits of potato she had growing.</p>
+
+<p>'Well, one day, the eldest daughter got up very early to spin&mdash;in the
+twilight of the dawn it was&mdash;and she looked out, and there was the old
+woman coming from her house on the hill, with a shawl over her head and
+a tub in her arms. Oh, but she was a really wicked one! for I'll tell
+you what she did. Well, the girl watched and wondered, and in the
+twilight of the dawn she saw the old woman crouch down by one of the
+alder bushes, and put her tub under it, and go milking with her hands;
+and after a bit she lifted her tub, that seemed to have something in it,
+and set it over against another alder bush, and went milking with her
+hands again. So the girl said, "Mother, mother, wake up, and see what
+the neighbour woman is doing!" So the mother looked out, and there, in
+the twilight of the dawn, she saw her four cows in the bit of land,
+among the alder bushes, and the old neighbour woman milking away at a
+bush. And then the old woman moved her tub likewise to another bush, and
+likewise, and likewise, until she had milked four bushes, and she took
+up her tub, and it seemed awful heavy, and she had her shawl over it,
+and was going up the hill.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>'So the mother said to the girl, "Run, run, and see what she has got in
+it." For they weren't up to the ways of witches, and they were
+astonished like. But the girl, she said, "Oh, mother, I don't like."
+Well, she was timid, anyway, the eldest girl. But the second girl was a
+romping thing, not afraid of anything, so they sent her. By this time
+the wicked old woman was high on the hill; so she ran and ran, but she
+could not catch her before she was in at her own door; but that second
+girl, she was not afraid of anything, so she runs in at the door, too.
+Now, in those days they used to have sailing-chests that lock up; they
+had iron bars over them, so you could keep anything in that was a
+secret. They got them from the ships, and this old woman kept her milk
+in hers. So when the girl bounced in at the door, there she saw that
+wicked old woman pouring milk out of the tub into her chest, and the
+chest half full of milk, and the old man looking on! So then, of course
+they knew where the good of their milk had gone.'</p>
+
+<p>The story was finished. The old dame looked at the student and nodded
+her head with eyes that awaited some expression of formal disapproval.</p>
+
+<p>'What did they know?' asked he.</p>
+
+<p>'Know! Oh, why, that the old woman was an awful wicked witch, and she'd
+taken the good of their milk.'</p>
+
+<p>'Oh, indeed!' said the student; and then,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span> 'But what became of the widow
+and the seven daughters?'</p>
+
+<p>'Well, of course she had to sell her cows and get others, and then it
+was all right. But that old man and his wife were that selfish they'd
+not have cared if she'd starved. And I tell you, it's one of the things
+witches can do, to take the good out of food, if they've an eye to it;
+they can take every bit of nouriture out of it that's in it. There were
+two young men that went from here to the States&mdash;that's Boston, ye know.
+Well, pretty soon one, that was named M'Pherson, came back, looking so
+white-like and ill that nothing would do him any good. He drooped and he
+died. Well, years after, the other, whose name was McVey, came back. He
+was of the same wicked stock as the old folks I've been telling ye of.
+Well, one day, he was in low spirits like, and he chanced to be talking
+to my father, and says he, "It's one of the sins I'll have to 'count for
+at the Judgment that I took the good out of M'Pherson's food till he
+died. I sat opposite to him at the table when we were at Boston
+together, and I took the good out of his food, and it's the blackest sin
+I done," said he.</p>
+
+<p>'Oh, they're awful wicked people, these witches! One of them offered to
+teach my sister how to take the good out of food, but my sister was too
+honest; she said, "I'll learn to keep the good of my own, if ye like."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span>
+However, the witch wouldn't teach her that because she wouldn't learn
+the other. Oh, but I cheated a witch once. Donald, he brought me a pound
+of tea. 'Twasn't always we got tea in those days, so I put it in the tin
+box; and there was just a little over, so I was forced to leave that in
+the paper bag. Well, that day a neighbour came in from over the hill. I
+knew fine she was a witch; so we sat and gossiped a bit; she was a real
+pleasant woman, and she sat and sat, and the time of day went by. So I
+made her a cup of tea, her and me; but I used the drawing that was in
+the paper bag. Said she, "I just dropped in to borrow a bit of tea going
+home, but if that's all ye have"&mdash;Oh, but I could see her eyeing round;
+so I was too sharp for her, and I says, "Well, I've no more in the paper
+just now, but if ye'll wait till Donald comes, maybe he'll bring some."
+So she saw I was too sharp for her, and away she went. If I'd as much as
+opened the tin, she'd have had every grain of good out of it with her
+eyes.'</p>
+
+<p>At first the student had had the grave and righteous intention of
+denouncing the superstition, but gradually he had perceived that to do
+so would be futile. The artistic soul of him was caught by the curious
+recital. He remembered now the bidding of Mary Torrance, and thought
+with pleasure that he would go back and repeat these strange stories to
+Miss Torrance, and smile at them in her company.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>'Now, for instance,' he said aloud, 'if a good cow, that is a great pet
+in the family, should suddenly cease to give her milk, how would you set
+about curing her?'</p>
+
+<p>The dame's small bright eyes grew keener. She moved to her
+spinning-wheel and gave it a turn. 'Ay,' she said, 'and whose is the
+cow?'</p>
+
+<p>He was not without a genuine curiosity. 'What would you do for <i>any</i> cow
+in that case?'</p>
+
+<p>'And is it Torrance's cow?' asked Mistress Betty. 'Och, but I know it's
+Torrance's cow that ye're speiring for.'</p>
+
+<p>The young minister was recalled to a sense of his duty. He rose up with
+brisk dignity. 'I only asked you to see what you would say. I do not
+believe the stories you have been telling me.'</p>
+
+<p>She nodded her head, taking his assertion as a matter of course. 'But
+I'll tell you exactly what they must do,' she said. 'Ye can tell Miss
+Torrance she must get a pound of pins.'</p>
+
+<p>'A pound of pins!' said he.</p>
+
+<p>'Ay, it's a large quantity, but they'll have them at the store, for it's
+more than sometimes they're wanted&mdash;a time here, a time there&mdash;against
+the witches. And she's to boil them in whatever milk the cow gives, and
+she's to pour them boiling hot into a hole in the ground; and when she's
+put the earth over them, and the sod over that, she's to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span> tether the
+animal there, and milk it there, and the milk will come right enough.'</p>
+
+<p>While the student was making his way home along the hillside, through
+field and forest, the long arm of the sea turned to red and gold in the
+light of the clouds which the sun had left behind when it sank down over
+the distant region that the Cape Breton folk call Canada.</p>
+
+<p>The minister meditated upon what he had heard, but not for long. He
+could not bring his mind into such attitude towards the witch-tales as
+to conceive of belief in them as an actual part of normal human
+experience. Insanity, or the love of making a good story out of notions
+which have never been seriously entertained, must compose the warp and
+woof of the fabric of such strange imaginings. It is thus we account for
+most experiences we do not understand.</p>
+
+<p>The next evening the Torrance family were walking to meeting. The
+student joined himself to Miss Torrance. He greeted her with the
+whimsical look of grave humour. 'You are to take a pound of pins,' he
+said.</p>
+
+<p>'I do not believe it would do any good,' she interrupted eagerly.</p>
+
+<p>It struck him as very curious that she should assert her unbelief. He
+was too nonplussed to go on immediately. Then he supposed it was part of
+the joke, and proceeded to give the other details.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>'Mr. Howitt,'&mdash;a tremulous pause,&mdash;'it is very strange about poor
+Trilium, she has always been such a good, dear cow; the children are
+very fond of her, and my mother was very fond of her when she was a
+heifer. The last summer before she died, Trilium fed out of mother's
+hand, and now&mdash;she's in perfect health as far as we can see, but father
+says that if she keeps on refusing to give her milk he will be obliged
+to sell her.'</p>
+
+<p>Miss Torrance, who was usually strong and dignified, spoke now in a very
+appealing voice.</p>
+
+<p>'Couldn't you get an old farmer to look at her, or a vet?'</p>
+
+<p>'But why do you think she has suddenly stopped giving milk?' persisted
+the girl.</p>
+
+<p>'I am very sorry, but I really don't know anything about animals,' said
+he.</p>
+
+<p>'Oh, then if you don't know anything about them&mdash;&mdash;' She paused. There
+had been such an evident tone of relief in her voice that he wondered
+much what would be coming next. In a moment she said, 'I quite agreed
+with you the other night when you said the superstition about witchcraft
+was degrading.'</p>
+
+<p>'No one could think otherwise.' He was much puzzled at the turn of her
+thought.</p>
+
+<p>'Still, of course, <i>about animals</i>, old people like Mistress Betty
+M'Leod may know something.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>As they talked they were walking down the street in the calm of the
+summer evening to the prayer meeting. The student's mind was intent upon
+his duties, for, as they neared the little white-washed church, many
+groups were seen coming from all sides across the grassy space in which
+it stood. He was an earnest man, and his mind became occupied with the
+thought of the spiritual needs of these others who were flocking to hear
+him preach and pray.</p>
+
+<p>Inside the meeting-room, unshaded oil lamps flared upon a congregation
+most serious and devout. The student felt that their earnestness and
+devotion laid upon him the greater responsibility; he also felt much
+hindered in his speech because of their ignorance and remote ways of
+thought. It was a comfort to him to feel that there was at least one
+family among his hearers whose education would enable them to understand
+him clearly. He looked with satisfaction at the bench where Mr. Torrance
+sat with his children. He looked with more satisfaction to where Miss
+Torrance sat at the little organ. She presided over it with dignity and
+sweet seriousness. She drew music even out of its squeaking keys.</p>
+
+<p>A few days after that prayer meeting the student happened to be in the
+post-office. It was a small, rough place; a wooden partition shut off
+the public<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span> from the postmistress and her helpers. He was waiting for
+some information for which he had asked; he was forced to stand outside
+the little window in this partition. He listened to women's voices
+speaking on the other side, as one listens to that which in no way
+concerns oneself.</p>
+
+<p>'It's just like her, stuck up as she is since she came from school,
+setting herself and her family up to be better than other folks.'</p>
+
+<p>'Perhaps they were out of them at the store,' said a gentler voice.</p>
+
+<p>'Oh, don't tell me. It's on the sly she's doing it, and then pretending
+to be grander than other folks.'</p>
+
+<p>Then the postmistress came to the window with the required information.
+When she saw who was there, she said something else also.</p>
+
+<p>'There's a parcel come for Miss Torrance,&mdash;if you happen to be going up
+that way,' the postmistress simpered.</p>
+
+<p>The student became aware for the first time that his friendship with
+Miss Torrance was a matter of public interest. He was not entirely
+displeased. 'I will take the parcel,' he said.</p>
+
+<p>As he went along the sunny road, he felt so light-hearted that, hardly
+thinking what he did, he began throwing up the parcel and catching it
+again in his hands. It was not large; it was very tightly done up in
+thick paper, and had an ironmonger's label<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span> attached; so that, though he
+paid small attention, it did not impress him as a thing that could be
+easily injured. Something, however, did soon make a sharp impression
+upon him; once as he caught the parcel he felt his hand deeply pricked.
+Looking closely, he saw that a pin was working its way through the thick
+paper. After that he walked more soberly, and did not play ball. He
+remembered what he had heard at the post-office. The parcel was
+certainly addressed to Miss Torrance. It was very strange. He remembered
+with displeasure now the assumption of the postmistress that he would be
+glad to carry this parcel.</p>
+
+<p>He delivered the pound of pins at the door without making a call. His
+mind had never come to any decision with regard to his feeling for Miss
+Torrance, and now he was more undecided than ever. He was full of
+curiosity about the pins. He found it hard to believe that they were to
+be used for a base purpose, but suspicion had entered his mind. The
+knowledge that the eyes of the little public were upon him made him
+realise that he could not continue to frequent the house merely to
+satisfy his curiosity.</p>
+
+<p>He was destined to know more.</p>
+
+<p>That night, long after dark, he was called to visit a dying man, and the
+messenger led him somewhat out of the town.</p>
+
+<p>He performed his duty to the dying with wistful<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span> eagerness. The spirit
+passed from earth while he yet knelt beside the bed. When he was
+returning home alone in the darkness, he felt his soul open to the power
+of unseen spirit, and to him the power of the spiritual unseen was the
+power of God.</p>
+
+<p>Walking on the soft, quiet road, he came near the house where he had
+lately loved to visit, and his eye was arrested by seeing a lantern
+twinkling in the paddock where Trilium grazed. He saw the forms of two
+women moving in its little circle of light; they were digging in the
+ground.</p>
+
+<p>He felt that he had a right to make sure of the thing he suspected. The
+women were not far from a fence by which he could pass, and he did pass
+that way, looking and looking till a beam of the lantern fell full on
+the bending faces. When he saw that Miss Torrance was actually there, he
+went on without speaking.</p>
+
+<p>After that two facts became known in the village, each much discussed in
+its own way; yet they were not connected with each other in the common
+mind. One was that the young minister had ceased to call frequently upon
+Miss Torrance; the other, that Trilium, the cow, was giving her
+milk.</p>
+
+<hr />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="IX" id="IX"></a>IX</h2>
+
+<h3>THE GIRL WHO BELIEVED IN THE SAINTS</h3>
+
+<p>Marie Verine was a good girl, but she was not beautiful or clever. She
+lived with her mother in one flat of an ordinary-looking house in a
+small Swiss town. Had they been poorer or richer there might have been
+something picturesque about their way of life, but, as it was, there was
+nothing. Their pleasures were few and simple; yet they were happier than
+most people are&mdash;but this they did not know.</p>
+
+<p>'It is a pity we are not richer and have not more friends,' Madame
+Verine would remark, 'for then we could perhaps get Marie a husband; as
+it is, there is no chance.'</p>
+
+<p>Madame Verine usually made this remark to the Russian lady who lived
+upstairs. The Russian lady had a name that could not be pronounced; she
+spoke many languages, and took an interest in everything. She would
+reply<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span>&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>'No husband! It is small loss. I have seen much of the world.'</p>
+
+<p>Marie had seen little of the world, and she did not believe the Russian
+lady. She never said anything about it, except at her prayers, and then
+she used to ask the saints to pray for her that she might have a
+husband.</p>
+
+<p>Now, in a village about half a day's journey from the town where Marie
+dwelt, there lived a young girl whose name was C&eacute;leste. Her mother had
+named her thus because her eyes were blue as the sky above, and her face
+was round as the round moon, and her hair and eyelashes were like
+sunbeams, or like moonlight when it shines in yellow halo through the
+curly edges of summer clouds. The good people of this village were a
+hard-working, hard-headed set of men and women. While C&eacute;leste's father
+lived they had waxed proud about her beauty, for undoubtedly she was a
+credit to the place; but when her parents died, and left her needy, they
+said she must go to the town and earn her living.</p>
+
+<p>C&eacute;leste laughed in her sleeve when they told her this, because young
+Fernand, the son of the inn-keeper, had been wooing and winning her
+heart, in a quiet way, for many a day; and now she believed in him, and
+felt sure that he would speak his love aloud and take her home to his
+parents. To be sure, it was unknown in that country for a man who had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span>
+money to marry a girl who had none; but Fernand was strong to work and
+to plan; C&eacute;leste knew that he could do what he liked.</p>
+
+<p>It was the time when the April sun smiles upon the meadow grass till it
+is very green and long enough to wave in the wind, and all amongst it
+the blue scilla flowers are like dewdrops reflecting the blue that hangs
+above the gnarled arms of the still leafless walnut trees. The cottage
+where C&eacute;leste lived was out from the village, among the meadows, and to
+the most hidden side of it young Fernand came on the eve of the day on
+which she must leave it for ever. Very far off the snow mountains had
+taken on their second flush of evening red before he came, and C&eacute;leste
+had grown weary waiting.</p>
+
+<p>'Good-bye,' said Fernand. He was always a somewhat stiff and formal
+young man, and to-night he was ill at ease.</p>
+
+<p>'But,' cried C&eacute;leste&mdash;and here she wept&mdash;'you have made me love you. I
+love no one in the world but you.'</p>
+
+<p>'You are foolish,' said he. 'It is, of course, a pity that we must part,
+but it cannot be helped. You have no dowry, not even a small one. It
+would be unthrifty for the son of an innkeeper to marry a girl without a
+sou. My parents would not allow me to act so madly!' and his manner
+added&mdash;'nor would I be so foolish myself.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Next day C&eacute;leste went up to the town, and went into the market-place to
+be hired as a servant.</p>
+
+<p>This was the day of the spring hiring. Many servants were wanting work,
+and they stood in the market-place. All around were the old houses of
+the square; there was the church and the pastor's house, and the house
+and office of the notary, and many other houses standing very close
+together, with high-peaked roofs and gable windows. The sun shone down,
+lighting the roofs, throwing eaves and niches into strong shadow,
+gleaming upon yellow bowls and dishes, upon gay calicoes, upon cheese
+and sausages, on all bright things displayed on the open market-stalls,
+and upon the faces of the maid-servants who stood to be hired. Many
+ladies of the town went about seeking servants: among them was Madame
+Verine, and the Russian lady and Marie were with her. When they came in
+front of C&eacute;leste they all stopped.</p>
+
+<p>'Ah, what eyes!' said the Russian lady&mdash;'what simple, innocent, trustful
+eyes! In these days how rare!'</p>
+
+<p>'She is like a flower,' said Marie.</p>
+
+<p>Now, they quickly found out that C&eacute;leste knew very little about the work
+she would have to do; it was because of this she had not yet found a
+mistress.</p>
+
+<p>'I myself would delight to teach her,' cried the Russian lady.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>'And I,' cried Marie. So Madame Verine took her home.</p>
+
+<p>They taught C&eacute;leste many things. Marie taught her to cook and to sew;
+the Russian lady taught her to write and to cipher, and was surprised at
+the progress she made, especially in writing. C&eacute;leste was the more
+interesting to them because there was just a shade of sadness in her
+eye. One day she told Marie why she was sad; it was the story of
+Fernand, how he had used her ill.</p>
+
+<p>'What a shame!' cried Marie, when the brief facts were repeated.</p>
+
+<p>'It is the way of the country,' said the Russian lady. 'These Swiss
+peasants, who have so fair a reputation for sobriety, are mercenary
+above all: they have no heart.'</p>
+
+<p>C&eacute;leste lived with Madame Verine for one year. At the end of that time
+Madame Verine arose one morning to find the breakfast was not cooked,
+nor the fire lit. In the midst of disorder stood C&eacute;leste, with flushed
+cheeks and startled eyes, and a letter in her hand.</p>
+
+<p>'Ah, madam,' she faltered, 'what a surprise! The letter, it is from
+monsieur the notary, who lives in the market-place, and to me,
+madam&mdash;<i>to me</i>!'</p>
+
+<p>When Madame Verine took the letter she found told therein that an aunt
+of C&eacute;leste, who had lived far off in the Jura, was dead, and had left to
+C&eacute;leste<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span> a little fortune of five thousand francs, which was to be paid
+to her when she was twenty-one, or on her marriage day.</p>
+
+<p>'Ah,' cried C&eacute;leste, weeping, 'can it be true? Can it be true?'</p>
+
+<p>'Of course, since monsieur the notary says so.'</p>
+
+<p>'Ah, madam; let me run and see monsieur the notary. Let me just ask him,
+and hear from his lips that it is true!'</p>
+
+<p>So she ran out into the town, with her apron over her head, and Marie
+made the breakfast.</p>
+
+<p>The Russian lady came down to talk it over. 'The pretty child is
+distraught, and at <i>so small</i> a piece of good fortune!' said she.</p>
+
+<p>But when C&eacute;leste came in she was more composed. 'It is true,' she said,
+with gentle joy, and she stood before them breathless and blushing.</p>
+
+<p>'It will be three years before you are twenty-one,' said Madame Verine;
+'you will remain with me.'</p>
+
+<p>'If you please, madam, no,' said C&eacute;leste, modestly casting down her
+eyes; 'I must go to my native village.'</p>
+
+<p>'How!' they cried. 'To whom will you go?'</p>
+
+<p>C&eacute;leste blushed the more deeply, and twisted her apron. 'I have good
+clothes; I have saved my year's wages. I will put up at the inn. The
+wife of the innkeeper will be a mother to me now I can pay for my
+lodging.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>At which Madame Verine looked at the Russian lady, and that lady looked
+at her, and said behind her hand, 'Such a baby, and so clever! It is the
+mere instinct of wisdom; it cannot be called forethought.'</p>
+
+<p>It is to be observed that, all the world over, however carefully a
+mistress may guard her maid-servant, no great responsibility is felt
+when the engagement is broken. Madame Verine shrugged her shoulders and
+got another servant. C&eacute;leste went down to her village.</p>
+
+<p>After that, when Marie walked in the market-place, she used to like to
+look at the notary's house, and at him, if she could espy him in the
+street. The house was a fine one, and the notary, in spite of iron-grey
+hair and a keen eye, good-looking; but that was not why Marie was
+interested; it was because he and his office seemed connected with the
+romance of life&mdash;with C&eacute;leste's good fortune.</p>
+
+<p>When summer days grew long, Madame Verine, her friend and daughter, took
+a day's holiday, and out of good nature they went to see C&eacute;leste.</p>
+
+<p>'C&eacute;leste lives like a grand lady now,' cried the innkeeper's wife, on
+being questioned. 'She will have me take her coffee to her in bed each
+morning.'</p>
+
+<p>'The wages she has saved will not hold out long,' said the visitors.</p>
+
+<p>'When that is finished she gives us her note of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span> hand for the money she
+will get when she is married. She has shown us the notary's letter. It
+is certainly a tidy sum she will have, and our son has some thoughts of
+marrying.'</p>
+
+<p>They saw C&eacute;leste, who was radiant; they saw young Fernand, who was
+paying his court to her. They returned home satisfied.</p>
+
+<p>It was not long after that when one morning C&eacute;leste came into Madame
+Verine's house; she was weeping on account of the loss of some of her
+money. She had come up to town, she said, to buy her wedding clothes,
+for which the notary had been so good as to advance her a hundred
+francs, but her pocket had been picked in the train. The money was
+gone&mdash;quite gone&mdash;alas!</p>
+
+<p>So tearful was she that they lent her some money&mdash;not much, but a
+little. Then she dried her eyes, and said she would also get some things
+on credit, promising to pay in a month, for it was then she was to be
+married. At the end of the day she came back gaily to show her
+treasures.</p>
+
+<p>'When the rejoicings of your wedding are over,' said Madame Verine, 'and
+your husband brings you to town to claim the money, you may stay here in
+the upper room of this house&mdash;it is an invitation.'</p>
+
+<p>In a month came the wedding pair, joyful and blooming. The Russian lady
+made them a supper.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span> They lodged in an attic room that Madame Verine
+rented. In the morning they went out, dressed in their best, to see the
+notary.</p>
+
+<p>An hour later Madame Verine sat in her little salon. The floor was of
+polished wood; it shone in the morning light; so did all the polished
+curves of the chairs and cabinets. Marie was practising exercises on the
+piano.</p>
+
+<p>They heard a heavy step on the stair. The bridegroom came into the room,
+agitated, unable to ask permission to enter. He strode across the floor
+and sat down weakly before the ladies.</p>
+
+<p>They thought he had been drinking wine, but this was not so, although
+his eye was bloodshot and his voice unsteady.</p>
+
+<p>'Can you believe it!' he cried, 'the notary never wrote letters to her;
+there was no aunt; there is no money!'</p>
+
+<p>'It is incredible,' said Madame Verine, and then there was a pause of
+great astonishment.</p>
+
+<p>'It is impossible!' cried the Russian lady, who had come in.</p>
+
+<p>'It is true,' said the bridegroom hoarsely; and he wept.</p>
+
+<p>And now C&eacute;leste herself came into the house. She came within the room,
+and looked at the ladies, who stood with hands upraised, and at her
+weeping husband. If you have ever enticed a rosy-faced<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span> child to bathe
+in the sea, and seen it stand half breathless, half terrified, yet
+trying hard to be brave, you know just the expression that was on the
+face of the child-like deceiver. With baby-like courage she smiled upon
+them all.</p>
+
+<p>Now the next person who entered the room was the notary himself. He was
+a gentleman of manners; he bowed with great gallantry to the ladies, not
+excepting C&eacute;leste.</p>
+
+<p>'She is a child, and has had no chance to learn the arts of cunning,'
+cried the Russian lady, who had thought that she knew the world.</p>
+
+<p>The notary bowed to her in particular. 'Madam, the true artist is born,
+not made.'</p>
+
+<p>Then he looked at C&eacute;leste again. There were two kinds of admiration in
+his glance&mdash;one for her face, the other for her cleverness. He looked at
+the weeping husband with no admiration at all, but the purpose in his
+mind was steady as his clear grey eye, unmoved by emotion.</p>
+
+<p>'I have taken the trouble to walk so far,' said he, 'to tell this young
+man what, perhaps, I ought to have mentioned when he was at my office.
+Happily, the evil can be remedied. It is the law of our land that if the
+fortune has been misrepresented, a divorce can be obtained.'</p>
+
+<p>C&eacute;leste's courage vanished with her triumph. She covered her face. The
+husband had turned<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span> round; he was looking eagerly at the notary and at
+his cowering bride.</p>
+
+<p>'Ah, Heaven!' cried the two matrons, 'must it be?'</p>
+
+<p>'I have walked so far to advise,' said the notary.</p>
+
+<p>All this time Marie was sitting upon the piano-stool; she had turned it
+half-way round so that she could look at the people. She was not pretty,
+but, as the morning light struck full upon her face, she had the
+comeliness that youth and health always must have; and more than that,
+there was the light of a beautiful soul shining through her eyes, for
+Marie was gentle and submissive, but her mind and spirit were also
+strong; the individual character that had grown in silence now began to
+assert itself with all the beauty of a new thing in the world. Marie had
+never acted for herself before.</p>
+
+<p>She began to speak to the notary simply, eagerly, as one who could no
+longer keep silence.</p>
+
+<p>'It would be wrong to separate them, monsieur.'</p>
+
+<p>Madame Verine chid Marie; the notary, no doubt just because he was a man
+and polite, answered her.</p>
+
+<p>'This brave young fellow does not deserve to be thus fooled. I shall be
+glad to lend him my aid to extricate himself.'</p>
+
+<p>'He does deserve it,' cried Marie. 'Long ago he pretended to have love
+for her, just for the pleasure<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span> of it, when he had not&mdash;that is worse
+than pretending to have money! And in any case, it is a <i>wicked</i> law,
+monsieur, that would grant a divorce when they are married, and&mdash;look
+now&mdash;left to himself he will forgive her, but he is catching at what you
+say. You have come here to tempt him! You dare not go on, monsieur!'</p>
+
+<p>'Dare not, mademoiselle?' said the notary, with a superior air.</p>
+
+<p>'No, monsieur. Think of what the good God and the holy saints would say!
+This poor girl has brought much punishment on herself, but&mdash;ah,
+monsieur, think of the verdict of Heaven!'</p>
+
+<p>'Mademoiselle,' said the notary haughtily, 'I was proposing nothing but
+justice; but it is no affair of mine.' And with that he went out
+brusquely&mdash;very brusquely for a gentleman of such polite manners.</p>
+
+<p>'I am astonished at you, Marie,' said Madame Verine. This was true, but
+it was meant as a reproach.</p>
+
+<p>'She is beside herself with compassion,' said the Russian lady; 'but
+that is just what men of the world despise most.'</p>
+
+<p>Then Marie went to her room weeping, and the two ladies talked to
+C&eacute;leste till her soft face had hard lines about the mouth and her eyes
+were defiant. Young Fernand slipped out and went again to the
+market-place.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>'I come to ask your aid, monsieur the notary.'</p>
+
+<p>'I do not advise you.'</p>
+
+<p>'But, monsieur, to whom else can I apply?'</p>
+
+<p>'I am too busy,' said the notary.</p>
+
+<p>Fernand and C&eacute;leste walked back to their village, hand in hand, both
+downcast, both peevish, but still together.</p>
+
+<p>Now the notary was not what might be called a bad man himself, but he
+believed that the world was very bad. He had seen much to confirm this
+belief, and had not looked in the right place to find any facts that
+would contradict it. This belief had made him hard and sometimes even
+dishonest in his dealings with men; for what is the use of being good in
+a world that can neither comprehend goodness nor admire it? On the
+whole, the notary was much better satisfied with himself than with human
+nature around him, although, if he had only known it, he himself had
+grown to be the reflex&mdash;the image as in a mirror&mdash;of what he thought
+other men were; it is always so. There was just this much truth in him
+at the bottom of his scorn and grumbling&mdash;he flattered himself that if
+he could see undoubted virtue he could admire it; and there was in him
+that possibility of grace.</p>
+
+<p>After he left Madame Verine's door he thought with irritation of the
+girl who had rebuked him. Then he began to remember that she was only a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span>
+woman and very young, and she had appealed to his heart&mdash;ah, yes, he had
+a heart. After all, he was not sure but that her appeal was charming.
+Then he thought of her with admiration. This was not the result of
+Marie's words&mdash;words in themselves are nothing; it is the personality of
+the speaker that makes them live or die, and personality is strongest
+when nourished long in virtue and silence and prayer. When it came to
+pass that the notary actually did the thing Marie told him to do, he
+began to think of her even with tenderness in his heart.</p>
+
+<p>Now a very strange thing happened. In about a week the notary called on
+Madame Verine a second time; he greeted her with all ceremony, and then
+he sat down on a little stiff chair and explained his business in his
+own brief, dry way.</p>
+
+<p>Marie was not there. The little <i>salon</i>, all polished and shining, gave
+faint lights and shadows in answer to every movement of its inmates.
+Madame Verine, in a voluminous silk gown, sat all attention, looking at
+the notary; she thought he was a very fine man, quite a great personage,
+and undoubtedly handsome.</p>
+
+<p>'Madam,' began he, 'I am, as you know, at middle age, yet a bachelor,
+and the reason, to be plain with you, is that I have not believed in
+women. Pardon me, I would not be rude, but I am a business man. I have
+no delusions left, yet it has occurred to me that a young woman who
+would make<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span> the lives of the saints her rule of life&mdash;I do not believe
+in such things myself, but&mdash;in short, madam, I ask for your daughter in
+marriage.'</p>
+
+<p>He said it as if he was doing quite a kind thing, as, indeed, he thought
+he was. Madame Verine thought so too, and with great astonishment, and
+even some apologies, gave away her daughter with grateful smiles.</p>
+
+<p>Marie was married to the notary, and he made her very happy. At first
+she was happy because he had good manners and she had such a loving
+heart that she loved him. After a few years he found out that she was
+too good for him, and then he became a better man.</p>
+
+<hr />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="X" id="X"></a>X</h2>
+
+<h3>THE PAUPERS' GOLDEN DAY</h3>
+
+<p>Betty Lamb was a comely girl; she was big to look at, being tall and
+strong. She was never plump; she was never well clothed, not even in the
+best days of her youth. She had been brought up in the work-house; after
+that she belonged to no one. Her mind was a little astray: she had
+strong, rude, strange ideas of her own; she would not be humble and work
+day in, day out, like other folk, and for that reason she never throve
+in the world. She lived here and there, and did this and that. All the
+town knew her; she was just 'Betty Lamb'; no one expected aught of her.</p>
+
+<p>It was a small town in the west of Scotland. On different sides of it
+long lanes of humble cottages straggled out into the fields; the
+cottages had grey stone walls and red tiled roofs. There were new grey
+churches in the town, and big buildings, and streets of shops. The
+people in those days thought these very fine; they thought less about
+the real glory of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span> the town&mdash;a ruined abbey which stood upon an open
+heath just beyond the houses.</p>
+
+<p>Three walls, two high gothic windows with the slender mullions unbroken,
+a few stately columns broken off at different heights from the ground,
+and one fragment of the high arch of the nave standing up against the
+sky in exquisite outline&mdash;these formed the ruin. It was built of the red
+sandstone that in its age takes upon it a delicate bloom of pink and
+white; it looked like a jewel in the breast of the grey hill country.
+Furze grew within the ruin and for acres on all sides. Sheep and goats
+came nibbling against the old altar steps. A fringe of wallflower and
+grass grew upon the top of the highest arch and down the broken
+fragments of the wall.</p>
+
+<p>All around the stately hills looked down upon the town and the ruin, and
+the sky that bent over was more often than not full of cloud, soft and
+grey.</p>
+
+<p>Betty Lamb was getting on to middle age, about thirty, when she had a
+baby. They had put her again in the poorshouse, but she rose when her
+baby was but a day old and went away from the place.</p>
+
+<p>It was summer time then; the sky relented somewhat; there was sunshine
+between the showers, and sometimes a long fair week of silvery weather,
+when a white haze of lifting moisture rose ever, like incense, from the
+hills, and the light shone white upon the yellow bloom of the furze.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Betty Lamb found the ambry niche in the wall of the ruin at the side of
+the place where the altar had been. She laid her baby there. That was
+his cradle, and by sunlight and moonlight she was heard singing loud
+songs to him. The people were afraid of going too near her at that time.
+'It is dangerous,' said they, 'to touch an animal when she has her young
+with her.'</p>
+
+<p>As years went on Betty Lamb and her little boy spent summer after summer
+upon the moor. The child was not christened, unless, indeed, the dew
+falling from the sacred stones and the pity of God for fatherless
+innocents had christened him. In this world, at least, his name was
+written in no book of life, for he had no name.</p>
+
+<p>He grew to be a little lithe lad. Then it was that in every pickle of
+mischief where a little lad could be this elf-child, with his black eyes
+and curly auburn hair, was to be found. So maddening indeed were his
+naughty tricks that the townspeople spoke not so often of beating him,
+as they would have beaten a human child, but of wringing his neck like a
+young thing that had no right to live. Yet it was more often in word
+than in deed that punishment of any sort was inflicted, for the
+preliminary stage was perforce, 'first catch your boy,' and that was far
+from easy.</p>
+
+<p>Even when the catching was accomplished the beating did not always come.
+One day the minister<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span> of the Kirk looked out upon his glebe. His
+favourite cow, with a bridle in her mouth, was being galloped at
+greatest speed around the field, Betty's lad standing tip-toe upon her
+back. The minister, with the agility which unbounded wrath gave him,
+caught the boy' and swung his cane.</p>
+
+<p>'I am going to thrash you,' said he.</p>
+
+<p>'Ay, ye maun do that.' The small face was drawn to the aspect of a grave
+judge&mdash;'ye maun do that; it's yer juty.'</p>
+
+<p>The minister, who had looked upon his intention rather in the light of
+natural impulse, felt the less inclination for the task. 'Are you not
+afraid of being beaten?' he asked.</p>
+
+<p>'Aweel'&mdash;an air of profound reflection&mdash;'I'm thinking I can even it ony
+day wi' ridin' on a coo's back when she'll rin like yon.'</p>
+
+<p>The sunlight of habitual benevolence began to break through the cloud of
+wrath upon the good minister's face. 'If I let you off, laddie, what
+will you do for me in return?'</p>
+
+<p>An answering gleam of generosity broke upon the sage face of the child.
+'I'll fair teach ye how to dae't ye'sel'.'</p>
+
+<p>The lad grew apace. The neighbours said that he showed 'a caring' for
+his mother, but no one held toward him a helping hand. They were so sure
+that no good could come of him or of her. The mother had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span> taken to
+drink, and one day it was found that the lad was gone. Just as he had
+often slipped from the grasp of one or other of the angry townsmen,
+dodged, darted, and disappeared for the moment, so now it seemed that he
+had slipped from the grasp of the town, run quickly and disappeared. No
+one knew why he had gone, or whither, or to what end.</p>
+
+<p>Betty Lamb remained in the town, a fine figure of a woman, but bowed in
+the shoulders, dirty, and clad in rags. At last, when her strong
+defiance of poverty and need would no longer serve her, she was seen to
+go about from door to door in the early dawn, raking among the ashes for
+such articles as she chose to put in an old sack and carry upon her
+back. The townsfolk honestly thought that all had been done that could
+be done to make a decent woman of her, and now in her old age she must
+needs go down to the gutter.</p>
+
+<p>One day a man came to the town with circus pictures and a bucket of
+paste. He pasted his pictures upon all the blank spaces of walls which
+he could find. Great was the joy of the children who stood and stared,
+their little hearts made glad by novelty and colour. Great was the
+surprise of the older folk, who said, 'It is a new thing in the world
+when so great a show as this comes out of the accustomed track of shows
+to erect its tent in our small town!' Yet so it was; from some whim of
+the manager, or of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span> some one who had the ear of the manager, the thing
+was decreed.</p>
+
+<p>Upon these circus pictures there figured, in a series of many wonderful
+harlequin attitudes, a certain Signor Lambetti. Very foreign was the
+curl of his hair and the waxen ends of his moustache; very magnificent
+was his physique; he wore the finest of silken tights and crimson small
+clothes, and medals were depicted hanging upon his breast.</p>
+
+<p>When at length the circus came for that one night's entertainment and
+the huge tent was set up upon the common not far from the old red ruin,
+all the town flocked to see the brilliant spectacle. The minister was
+there, and what was more, his wife and daughters too; they were far
+grander than he was, and wore silken furbelows and fringed shawls. The
+minister paid for the best seats for them to sit in. All the shopkeepers
+were there; every man, woman and child in all the town who could find as
+much as sixpence to pay for standing room was there. But the strangest
+circumstance was that before the show began a man went out from the
+brightly-lit doorway and called in a loud voice to the beggars and
+little ragged boys and girls who had come to survey the tent on the
+outside, and he brought them all in and gave them a good part of the
+tent to sit in, although they had not sixpence to pay, nor even a penny.</p>
+
+<p>Ah! in those days it was a very grand sight.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span> There were elephants who
+performed tricks, and camels who walked about with men and bundles on
+their backs just as they do in eastern deserts, and there were wonderful
+ladies who dressed and behaved like fairies, and who rode standing
+tip-toe on the backs of horses and jumped through swinging rings. But
+the crowd had not read the circus bills and the newspapers from all the
+neighbouring cities for nothing. They were a canny Scotch crowd; they
+were not to be taken in by mere glitter, no, not the smallest barefoot
+boy nor the most wretched beggar, for they knew very well that the real
+crisis of the evening was to be the appearance of Signor Lambetti, and
+the word 'wonderful' was not to be spoken until his feats began to be
+performed.</p>
+
+<p>At length he came outside the curtain upon which all eyes had long been
+fixed. The curl of his hair and the waxed ends of his moustache proved
+him to be beyond doubt from foreign parts. He was indeed a most grand
+and handsome gentleman. His dress was, if anything, more superb than it
+had been in the pictures; all his well-formed muscles showed through the
+silken gauze that he wore. His velvet trappings were trimmed with gold
+lace and his medals shone like gold.</p>
+
+<p>He walked upon a tight rope away up in the peaked roof of the tent; he
+held a wand in his hand by which to balance himself and in the other
+hand a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span> cup of tea which he drank in the very middle of his walk;
+tossing it off, bowing to the crowd below, and bringing the cup and
+saucer to the other end in safety.</p>
+
+<p>The crowd gave deep sighs, partly of satisfaction for being permitted to
+see so wonderful a sight, partly out of relief for the safety of the
+performer. 'Ay me,' they said to one another, 'did ye ever see the licht
+o' that?' It meant more from them than the loudest clamour of applause,
+yet they applauded also.</p>
+
+<p>Then Signor Lambetti, looking quite as fresh and jaunty as at first,
+ascended a small platform, standing out upon it in the full light of all
+the lamps. He made a little speech to the effect that he was now going
+to perform a feat which was so difficult and dangerous that hitherto he
+had kept it solely for the benefit of crowned heads, before whom on many
+occasions he had had the privilege of appearing. He said, in an airy
+way, that the reason he did the town the honour of beholding this most
+wonderful of all his feats was merely that he had taken a liking to the
+place.</p>
+
+<p>'Ay, but he's grond,' said the little barefoot boys to one another as
+they huddled against the front of the stand allotted to them. 'Ay me,
+but he's grond'; and all the rest of the townsfolk said the same to
+themselves or each other, but they expressed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span> it in all the different
+ways of that dignified caution common to the Scotch.</p>
+
+<p>There was a series of swings, one trapeze fixed higher than another,
+like a line of gigantic steps, to the very pinnacle of the tent. 'The
+Signor' announced that he was going to swing himself up upon these
+hanging bars until he reached the topmost, and from that he would leap
+through the air down, down into the lighted abyss below, and catch a
+rope that was stretched at the foot of the Grand Stand.</p>
+
+<p>Merely to hear him tell what he was going to do made the crowd draw
+breath with thrills of joyful horror.</p>
+
+<p>Up and up he went, swinging himself with lissome grace, raising each
+trapeze with the force of his swing until he could reach the one above
+it.</p>
+
+<p>He looked smaller as he travelled higher in his wonderful flying
+progress. The little boys had not breath left now even to say, 'Ay me,
+but he's grond.' There was silence among all the crowd.</p>
+
+<p>To every one in all that crowd&mdash;to all except one&mdash;the spectacle was
+that of a strange man performing a strange feat; one poor woman present
+saw a different sight, one alone in all that crowd knew that the acrobat
+was not a stranger.</p>
+
+<p>In a corner of the beggars' gallery sat Betty Lamb. Dirty and clothed in
+rags as she was, she held up her head at this hour with the old queenly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span>
+defiance of her youthful days. Her eyes, bleared and sunken, had
+descried her son; her mother's heart, mad though all pronounced her to
+be, had vibrated to the first sound of her son's voice. She knew him as
+certainly as if she had seen him standing before her again, the little
+lad of past years, or the infant cradled in the ambry of the ruined
+chancel.</p>
+
+<p>The monarchs of whom Lambetti had been glibly speaking were not more
+noble in rank or more surrounded with glory in the thought of Betty Lamb
+than was this hero of the circus, and he her son! What constitutes
+glory? Is it not made up of the glare of lamps and the wearing of
+shining clothes, the shout of a thousand voices in applause, the glance
+of a thousand eyes in admiration, and the renown that spreads into the
+newspapers? In the mind of Betty Lamb there was no room for gradations;
+she knew glory, she knew shame; she herself had sunk to shame; but now
+that was past, her son had attained to glory, and her soul went out, as
+it were, from the circumstances of her own degradation and accepted his
+glory as her own.</p>
+
+<p>They said (the townsfolk said) that Betty Lamb had not lacked
+opportunity. Ah well, God knows better than we what to each soul may be
+its opportunity.</p>
+
+<p>Betty Lamb watched her son in his perilous upward flight, and, for the
+first time in her life,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span> prayed that Heaven would forgive her misdeeds.
+By some inborn instinct she assumed that it was this prayer she must
+pray in order to obtain that desire of her eyes, his safety. When he
+reached the highest swing, when he made his leap from that awful height
+and caught the lower rope, there had come a change in Betty Lamb's soul.
+It had seemed hours, nay, years to her, the space of time in which he
+was swinging himself up and leaping down. Perhaps, half-witted as she
+had been, this was in reality her life, not the other that for sixty
+years she had been visibly living. She saw that his eye was fixed upon
+her; she knew that the kisses were thrown to her. She rose and walked
+erect, in her heart a new sense of responsibility and of the value of
+life.</p>
+
+<p>Next day in Betty Lamb's cellar-room a shadow darkened the doorway, and
+her son stood before her. He did not kiss her&mdash;that had not been their
+way, even when he was an infant and she had sung her songs to him in the
+lonely ruin&mdash;but he bowed to her with all the foreign graces that he had
+learned, just as if she were one of the queens before whom he had
+performed. She feasted her eyes upon him.</p>
+
+<p>He looked round upon the cellar. 'You must not live here any longer,'
+said he.</p>
+
+<p>For the first time in her life humility reigned in her heart and she
+resigned her gypsy freedom. 'I'm<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span> thinking,' she replied modestly, 'that
+it's nae fit for the mither of sich as ye are noo.'</p>
+
+<p>With the minister Lambetti left money that would defray the expenses of
+a decent habitation for his mother, and, to the wonder of all, from that
+day forth the mother lived in it decently. She was even charitable with
+her little store; she was even known to raise the fallen.</p>
+
+<p>When she was dead Lambetti was dead too. He had lived his life fast,
+and, if gold be of worth, it seemed as if he had lived it to some
+purpose. Lambetti left money to the town, money for two purposes which
+in due time the long-headed townsmen carried into effect. An asylum was
+built upon the moor; it is called 'Betty Lamb's Home for the Young and
+the Aged.' The old Abbey also was walled in; lawns and flower beds were
+spread about the broken stones, and where the walls might totter they
+were supported. The honour of this change too is ascribed to the famous
+son of Betty Lamb, who had no name but his mother's.</p>
+
+<hr />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="XI" id="XI"></a>XI</h2>
+
+<h3>THE SOUL OF A MAN</h3>
+
+<h3><a name="Chapter_AI" id="Chapter_AI"></a><span class="smcap">Chapter I</span></h3>
+
+<p>A man was standing on one of the highroads in the south of
+Gloucestershire. He was a man of science; his tools and specimens were
+in his hand, and he was leaning against the wayside paling, enjoying a
+well-earned rest. A long flock of birds fluttered over the autumn
+fields; beneath them a slow ploughman trudged with his horses, breaking
+the yellow stubble. The sky hung low, full of sunshine yet full of
+haze&mdash;an atmosphere of blue flame, and the earth was bright with the
+warm autumn colours of woods and hedgerow.</p>
+
+<p>Just as the birds were flying past, a young woman came by upon the road,
+treading with quick powerful step upon the fallen leaves. She was a poor
+woman; her beauty, which would have been almost perfect in a simpler
+gown, was marred by garments cut in cheap conformity to fashionable
+dress. It could not be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span> hidden, however, and her large symmetrical
+figure, swinging as she walked, attracted the attention of the man; as
+he stood there, leaning against the paling, he felt by no means
+disinclined to while away his hour of rest by a few soft words with the
+comely stranger. If he had put his thoughts into words, he would have
+held it as good luck that she had come to amuse his leisure, thinking
+very little about luck as it concerned her. His dog lying at his feet
+stirred to look at the woman, and the man, following the same instinct
+of nature, accosted her.</p>
+
+<p>'Can you tell me, my girl, what time it is?'</p>
+
+<p>She stopped short and looked at him. 'That I can't, sir,' she said in
+clear hearty tones, and turned to continue her walk.</p>
+
+<p>'But tell me what time you think it is, my good girl; I am not good at
+reading the sun.'</p>
+
+<p>She turned again, and looked at him with a longer pause, but, if there
+was suspicion or disapproval in her thoughts, she expressed nothing in
+her face.</p>
+
+<p>'Yer a gent; I'd 'a thought ye'd 'a had a watch.'</p>
+
+<p>'But mine is at the watchmaker's getting mended,' he said with a smile.
+He was neither young nor handsome, but he was clever, and that goes
+further than either in dealing with a woman.</p>
+
+<p>She still stood staring at him in rude independence.</p>
+
+<p>'The shadows is longer 'an they was a while by; mebbe it's three.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>He sighed and shifted his position wearily against the paling, as though
+faint with fatigue.</p>
+
+<p>'You can't tell me of any place near where I can get something to eat? I
+have been working hard since daybreak, and now I am out of my reckoning,
+and tired and hungry.' He glanced down at his tools and earth-stained
+clothes.</p>
+
+<p>He won his wish; the woman, who would not have tarried a moment for
+selfish pleasure, remained out of generous pity.</p>
+
+<p>'I've the piece mother put up, mebbe it's big enou' for we two.'</p>
+
+<p>'But I could not think of taking your luncheon,' he exclaimed, with a
+gallantry that was meant to be impressive, but was quite lost on his
+practical companion. She proceeded to open her parcel and examine the
+contents to see whether or not there was enough for two. He also
+examined it critically with his eyes, in some alarm at her prompt
+response to his appeal, but the thick slices of bread and meat, if not
+dainty, were clean, and of excellent quality.</p>
+
+<p>She took the largest and thickest bit and thrust it into his hand, very
+much as a mother would feed her child with the portion she considered
+its fair share.</p>
+
+<p>''Ere, ye may 'ev that, fur I shan't want it.'</p>
+
+<p>'You are very kind,' he said, with a touch of sarcasm too fine for her.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>It appeared that, having taken out the food, she thought well to make
+her own meal, for she went a few steps farther on, and, sitting down on
+the grass with her back to the paling, began to eat. A large tuft of
+weeds grew midway between him and her. Truly we can foresee consequences
+but a very little way in our dealings with a fellow-creature, and this
+man, as he stood munching his bread, uncertain how to proceed in winning
+favour from the bold beauty, was hardly pleased with the result of his
+encounter. His dog went and laid its head upon her knee, and she fed it
+with crumbs; its master, after watching them a minute, stepped out on
+the road with the intention of sitting down between them and the weeds.
+As he did so he caught sight, as he thought, of a man seated in the very
+place he intended to occupy. So strong was the impression that he
+started and stared; but again, as before, there was no one to be seen.
+The sunshine was bright upon all things; the palings were so far apart
+that he could see everything in the fields behind; there was no one far
+or near but the ploughman at half a field's distance, and they two, and
+the dog.</p>
+
+<p>The woman turned coolly round and looked through the paling, as if she
+supposed he had seen something behind her. 'Was't a ha&euml;r?' she asked,
+eyeing him with interest; 'ye ain't feared o' the like o' that?'</p>
+
+<p>'No, it was not a hare; I did not see a hare.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>'What was't ye seed then?' she asked, looking at him with bold
+determination.</p>
+
+<p>'What did I see?' he repeated vaguely, 'I saw nothing.'</p>
+
+<p>'Thought ye looked as if ye'd seed something',' she remarked
+incredulously, and then went on eating and feeding the dog, as
+indifferent to his presence as she was to the presence of the weeds.</p>
+
+<p>'Are you going far to-night?' he asked at length, thinking he would make
+more progress toward friendship before he sat down.</p>
+
+<p>'To th' town.'</p>
+
+<p>'Indeed, as far as that! Which town, may I ask?' he said, with
+mechanical politeness, for his mind was running on what he had seen.</p>
+
+<p>'Yer a fool and no&auml; mistake,' she replied with emphasis. 'There's but
+one town wi'in a walk.'</p>
+
+<p>'On the contrary, I am considered a man of great learning,' he replied,
+with more eager self-assertion than he could hitherto have believed
+possible under the circumstances.</p>
+
+<p>'Is't larning ye've got?' she asked, with much greater interest than she
+had before evinced.</p>
+
+<p>'Yes; I am a man who spends his life seeking for knowledge.'</p>
+
+<p>'Are ye wiser ner parson?'</p>
+
+<p>'Very much wiser,' replied the man of science, with honest conviction.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>She looked much more impressed than he had hoped; and thinking that he
+had made himself sufficiently interesting, he began to speak about her
+own affairs, supposing they would please her better.</p>
+
+<p>'You are not a married woman?' he said, looking at her ringless hand.</p>
+
+<p>'Married or no,' she replied, 'it's nowt to you.'</p>
+
+<p>'I beg your pardon; everything which concerns such a beautiful woman
+must be of interest to me.'</p>
+
+<p>At that she laughed outright in hard derision, and went on eating her
+bread and meat.</p>
+
+<p>'But won't you tell me if you are married or not?' he pleaded, pursuing
+a subject which he thought must interest her. He was surprised to see
+the sudden expression of womanly sorrow that came over her face, giving
+her eyes new depth and light. She answered him sadly, looking past him
+into the sunny distance&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>'No, nor like to be.'</p>
+
+<p>'I must disagree with you there. If you are not married yet, I am sure
+you will be very soon. I never saw a more likely lassie than yourself.'</p>
+
+<p>Manlike, he was quite unconscious of the consummate impertinence of the
+form this compliment had taken; but afterwards he realised it when his
+idle words recurred to his mind.</p>
+
+<p>She turned her eyes full upon him, and said with energy: 'Ye know nowt
+at all about it;' and then added more meditatively, 'neither do
+parson.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>She had been so absorbed in her thoughts for a few minutes that she had
+ceased to stroke the dog, and, resenting this, it raised its silky head
+from her lap and laid it upon her breast. Thus reminded, she smiled down
+into the eyes of the dog and caressed it, pressing its head closer
+against her bosom. The man stood a few paces away, watching these two
+beautiful creatures as they sat in the hazy autumn sunlight, with their
+background of weeds and moss-grown paling. He felt baffled and
+perplexed, for he knew that he stood apart, excluded from their
+companionship by something he could not define. So intolerable did this
+feeling become that he resolved to break through it, and made a hasty
+movement to sit down beside them; but, as he stepped forward, he was
+suddenly aware that there was another man in the place he would have
+taken, embracing and protecting the girl. He swore a loud oath, and
+flung himself backwards to stand by the hedge on the opposite side of
+the road, that he might the better review the situation. It was all as
+it had been before&mdash;that quiet autumn landscape&mdash;only the woman appeared
+much interested in his sudden movements.</p>
+
+<p>'What was't ye seed; was't a sna&iuml;ke?' she inquired loudly, at the same
+time moving her skirts to look for that dangerous reptile.</p>
+
+<p>'No,' he shouted, putting his whole energy into the word.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>'What was't ye seed, cutting them capers as if ye was shot, an' saying
+o' words neyther fit fur heaven above nor earth beneath?'</p>
+
+<p>So loudly did she ask, and so resolutely did she wait for an answer,
+that he was forced into speech. 'I don't know,' he said, with another
+oath, milder than the first.</p>
+
+<p>'Well, sure enow,' she said, still speaking loudly, ''ere's somethin'
+awful queer, ye says yer a man that's got larning more ner parson, an'
+ye sees somethin', an' can't tell what ye's seed. That's twice this
+short while; are ye often took bad the like o' that?'</p>
+
+<p>The bold derision of this speech fell without effect upon its object,
+because he perceived a gleam of mischievous intelligence in her eyes
+which she had intended to conceal, but she was no adept in the art of
+concealment. The conviction that the woman knew perfectly what he had
+seen and did not in reality despise him for his conduct, took the sting
+from her jeers but did not make his position pleasanter. The repeated
+shock to his nerves had produced a chilly feeling of depression and
+almost fear, which he could not immediately shake off, and he stood back
+against the opposite hedge, with his half-eaten bread in his hand,
+conscious that he looked and felt more like a whipped schoolboy than, as
+he had fondly imagined when he first stopped the woman, the hero of a
+rural love scene. That was nothing; he was, as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span> he had described
+himself, a man who devoted his life to the search for knowledge, and
+personal consciousness was almost lost in the intense curiosity which
+the circumstances had aroused in him. With the trained mind of one
+accustomed to investigation, he instantly perceived that his only clue
+to the explanation of the phenomenon lay in the personality of the
+woman. His one eager desire was to probe her thought through and
+through, but how was he to approach the interior portals of a mind
+guarded by a will as free and strong as his own? He would fain have
+bound down her will with strong cords and analysed the secrets of her
+mind with ruthless vivisection. But how? His tact, trained by all the
+subtleties of a life cast in cultured social relations, was unequal to
+the occasion, and, fearing to lose ground by a false step, he remained
+silent.</p>
+
+<p>The woman finished eating and shook herself free of the crumbs. He
+supposed, almost with a sense of desperation, that she was about to
+leave him before he could begin his inquiry, but instead of moving she
+motioned him to come near, and he went, and stood on the road in front
+of her.</p>
+
+<p>'Ye says yer a man o' larning, an' I b'lieves ye, she began.</p>
+
+<p>He was about to reply that he was only a seeker after truth, but he was
+checked by the knowledge that she would accept no answer she could not
+under<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span>stand. He fell back on the truth as it was to her, and said
+simply, 'Yes.'</p>
+
+<p>'I wants to ask ye two questions; will ye answer like an honest man?'</p>
+
+<p>She had laid aside all her loud rudeness, and was speaking with intense
+earnestness&mdash;an earnestness that won his entire respect.</p>
+
+<p>'I will indeed answer you honestly, if I can answer.'</p>
+
+<p>'Then tell me this&mdash;What's the so&auml;l o' a man?'</p>
+
+<p>He stood with lips sealed, partly by surprise at the question, and
+partly by self-acknowledged ignorance of the answer.</p>
+
+<p>'The so&auml;l o' a man,' she repeated more distinctly, 'ye knows what I mean
+surely?'</p>
+
+<p>Yes, he knew what she meant, but he knew also that his own most honest
+convictions hovered between a materialist philosophy and faith in the
+spiritual unseen. If at that moment he could have decided between the
+two he would gladly have done so, for the sake of the eager woman
+sitting at his feet, but he knew that he did not know which was the
+truth.</p>
+
+<p>She, still labouring under the impression that she had not made her
+meaning plain, endeavoured to explain. 'Ye knows when a man dies,
+there's two parts to him; one they buries, and one goes&mdash;' she pointed
+upward with her thumb, not irreverently, but<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span> as merely wishing to
+indicate a fact without the expense of words.</p>
+
+<p>'Yes, I understand what you mean,' he said slowly, 'and under that
+theory, the soul&mdash;&mdash;'</p>
+
+<p>'Under what?' she said sharply.</p>
+
+<p>'I mean that if you say the soul is divided from the body at death&mdash;&mdash;'</p>
+
+<p>'But it is&mdash;ain't it?' she interrupted.</p>
+
+<p>'Yes, it is,' he said, feeling that it was better to perjure himself
+than to shake her faith.</p>
+
+<p>'Go on,' she said, 'for parson says the so&auml;l is the thing inside that
+thinks; but when a man's luny, ye knows&mdash;off his head like&mdash;has he no
+so&auml;l then? I've looked i' the Catechis', an' i' Bible, an' i'
+Prayer-book, an' fur the life o' me, I do&auml;n't know.'</p>
+
+<p>'I don't wonder at that,' he said, with mechanical compassion, casting
+about in his mind for some possible motive for her extraordinary
+vehemence.</p>
+
+<p>He felt as certain, standing there, that this was a true woman, true to
+all the highest attributes of her nature, as if he had been able to
+weigh all the acts of her life and find none of them wanting. In the
+midst of his perplexity he found time to ask himself whence he had this
+knowledge. Did he read it in the lines of her face, or was it some
+unseen influence of her mind upon his own? He had only time to question,
+not to answer, for she looked up in his face with the trust and
+expectation of a child, awaiting his words.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>He spoke. 'You say when a man dies he is divided into two parts&mdash;the
+body that rots and the part "that lives elsewhere."' He was speaking
+very slowly and distinctly. 'If that part of a man which lives goes to
+Heaven, where everything is quite different from this, he could have no
+use for most of his thoughts&mdash;what we call opinions, for they are formed
+on what he sees, and hears, and feels here. Look here!'&mdash;he held out his
+arm and moved it up and down from the elbow&mdash;'there are nerves and
+muscles; behind them is something we call life&mdash;we don't know what it
+is. And behind your thoughts and feeling there is the same life&mdash;we
+don't know what it is. The part of you that you say goes to Heaven must
+be that life. If you ask me what I think, I think the greater part of
+what you call mind is part of your body. If your body can live a spirit
+life, so can it; but it would need as much changing first.'</p>
+
+<p>It was most extraordinary to him to see the avidity with which she drank
+in his words, and also the intelligence with which she seemed to master
+them, for she cried&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>'What's i' the so&auml;l then? When ye <i>will</i> to do a thing agen all costs,
+is that i' the so&auml;l?'</p>
+
+<p>'Certainly the spirit must be the self, and the will, as far as we know,
+is that self&mdash;more that self than anything else is.' He spoke in the
+pleased<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span> tone of a schoolmaster who finds that the mind beneath his
+touch is being moulded into the right shape; and besides he supposed he
+could question her next.</p>
+
+<p>'I <i>knowed</i> that,' she said, with an intensity of conviction that
+confounded her listener, 'I <i>knowed</i> the so&auml;l was will.'</p>
+
+<p>'It must be intelligence, and will, and probably memory,' he said,
+beguiled into the idea that she was interested in the nicety of his
+theory, 'but not in any sense that activity of mind which shows itself
+in the opinions most men conceive so important.'</p>
+
+<p>But of this she took no heed. 'When a man's off his head or par'lysed,
+wi' no more life in him than babe unborn&mdash;yet when he's living and not
+dead&mdash;where's his so&auml;l then? Parson he says the so&auml;l's sleeping inside
+him afore going to glory, like a grub afore it turns into a fly; but I
+asked him how he knowed, and he just said he knowed, an' I mun b'lieve,
+and that's no way to answer an honest woman.'</p>
+
+<p>'He did not really know.'</p>
+
+<p>'Well, tell what you knows,' she said.</p>
+
+<p>'Indeed, I do not know anything about it.'</p>
+
+<p>'Ye do&auml;n't know!'</p>
+
+<p>'I do not know.'</p>
+
+<p>The animation of hope slowly faded from her face, giving place to a look
+of bitter disappointment.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span> It was as if a little child, suddenly denied
+some darling wish, should have strength to restrain its tears and mutely
+acquiesce in the inevitable.</p>
+
+<p>'Then there's nowt to say,' she said, rising, sullen in the first moment
+of pain.</p>
+
+<p>'But you'll tell me why you have asked?' he begged; 'I am very sorry
+indeed that I cannot answer.'</p>
+
+<p>'No&auml;, I'll not tell ye, fur it's no concern o' yours; but thank ye
+kindly, sir, all the same. Yer an honest man. Good-day.'</p>
+
+<p>With that she walked resolutely away, nor would she accept his offer of
+payment for the food she had given. He stood and watched her, feeling
+checkmated, until he saw her exchange greetings with the ploughman, who
+reached the end of his furrow as she passed the side of the field.
+Seeing this, he took up his specimens and walked slowly in the same
+direction, waiting for the ploughman's next return. As he stood at the
+hedge he noticed that the labourer, who appeared to be a middle-aged man
+of average intelligence, surveyed him with more than ordinary interest.</p>
+
+<p>'Good-day,' he said.</p>
+
+<p>'Good-day, sir.' There was a clank of the chains, a shout and groan to
+the horses, and they stopped beside the hedge.</p>
+
+<p>'Can you tell me the name of the young woman who passed down the road
+just now?'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>'Jen Wilkes, sir; "Jen o' the glen" they calls 'er, for she lives in the
+holler down there, a bit by on the town road, out of West Chilton.'</p>
+
+<p>'She has not lived here long, surely; she seems a north country woman by
+her speech.'</p>
+
+<p>'Very like, sir; it's a while by sin' she came with 'er mother to live
+i' Chilton.'</p>
+
+<p>It was evident that the ploughman had much more to say, and that he
+wished to say it, but his words did not come easily.</p>
+
+<p>'Can you tell me anything more about her?' The man rubbed his coarse
+beard down upon his collar, and clanked his chains, and made guttural
+sounds to his horses, which possibly explained to them the meaning he
+did not verbally express. Then he looked up and made a facial
+contortion, which clearly meant that there was more to be said
+concerning Jen if any one could be found brave enough to say it.</p>
+
+<p>'I feel assured she is everything that is good and respectable.'</p>
+
+<p>At this the ploughman could contain himself no longer, but heaving up
+one shoulder and looking round to see that there was no one to hear, he
+blurted out&mdash;''Ave you seen 'er shadder, sir?'</p>
+
+<p>'Her what?'</p>
+
+<p>''Er shadder. I seen you so long with 'er on the road I thought maybe
+you'd tried to 'ave a kiss.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span> Gentlemen mostly thinks a sight of Jen's
+looks; an' it ain't no harm as I knows on to kiss a tidy girl, if
+y'ain't married, or th' missus don't object.'</p>
+
+<p>'And if I did, what has that to do with it? What do you mean by her
+shadow?'</p>
+
+<p>'Oh, I dunno; I h'ain't seen nothing myself; but they says, whenever any
+has tried to be friendly with 'er, they's seed something not just o' the
+right sort. They calls it 'er shadder&mdash;but I dunno, I h'ain't seen
+nothing myself.'</p>
+
+<p>When we are suddenly annoyed, by whatever cause, we are apt to vent our
+annoyance upon the person nearest to us; and at this unlooked-for
+corroboration of his unpleasant vision, the gentleman said rudely,
+'You're not such a fool as to believe such confounded trash as that, are
+you?'</p>
+
+<p>'No sir, I'm no fool,' said the ploughman sulkily, starting his horses
+to go up the furrow. In vain the other called out an attempted apology,
+and tried to delay him; the accustomed shout and clank of the chains was
+all he got in answer. The birds that had settled upon the field rose
+again at the return of the horses, and curveted in a long fluttering
+line above their heads. The man on the road turned reluctantly away,
+and, too perplexed almost for thought, walked off to catch his
+home-bound train.</p>
+
+<hr class='smler' />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span></p>
+<h3><a name="Chapter_AII" id="Chapter_AII"></a><span class="smcap">Chapter II</span></h3>
+
+<p>The man of science, Skelton by name, passed some seven days in business
+and pleasure at home among men of his own class, and then, impelled by
+an intolerable curiosity, he went to seek the home of the woman with
+whom he had so strange a meeting. Concerning the mad delusion from which
+he had suffered in her presence, his mind would give him no rest. Some
+further effort he must make to understand the cause of an experience
+which he could not reason from his memory. The effort might be futile;
+he could form no plan of action; yet he found himself again upon the
+highroad which led from the nearest station to the village of West
+Chilton.</p>
+
+<p>The autumn leaf that had bedecked the trees was lying upon the ground,
+its brightness soiled and tarnished. The cloud rack hung above, a vault
+of gloom in which the upper winds coursed sadly.</p>
+
+<p>'This is the field,' said Skelton within himself. 'The ploughman has
+finished his work, but the crows are still flapping about it. I wonder
+if they are the same crows! That is the clump of weeds by which she sat;
+it was as red as flame then, but now it is colourless as the cinders of
+a fire that is gone out.'</p>
+
+<p>His words were like straws, showing the current of his thoughts.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Just then in the west the cloud masses in the horizon, being moved by
+the winds, rent asunder, exposing the land to the yellow blaze of the
+setting sun. The distant hills stood out against the glow in richer
+blue, and far and near the fields took brighter hues&mdash;warm brown of
+earth ready to yield the next harvest, yellow of stubble lands at rest,
+bright green of slopes that fed the moving cows. There were luminous
+shadows, too, that gathered instantly in the copses, as if they were the
+forms of dryads who could sport unseen in the murk daylight, but must
+fly under each shrub for refuge in the sudden sunshine. Close at his
+feet lay the patch of cabbages&mdash;purple cabbages they were, throwing back
+from each glossy leaf and stalk infinite gradations of crimson light.
+Parts of the leaves were not glossy but were covered with opaque bloom
+of tender blue, and here and there a leaf had been broken, disclosing
+scarlet veins. They were very beautiful&mdash;Skelton stood looking down into
+their depth of colour.</p>
+
+<p>It had been difficult for him to conjecture a possible cause for the
+phantom he had thought he saw a week before, but one theory which had
+floated in his mind had been that from these cabbages, which had lain a
+trifle too long in sun and moisture; gases might have arisen which had
+disturbed his senses. It was true that his theory did not account for
+other instances of the same optical delusion to which the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span> talk of the
+ploughman had seemed to point, but Skelton could not bring himself to
+attach much importance to his words. He meditated on them now as he
+stood.</p>
+
+<p>'I dare not go to the young woman and ask her to show me her "shadder."
+If she knew I was here she would only try to defeat my purpose. I <i>can</i>
+only interview her neighbours; and this first rustic whom I questioned
+shut himself up like an oyster; if all the rest act in this way, what
+can I do? And if I can hear all the vulgar superstition there is to be
+heard, will there be in the whole of it the indication of a single
+fact?'</p>
+
+<p>So he mused by the road-side while the sun hung in the dream temple of
+fire made by the chasm of cloud. Then the earth moved onward into the
+night, and he walked on upon his curious errand.</p>
+
+<p>The darkness of evening had already fallen, and he was still about a
+mile from the village when he discerned a woman coming towards him on
+the road. It was the very woman about whom his mind was occupied. There
+was a house at one side; the gate leading to it was close to him, and,
+not wishing to be recognised at the moment, he turned in through it to
+wait in the darkness of some garden shrubs till she had passed.</p>
+
+<p>But she did not pass. She came up, walking more and more slowly, till
+she stood on the road outside<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span> the gate. She looked up and down the road
+with a hesitating air, and then, clasping her hands behind her, leaned
+back against a heavy gate-post and composed herself to wait. There was
+light enough to see her, for there was a moon behind the clouds, and
+also what was left of the daylight in the west was glimmering full upon
+her. The house was close to the road&mdash;apparently an old
+farmstead&mdash;turning blank dark walls and roofs to them, so that it was
+evidently uninhabited or else inhabited only at the other side. The
+young woman looked up at it, apparently not without distrust, but even
+to her keen scrutiny there was no sign of life. For the rest, the road
+lay through a glen, the village was out of sight, and the hills around
+them were like the hills in Hades&mdash;silent, shadowy and cold.</p>
+
+<p>It seemed an unearthly thing that she should have come there to stand
+and lean against the gate, as if to shut him into his self-sought trap;
+and there was no impatience about this woman&mdash;she stood quite still in
+that dark, desolate place, as though she was perfectly contented to wait
+and wait&mdash;for what? how long?&mdash;these were the questions he asked
+himself. Was this dark house the abode of evil spirits with which she
+was in league? and if so, what result would accrue to him? There are
+circumstances which suggest fantastic speculations to the most learned
+man.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>At length he heard a footfall. He could not tell where at first, but, as
+it approached, he saw a countryman in a carter's blouse coming across
+the opposite field. He got through the hedge and came toward the gate.
+Then the girl spoke in her strong voice and north-country accent, but
+Skelton would hardly have known the voice again, it was so soft and sad.</p>
+
+<p>'I've been waiting on ye, Johnnie; some women thinks shame to be first
+at the trysting, but that's not me when I loves ye true.'</p>
+
+<p>At this Skelton by an impulse of honour thought to pass out of ear-shot,
+and then another motive held him listening. He thought of the ghostly
+thing he had seen by this girl, of the wild tale the ploughman had told.
+The passion of investigation, which had grown lusty by long exercise,
+rose within him triumphing over his personal inclinations. Too much was
+at stake to miss a chance like this. Honour in this situation seemed
+like a flimsy sentiment. He waited for the answer of the girl's lover
+with breathless interest.</p>
+
+<p>The man was evidently a fine young fellow, tall and strong, and when he
+spoke it was not without a touch of manly indignation in his tone.</p>
+
+<p>'If you love me true, Jen, I can't think what the meaning of your doings
+is. It's two years since you came to live in the glen, and you can't say
+as you've<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span> not understood my meaning plain since the first I saw you;
+it's to take you to church and take care of you as a woman ought to be
+took care of by a man. And you know I could do it, Jen, for my wages is
+good; but you've shied an' shied whenever you've seen me, and baulked
+an' baulked when you couldn't shy, so as no skittish mare is half so
+bad.'</p>
+
+<p>'Because, Johnnie, I wouldn't ha' yer heart broke the way mine is. I
+loved ye too true for that.'</p>
+
+<p>'But what's to hinder that we may be like other folks is? There's
+troubles comes to all, but we can bear them like the rest. What's to
+hinder? I thought there was some one else, an' that you didn't like. God
+knows, Jen, if that 'ad been the way, I'd never 'ev troubled you again;
+but last night when we heard your mother was took bad, an' mother an' me
+stepped round to see what we could do, an' you let on as you did 'ave a
+caring for me, I says,&mdash;"Let's be cried in the church," so as your
+mother could die happy, if die she must. But when you says, "no," and as
+you'd meet me here an' tell me why, I was content to wait an' come here;
+an' now what I want to know is&mdash;why? what's to hinder, Jen?'</p>
+
+<p>'Ye knows as well as me the tales about me, Johnnie.'</p>
+
+<p>'Tales!' said the young man passionately; 'what tales? All along I've
+knocked down any man as 'ud say a word against you.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>'Ay, but the women, Johnnie; ye couldn't knock them down; that's why a
+woman's tale's allus the worst.'</p>
+
+<p>'An' what can they say? the worst is that if any man comes nigh you for
+a kiss or the like o' that&mdash;and no offence, Jen, but you're an uncommon
+tidy girl to kiss&mdash;he sees another man betwixt himself an' you. Fools
+they be to believe such trash! If you'd give me the leave&mdash;which I'm not
+the fellow to take without you say the word&mdash;I'd soon show as no shadder
+'ud come betwixt.'</p>
+
+<p>He came a step nearer, reproachful in his frank respect, as if he would
+claim the liberty he asked; but she drew back, holding up her hand to
+ward him off.</p>
+
+<p>'I believe you half believe the nonsense yourself, Jen.'</p>
+
+<p>'Heaven knows, Johnnie, I've reason to b'lieve it weel, none knows
+better ner me. It's that I've comed to tell ye to-night; an' there's
+nowt fur it but we mun part. An' if I trouble yer peace staying here i'
+the glen, I'll go away out o' yer sight. It wasn't a wish o' mine to
+bring ye trouble. None knows better ner me how hard trouble's to bear.'</p>
+
+<p>Her voice trembled as if with some physical pain; he only answered by a
+sound of incredulous surprise.</p>
+
+<p>'I'll tell ye the whole on't, Johnnie. Ye sees,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span> we lived i'
+Yarm&mdash;mother and me. Mother, she sewed books fur a book-binding man; an'
+we'd a little coming in as father'd saved. Well, mother, she was feared
+lest I'd fall into rough ways like, an' she kep' me in a good bit, an'
+there was a man as helped i' the book-binding&mdash;&mdash;' she stopped, and then
+said half under her breath&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>'His name was Dan'el, Dan'el McGair, it was.'</p>
+
+<p>'Go on, Jen.'</p>
+
+<p>'He was a le&auml;n man and white to look at. He was very pious, and knowed
+lots o' things. Least, I don't know if he was pious, fur he didn't go to
+church, but he'd his own thoughts o' things, an' he was steady, an' kep'
+himself to himself. He niver telled me his thoughts o' things&mdash;he said
+it 'ud unsettle me like&mdash;but he taught me reading; an' mother, she liked
+his coming constant to see us. As fur as I knows, he was a good man; but
+I tell ye, Johnnie, that man had a will&mdash;whatsoever thing Dan'el McGair
+wanted, that thing he mun have, if he died i' the getting. He was about
+forty, an' I was nigh on twenty; it was after he'd taught me reading,
+an' whenever I'd go out here or there, or do this or that he didn't
+like, he'd turn as white as snow, an' tremble like a tree-stem i' the
+wind, an' dare me to do anything as he didn't like. Ye sees he allus had
+that power over mother to make her think like him, but I wouldn't give
+in to him. If I'd<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span> gived in&mdash;well, I do&auml;nt know what 'ud 'a comed. God
+knows what did come were bad enow.' She stopped speaking and toed the
+damp ground&mdash;crushing her boot into the frosty mud and drawing it
+backwards and forwards as she stood against the gate.</p>
+
+<p>'Go on, Jen.'</p>
+
+<p>'Ye sees, what he willed to get, that he mun have, an' at the end he
+willed to have me&mdash;mind, body, an' so&auml;l. He'd 'a had me, only I made a
+stand fur my life. Mother, she was all on his side, only she didn't want
+fur me to do what I wouldn't; but she cried like, an' talked o' his
+goodness&mdash;an' Dan'el, he wouldn't ask out an' out, or I could 'a told
+him my mind an' 'a done wi' it; but he went on giving us, an' paying
+things, an' mother she took it all, till I was fairly mad wi' the shame
+an' anger on't. I do&auml;nt say as I acted as I ought; I knowed I'd a power
+over him to drive him wild like wi' a smile or a soft word, an' power's
+awful dangerous fur a young thing&mdash;it's like as if God gave the wind a
+will o' its own, an' didn't howd it in His own hand. Then I was feared
+o' Dan'el's power over mother, an' give in times when I ought to 'a held
+my own. An' I liked to have him fur a sarvint to me, an' I led him on
+like. So it went on&mdash;he niver doubted I'd marry wi' him, an' I held out
+fur my life. Then at th' end, some words we had made things worse. 'Twas
+i' spring&mdash;i' March I think&mdash;he walked out miles<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span> an' miles on the bad
+roads to bring me the first flowers. I was book-binding then, out late
+at night, an' I comed home to find he'd left them fur me&mdash;snowdrops they
+was, an' moss wi' a glint o' green light on't, like sun shining through
+th' trees; an' there was a grey pigeon's feather he'd picked up
+somewheres, all clean and unroughed, like a bit o' the sky at th' dawn;
+an' there was a twig wi' a wee pink to&auml;dstood on't, all pink an' red.
+The sight o' them fairly made me mad. 'Twas bad enow to buy me wi' munny
+an' the things munny can buy, but it seemed he'd take the very thoughts
+o' God A'mighty and use them to get his will. I were mad; but if he'd
+comed to our house I couldn't 'a spoke fur mother's being there; so I
+just took them bits o' Spring i' my hand, an' went out i' the dark to
+his house, an' went into his room, an' threw 'em on the floor, an'
+stamped 'em wi' my foot, an' I told him how he'd sneaked round to bind
+me to him, an' as how I'd die first. I was mad, an' talked till I
+couldn't speak fur my voice give out, an' that wasn't soon. He just sat
+still hearing me, but he was white, an' shook like a man wi' the palsy.
+They said he'd had fits once an' that made him nervous, but I didn't
+think o' him like that. He was strong, fur he could make most all men do
+as he wanted. He was spoiling my life wi' his strength, an' I didn't
+think o' him as weakly. When I'd raged at him an'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span> couldn't say more, I
+went out an' was going home i' the dark, howding by the wall, as weak as
+a baby; an' just afore I got home, I seed him stand just in front' o'
+me. I thought he'd runned after me&mdash;mebbe he did&mdash;but I've thought
+since, mebbe not, that his body mayn't 'a been there at all; but anyway
+I seed him stand just afore me, wi' his eyes large and like fire, an'
+him all white and trembling. He said, "I tell ye, Jen, I will have ye
+mine, an' as long as I live no other man shall," an' wi' that I went
+past him into the house.'</p>
+
+<p>'Go on, Jen,' said the carter.</p>
+
+<p>'All I knows is that the word he spoke was a true word. Next day they
+comed and telled us he was found all par'lysed in his chair, an' he
+couldn't move nor speak. From that time the doctors 'ud sometimes come
+from a long way off; they said as there was somethin' strange about his
+sickness. I do&auml;nt know what they said, I niver seed him again. There's
+part o' him lies i' the bed, an' the parish feeds him, an' the doctors
+they talk about him. I niver seed him again sin' that night, but I knows
+what he said was true, an' there's many a man as 'as seed him anear me
+sin' that day. I tell ye, Johnnie, there's trouble to face i' this world
+worse ner death,&mdash;not worse ner our own death, fur that's most times a
+good thing, but worse ner the death o' them we love most true&mdash;an' worse
+ner parting i' this world,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span> Johnnie, an' worse <i>a'most</i> than sin itself;
+but, thank God, not <i>quite</i> worse ner sin. But I never knowed, lad, how
+bad my own trouble was&mdash;though it's a'most drove me hard at times, not
+recking much what I said or did&mdash;I niver knowed, my lad, how bad it was
+till I knowed it was yer trouble too.'</p>
+
+<p>The young carter stood quite silent. His blue blouse glimmered white in
+the darkness and flapped a little in the wind, but he stood still as a
+rock, with his strong arms crossed upon his breast, and the silence
+seemed filled with the expression of thoughts for which words would have
+been useless. It was evident that her strong emotion had brought to his
+mind a conviction of the truth of her words which could not have been
+conveyed by the words alone. So they stood there, he and she, in all the
+rugged power of physical strength, confronted with their life's problem.
+At last, after they had been silent a long time, and it seemed that he
+had said many things, and that she had answered him, he appeared
+suddenly to sum up his thoughts to their conclusion, and stretched out
+both his strong arms to take her and all her griefs into his heart. It
+seemed in the darkness as though he did clasp her and did not, for she
+gave a low terrible cry and fled from him&mdash;a cry such as a spirit might
+give who, having ascended to Heaven's gate with toil and prayer, falls
+backward into Hell; and she ran from him&mdash;it seemed that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span> with only her
+human strength she could not have fled so fast. He followed her, dashing
+with all his strength into the darkness. They went towards the village,
+and in the mud their footfalls were almost silent.</p>
+
+<p>The listener came out of his hiding and went back on the road by which
+he had come.</p>
+
+<hr class='smler' />
+<h3><a name="Chapter_AIII" id="Chapter_AIII"></a><span class="smcap">Chapter III</span></h3>
+
+<p>Next morning Skelton travelled northward to Yarm. After some difficulty
+he succeeded in discovering the paralytic whom he sought. The medical
+interest which had at first been aroused by the case appeared to have
+died away; and it was only after some time spent in interviewing
+officials that he at last found the man, Daniel McGair. A parish
+apothecary had him in charge. The apothecary was a coarse good-natured
+fellow, one of that class of ignorant men upon whose brains the dregs of
+a refined agnosticism have settled down in the form of arrogant
+assumption. He had enough knowledge of the external matters of science
+to know, upon receiving Skelton's card, that he was receiving a visitor
+of distinction. 'Yes, sir,' he said, leading the way out of the
+dispensary, 'I'll exhibit the case. I don't know that there's much
+that's remarkable<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span> about it. Of course, to us who take an interest in
+science, all these things are interesting in their way.'</p>
+
+<p>It was quite clear he did not know in what way the most special interest
+accrued to this case.</p>
+
+<p>'No sir, he ain't in the Union; he saved, and bought his cottage before
+his stroke, so that's where he is. He ain't got no kith or kin, as far
+as we know.'</p>
+
+<p>It was bright noonday when they walked through the narrow streets of
+mean houses, passing among the numerous children which swarm in such
+localities. The sun was shining, the children were shouting, the women
+were gossiping at their doors, when the apothecary stopped at a low
+one-roomed cottage, the home of Daniel McGair. He opened the door with a
+key and went in, as though the house were empty.</p>
+
+<p>It was a plain bare room; there was no curtain on the window and the sun
+shone in. There was a smouldering fire in the grate, a bookshelf on one
+side, still holding its dusty and unused volumes; there was an
+arm-chair&mdash;was that the chair in which he had sat to see his love-gifts
+trampled down, in which he had received that mysterious stroke from the
+unseen enemy? There was also a table in the room, and a chest, and, in
+the corner, a pallet-bed, upon which lay the withered body of a man.
+That was all, except some prints that hung upon the wall, dusty and
+lifeless-looking. Such changes do years<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span> of disuse make in dwellings
+which, when inhabited, have been replete with human interest. Even yet
+there was abundant indication that the room had once been the abode of
+one who put much of his own personality into his surroundings. The chair
+and the chest were carved with a rude device&mdash;the Devil grappling with
+the Son of God. The prints were crude allegorical representations of
+Life and Death. The books were full of the violent polemic of the
+Reformation. A flowerpot stood on the window-sill; perhaps ten years ago
+it had had a flower in it, but now it held the apothecary's empty
+phials. Everything proclaimed the room tenantless.</p>
+
+<p>Skelton walked to the bed and looked down upon it with profound
+curiosity. Only the head lay above the coverlet; withered and shrunken
+it was, yet the brow was high, and it was plain that the features had
+been fine and strong, betokening the once keen and sensitive
+nerve&mdash;there was nothing sensitive now; all thought and feeling had for
+ever fled. The half-shut lids disclosed the vacant eyes; the hair lay
+clammy and matted on the wrinkled brow; there was nothing of life left
+but the breath.</p>
+
+<p>'It's my opinion, sir, that he'll live out his natural time. It's a
+theory of mine that we are all born with a certain length of life in us,
+and, barring accident, that time we'll live. Well, of course this man
+had the accident of his stroke, which by rights<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span> ought to have done for
+him, but by some fluke he weathered it, and now he'll live out his time.
+If one could find out his ancestors and see how long they each lived,
+with a little calculation I could tell you how long he'd lie there.'
+With that the apothecary poked his patient in the cheek, and jerked him
+by the arm, to show Skelton how completely consciousness was gone. He
+would have treated a corpse with more respect: the lowest of us has some
+reverence for death.</p>
+
+<p>Just then the door, which had been left ajar, was pushed open, and a
+slight, sweet-faced woman came in from the street. She was evidently a
+district Bible-reader, but, although perceiving that she had entered a
+house where she was not needed, she advanced as far as the bed and
+looked down upon it with a passion of tenderness and pity depicted on
+her face.</p>
+
+<p>'Bless you, mum, he ain't suff'ring,' said the apothecary.</p>
+
+<p>'I was thinking of his soul, not of his body,' she said. 'I was
+wondering if he had been prepared to meet his Creator.'</p>
+
+<p>'Where do you suppose his soul is?' asked Skelton curiously. He asked
+the question in all reverence; she was not a lady apparently, only a
+working woman, but there was about her the strong majesty of a noble
+life.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>'He is not dead yet,' she replied with evident astonishment.</p>
+
+<p>'Lor, mum,' said the apothecary, 'his brain ain't in working order just
+at present, and as for his spirit apart from his body, that's an unknown
+quantity we scientific men don't deal in.'</p>
+
+<p>She looked at them both with a look of indescribable compassion, and
+went away. Skelton would fain have followed the woman out into the sunny
+street, but he remained to pay that courtesy which was due to the
+brusque good nature of his companion.</p>
+
+<p>After examining the room and finding nothing more of interest, he went
+and talked over the physical circumstances of the case with the parish
+doctor. He did not gain much information about the patient's diseased
+body, and naturally none whatever concerning the whereabouts of his
+soul. The peculiar interest of the case he did not mention to any one.
+Afterwards he went back to the neighbourhood by himself, and
+endeavoured, as quietly as possible, to find out what traces the man's
+past life had left upon the minds of his neighbours. Ten years bring
+more change to any community than we are apt to suppose; and among the
+poor, where rude necessity rules rather than choice, there is more
+change than among the rich. There were a few who had seen McGair moving
+up and down the streets, and knew him to have been a book-binder by
+trade.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span> One or two remembered the widow Wilkes and her daughter, and
+could affirm that they had been friends of McGair and had moved away
+after his illness. Whither they had gone no one knew.</p>
+
+<p>When there was nothing more to be seen or heard at Yarm, Skelton went
+home. Again he threw himself into all the daily interests of his life in
+order that he might think the more dispassionately of the circumstances
+of this strange case. In truth it was not now entirely out of curiosity
+that he was tempted to think of it; his sympathy had been stirred by the
+courage and sorrow of the woman whom he had so idly accosted on that
+bright autumn day only a few weeks before. She had appealed to him
+because he had knowledge. Was all his knowledge, then, powerless to help
+her? He believed that the shadowy appearance which dogged her footsteps
+could only be some projection of mind, whether or not its cause was the
+strong will of the paralytic transcending the ordinary limits of time
+and space, he could not tell. Certainly no discussion as to its nature
+and origin could in any way aid its victim, and he could only fall back
+upon the comfort material kindness and sympathy could give. At last he
+went down once more to West Chilton, this time for the express purpose
+of seeing Jen.</p>
+
+<p>He found the cottage in the glen road near the village, and his knock
+was answered by Jen herself.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span> She recognised him instantly, but was too
+pre-occupied to take much interest in the fact of his coming. He learned
+that her mother had just died, and that the neighbours were in the
+house, keeping vigil during the few sad days preceding the burial. It
+was evident that there was little real sympathy between them and the
+bereaved daughter, so he easily persuaded her to come out and walk a bit
+up the road with him. She did so, evidently supposing that he had some
+business with her, but too deeply buried in her sorrow to inquire what
+it was.</p>
+
+<p>They came to the house by the roadside where he had last seen her and
+she had been unconscious of his presence. The place seemed to rouse her
+from the dulness of grief, and she suddenly raised her head, like a
+beautiful animal scenting some cause of excitement, and stood still,
+looking round with brightened eyes, taking long deep breaths in the pure
+frosty air. No doubt she had passed the same road many times since the
+tryst, but the mind which has lately stood face to face with death
+perceives more clearly the true relations of all things to itself; and,
+in this spot, among all life's shiftings of the things that seem and are
+not, she had stood and wrestled with the reality of her ghostly bondage.</p>
+
+<p>All about them the hills were covered with the year's first snow. How
+bright the light was upon their heights! how soft the shadows that
+gathered in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span> their slopes! The fields were white also, and the
+hedgerows. Above them the sky was veiled with snow clouds, soft and
+grey, except that at the verge of east and west there were faint
+metallic lines, such as one sees upon clouds across snowfields, like the
+pale reflections of a distant fire. Jen had come to a full stop now. She
+raised her hands to her face and sobbed out like a little child.</p>
+
+<p>Skelton stood by her, feeling his own feebleness. 'I know you are in
+great trouble,' he said.</p>
+
+<p>Her sobs did not last long; she soon mastered them, not by any art of
+concealment but by rude force. Then standing shame-faced, with
+half-averted head, she wiped her eyes with her apron.</p>
+
+<p>'Yes, sir, I'm in great trouble, greater ner ye can know, fur death's
+neither here nor there&mdash;it's living that's hard. Parson, he speaks out
+about preparing to die, but to my mind it takes a sight more preparing
+to know how to go on living.'</p>
+
+<p>'I know that you have greater trouble than your mother's death. I know
+that you love a young man who loves you, and also what it is that you
+think keeps you apart from him.'</p>
+
+<p>'And how do you know that, sir?' she asked, still with averted face.</p>
+
+<p>Then he confessed, humbly enough, just how he did know it, and all that
+he knew, and told her about his visit to Yarm. When he spoke of Yarm
+and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span> his visit to Daniel McGair she turned and looked full at him,
+drinking in every word with hungry curiosity.</p>
+
+<p>'Yes, sir, we left the place, an' I haven't heard o' him this nine year,
+but I knowed he wasn't dead.'</p>
+
+<p>'How did you know that, Jen?'</p>
+
+<p>'Because, sir, when God A'mighty sees fit that he should die, I'll be
+free o' him, that's all.'</p>
+
+<p>'And aren't you going to marry?'</p>
+
+<p>'No&auml;, sir. Johnnie an' me has talked it over, an' he says as how he'll
+wait till such time as I'm free. An' I didn't say "no" to him, fur when
+one knows what it is to love true, sir, one knows well it's no&auml; use to
+say as this thing's best or t'other, but just it's like being taken up
+like a leaf by the wind an' moved whether one will or no. There's just
+this diff'rence betwixt true love an' the common kind&mdash;the common kind
+o' love moves ye i' the wrong way, an' true love i' the right; fur it's
+a true word the blessed St. John said when he said that love is God.'</p>
+
+<p>'Did St. John say that?' said Skelton.</p>
+
+<p>'Yes, sir, I read it to mother just afore she died. An' Johnnie's gone
+across the sea, sir, wi' his mother; he got a right good chance to
+better hisself, an' I made him go. His ship sailed the day after
+Christmas; an' I said, "Johnnie, I'll bide here, an' God 'ull take care
+o' me as well as ye could yerself;" an' I said, "Johnnie, I'll pray
+every day, night an' morning,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span> that if ye can forget me, ye will; for if
+ye can forget, then yer love's not o' the right sort, as I could take,
+or God 'ud want ye to give; and if ye can't forget, then there's nowt to
+say but as I'll bide here." An' I said, sir, as he munna think as loving
+him made me sad, fur I was a big sight happier to love him, if he
+forgets or if he comes again.'</p>
+
+<p>'Will you live here; Jen, where the neighbours distrust you?'</p>
+
+<p>'It 'ud just be the same any other place, sir, an' here I can work i'
+the fields, spring and harvest, an' earn my own bread. I know the
+fields, sir, an' the hills&mdash;they's like friends to me now, an' I knows
+the dumb things about, an' they all knows me. It's a sight o' help one
+can get, sir, when one's down wi' the sorrow o' all the world lying on
+the heart, to have a kind look an' a word wi' the dogs an' cows when
+they comes down the hills fur the milking. An' the children they mostly
+lets come to me now, though they kep 'em from me at first.</p>
+
+<p>Then he told her that he had come a long way on purpose to see if he
+could help her; that he felt ashamed of having listened to her story,
+and that it would give him happiness in some way or other to make her
+life more easy. He explained that he had a great deal of money and many
+friends, and could easily give her anything that these could procure. In
+saying this he did not disguise from himself for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span> a moment that his
+motive was mixed, and that he desired to gain some hold over her, such
+as benevolence could give, that he might further examine the problem of
+her extraordinary misfortune. Even as he spoke he marvelled at the
+strength of his respect for her, which could so outweigh his own
+interest as to make it impossible that he should interfere in her
+affairs otherwise than with all deference, as if she were a lady.</p>
+
+<p>When he had made it quite clear to her that he was able and willing to
+give her anything she should ask, she thought of his words a while, and
+then answered&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>'I thank ye, sir, but there's nowt ye can do o' that sort, fur if there
+was I'd take it from Johnnie an' none other. But there's one thing I'll
+ask, sir, an' wi' all yer kind offers ye can't but agree to it, fur it's
+not much. Ye've found out this tale o' my life; there's none else as
+knows it, save mother lying dead, an' Johnnie I telled fur love's sake,
+an' him as lies palsied i' Yarm&mdash;God A'mighty only knows, sir, what
+Dan'el McGair could tell on't&mdash;but this I ask, sir,&mdash;that ye'll keep all
+ye knows an' say nowt. I did Dan'el a great wrong, for I smiled on him
+whiles for the sake o' power; not but what he did me a worse wrong, so
+far worse that whiles I think no woman has so sore a life as me; but I
+did do him wrong, sir, and fur that reason I'll not ha' his name<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span> blazed
+abroad, hanging on to a tale as 'ud buzz i' the ears o' all. To tell it
+'ud not make <i>my</i> life worse but better, fur now them as sees this thing
+says dark things, an' speaks o' the devil an' worse. The times ha' been
+when I cursed God an' prayed to die, but, thank Heaven, when I learned
+what love was, I learned as God A'mighty can love us in spite o' our
+wrong-doing, an' the pain it brings. Th' use o' such sore pain as mine,
+sir, isna fur us to say, or to think great things to bear it patient;
+but the use o' life, sir, to my thinking, is to keep all His creatures
+from pain if we can, an' to take God's love like the sunshine, an' be
+thankful. So I'll ask ye to keep what ye knows o' this tale an' not
+speak on't, an' go no more to Yarm; an' if ye'll give me yer hand on
+that, sir, I'll thank ye kindly.'</p>
+
+<p>So he gave her his hand on it, and went away.</p>
+
+<hr />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="XII" id="XII"></a>XII</h2>
+
+<h3>A FREAK OF CUPID</h3>
+
+<h3><a name="Chapter_BI" id="Chapter_BI"></a><span class="smcap">Chapter I</span></h3>
+
+<p>The earth was white, the firmament was white, the plumage of the wind
+was white. The wind flew between curling drift and falling cloud,
+brushing all comers with its feathers of light dry snow. At the sides of
+the road the posts and bars of log-fences stood above the drifts; on the
+side of the hill the naked maple trees formed a soft brush of grey; just
+in sight, and no more, the white tin roof and grey walls of a huge
+church and a small village were visible; all else was unbroken snow. The
+surface of an ice-covered lake, the sloping fields, the long straight
+road between the fences, were as pure, in their far-reaching whiteness,
+as the upper levels of some cloud in shadeless air.</p>
+
+<p>A young Englishman was travelling alone through this region. He had set
+out from the village and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span> was about to cross the lake. A shaggy pony, a
+small sleigh, a couple of buffalo-robes and a portmanteau formed his
+whole equipment. The snow was light and dry; the pony trotted, although
+the road was soft; the young man, wrapped in his fur-lined coat, had
+little to do in driving.</p>
+
+<p>In England no one would set out in such a storm; but this traveller had
+learned that in Canada the snowy vast is regarded as a plaything, or a
+good medium of transit, or at the worst, an encumbrance to be plodded
+through as one plods through storms of rain. He had found that he was
+not expected to remain at an inn merely because it snowed, and, being a
+man of spirit, he had on this day, as on others, done what was expected
+of him.</p>
+
+<p>To-day, in the snow and wind, there was a slight difference from the
+storms of other days. The innkeeper, who had given him his horse an hour
+before by the walls of the great tin-roofed church, had looked at the
+sky and the snow, and asked if he knew the road well; but this had been
+accepted as an ignorant distrust of the foreign gentleman. Having
+learned his lesson, that through falling snow he must travel, into the
+heart of this greater snowstorm he travelled, valiant, if somewhat
+doubtful.</p>
+
+<p>When he descended upon the ice of the lake he was no longer accompanied
+by the grey length of the log-fences. This road across the lake had been
+well<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span> tracked after former snowfalls, and so the untrodden snow rose
+high on either side; branches of fir and cedar, stuck at short intervals
+in these snow walls, marked out the way. The pony ceased to trot. The
+driver was only astonished that this cessation of speed had not come
+sooner.</p>
+
+<p>Standing up in his sleigh and looking round he could see two or three
+other sleighs travelling across nearer the village. The village he could
+no longer see, scarcely even the hill, nor was there any communication
+over the deep untrodden snow between his road and that other on which
+there were travellers.</p>
+
+<p>Another hour passed, and now, as he went on slowly up the length of the
+lake, all sound and sight of other sleighs were lost. The cloud was not
+dark; the snow fell in such small flakes that it did not seem that even
+an infinite number of them could bury the world; the wind drifting them
+together, though strong, was not boisterous; the March evening did not
+soon darken: and yet there was something in the determined action of
+cloud and wind and snow, making the certainty that night would come with
+no abatement, which caused even the inexperienced Englishman to perceive
+that he was passing into the midst of a heavy storm.</p>
+
+<p>As is frequently the case with travellers, he had certain directions
+concerning the road which appeared<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span> to be adequate until he was actually
+confronted with that small portion of the earth's surface to which it
+was necessary to apply them. He was to take the first road which crossed
+his, running from side to side of the lake; but the first cross track
+appeared to him so narrow and so deeply drifted that he did not believe
+it to be the public road he sought. 'Some farm, hidden in the level
+maple bush just seen through the falling snow, sends an occasional cart
+to the village by this by-path,' so he reassured himself; and the pony,
+who had spied the track first and paused to have time to consider it, at
+the word of command obediently plodded its continuous route. A quarter
+of a mile farther on the traveller saw something on the road in front;
+as the sound of his pony's jangling bells approached, a horse lifted its
+head and shook its own bells. The horse, the sleigh which it ought to
+have been drawing, were standing still, full in the centre of the road.
+The first thought, that it was cheering to come upon the trace of
+another wayfarer, was checked by the gloomy idea that some impassable
+drift must bar the way.</p>
+
+<p>The other sleigh was a rough wooden platform on runners. Upon it a man,
+wrapped in a ragged buffalo-skin, lay prostrate. The Englishman jumped
+to the ground and waded till he could lay his hand upon the recumbent
+figure.</p>
+
+<p>At the touch the man jumped fiercely, and shook<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</a></span> himself from sleep.
+Warm, luxurious sleep, only that, seemed to have enthralled him. His
+cheeks were red, his aquiline nose, red also, suggested some amount of
+strong drink; but his black eyes were bright, showing that the senses
+were wholly alive. He looked defiant, inquiring. He was a
+French-Canadian, apparently a <i>habitant</i>, but he understood the English
+questions addressed to him. The curious thing was that he seemed to have
+no reason for stopping. When he had with difficulty made way for the
+gentleman to pass him on the road, he followed slowly, as it seemed
+reluctantly. A mile farther on the Englishman, now far in front,
+suspected that the other had again stopped, and wondered much. The man's
+face had impressed him; the high cheek bones, the aquiline nose, the
+clearness of the eye and complexion&mdash;these had not expressed dull folly.</p>
+
+<p>Now the Englishman came to another cross road, wider but more deeply
+drifted than the track he was on. He turned into it and ploughed the
+drifts. When he reached the shore, where the land undulated, the drifts
+were still deeper. There were no trees here; he could see no house;
+there was hardly any evidence, except the evergreen branches stuck in
+the sides, that the road had ever been trodden. The March dusk had now
+fallen, yet not darkly. The full moon was beyond the clouds, and
+whatever<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</a></span> wave of light came from declining day or rising night was held
+in by, and reflected softly from, the storm of pearl. After some debate
+he turned back to the lake and his former road. It must lead somewhere;
+he pressed steadily on toward the western end of the lake.</p>
+
+<p>The western shore was level; he hardly knew when he was upon the land.
+The glimmering night blinded the traveller; no ray of candle light was
+in sight. He began to think that he was destined to see his horse slowly
+buried, and himself to fight, as long as might be, a losing battle with
+the fiends of the air.</p>
+
+<p>At last the plodding pony stopped again resolutely. Long lines of
+Lombardy poplars here met the road. They were but as the ghosts of
+trees; their stately shape, their regular succession, inspired him with
+some sentiment of romance which he did not stay to define. He dimly
+discerned shrubs as if planted in a pleasure-ground. Wading and fumbling
+he found a paling and a gate. The pony turned off the high road with
+renewed courage in its motion; the Englishman, letting loose the rein,
+found himself drawn slowly up a long avenue of the ghostly poplar trees.
+The road was straight, the land was flat, the poplars were upright. The
+simplicity affected him with the notion that he was coming to an
+enchanted palace. The pony approached the door of a large house, dim<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</a></span> to
+the sight; its huge pointed tin roof, its stone sides, mantled as they
+were with snowflakes and fringed with icicles at eaves and lintels,
+hardly gave a dark outline in the glimmering storm. The rays of light
+which twinkled through chinks of shutters might be analogous to the
+stars produced by a stunned brain; it seemed to the Englishman that if
+he went up and tried to knock on the door the ghostly house, the ghostly
+poplar avenue, would vanish. The thought was born of the long monotony
+of a danger which had called for no activity of brain or muscle on his
+part. The pony knew better; it stopped before the door.</p>
+
+<p>The traveller stood in a small porch raised a step or two from the
+ground. The door was opened by a middle-aged Frenchwoman clad in a
+peasant's gown of bluish-grey. Behind her, holding a lamp a little above
+her head, stood a young girl, large, womanly in form, with dimpled
+softness of face, and dressed in a rich but quaint garment of amber
+colour. With raised and statuesque wrist she held the lamp aloft to keep
+the light from dazzling her eyes. She was looking through the doorway
+with the quiet interest of responsibility, nothing of which was
+expressed in the servant's furrowed countenance.</p>
+
+<p>'Is the master of the house at home?'</p>
+
+<p>'There is no master.'</p>
+
+<p>The girl spoke with a mellow voice and with a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</a></span> manner of soft dignity;
+yet, having regarded the stranger, there leaped into her face, as it
+seemed to him, behind the outward calm of the dark eyes and dimpling
+curves, a certain excited interest and delight. The current of thought
+thus revealed contrasted with the calm which she instinctively turned to
+him, as the words which an actor speaks aside contrast with those which
+are not soliloquy.</p>
+
+<p>With more hesitation, more obvious modesty, he said&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>'May I speak to the mistress of the house?'</p>
+
+<p>'I am the mistress.'</p>
+
+<p>He could but look upon her more intently. She could not have been more
+than eighteen years of age. Her hair had the soft and loose manner of
+lying upon her head that is often seen in hair which has, till lately,
+been allowed to hang loose to the winds. Her dress, folded over the full
+bosom and sweeping to the ground in ample curves, was, little as he
+could have described a modern fashion, even to his eyes evidently
+fantastic&mdash;such as a child might don at play. Above all, as evidence of
+her youth, there was that inward quiver of delight at his appearance and
+presence, veiled perfectly, but seen behind the veil, as one may detect
+glee rising in the heart of a child even though it be upon its formal
+behaviour.</p>
+
+<p>'Can you tell me if there is any house within<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</a></span> reach where I can stop
+for the night?' He gave a succinct account of his journey, the lost
+road, the increasing storm. 'My horse is dead tired, but it might go a
+mile or so farther.'</p>
+
+<p>The serving-woman, evincing some little curiosity, received from the
+girl an interpretation in low and rapid French. The woman expressed by
+her gestures some pity for man and beast. The girl replied with gentle
+brevity&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>'We know that the roads are snowed up. The next house is three miles
+farther on.'</p>
+
+<p>He hesitated, but his necessity was obvious.</p>
+
+<p>'I am afraid I must beg for a night's shelter.'</p>
+
+<p>He had been wondering a good deal what she would say, how she would
+accede, and then he perceived that her dignity knew no circumlocution.
+'I will send the man for your horse.' She said it with hardly a moment's
+pause.</p>
+
+<p>The woman gave him a small broom, an implement to the use of which he
+had grown accustomed, and disappeared upon the errand. The girl stood
+still in her statuesque pose of light-bearer. The young man busied
+himself in brushing the snow from cap and coat and boots. As he brushed
+himself he felt elation in the knowledge, not ordinarily uppermost, that
+he was a good-looking fellow and a gentleman.</p>
+
+<hr class='smler' />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</a></span></p>
+<h3><a name="Chapter_BII" id="Chapter_BII"></a><span class="smcap">Chapter II</span></h3>
+
+<p>'My name is Courthope.' The visitor, denuded of coat and cap, presented
+his card, upon which was written, 'Mr. George Courthope.'</p>
+
+<p>He began telling his hostess whence he came and what was his business. A
+quarry which a dead relative had bequeathed to him had had sufficient
+attraction to bring him across the sea and across this railless region.
+His few words of self-introduction were mingled with and followed by
+regrets for his intrusion, expressions of excessive gratitude. All the
+time his mind was questioning amazedly.</p>
+
+<p>By the time the speeches which he deemed necessary were finished, he had
+followed the girl into a spacious room, furnished in the large gay style
+of the fifties, brilliantly lit, as if for a festival, and warmed by a
+log fire of generous dimensions. Having led him in, listening silently
+the while, and put her additional lamp upon the table, she now spoke,
+with no <i>empressement</i>, almost with a manner of <i>insouciance</i>.</p>
+
+<p>'You are perfectly welcome; my father would never have wished his house
+to be inhospitable.'</p>
+
+<p>With her words his own apologies seemed to lose their significance; he
+felt a little foolish, and she,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</a></span> with some slight evidence of childish
+awkwardness, seemed to seek a pretext for short escape.</p>
+
+<p>'I will tell my sister.' These words came with more abruptness, as if
+the interior excitement was working itself to the surface.</p>
+
+<p>The room was a long one. She went out by a door at the farther end, and,
+as with intense curiosity he watched her quickly receding form, he
+noticed that when she thought herself out of his sight she entered the
+other room with a skip. At that same end of the room hung a full-length
+portrait of a gentleman. It was natural that Courthope should walk
+towards it, trying to become acquainted with some link in the train of
+circumstances which had raised this enchanted palace in the wilderness;
+he had not followed to hear, but he overheard.</p>
+
+<p>'Eliz, it's a <i>real</i> young man!'</p>
+
+<p>'No! you are only making up, and' (here a touch of querulousness) 'I've
+often told you that I don't like make-ups that one wants too much to be
+true. I'll only have the Austens and Sir Charles and Evelina and&mdash;&mdash;'</p>
+
+<p>'Eliz! He's <i>not</i> a make-up; the fairies have sent him to our party.
+Isn't it just fairilly entrancing? He has a curly moustache and a nice
+nose. He's English, like father. He says "cawn't," and "shawn't," and
+"heah," and "theyah,"&mdash;genuine, no affectation. Oh' (here came a little
+gurgle of joy), 'and to-night,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</a></span> too! It's the first <i>perfectly</i> joyful
+thing that has <i>ever</i> come to us.'</p>
+
+<p>Courthope moved quietly back and stood before the blazing logs, looking
+down into them with a smile of pure pleasure upon his lips.</p>
+
+<p>It was not long before the door, which she had left ajar, was re-opened,
+and a light-wheeled chair was pushed into the room. It contained a
+slight, elfin-like girl, white-faced, flaxen-haired, sharp-featured, and
+arrayed in gorgeous crimson. The elder sister pushed from behind. The
+little procession wore an air of triumphant satisfaction, still tempered
+by the proprieties.</p>
+
+<p>'This is my sister,' said the mistress of the house.</p>
+
+<p>'I am very glad to see you, Mr. Courthope.' The tones of Eliz were sharp
+and thin. She was evidently acting a part, as with the air of a very
+grand lady she held out her hand.</p>
+
+<p>He was somewhat dazzled. He felt it not inappropriate to ask if he had
+entered fairyland. Eliz would have answered him with fantastic
+affirmative, but the elder sister, like a sensible child who knew better
+how to arrange the game, interposed.</p>
+
+<p>'I'll explain it to you. Eliz and I are giving a party to-night. There
+hasn't been any company in the house since father died four years ago,
+and we know he wouldn't like us to be dull, so when our stepmother went
+out, and sent word that she couldn't<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</a></span> come back to-night, we decided to
+have a grand party. There are only to be play-people, you know; all the
+people in Miss Austen's books are coming, and the nice ones out of <i>Sir
+Charles Grandison</i>.'</p>
+
+<p>She paused to see if he understood.</p>
+
+<p>'Are the <i>Mysteries of Udolpho</i> invited?' he asked.</p>
+
+<p>'No, the others we just chose here and there, because we liked
+them&mdash;Evelina, although she was rather silly and we told her that we
+couldn't have Lord Ormond, and Miss Matty and Brother Peter out of
+<i>Cranford</i>, and Moses Wakefield, because we liked him best of the
+family, and the Portuguese nun who wrote the letters. We thought we
+would have liked to invite the young man in <i>Maud</i> to meet her, but we
+decided we should have to draw the line somewhere and leave out the
+poetry-people.'</p>
+
+<p>The girl, leaning her forearms slightly on the back of her sister's
+chair, gave the explanation in soft, business-like tones, and there was
+only the faintest lurking of a smile about the corners of her lips to
+indicate that she kept in view both reality and fantasy.</p>
+
+<p>'I think that I shall have to ask for an introduction to the Portuguese
+nun,' said Courthope; 'the others, I am happy to say, I have met
+before.'</p>
+
+<p>A smile of approval leapt straight out of her dark eyes into his, as if
+she would have said: 'Good boy! you have read quite the right sort of
+books!'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Eliz was not endowed with the same well-balanced sense of proportion;
+for the time the imaginary was the real.</p>
+
+<p>'The only question that remains to be decided,' she cried, 'is what
+<i>you</i> would prefer to be. We will let you choose&mdash;Bingley, or Darcy,
+or&mdash;&mdash;'</p>
+
+<p>'It would be fair to tell him,' said the other, her smile broadening
+now, 'that it's only the elderly people and notables who have been
+invited to dinner, the young folks are coming in after; so if you are
+hungry&mdash;&mdash;' Her soft voice paused, as if suspended in mid-air, allowing
+him to draw the inference.</p>
+
+<p>'It depends entirely on who you are, who I would like to be.' He did not
+realise that there was undue gallantry in his speech; he felt exactly
+like another child playing, loyally determined to be her mate, whatever
+the character that might entail. 'I will even be the idiotic Edward if
+you are Eleanor Dashwood.'</p>
+
+<p>Her chin was raised just half-an-inch higher; the smile that had been
+peeping from eyes and dimples seemed to retire for the moment.</p>
+
+<p>'Oh, we,' she said, 'are the hostesses. My sister is Eliz King and I am
+Madge King, and I think you had better be a real person too; just a Mr.
+Courthope, come in by accident.'</p>
+
+<p>'Well, then, he can help us in the receiving and chatting to them.' Eliz
+was quite reconciled.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>He felt glad to realise that his mistake had been merely playful. 'In
+that case, may I have dinner without growing grey?' He asked it of
+Madge, and her smile came back, so readily did she forget what she had
+hardly consciously perceived.</p>
+
+<p>When the sharp-voiced little Eliz had been wheeled into the dining-room
+to superintend some preparations there before the meal was ready,
+Courthope could again break through the spell that the imaginary
+reception imposed. He came from his dressing-room to find Madge at the
+housewifely act of replenishing the fire. Filled with curiosity,
+unwilling to ask questions, he remarked that he feared she must often
+feel lonely, that he supposed Mrs. King did not often make visits
+unaccompanied by her daughters.</p>
+
+<p>'She does not, worse luck!' Madge on her knees replied with childish
+audacity.</p>
+
+<p>'I hope when she returns she may not be offended by my intrusion.'</p>
+
+<p>'Don't hope it,'&mdash;she smiled&mdash;'such hope would be vain.'</p>
+
+<p>He could not help laughing.</p>
+
+<p>'Is it dutiful then of you'&mdash;he paused&mdash;'or of me?'</p>
+
+<p>'Which do you prefer&mdash;to sleep in the barn, or that I should be
+undutiful and disobey my stepmother?'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>In a minute she gave her chin that lift in the air that he had seen
+before.</p>
+
+<p>'You need not feel uncomfortable about Mrs. King; the house is really
+mine, not hers, and father always had his house full of company. I am
+doing my duty to him in taking you in, and in making a feast to please
+Eliz when the stepmother happens to be away and I can do it peaceably.
+And when she happens to be here I do my duty to him by keeping the peace
+with her.'</p>
+
+<p>'Is she unkind to you?' he asked, with the ready, overflowing pity that
+young men are apt to give to pretty women who complain.</p>
+
+<p>But she would have him know that she had not complained.</p>
+
+<p>There was no bitterness in her tone&mdash;her philosophy of life was all
+sweetness. 'No! Bless her! God made her, I suppose, just as He made us;
+so, according to the way she is made, she packs away all the linen and
+silver, she keeps this room shut up for fear it will get worn out, and
+we never see any visitors. But to-day she went away to St. Philippe to
+see a dying man&mdash;I think she was going to convert him or something; but
+he took a long time to die; and now we may be snowed up for days, and we
+are going to have a perfectly glorious time.' She added hospitably, 'You
+need not feel under the slightest obligation, for it gives us pleasure
+to have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</a></span> you, and I know that father would have taken you in.'</p>
+
+<p>Courthope rose up and followed her glance, almost an adoring glance, to
+the portrait he had before observed. He went and stood again face to
+face with it.</p>
+
+<p>A goodly man was painted there, dressed in a judge's robe. Courthope
+read the lineaments by the help of the living interpretation of the
+daughter's likeness. Benevolence in the mouth, a love of good cheer and
+good friends in the rounded cheeks, a lurking sense of the poetry of
+life in the quiet eyes, and in the brow reason and a keen sense of right
+proportion dominant. He would have given something to have exchanged a
+quiet word with the man in the portrait, whose hospitality, living after
+him, he was now receiving.</p>
+
+<p>Madge had been arranging the logs to her satisfaction, she would not
+accept Courthope's aid, and now she told him who were going to dine with
+them. She had great zest for the play.</p>
+
+<p>'Mr. and Mrs. Bennett, of course, and we thought we might have Mr.
+Knightley, because he is a squire and not so very young, even though he
+is not yet married. Miss Bates, of course, and the Westons. Mrs.
+Dashwood has declined, of which we are rather glad, but we are having
+Mrs. Jennings.' So she went on with her list. 'We could not help asking
+Sir<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</a></span> Charles with Lord and Lady G&mdash;&mdash;, because he is so important; but
+Grandmamma Shirley is "mortifying" at present. She wrote that she could
+not stand "so rich a regale." Sir Hargrave Pollexfen will come
+afterwards with Harriet, and I am thankful to say that Lady Clementina
+is not in England at present, so could not be invited.' She stopped,
+looking up at him freshly to make a comment. 'Don't you detest Lady
+Clementina?'</p>
+
+<p>When they went into the dining-room, the choice spirits deemed worthy to
+be at the board were each introduced by name to the Lady Eliz, who
+explained that because of her infirmities she had been unable to have
+the honour of receiving them in the drawing-room. She made appropriate
+remarks, inquiring after the relatives of each, offering congratulations
+or condolences as the case demanded. It was cleverly done. Courthope
+stood aside, immensely entertained, and when at last he too began to
+offer spirited remarks to the imaginary guests, he went up in favour so
+immensely that Eliz cried, 'Let Mr. Courthope take the end of the table.
+Let Mr. Courthope be father. It's much nicer to have a master of the
+house.' She began at once introducing him to the invisible guests as her
+father, and Madge, if she did not like the fancy, did not cross her
+will. There was in Madge's manner a large good-humoured tolerance.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>The table was long, and amply spread with fine glass and silver; nothing
+was antique, everything was in the old-fashioned tasteless style of a
+former generation, but the value of solid silver was not small. The
+homely serving-woman in her peasant-like dress stood aside, submissive,
+as it seemed, but ignorant of how to behave at so large a dinner.
+Courthope, who in a visit to the stables had discovered that this
+Frenchwoman with her husband and one young daughter were at present the
+whole retinue of servants, wondered the more that such precious articles
+as the young girls and the plate should be safe in so lonely a place.</p>
+
+<p>Madge was seated at the head of the table, Courthope at the foot; Eliz
+in her high chair had been wheeled to the centre of one side. Madge,
+playing the hostess with gentle dignity, was enjoying herself to the
+full, a rosy, cooing sort of joy in the play, in the feast that she had
+succeeded in preparing, in her amusement at the literary sallies of
+Eliz, and, above all perhaps, in the company of the new and unexpected
+playmate to whom, because of his youth, she attributed the same perfect
+sympathy with their sentiments which seemed to exist between themselves.
+Courthope felt this&mdash;he felt that he was idealised through no virtue of
+his own; but it was a delightful sensation, and brought out the best
+that was in him of wit and pure joyfulness. To Eliz<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</a></span> the creatures of
+her imagination were too real for perfect pleasure; her face was tense,
+her eyes shot sparkles of light, her voice was high, for her the
+entertainment of the invisible guests involved real responsibility and
+effort.</p>
+
+<p>'Asides are allowed, of course?' said Eliz, as if pronouncing a
+debatable rule at cards.</p>
+
+<p>'Of course,' said Madge, 'or we could not play.'</p>
+
+<p>'It's the greatest fun,' cried Eliz, 'to hear Sir Charles telling Mr.
+John Knightley about the good example that a virtuous man ought to set.
+With "hands and eyes uplifted" he is explaining the duty he owes to his
+Maker. It's rare to see John Knightley's face. I seated them on purpose
+with only Miss Matty between them, because I knew she wouldn't
+interrupt.'</p>
+
+<p>Courthope saw the smile in Madge's eyes was bent upon him as she said
+softly, 'You won't forget that you have Lady Catherine de Bourg at your
+right hand to look after. I can see that brother Peter has got his eye
+upon her, and I don't know how she would take the "seraphim" story.'</p>
+
+<p>'If she begins any of her dignified impertinence here,' he answered, 'I
+intend to steer her into a conversation with Charlotte, Lady G&mdash;&mdash;.'</p>
+
+<p>Courthope had a turkey to carve. He was fain to turn from the guests to
+ask advice as to its anatomy of Madge, who was carving a ham and
+assuring Mr.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</a></span> Woodhouse that it was 'thrice baked, exactly as Serle
+would have done it.'</p>
+
+<p>'Stupid!&mdash;it was apples that were baked,' whispered Eliz.</p>
+
+<p>'You see,' said Madge, when she had told him how to begin upon the
+turkey, 'we wondered very much what a dinner of "two full courses" might
+be, and where the "corner dishes" were to be set. We did not quite
+know&mdash;do you?'</p>
+
+<p>'You must not have asides that are not about the people,' cried Eliz
+intensely. 'Catherine Moreland's mother is talking common sense to
+General Tilney and Sir Walter Eliot, and there'll be no end of a row in
+a minute if you don't divert their attention.'</p>
+
+<p>Eliz had more than once to call the other two to account for talking
+privately adown the long table.</p>
+
+<p>'What a magnificent ham!' he exclaimed. 'Do you keep pigs?'</p>
+
+<p>Madge had a frank way of giving family details. 'It was once a <i>dear</i>
+little pig, and we wanted to teach it to take exercise by running after
+us when we went out, but the stepmother, like Bunyan, "penned it"&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<div class='stanza'><div>'"Until at last it came to be,</div>
+<div>For length and breadth, the bigness which you see."'</div></div>
+</div>
+
+<p>More than once he saw Madge's quick wit twinkle through her booklore.
+When he was looking ruefully<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[Pg 316]</a></span> at a turkey by no means neatly carved, she
+gave the comforting suggestion, '"'Tis impious in a good man to be
+sad."'</p>
+
+<p>'I thought it one of the evidences of piety.'</p>
+
+<p>'It is true that he was "Young" who said it, but so are we; let us
+believe it fervently.'</p>
+
+<p>When Madge swept across the drawing-room, with her amber skirts
+trailing, and Eliz had been wheeled in, they received the after-dinner
+visitors. Courthope could almost see the room filled with the quaint
+creations to whom they were both bowing and talking incessantly.</p>
+
+<p>'Mr. Courthope&mdash;Miss Jane Fairfax&mdash;I believe you have met before.'
+Madge's voice dropped in a well-feigned absorption in her next guest;
+but she soon found time again to whisper to him a long speech which Miss
+Bates had made to Eliz. Soon afterwards she came flying to him in the
+utmost delight to repeat what she called a "lovely sneap" which Lady
+G&mdash;&mdash; had given to Mrs. Elton; nor did she forget to tell him that Emma
+Woodhouse was explaining to the Portuguese nun her reasons for deciding
+never to marry. 'Out of sheer astonishment she appears to become quite
+tranquillised,' said Madge, as if relating an important fact.</p>
+
+<p>His curiosity concerning this nun grew apace, for she seemed a favourite
+with both the girls.</p>
+
+<p>When it was near midnight the imaginary pageant<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[Pg 317]</a></span> suddenly came to an
+end, as in all cases of enchantment. Eliz grew tired; one of the lamps
+smoked and had to be extinguished; the fire had burned low. Madge
+declared that the company had departed.</p>
+
+<p>She went out of the room to call the servant, but in a few minutes she
+came back discomfited, a little pout on her lips. 'Isn't it tiresome!
+Mathilde and Jacques Morin have gone to bed.'</p>
+
+<p>'It is just like them,' fretted Eliz.</p>
+
+<p>At the fretful voice Madge's face cleared. 'What does it matter?' she
+cried. 'We are perfectly happy.'</p>
+
+<p>She lifted the lamp with which he had first seen her, and commenced an
+inspection of doors and shutters. It was a satisfaction to Courthope to
+see the house. It was a French building, as were all the older houses in
+that part of the country, heavily built, simple in the arrangements of
+its rooms. Every door on the lower floor stood open, inviting the heat
+of a large central stove. Insisting upon carrying the lamp while Madge
+made her survey, he was introduced to a library at the end of the
+drawing-room, to a large house-place or kitchen behind the dining-room;
+these with his own room made the square of the lower story. A wing
+adjoining the further side was devoted to the Morins. Having performed
+her duty as householder, Madge said good-night.</p>
+
+<p>'We have enjoyed it ever so much more because<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</a></span> you were here.' She held
+out her hand; her face was radiant; he knew that she spoke the simple
+truth.</p>
+
+<p>She lifted the puny Eliz in her arms and proceeded to walk slowly up the
+straight staircase which occupied one half of the long central hall. The
+crimson scarfs hanging from Eliz, the length of her own silk gown,
+embarrassed her; she stopped a moment on the second step, resting her
+burden upon one lifted knee to clutch and gather the gorgeous raiment in
+her hand.</p>
+
+<p>'You see we put on mother's dresses, that have always been packed away
+in the garret.'</p>
+
+<p>Very simply she said this to Courthope, who stood holding a lamp to
+light them in their ascent. He waited until the glinting colours of
+their satins, the slow motion of the burden-bearer's form, reached the
+top and were lost in the shadows of an open door.</p>
+
+<hr class='smler' />
+<h3><a name="Chapter_BIII" id="Chapter_BIII"></a><span class="smcap">Chapter III</span></h3>
+
+<p>Courthope opened the shutters of his window to look out upon the night;
+they were heavy wooden shutters clasped with an iron clasp. A French
+window he could also open; outside that a temporary double window was
+fixed in the casement with light hooks at the four corners. The wind was
+still blustering<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[Pg 319]</a></span> about the lonely house, and, after examining the
+twilight of the snow-clad night attentively, he perceived that snow was
+still falling. He thought he could almost see the drifts rising higher
+against the out-buildings.</p>
+
+<p>Two large barns stood behind the house; from these he judged that the
+fields around were farmed.</p>
+
+<p>It was considerations concerning the project of his journey the next day
+which had made him look out, and also a restless curiosity regarding
+every detail of the <i>m&eacute;nage</i> whose young mistress was at once so
+child-like and so queenlike. While looking out he had what seemed a
+curious hallucination of a dark figure standing for a moment on the top
+of the deep snow. As he looked more steadily the figure disappeared. All
+the outlines at which he looked were chaotic to the sight, because of
+the darkness and the drifting snow, and the light which was behind him
+shimmering upon the pane. If half-a-dozen apparitions had passed in the
+dim and whirling atmosphere of the yards, he would have supposed that
+they were shadows formed by the beams of his lamp, being interrupted
+here and there by the eddying snow where the wind whirled it most
+densely. He did not close his shutters, he even left his inner window
+partially open, because, unaccustomed to a stove, he felt oppressed by
+its heat. When he threw himself down, he slept deeply, as men sleep
+after days among snow<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[Pg 320]</a></span>fields, when a sense of entire security is the
+lethargic brain's lullaby.</p>
+
+<p>He was conscious first of a dream in which the sisters experienced some
+imminent danger; he heard their shrieks piercing the night. He woke to
+feel snow and wind driving upon his face, to realise a half-waking
+impression that a man had passed through his room, to know that the
+screams of a woman's voice were a reality. As he sprang for his clothes
+he saw that the window was wide open, the whole frame of the outer
+double glass having been removed, but the screams of terror he heard
+were within the house. Opening the door to the dark hall he ran, guided
+by the sound, to the foot of the staircase which the girls had ascended,
+then up its long straight ascent. He took its first steps in a bound,
+but, as his brain became more perfectly awake, confusion of thought,
+wonder, a certain timidity because now the screaming had ceased, caused
+him to slacken his pace. He was thus hesitating in the darkness when he
+found himself confronted by Madge King. She stood majestic in grey
+woollen gown, candle in hand, and her dark eyes blazed upon him in
+terror, wrath and indignation.</p>
+
+<p>It seemed for a moment that she could not speak; some movement passed
+over the white sweep of her throat and the full dimpling lips, and
+then&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>'Go down!' She would have spoken to a dog<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[Pg 321]</a></span> with the same authority, but
+never with such contemptuous wrath. 'Go down at once! How dare you!'</p>
+
+<p>Abashed, knowing not what he might have done to offend, Courthope fell
+back a step against the wall of the staircase. From within the room Eliz
+cried, 'Is he there? Come in and lock the door, Madge, or he'll kill
+you!' The voice, sharp, high with terror, rose at the end, and burst
+into one of those piercing shrieks which seemed to fill the night, as
+the voices of some small insects have the power to make the welkin ring
+in response.</p>
+
+<p>Before Courthope could find a word to utter, another light was thrown
+upon him from a lamp at the foot of the stair. It was held by Jacques
+Morin, grey-haired, stooping, dogged. The Morin family&mdash;man, wife and
+daughter&mdash;were huddling close together. They, too, were all looking at
+him, not with the wrath and contempt to which Madge had risen, but with
+cunning desire for revenge, mingled with the cringing of fear. There was
+a minute's hush, too strong for expression, in which each experienced
+more intensely the shock of the mysterious alarm.</p>
+
+<p>It was Madge who broke the silence. Her voice rang clear, although
+vibrating.</p>
+
+<p>'Jacques Morin, he came into our room to rob!' She pointed at
+Courthope.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[Pg 322]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>The thin voice of Eliz came in piercing parenthesis: 'I saw him in the
+closet, and when I screamed he ran.'</p>
+
+<p>Madge began again. 'Jacques Morin, what part of the house is open? I
+feel the wind.' All the time Madge kept her eyes upon Courthope, as upon
+some wild animal whose spring she hoped to keep at bay.</p>
+
+<p>That she should appeal to this dull, dogged French servant for
+protection against him, who only desired to risk his life to serve her,
+was knowledge of such intense vexation that Courthope could still find
+no word, and her fixed look of wrath did actually keep him at bay. It
+took from him, by some sheer physical power which he did not understand,
+the courage with which he would have faced a hundred Morins.</p>
+
+<p>When Jacques Morin began to speak, his wife and daughter took courage
+and spoke also; a babel of French words, angry, terrified, arose from
+the group, whose grey night-clothes, shaken by their gesticulations,
+gave them a half-frenzied appearance.</p>
+
+<p>In the midst of their talking Courthope spoke to Madge at last. 'I ran
+up to protect you when I heard screams; I did not wake till you
+screamed. Some one has entered the house. He has entered by the window
+in my room; I found it open.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[Pg 323]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>With his own words the situation became clear to him. He saw that he
+must hunt for the house-breaker. He began to descend the stairs.</p>
+
+<p>The Morin girl screamed and ran. Morin, producing a gun from behind his
+back, pointed it at Courthope, and madam, holding the lamp, squared up
+behind her husband with the courage of desperation.</p>
+
+<p>It was not this fantastic couple that checked Courthope's downward rush,
+but Madge's voice.</p>
+
+<p>'Keep still!' she cried, in short strong accents of command.</p>
+
+<p>Eliz, becoming aware of his movement, shrieked again.</p>
+
+<p>Courthope, now defiant and angry, turned towards Madge, but, even as he
+waited to hear what she had to say, reflected that her interest could
+not suffer much by delay, for the thief, if he escaped, could make but
+small speed in the drifting storm over roads which led to no near place
+of escape or hiding.</p>
+
+<p>It was the judge's daughter which Courthope now saw in Madge&mdash;the desire
+to estimate evidence, the fearless judgment.</p>
+
+<p>'We took you in last night, a stranger; and now we have been robbed,
+which never happened before in all our lives. My sister says it was you
+she saw in our room. As soon as I could get the candle lit<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[Pg 324]</a></span> I found you
+here, and Jacques Morin says that you have opened your window so that
+you would be able to escape at once. What is the use of saying that you
+are not a robber?'</p>
+
+<p>He made another defiant statement of his own version of the story.</p>
+
+<p>The girl had given some command in French to Morin; to Courthope she
+spoke again in hasty sentences, reiterating the evidence against him.
+Her manner was a little different now&mdash;it had not the same
+straightforward air of command. He began to hope that he might persuade
+her, and then discovered suddenly that she had been deliberately
+riveting his attention while the command which he had not understood was
+being obeyed. A noose of rope was thrown round his arms and instantly
+tightened; with a nimbleness which he had not expected Morin knotted it
+fast. Courthope turned fiercely; for a moment he struggled with all his
+force, bearing down upon Morin from his greater height, so that they
+both staggered and reeled to the foot of the stair. At his violence the
+voices of the Morin women, joined by that of Eliz, were lifted in such
+wild terror that a few moments were sufficient to bring Courthope to
+reason. He spoke to Madge with haughty composure.</p>
+
+<p>'Tell him to untie this rope at once. There is some villain about the
+house who may do you the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[Pg 325]</a></span> greatest injury; you are mad to take from me
+the power of arresting him.'</p>
+
+<p>Madam Morin, seeing the prisoner secured, hastened with her lamp to his
+bedroom.</p>
+
+<p>Madge, feeling herself safer now, came a little way down the stair with
+her candle. 'How can we tell what you would do next?' she asked. 'And I
+have the household to protect; it is not for myself that I am afraid.'</p>
+
+<p>The anger that he had felt toward her died out suddenly.</p>
+
+<p>It was not for herself that she was afraid! She stood a few steps above
+him; her little candle, flashing its rays into the darkness of the upper
+and lower halls, made walls and balustrades seem vast by its flickering
+impotence to oust the darkness. Surely this girl, towering in her
+sweeping robe and queenly pose, was made to be loved of men and gods!
+Hero, carrying her vestal taper in the temple recesses, before ever
+Leander had crossed the wave, could not have had a larger or more noble
+form, a more noble and lovely face.</p>
+
+<p>Well, if she chose to tie his arms he would have preferred to have them
+tied, were it not for the maddening thought that more miscreants than
+one might be within reach of her, and that they would, if skilled, find
+the whole household an easy prey.</p>
+
+<p>Madam Morin came back from the room with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[Pg 326]</a></span> the open window, making
+proclamation in the most excited French.</p>
+
+<p>'What do they say?' asked Courthope of Madge.</p>
+
+<p>The Morin girl was following close to her mother, and Jacques Morin was
+eagerly discussing their information.</p>
+
+<p>Madge passed Courthope in silence. They all went to the window to see;
+Courthope, following in the most absurd helplessness, trailing the end
+of his binding-cord behind him, brought up the rear of the little
+procession. Madge walked straight on into his room, where Madam Morin
+was again opening the window-shutters.</p>
+
+<p>'They say,' said Madge to Courthope, 'that you have had an accomplice,
+and that he is gone again; they saw his snow-shoe tracks.'</p>
+
+<p>He begged her to make sure that the man was gone, to let him look at the
+tracks himself and then to search the house thoroughly. Outside the
+window the same chaotic sweep and whirl of the atmosphere prevailed. It
+was difficult, even holding a lantern outside, to see, but they did see
+that a track had come up to the window and again turned from it. After
+that they all searched the house, Courthope allowed to be of the
+company, apparently because he could thus be watched. The thief of the
+night had come and gone; some silver and jewellery which had been<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[Pg 327]</a></span>
+stored in a closet adjoining the bedroom of the sisters had been taken.</p>
+
+<p>Courthope understood very little of the talk that went on. At length, to
+his great relief, Madge gave her full attention to him in parley.</p>
+
+<p>'Won't you believe that I know nothing whatever of the doings of this
+sneak-thief?'</p>
+
+<p>Some of her intense excitement had passed away, succeeded by distress,
+discouragement, and perhaps perplexity, but that last she did not
+express to him. She leaned against the wall as she listened to him with
+white face.</p>
+
+<p>'We never took in any one we didn't know anything about before, and we
+never were robbed before.' She added, 'We treated you kindly; how could
+you have done it? If you did it'&mdash;his heart leaped at the 'if' as at a
+beam of sunshine on a rainy day&mdash;'you must have known all about us,
+although I can't think how; you must have known where we kept things,
+and that mamma had taken our other man-servant away. You must have
+brought your accomplice to hide in the barn and do the work while you
+played the gentleman! That is what Jacques Morin says; he says no one
+but a child would have taken you in as I did, and that you might have
+murdered us all. They are very angry with me.'</p>
+
+<p>There was conflict in her manner; a few words would be said haughtily,
+as to some one not worthy<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[Pg 328]</a></span> of her notice, and then again a few words as
+to a friend. He saw that this conflict of her mind was increasing as she
+stood face to face with him, and with that consolation he submitted, at
+her request, to be more securely bound&mdash;the rope twisted round and
+round, binding his arms to his sides. It was a girl's device; he made no
+complaint.</p>
+
+<p>It seemed that Morin had no thought of following the thief; his
+faithfulness was limited to such service as he considered necessary, and
+was of a cowardly rather than a valiant sort. Courthope, when his first
+eagerness to seek passed off, was comforted by reflecting that, had he
+himself been free, it would have been futile for him to attempt such a
+quest while darkness lay over the land in which he was a stranger.</p>
+
+<p>He was allowed to rest on the settle in the large inner kitchen,
+securely locked in, and so near Morin's room that his movements could be
+overheard. There, still in bonds, he spent the rest of the night.</p>
+
+<hr class='smler' />
+<h3><a name="Chapter_BIV" id="Chapter_BIV"></a><span class="smcap">Chapter</span> IV</h3>
+
+<p>When the March morning shone clear and white through the still-falling
+snow, and the Morins began to bustle about their work for the day, the
+mental atmosphere in the kitchen seemed to have lost something of the
+excited alarm that had prevailed in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[Pg 329]</a></span> night. Courthope arose; the
+garments which he had donned in the night with frantic speed clothed but
+did not adorn him; he knew that he must present a wild appearance, and
+the domestic clothes-line, bound round and round his arms, prevented him
+from so much as pushing back the locks of hair which straggled upon his
+brow. He was rendered on the whole helpless; however murderous might be
+his heart, a tolerably safe companion. He interested himself by
+considering how Samson-like he could be in breaking the cords, or, even
+tied, how vigorously he could kick Morin, if he were not a girl's
+prisoner. He reflected with no small admiration upon the quick resource
+and decision that she had displayed; how, in spite of her almost
+child-like frankness, she had beguiled him into turning his back to the
+noose when a supposed necessity pressed her. He meditated for a few
+minutes upon other girls for whom he had experienced a more or less
+particular admiration, and it seemed to him that the characters of these
+damsels became wan and insipid by comparison. He began to have a
+presentiment that Love was now about to strike in earnest upon the harp
+of his life, but he could not think that the circumstances of this
+present attraction were propitious. What could he say to this girl, so
+adorably strong-minded, to convince her of his claim to be again treated
+as a man and a brother? Letters? He had offered them to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[Pg 330]</a></span> her last night,
+and she had replied that any one could write letters. Should he show
+that he was not penniless? She might tell him in the same tone that it
+was wealth ill-gotten. It was no doubt her very ignorance of the world
+that, when suspicion had once occurred, made her reject as unimportant
+these evidences of his respectability, but he had no power to give her
+the eyes of experience.</p>
+
+<p>These thoughts tormented him as he stood looking out of the window at
+the ever-increasing volume of the snow. How long would he be detained a
+prisoner in this house, and, when the roads were free, how could he find
+for Madge any absolute proof of his innocence? The track of the midnight
+thief was lost for ever in the snow; if he had succeeded in escaping as
+mysteriously as he had come&mdash;but here Courthope's mind refused again to
+enter upon the problem of the fiend-like enemy and the impassable
+snowfields, which in the hours of darkness he had already given up,
+perceiving the futility of his speculation until further facts were
+known.</p>
+
+<p>Courthope strolled through the rooms, the doors of which were now open.
+Morin permitted this scant liberty chiefly, the prisoner thought,
+because of a wholesome fear of being kicked. In the library at the back
+of the drawing-room he found amusement in reading the titles of the
+books down one long shelf and up another. Every book to which Madge<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[Pg 331]</a></span> had
+had access had an interest for him. Three cases were filled with books
+of law and history; there was but one from which the books had of late
+been frequently taken. It was filled with romance and poetry, nothing so
+late as the middle of the present century, nothing that had not some
+claim upon educated readers, and yet it was a motley collection. Upon
+the front rim of the upper shelf some one, perhaps the dead father in
+his invalid days, had carved a motto with a knife, the motto that is
+also that of the British arms. It might have been done out of mere
+patriotism; it might have had reference to this legacy of books left to
+the child-maidens, for whom, it seemed, other companionship had not been
+provided.</p>
+
+<p>At length Courthope realised that there was one book which he greatly
+desired to take from the shelf. The Morin daughter was dusting in the
+room, and, with some blandishments, he succeeded in persuading her to
+lay it open upon the table where he could peruse it. To his great
+amusement he observed that she was very careful not to come within a
+yard or two of him, darting back when he approached, evidently thinking
+that the opening of the book might be a ruse to attack her by a sudden
+spring. At first the curious consciousness produced by this damsel's
+awkward gambols of fear so absorbed him that he could not fix his
+attention upon the book;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[Pg 332]</a></span> flashes of amusement and of grave annoyance
+chased themselves through his mind like sunshine and shadow over
+mountains on a showery day; he knew not which was the more rational
+mood. Then, attempting the book again, and turning each leaf with a good
+deal of contortion and effort, he became absorbed. It was the <i>Letters
+of a Portuguese Nun</i>, and in the astonishment of its perusal he forgot
+the misfortune that had befallen the household, and his own discomfort
+and ignominy. The Morin girl had left him in the room, shutting the
+door.</p>
+
+<p>An hour passed&mdash;it might have been about nine of the clock&mdash;when
+Courthope began to be roused from his absorption in the book by a sound
+in the next room. It was a low uncertain sound, but evidently that of
+sobbing and tears. He stopped, listened; his heart was wrung with pity.
+It was not the sharp little Eliz who cried like that! He knew such sobs
+did not come from the stormy and uncontrolled bosoms of the French
+servants. He was convinced that it was Madge who was weeping, that she
+was in the long drawing-room, where the portrait of the judge hung near
+the door.</p>
+
+<p>He went nearer the door. His excited desire to offer her some sympathy,
+to comfort, or if possible to help, became intolerable. So conscious was
+he of a common interest between them that not for a moment did the sense
+of prying enter his mind.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[Pg 333]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>He heard then a few words whispered as if to the portrait: 'Father, oh,
+father, we were so happy with him! It is almost the only time that we
+have been quite happy since you went away.'</p>
+
+<p>The sense of the broken whispers came tardily to Courthope's
+understanding through the smothering door. The handle of the door was on
+a level with the hands that were bound to his sides; he turned himself
+in order to bring his fingers near it.</p>
+
+<p>Before he touched it he heard Madge sob and whisper again: 'I was so
+happy, father; I thought it was such fun he had come. I like gentlemen,
+and we never, never see any except the ones that come out of books.'</p>
+
+<p>To Courthope it suddenly seemed that the whole universe must have been
+occupied with purpose to bring him here in order to put an end to her
+gloom and flood her life with sunshine; the universe could not be foiled
+in its attempt. Young love argues from effect to cause, and so limitless
+seemed the strength of his sentiment that the simplicity of her mind and
+the susceptibility of her girlhood were to him like some epic poem which
+arouses men to passion and strong deeds. Ignominiously bound as he was,
+his heart lightened; all doubt of his mission to love her and its
+ultimate success passed from him. He turned the handle and pushed the
+door half open.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[Pg 334]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>The long drawing-room was almost dark; the shutters had not been opened;
+the furniture remained as it had stood when the brilliant assembly of
+the previous evening had broken up; the large fireplace was full of
+ashes; the atmosphere was deadly cold. Courthope stood in the streak of
+light which entered with him. Upon the floor, crouching, her cheek
+leaning against the lower part of her father's picture, was Madge King.
+She was dressed in a blanket coat; moccasins were upon her feet; a fur
+cap lay upon the ground beside her. At the instant of his entrance she
+lifted her bare head, and across the face flushed with tears and prayers
+there flashed the look of haughty intolerance of his presence. She had
+thought that he was locked up in one of the kitchens; she told him so,
+intensely offended that he should see her tears. It was for that reason
+that she did not rise or come to the light, only commanding and
+imploring him to be gone.</p>
+
+<p>'I am quite helpless, even if I wanted to harm you.' He spoke
+reproachfully, knowing instinctively that if she pitied him she would
+accept his pity.</p>
+
+<p>'You have harmed us enough already,' she sighed; 'all the rest of our
+silver, all my dear father's silver is gone. We found that out this
+morning, for what we had used for the feast had been put in a basket
+until we could store it away; it is all taken.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[Pg 335]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>He was shocked and enraged to hear of this further loss. He did not
+attempt to reason with her; he had ceased to reason with himself.</p>
+
+<p>'You trusted me when you let me in last night,' he said. 'Don't you
+think that you would have had some perception of it last night if I had
+been entirely unworthy? Think what an utter and abominable villain I
+must be to have accepted your hospitality&mdash;to have been so very happy
+with you&mdash;&mdash;' So he went on appealing to her heart from the sentiments
+that arose in his own.</p>
+
+<p>Madge listened only for a reasonable period; she rose to her feet. 'I
+must go,' she said.</p>
+
+<p>He found that she proposed to walk on snow-shoes three miles to the
+nearest house, which belonged to a couple of parish priests, where she
+would be certain of obtaining a messenger to carry the news of the
+robbery to the telegraph station. She could not be brought even to
+discuss the advisability of her journey; Morin could not be sent, for
+the servants and Eliz would go mad with terror if left alone.</p>
+
+<p>To Courthope's imagination her journey seemed to be an abandonment of
+herself to the utmost danger. If between the two houses she failed to
+make progress over high drifts and against a heavy gale, what was to
+hinder her from perishing? Then, too, there was that villain, who had
+seemed to stalk<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[Pg 336]</a></span> forth from the isolated house afar into the howling
+night as easily as the Frankenstein demon, and might even now be
+skulking near&mdash;a dangerous devil&mdash;able to run where others must trudge
+toilsomely.</p>
+
+<p>Madge, it seemed, had only come to that room to make her confession and
+invoke protection at the shrine of the lost father; she was ready to set
+forth without further delay. She would not, in spite of his most
+eloquent pleading, set Courthope at liberty to make of him either
+messenger or companion.</p>
+
+<p>'The evidence,' she said sadly, 'is all against you. I am very sorry.'</p>
+
+<p>A wilder unrest and vexation at his position returned upon his heart
+because of the lightening that had come with the impulse of love. That
+impulse still remained, an under-current of calm, a knowledge that his
+will and the power of the world were at one, such as men only feel when
+they yield themselves to some sudden conversion; but above this
+new-found faith the cross-currents of strife now broke forth again. Thus
+he raged&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>'What was the use of my coming here? Why should the Fates have sent me
+here if I cannot go this errand for you, or if I cannot go with you to
+protect you? If this beast is walking about on snow-shoes, how do you
+know that he will not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[Pg 337]</a></span> attack you as soon as you are out of sight of the
+house?'</p>
+
+<p>She seemed to realise that it was strange to be discussing her own
+safety with her prisoner. Very curious was the conflict in her face; her
+strong natural companionableness, her suspicion of him, and her sense of
+the dignity which her situation demanded, contending together. It seemed
+easier for her to disregard his words than to give all the answers which
+her varying feelings would prompt. She was tying on a mink cap by
+winding a woollen scarf about her head.</p>
+
+<p>'Miss Madge! Miss King! It is perfectly intolerable! It&mdash;it is
+intolerable!' He stepped nearer as he spoke. A thought came over him
+that even the conventional title of 'Miss' which he had given her was
+wholly inappropriate in a situation so strong&mdash;that he and she, merely
+as man and woman, as rational beings, were met together in a wilderness
+where conventions were folly. 'I cannot allow you to risk your life in
+this way.' There was a tense emphasis in his words; he felt the natural
+authority of the protector over the tender thing to be protected, the
+intimate authority which stress of circumstance may give.</p>
+
+<p>She dropped her hands from tying the scarf under her chin, returning for
+his words a look of mingled curiosity, indecision, and distrust.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[Pg 338]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Quick as she looked upon him, his mind's eye looked upon himself; there
+he stood in grotesque undress, bound around with the cords of an
+extraordinary disgrace. He blamed himself at the moment for not having
+had his hair cut more recently, for he knew that it stood in a wild
+shock above his head, and he felt that it dangled in his eyes. Then a
+gust of emotion, the momentary desire for laughter or groans of
+vexation, rose and choked his utterance, and in the minute that he was
+mute the girl, sitting down upon a low stool, began tightening the
+strings of her moccasins, which, after the first putting on, had relaxed
+with the warmth of the feet. Her business-like preparations for the road
+maddened him.</p>
+
+<p>'Don't you see,' he said, 'what disgrace you are heaping upon me? What
+right have you to deny to me, a gentleman and your guest, the right to
+serve and protect you? Consider to what wretchedness you consign me if I
+am left here to think of you fighting alone with this dangerous storm,
+or attacked by blackguards who we know may not be far away!'</p>
+
+<p>She said in a quiet, practical, girlish way, 'It was I who was
+responsible for letting you in last night, and then this happened&mdash;this
+most unheard-of thing. We never heard of any but a petty theft ever
+committed in this whole region before. Now I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[Pg 339]</a></span> am bound to keep you here
+until we can hear where father's silver is.'</p>
+
+<p>'You don't believe that I have done it! I am sure you do not' (he
+believed what he said). 'Why haven't you the courage to act upon your
+conviction? You will never regret it.'</p>
+
+<p>'Eliz says that she saw you quite distinctly.'</p>
+
+<p>'Eliz is a little fool,' were the words that arose within him, but what
+he said was, 'Your sister is excitable and nervous; she saw the thief
+undoubtedly, and by some miserable freak of fortune he may have
+resembled me.'</p>
+
+<p>'Does that seem at all likely?'</p>
+
+<p>'Well, then, there was no resemblance, and she fancied it.'</p>
+
+<p>She stood up, looking harassed, but without relenting. 'I must go&mdash;there
+is nothing else to be done. Do you think I would stay here when a day
+might make all the difference in recovering the things which belonged to
+my father? Do you think that I am going to lose the things that belonged
+to him just because I am too much of a coward to go out and give the
+alarm?'</p>
+
+<p>She walked away from him resolutely, but the thought of the lost
+treasures and all the dear memories that in her mind were identified
+with them seemed to overcome her. She drew her hand hastily across her
+eyes, and then, to his dismay, the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[Pg 340]</a></span> sorrow for her loss emphasised her
+wavering belief in his guilt; for the first time he realised how strong
+that sorrow was. Impelled by emotion she turned again and came
+shrinkingly back into his presence.</p>
+
+<p>'I have not reproached you,' she said, 'because I thought it would be
+mean in case you had not done it; but it seems that you must have done
+it. Won't you tell me where the other man has taken our things? They
+cannot be of any value to you compared with their value to us; and, oh,
+indeed I would much rather give you as much money as you could possibly
+make out of them, and more too, if you would only tell me which way this
+man has gone, and send word to him that he must give them back! I will
+pledge you my word of honour that&mdash;&mdash;'</p>
+
+<p>For the first time he was offended with her. He stepped back with a
+gesture of pride, which in a moment he saw she had construed into
+unwillingness to give the booty up.</p>
+
+<p>'I could promise to give you the money; I could promise that you should
+not be tracked and arrested. I have enough in the savings-bank of my own
+that I could get out without our lawyer or mamma knowing, and you don't
+know how dear, how very dear, everything that belonged to father is to
+Eliz and me. If you wait here tied until my stepmother comes she will
+not give any money to get the things<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[Pg 341]</a></span> back; she would not care if you
+kept them, so long as she could punish you.'</p>
+
+<p>Every word of her gentle pleading made the insult deeper and more gross,
+and the fact that she was who she was only made the hurt to his pride
+the sorer. He would not answer; he would not explain; he would let her
+think what she liked; it is the way of the injured heart.</p>
+
+<p>Angry, and confirmed in her suspicion, she too turned proudly away. He
+saw her, as she crossed the hall, take up a pair of snow-shoes that she
+had left leaning against the wall, and without further farewell to any
+one turn toward the front door.</p>
+
+<p>He knew then what he must do. Without inward debate, without even
+weighing what his act's ultimate consequences might be, he followed her.</p>
+
+<p>'I will do what you ask. I give you my word of honour&mdash;and there is
+honour, you know, even among thieves&mdash;that I will do all in my power to
+bring back everything that has been stolen. Give me snow-shoes. Keep my
+horse and my watch and my luggage as surety that I mean what I say. I
+cannot promise that I can get back the silver from the other man, but I
+will do far more than you can do. I will do more than any one else could
+do. If it is within my power I will bring it back to you.'</p>
+
+<p>She considered for a little time whether she would trust him or not. It
+seemed, curiously<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">[Pg 342]</a></span> enough, that from first to last she had never
+distrusted her first instinct with regard to his character, but that her
+child-like belief that in the unknown world all things were possible,
+allowed her to believe also in his criminality. Now that he had, as she
+thought, made his confession and promised restitution, it was perhaps
+the natural product of her conflicting thoughts and feelings that she
+should trust to his oft-repeated vows, and make the paction with him.</p>
+
+<p>She did not consult the Morins; perhaps she knew that she would only
+provoke their opposition, or perhaps she knew that they would only be
+too glad to get rid of the man they feared, caring for nothing but the
+actual safety of the lives in the household. She brought him his coat
+and cap and also a man's moccasins and snow-shoes. With a courage that,
+because somewhat shy and trembling, evoked all the more his admiration,
+she untied the first knot of his rope, unwound the coil, and then untied
+the last knot. The process was slow because of the trembling of her
+fingers, which he felt but could not see. She stood resolute, making him
+dress for the storm upon the threshold of the door. He did not know how
+to strap on the snow-shoes. She watched his first attempt with great
+curiosity; looking up, he was made the more determined to succeed with
+them by seeing the pain of incredulity returning to her eyes.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">[Pg 343]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>'How do you expect me to know how to manage things that I have never
+handled in my life before?'</p>
+
+<p>'But if you don't know how to put them on how can you walk in them?'</p>
+
+<p>'I have seen men walk in them, and there are a great many things we can
+do when something depends upon it.'</p>
+
+<p>She directed him how to cross and tie the straps; she continued to watch
+him, increasing anxiety betraying itself in her face.</p>
+
+<p>The snow was so light that even the snow-shoes sank some four or five
+inches. It was just below the porch that he had tied his straps, and
+when he first moved forward he trod with one shoe on the top of the
+other. He had not expected this; he felt that no further progress was
+within the bounds of possibility. For some half minute he stood, his
+back to the door, his face turned to the illimitable region of drifts
+and feathery air, unable to conceive how to go forward and without a
+thought of turning back. When his pulses were surging and tingling with
+the discomfort of her gaze, he heard the door shut sharply. Perhaps she
+thought that he was shamming and was determined not to yield again;
+perhaps&mdash;and this seemed even worse&mdash;she had been overcome in the midst
+of her stern responsibility by the powers of laughter; perhaps, horrid
+thought, she had gone for Morin to bid him again throw the noose<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[Pg 344]</a></span> over
+his treacherous shoulders. The last thought pricked him into motion. By
+means of his reason he discovered that if he was to make progress at all
+the rackets must not overlap one another as he trod; his next effort was
+naturally to walk with his feet so wide apart that the rackets at their
+broadest could not interfere. The result was that in a few moments he
+became like a miniature Colossus of Rhodes, fixed again so that he could
+not move, his feet upon platforms at either side of a harbour of snow.</p>
+
+<p>He heard the door open now again sharply, and he felt certain, yes,
+certain, that the lasso was on its way through the air; this time he was
+not going to submit. As men do unthinkingly what they could in no way do
+by thought, he found himself facing the door, his snow-shoes truly
+inextricably mixed with one another, but still he had turned round.
+There was no rope, no Morin; Madge was standing alone upon the outer
+step of the porch, her face aflame with indignation.</p>
+
+<p>'This is either perfect folly or you have deceived me,' she cried.</p>
+
+<p>'I shall learn how to use them in a minute,' he said humbly. He was
+conscious as he spoke that his twisted legs made but an unsteady
+pedestal, that the least push would have sent him headlong into the
+drift.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">[Pg 345]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>'How could you say that you would go?' she asked fiercely.</p>
+
+<p>He looked down at his feet as schoolboys do when chidden, but for
+another reason. The question as to whether or not he could get his
+snow-shoes headed again in the right direction weighed like lead upon
+his heart.</p>
+
+<p>'I thought that I could walk upon these things,' he said, and he added,
+with such determination as honour flying from shame only knows, 'and I
+will walk on them and do your errand.'</p>
+
+<p>With that, by carefully untwisting his legs, he faced again in the right
+direction, but, having lifted his right foot too high in the untwisting
+process, he found that the slender tail of its snow-shoe stuck down in
+the snow, setting the shoe pointing skyward and his toe, tied by the
+thongs, held prisoner about a foot above the snow. He tried to kick, but
+the shoe became more firmly embedded. He lost his balance, and only by a
+wild fling of his body, in which his arms went up into the air, did he
+regain his upright position. The moment of calm which succeeded produced
+from him another remark.</p>
+
+<p>'It seems to me that you have got me now in closer bonds than before.'
+As he spoke he turned his glance backward and saw that comment of his
+was needless.</p>
+
+<p>The girl had at last yielded to laughter. Worn<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">[Pg 346]</a></span> out, no doubt, by a
+long-controlled excitement, laughter had now entirely overcome her.
+Leaning her head on her hand and her shoulders against a pillar of the
+porch, she was shaking visibly from head to foot, and the effort she
+made to keep the sound of her amusement within check only seemed to make
+its hold upon her more absolute.</p>
+
+<p>'I don't wonder you laugh,' he said, feebly beginning to laugh himself a
+little.</p>
+
+<p>But she did not make the slightest reply. Her face was crimson; the
+ripples of her laughter went over her form as ripples of wind over a
+young tree.</p>
+
+<p>He was forced to leave her thus. By a miracle of determination, as it
+seemed, he freed his right shoe and made slow and wary strides forward.
+He saw that he had exaggerated the width of his snow-shoes, but his
+progress now was still made upon the plan of keeping his feet wide
+apart, although not too wide for motion. He knew that this was not the
+right method; he knew that she peered at him between her fingers and was
+more convulsed with laughter at his every step. He was thankful to think
+that the falling flakes must soon begin to obscure his figure, but he
+did not dare to try another plan of walking while she watched, lest she
+should see him stop again.</p>
+
+<hr class='smler' />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">[Pg 347]</a></span></p>
+<h3><a name="Chapter_BV" id="Chapter_BV"></a><span class="smcap">Chapter V</span></h3>
+
+<p>Courthope had struck across to the main road at right angles to the
+poplar avenue. The poplars stood slim, upright, more like a stiff and
+regular formation of feathery seaweed growing out of a frozen ocean than
+like trees upon a plain. He was nearing a grove of elm and birch which
+he had not seen the evening before; by the almost hidden rails of the
+fence there were half-buried shrubs. So dry, so hard, so absolutely
+without bud or sere leaf was the interlacing outline of the trees and
+shrubs, that they too seemed to be some strange product of this new sort
+of ocean; they did not remind him of verdant glades. Not that beauty was
+absent, nor charm, but the scene was strange, very strange; the domain
+of the laughing princess, on whom he had turned his back, was, in the
+daylight, more than ever an enchanted land which he could fancy to be
+unknown in story and until now unexplored by man. Such ideas only came
+to him by snatches; the rest of him, mind and body, was summed up in a
+fierce determination to catch the thief and bring back his spoils.
+Whether by this he would prove himself honest or guilty, he neither knew
+nor felt that he cared.</p>
+
+<p>Gradually, as he thought less about his snow<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348">[Pg 348]</a></span>-shoes, he found that the
+wide lateral swing which he had been giving to his leg was unneeded.
+Strange as it seemed, the large rackets did not interfere when he took
+an ordinary step. Having made this pleasant discovery he quickened
+speed. He did not know whether the girl had stopped laughing and had
+gone into the house again, but he knew that the falling snow and the
+branches of the trees must now hinder her from seeing him distinctly.</p>
+
+<p>In a moment he was glad of this, for, becoming incautious, he fell.</p>
+
+<p>Both arms, put out to save himself, were embedded to the very shoulder
+straight down in snow that offered no bottom to his touch; when his next
+impulse was to move knees and feet he found that the points of his
+snow-shoes were dug deep, and his toes, tied to them, held the soles of
+his feet in the same position.</p>
+
+<p>What cursed temerity had made him confess to a criminal act in order to
+be allowed to come on this fool's errand? Fool, indeed, had he been to
+suppose that he could walk upon a frozen cloud without falling through!
+Such were Courthope's reflections.</p>
+
+<p>By degrees he got himself up, but only by curling himself round and
+taking off his snow-shoes. By degrees he got the snow-shoes put on
+again, and mounted out of the hole which he had made, with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_349" id="Page_349">[Pg 349]</a></span> snow
+adhering to all his garments and snow melting adown his neck and wrists.
+He now realised that he had spent nearly half an hour in walking not a
+quarter of a mile. With this cheerless reflection as a companion he went
+doggedly on, choosing now the drifted main road for a path.</p>
+
+<p>Having left behind him the skeleton forms of the trees, he was trudging
+across an open plain, flat almost as the surface of the lake which he
+had traversed yesterday. Sometimes the fences at the side of the road
+were wholly hidden, more often they showed the top of their posts or
+upper bar; sometimes he could see cross-fences, as if outlining fields,
+so that he supposed he still walked through lands farmed from the lonely
+stone house, that he was still upon his lady's domain. He meditated upon
+her, judging that she was sweet beyond compare, although why he thought
+so, after her mistrust and derision, was one of those secrets which the
+dimpled Cupid only could explain. He was forced to acknowledge the fact
+that thus he did think, because here he was walking, whither he hardly
+knew, how he hardly knew, battling with the gale, hustled roughly by its
+white wings, in danger at every turn of falling off the two small moving
+rafts of his shoes into a sea in which no man could swim very long. He
+wondered, should his snow-shoes break, if he would be able to flounder<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_350" id="Page_350">[Pg 350]</a></span>
+to the rim of the fence? How long could he sit there? Certainly it would
+seem, looking north and south and east and west, that he would need to
+sit as long as the life in him might endure the frost.</p>
+
+<p>At length a shed or small barn met his eye. His own approach seemed to
+have been heard and answered from within; the neigh of a horse greeted
+him. At first he supposed that some horses belonging to the house were
+stabled here, and neglected because the roads were impassable; then he
+judged that so slight a shed could not be intended for a stable.</p>
+
+<p>He answered the animal's cry by seeking the door. Against it the drift
+was not deep, for, as it opened on the sheltered side, he had only the
+snowfall to scrape away. The door, which had very recently been freed
+from its crust of frost, yielded easily. He found a brown shaggy horse
+tied within, and beside it a sleigh, such as he had frequently seen, a
+mere platform of wood upon runners. Otherwise the shed was empty.
+Courthope was quickly struck by the recognition of something which set
+his memory working. The old buffalo-skin on the sleigh was such as was
+common, but the way it was stretched upon a heap of sacks made him
+remember the sleigh that he had yesterday passed upon the river, and the
+keen sinister face of the driver, which had ill contrasted with his
+apparent sleep and stupidity.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_351" id="Page_351">[Pg 351]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Courthope tossed aside the skin with a jerk. A rum bottle, a small hoard
+of frozen bread and bacon, a heavy blanket folded beneath, all seemed to
+prove that the driver had made provision for a longer journey. The horse
+had no food before it; no blanket was upon its back. Probably its driver
+had not intended to leave it here so long. Where was the driver? This
+quickly became in Courthope's mind the all-important question. Why had
+he been skulking on the most lonely part of the lake? And now, recalling
+again the man's face, he believed that he had had an evil design.</p>
+
+<p>Courthope pursued his way; for, whether the thief had gone farther or
+remained in this vicinity, it was evidently desirable to have help from
+the nearest neighbours to seek and capture him. Courthope soon reached
+what seemed to be a dip or hollow in the plain; in this the wind had
+been very busy levelling the surface with the higher ground. At first he
+supposed that, for some reason, road and fences had come to an abrupt
+ending; then he discovered that he merely walked higher above the
+natural level. The thought came to him that if here he should break his
+snow-shoes there would not even be the neighbouring fence-top on which
+to perch and freeze.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly all his attention was concentrated upon a dark something, like
+a bit of cloth fallen in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_352" id="Page_352">[Pg 352]</a></span> snow. As he came close and touched the
+cloth he found it to be the covering of a basket almost buried; pushing
+away the snow-crusted covering and feeling with eager fingers among the
+icy contents, he quickly knew that this was no other than the stolen
+silver of which he was in quest. A thrill of gratitude to Fortune for so
+kindly a freak had hardly passed through his mind before his eye sought
+a depression in the snow just beyond. He saw now that a man was lying
+there. The head resting upon an arm was but slightly covered with snow;
+the whole form had sunk by its own heat into a cavity like a grave.</p>
+
+<p>Courthope lifted the head; the face was that of the man whom he had seen
+yesterday upon the river. The arms, when he raised them, fell again to
+the snow like lead, yet he perceived that life was not extinct. Even in
+the frost the odour of rum was to be perceived, and breath, although so
+feeble as to be unseen, still passed in and out of the tightly-drawn
+nostrils. The touch, that would have been reverent to a corpse, was now
+rough. He shook the fallen man and shouted. He raised him to a sitting
+posture, but finding that, standing as he did upon soft snow, to lift
+him was impossible, he laid him again in the self-made grave. That
+posture at least would be most conducive to the continued motion of the
+heart.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_353" id="Page_353">[Pg 353]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Standing upon the other side of the body, Courthope's shoe struck upon
+another hard object which he found to be a case, stolen locked as it
+was, which contained, no doubt, the other valuables whose loss Madge had
+first discovered. The wretch, weighted by a burden in each hand, had
+apparently missed his way when endeavouring to return to the shed in
+which he had left his horse, and wandering in circles, perhaps for
+hours, had evidently succumbed to drink and to cold, caught as in a trap
+by the unusual violence of the storm.</p>
+
+<p>There was nothing to be done but return to the house for Morin's aid,
+and, lifting the handles of basket and case in either hand, Courthope
+doubled back upon his own track, thankful that he had already attained
+to some skill in snow-shoeing. As he neared the house his heart beat
+high at the excitement of seeing Madge's delight. He closely scanned the
+windows, even the tiny windows in the pointed tin roof, but no eager
+eyes were on the look-out.</p>
+
+<p>Loudly he thumped upon the heavy front door. There was somewhat of a
+bustle inside at the knock. The snow-bound household collected quickly
+at the welcome thought of a message from the outside world. When the
+door was opened Madge and the Morins were there to behold Courthope
+carrying the plunder. He perceived at once that his guilt, if<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_354" id="Page_354">[Pg 354]</a></span> doubted
+before, was now proved beyond all doubt. There was a distinct measure of
+reserve in the satisfaction they expressed. Madge especially was very
+grave, with a strong flavour of moral severity in her words and
+demeanour.</p>
+
+<p>Courthope explained to her that the other man was dying in the snow,
+that if his life was to be saved no time must be lost. She repeated the
+story in French to Morin, and thereupon arose high words from the
+Frenchman. Madge looked doubtfully at Courthope, and then she
+interpreted.</p>
+
+<p>It seemed that the Frenchman's desire was to put him out again and lock
+up the house, leaving the two accomplices to shift for themselves as
+best they might. Courthope urged motives of humanity. He described the
+man and his condition.</p>
+
+<p>At length he prevailed. Madge insisted that if Morin did not go she
+would. In a few moments both she and Morin were preparing to set out.</p>
+
+<p>It seemed useless for Courthope to precede them; he went into the
+dining-room, demanding food of Madam Morin.</p>
+
+<p>He found that Eliz had been carried down and placed in her chair in the
+midst of domestic activities.</p>
+
+<p>As soon as she spied him, being in a nervous, hysterical state, she
+opened her mouth and shrieked sharply; the shriek at this time had more
+the tone<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_355" id="Page_355">[Pg 355]</a></span> of a child's anger than of a woman's fear. With a strong sense
+of humour he sat down at the table, and she, realising that he was not
+immediately dangerous, railed upon him.</p>
+
+<p>'Viper in the bosom!' said Eliz.</p>
+
+<p>Courthope, almost famished, ate fast.</p>
+
+<p>'Daughter of the horse-leech crying "give," and sucking blood from the
+hand it gives!' she continued.</p>
+
+<p>'Sir Charles Grandison would never have kicked a man when he was down,'
+he said. 'He would have tried to do good even to the viper he had
+nourished.'</p>
+
+<p>The memory of Sir Charles's well-known method even with the most
+villainous, appeared to distract her attention for a moment.</p>
+
+<p>'And then they all sent for him and confessed and made amends, just as I
+have done,' Courthope went on; but the fact that a laugh was gleaming in
+his eyes enraged the little cripple.</p>
+
+<p>'How dare you talk to me, sitting there pretending to be a gentleman!'</p>
+
+<p>'I would rather be allowed to make a better toilet if my reputation were
+to rest upon a pretence. I never heard of a gentlemanly villain who went
+about without collar and cuffs, and had not been allowed access to his
+hair-brush.'</p>
+
+<p>'A striped jacket and shaved head is generally<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_356" id="Page_356">[Pg 356]</a></span> what he goes about in
+after he's unmasked. If I had been Madge I would not have let you off.'</p>
+
+<p>'Come, remember how sorry Elizabeth Bennett was when she found she had
+given way to prejudice. If I remember right she lay awake many nights.'</p>
+
+<p>'Are you adding insult to injury by insinuating that either of us might
+bestow upon you&mdash;&mdash;?'</p>
+
+<p>'Oh! certainly not, I merely wish to suggest that a young lady
+possessing lively talents and "remarkably fine eyes" might yet make
+great mistakes in her estimate of the masculine character.'</p>
+
+<p>The cripple, who perhaps had never before heard her one beautiful
+feature praised by masculine lips, was obliged to harden herself.</p>
+
+<p>'Accomplished wretch!' she cried, in accents worthy of an irate Pamela.</p>
+
+<p>'Do you suppose it was the last time I was serving my term in gaol that
+I read our favourite novels?' he asked.</p>
+
+<p>By this time Morin had passed out of the door to put on his snow-shoes,
+and Courthope, who had swallowed only as much food as was necessary to
+keep him from starvation, turned out to repeat the process of putting on
+his, this time more deftly.</p>
+
+<p>Morin had a toboggan upon which were piled such necessaries as Madge had
+collected. They began their march three abreast into the storm.</p>
+
+<p>They went a long way without conversation, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_357" id="Page_357">[Pg 357]</a></span> yet Courthope found in
+this march keen enjoyment. His heart was absurdly light. To have
+performed so considerable a service for Madge, now to be walking beside
+her on an errand of mercy, was as much joy as the present hour could
+hold.</p>
+
+<p>It was difficult for him to keep up with the others, yet in doing so
+there was the pleasure of the athlete in having acquired a new mastery
+over his muscles; and the fascination of being at home in the snow as a
+sea-bird is at home in the surf, which is the chief element of delight
+in all winter sports, was his for the first time. With the drunken
+wretch who was almost frozen he felt small sympathy, but he had the
+sense that all modern men have on such occasions, that he ought to be
+concerned, which kept him grave.</p>
+
+<p>The other two were not light-hearted. Morin, dragging the toboggan
+behind him and walking with his grey head bent forward to the gale, was
+sullen at being driven in the service of thieves; afraid lest some
+sinister design was still intended, he cast constant glances of cunning
+suspicion at Courthope. As for Madge, she appeared grave and
+pre-occupied beyond all that was natural to her, suffering, he feared,
+from the pain of her first disillusionment. This was a suffering that he
+was hardly in a position to take seriously, and yet his heart yearned
+over her. He thought also that she was pondering over the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_358" id="Page_358">[Pg 358]</a></span> problem of
+her next responsibility, and the evidence of this came sooner than he
+had expected.</p>
+
+<p>When they got to the place where his first track diverged straight to
+the shed, she and Morin stopped to exchange remarks; they evidently
+perceived in this the clearest evidence of all against him. Had he not
+gone straight to the place where the accomplice had agreed to wait? Then
+Madge fell back a little to where he was now plodding in the rear. She
+accosted him in the soft tones that had from the first so charmed him,
+contrasting with her sister's voice as the tones of a reed-pipe contrast
+with those from metal, or as the full voice of the cuckoo with the
+shrill chirp of the sparrow. The soft voice was very serious, the manner
+more than sedate, the words studied.</p>
+
+<p>'I am afraid that nothing that I can say will persuade you to alter a
+way of life which you seem to have chosen, but it seems to me very sad
+that one of your ability should so degrade himself.'</p>
+
+<p>She stopped with a little gasp for breath, as if frightened at her own
+audacity. Her manner and phrases were an evident imitation of the way in
+which she had heard advice bestowed upon vagrant or criminal by the
+benevolent judge whose memory she so tenderly cherished. It was second
+nature to her to act as she fancied he would have acted. Courthope
+composed himself to receive the judicial<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_359" id="Page_359">[Pg 359]</a></span> admonition with becoming
+humility; his whole sympathy was with her, his mind was aglow with the
+quaint humour of it.</p>
+
+<p>'You must know,' rebuked Madge, 'how very wrong it is; and it is not
+possible that you could have difficulty in getting some honest
+employment.'</p>
+
+<p>'It is very kind of you to interest yourself in me.' He kept his eyes
+upon the ground.</p>
+
+<p>'I do not know, of course, what led you to begin a life of crime, or in
+what way you found out what houses in this country were worth robbing,
+but I fear you must have led a wicked life for a long time' (she was
+very severe now). 'You are young yet; why should you carry on your
+nefarious schemes in a new country, where, if you would, you could
+easily reform?' (Again a little gasp for breath.) 'I have promised to
+let you go without giving you into the hands of the law. I am afraid I
+did a selfish and weak thing, because others may suffer from your
+crimes, and I wish you could take this opportunity, which my leniency
+gives you, and try to reform before you have lost your reputation as
+well as your character.'</p>
+
+<p>'It is very kind of you,' he murmured again; and still as he walked he
+looked upon his feet. He had no thought now of again denying his guilt;
+having denied and, as she thought, confessed, he felt that to change<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_360" id="Page_360">[Pg 360]</a></span>
+once more would only evoke her greater scorn. 'Let be,' his heart said.
+'Let come what will, I will not confuse her further to-day.'</p>
+
+<hr class='smler' />
+<h3><a name="Chapter_BVI" id="Chapter_BVI"></a><span class="smcap">Chapter VI</span></h3>
+
+<p>They passed the shed, making a straight march, as swift as might be, for
+the fallen man; but before they reached him they saw some one coming, a
+black, increasing form in the snowy distance. Morin hesitated. If the
+thief had arisen, strong and able-bodied, it was clear that they had
+again been tricked for an evil purpose. Even Madge looked alarmed, and
+they both raised a halloo in the <i>patois</i> of the region. The answer that
+came across the reach of the storm cheered them.</p>
+
+<p>The new-comer, a messenger from the nearest village, became voluble as
+soon as he was within speaking distance. He addressed Madge in broken
+English, but so quickly and with so strong a French accent that
+Courthope only gathered part of his errand. He had come, it seemed, from
+the stepmother to tell something concerning a certain Xavier, who had
+been sent to them the evening before. Before he had finished calling,
+Madge and Morin had come to the place where the thief lay, and, looking
+down upon him, Madge gave a little cry.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_361" id="Page_361">[Pg 361]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>The new-comer came up. He looked as if he might be of the grade of a
+notary's clerk or a country chemist. He did not seem surprised to see
+who the man was. He began at once with great activity to chafe his hands
+and face with handfuls of the snow. Madge and Morin were also active
+with the restoratives. The thief was lifted and laid upon the toboggan.
+They trod the snow all about to know that nothing remained, and found
+only a corkless flask containing a few drops of rum. They were all so
+busy that Courthope had little to do; he stood aside, wondering above
+all at the way they rubbed the man with the snow, and at the
+astonishment that Madge expressed. The stranger was very nimble and very
+talkative; pouring out words now in French to Madge, he walked with her
+in all haste to the shed from which the horse again whinnied. Morin,
+awakening to a sense of urgency, started at a trot, dragging the
+toboggan behind him; it sank heavily in snow so light. Courthope lent a
+hand to the loop of rope by which it was drawn. He too essayed the trot
+of the Canadian. He was growing proficient, and if he did not succeed in
+keeping up the running pace, he managed to go more quickly than before.
+They made fair progress. Looking back, Courthope saw Madge and the
+stranger emerge upon the road with the little horse. He had not time to
+look back often to see how they helped<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_362" id="Page_362">[Pg 362]</a></span> it to make its way. They were
+still some distance behind when he and Morin reached the house.</p>
+
+<p>The man called Xavier was carried into the kitchen amid wild
+exclamations from the Morin women. As they all continued the work of
+restoring him with a hearty goodwill and an experience of which
+Courthope could not boast, he was glad to betake himself to his own
+room, wondering whether he was now a thief or a gentleman in the eyes of
+this small snow-bound world. There was, in any case, no one at leisure
+to prohibit him from making free with his own possessions.</p>
+
+<p>When he was dressed a certain shyness prohibited him from entering the
+dining-room in which he heard Madge, Eliz, and the stranger talking
+French together. He betook himself to the library, to the <i>Letters of
+the Portuguese Nun</i> and an easy-chair. They might oust him with
+severity, but it was as well to enjoy a short interval of luxury. The
+room was warmed with a stove; the book was in the old-fashioned type; an
+almost sleepless night was behind him; soon he slept.</p>
+
+<p>It was almost midday when he slept; the afternoon was advancing when he
+awakened. Madam Morin was standing beside him arranging a tray of food
+upon the table.</p>
+
+<p>'Eh!' she said, and smiled upon him.</p>
+
+<p>Then she pointed to the food, and demanded in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_363" id="Page_363">[Pg 363]</a></span> pantomime if it suited
+him. Courthope concluded that he had ceased to be in disgrace. He would
+rather, much rather, have been summoned to a family meal, but that was
+not his lot. He had taken many things philosophically in the course of
+recent hours, and he took this also. What right had he to intrude
+himself? He ate his meal alone. His roving glance soon brought him
+pleasure, for he found that some one had tip-toed into the room while he
+slept and laid the choicest volumes of romance near his chair.</p>
+
+<p>The wind had dropped, the snow had ceased falling. Before Courthope had
+finished his luncheon the young man who looked like a notary's clerk
+came in, using his broken English. He remarked that the storm was over
+and that they were now going to get out a double team to plough through
+the road. He suggested that Courthope should help him to drive it, and
+to transport the prisoner to the gaol in the village. One man must be
+left to protect the young ladies and the house; one man must help him
+with the team and its burden. The speaker shrugged his shoulders,
+suggesting that it would be more suitable for Morin to remain, and said
+that for his part he would be much obliged and honoured if Courthope
+would accompany him. Here some plain and easy compliments were thrown in
+about Courthope's strength and the generous activity he had displayed,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_364" id="Page_364">[Pg 364]</a></span>
+but not a word concerning his temporary disgrace; if this man knew of it
+he did not regard it as of any importance.</p>
+
+<p>He was a matter-of-fact young man, not much interested in Courthope as a
+stranger, immensely interested in the fact of the theft and all that
+concerned it. At the slightest question he poured out excited
+information. Xavier had been a servant in the house. Mrs. King, who was
+religious and zealous, had found in him a convert. He had become a
+Protestant to please her. (At this point the narrator shrugged his
+shoulders again.) Then Xavier had asked higher wages; upon that there
+was a quarrel, and he had left.</p>
+
+<p>The speaker's scanty English was of the simplest. He said, 'Xavier is a
+very bad man, much worse than our people usually are. This winter he
+went to the city and got his wits sharpened, and when he came back he
+made a scheme. He sent word to Mrs. King that his old father was dying
+and would like to be converted too. Mrs. King travels at once with a
+horse and the strongest servant-man. The old father takes a long time to
+die, so Xavier comes here yesterday to say she will stay all night; but
+when he did not come back, his wife she got frightened, and she told
+that the old man was not going to die, that she was afraid there was a
+scheme. Now we have Xavier very safe. He may get five years.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_365" id="Page_365">[Pg 365]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Upon Courthope's inquiring after the health of the thief, he was told
+that beyond being severely frost-bitten he was little the worse. He was
+again drunk with the stimulants that the Morins had poured down his
+throat. The visitor ended the interview by saying that if Courthope
+would be good enough to drive the team through the drifts his own horse
+and sleigh would be sent after him the next day. Courthope inquired what
+was the wish of the young mistress of the house. The other replied that
+mademoiselle approved of his plan. It was evident that poor Madge was no
+longer the mistress; the clerk was an emissary of Mrs. King's, and as
+such he had taken the control. Still, as he was an amiable and capable
+person, Courthope fell in with his suggestion, inwardly vowing that soon
+of some domain, if not of this one, Madge should again be queen.</p>
+
+<p>Courthope received a message to the effect that the young ladies wished
+to see him. There was something in the formal wording of this message,
+coming after his solitary meal, which made him know that they were ill
+at ease, that they had taken their mistake more deeply to heart than he
+would have wished. He had no sooner entered the room where Madge stood
+than he wished he were well out of it again, so far did his sympathy
+with her discomfort transcend his own pleasure at being in her
+presence.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_366" id="Page_366">[Pg 366]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Madge stood, as upon the first night, behind her sister's chair. Eliz
+looked frightened and excited, yet as half enjoying the novel
+excitement. Madge, pale-faced and distressed, showed only too plainly
+that she had need of all the courage she possessed to lift her eyes to
+his. Yet she was not going to shirk her duty; she was going to make her
+apology, and the apology of the household, just as the judge, her
+father, would have wished to have it made.</p>
+
+<p>It was a little speech, conned beforehand, which she spoke&mdash;a quaint
+mixture of her own girlish wording and the formal phrases which she felt
+the occasion demanded. Courthope never knew precisely what she said. His
+feelings were up and in tumult, like the winds on a gusty day, and he
+was embarrassed for her embarrassment, while he smiled for the very joy
+of it all.</p>
+
+<p>Madge confessed with grief that Eliz had mistaken Xavier for Courthope.
+She said the man from the village had shown them what folly it was to
+suppose that the gentleman could be Xavier's accomplice. She begged that
+same gentleman's pardon very humbly. At the end he heard some words
+faltered: she wished it was in their power 'to make any amends.'</p>
+
+<p>Almost before she ceased speaking he took up the word, and his own voice
+sounded to him merry and bold in comparison with her soft distressful
+speech;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_367" id="Page_367">[Pg 367]</a></span> but he could not help that, he must speak with such powers as
+nature gave him.</p>
+
+<p>'There are two ways by which you can make amends, and first I would beg
+that none of our friends who were here last night should be told of it.
+I should not like to think that Emma and Elizabeth, and Evelina or
+Marianna Alcoforado should ever hear that I was taken for a thief.'</p>
+
+<p>'You are laughing at us,' said Eliz sharply. 'We know that you will go
+away and make fun of us to all your friends.'</p>
+
+<p>'If I do you will have one way of punishing me that would give me more
+pain than I could well endure, you can shut me out next time I come to
+ask for shelter.'</p>
+
+<p>'Oh, but you can't come again,' said Eliz, with vibrating note of fierce
+discontent; 'our stepmother will be here.'</p>
+
+<p>He looked at Madge.</p>
+
+<p>'I was going to say that the other way in which you could make amends
+would be to give me leave to come back; and if <i>you</i> give me leave I
+will come, even if it be necessary, to that end, to get an introduction
+from all the clergy in Great Britain, or from the Royal Family.'</p>
+
+<p>A ray of hope shot into Madge's dark eyes, the first glimmer of a smile
+began to show through her distress.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_368" id="Page_368">[Pg 368]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>'It is an old adage that "where there is a will there is a way," and did
+I not walk on your most impossible snow-shoes and bring back your
+silver?'</p>
+
+<p>Madge looked down, a pretty red began to mantle her pale face, and, as
+if the angels who manage the winds and clouds did not wish that the
+blush of so dear a maiden should betray too much, a ray of scarlet light
+from the sinking sun just then came winging through the dispersing
+storm-clouds and caused all the white snow-world to redden, and dyed the
+frost-flowers on the window-pane, and, entering where the pane was bare,
+lit all the room with soft vermilion light. So, in the wondrous blush of
+the white world, the girl's cheeks glowed and yet did not confess too
+much.</p>
+
+<p>'You will allow me to send in your compliments and inquire after Mr.
+Woodhouse as I pass?' This was Courthope's farewell to Eliz, and she
+called joyfully in reply:&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>'You need not send back his message, for we shall know that they are
+"all very indifferent."'</p>
+
+<p>Into the scarlet shining of the western sun, an omen of fair weather and
+delight, Courthope set forth again from the square tin-roofed house,
+'leaving,' as the saying is, 'his heart behind him.' The large
+farm-horses, restive from long confinement and stimulated by the frost,
+shook their bells with energy. The Morin women displayed such goodwill<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_369" id="Page_369">[Pg 369]</a></span>
+and even tenderness in their attentions to the comfort of the second
+prisoner, in whom they had found an old friend, that, tied in a blanket
+and lying full length on the straw of a box-sleigh, he looked content
+with himself and the world, albeit he had not as yet returned from the
+happy roving-places of the drunken brain. The talkative clerk was glad
+enough to give Courthope the reins of the masterful horses; he sat on
+one edge of the blue-painted box and Courthope on the other; thus they
+started, bravely plunging into the drifts between the poplars. The
+drifts were all tinged with pink; the poplars, intercepting the red
+light upon their slender upright boughs, cast, each of them, a clear
+shadow that seemed to lie in endless length athwart the glowing sward.</p>
+
+<p>Courthope looked back at the house which had been so dim and
+phantom-like the night before; the red sun lit the icicles that hung
+from eaves and lintels, tinged the drifts, glowed upon the windows as if
+with light from within, and turned the steep tin roof into a gigantic
+rose; but all his glance was centred upon his lady-love, who stood,
+regardless of the cold, at the entrance of the drift-encircled porch and
+watched them as long as the sunlight lay upon the land. Was she looking
+at the plunging sleigh and at its driver, or at the chasms of light in
+the rent cloud beyond? His heart told him, as he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_370" id="Page_370">[Pg 370]</a></span> drove on into the very
+midst of the sunset which had embraced the glistening land, that the
+maid, although not regardless of the outer glory, only rejoiced in its
+beauty because the vision of her heart was focused upon him. His heart,
+in telling him this, taught him no pride, for had he not learned in the
+same small space of time only to count himself rich in what she gave?</p>
+
+<p>Slow was the progress of the great horses; they passed the grove of high
+elms and birches that, dressed in the snowflakes that had lodged in
+boughs and branches when the wind dropped, stood up clear against the
+gulfs of blue that now opened above and beyond. Then the house was
+hidden, and after that, by degrees, the light of the sunset passed away.</p>
+
+<h3>THE END.</h3>
+
+
+<p class='center'><i>Printed by</i> R. &amp; R. <span class="smcap">Clark, Limited</span>, <i>Edinburgh</i>.</p>
+
+<hr />
+<h2><a name="ADVERTISEMENTS" id="ADVERTISEMENTS"></a>ADVERTISEMENTS</h2>
+
+<hr class='smler' />
+
+<h2>A MAN OF HONOUR.</h2>
+
+<h3><span class="smcap">By</span> H. C. IRWIN.</h3>
+
+<p class='center'>Crown 8vo, cloth, price 6s.</p>
+
+<p>'We have read many and many a story of the Indian Mutiny, but Mr.
+Irwin's tale has novelty all its own.'&mdash;<i>Glasgow Herald.</i></p>
+
+<p>'Much good and careful work marks "A Man of Honour." H. C. Irwin is a
+writer of thought and culture, who uses his experience of foreign travel
+to admirable purpose in an interesting book.'&mdash;<i>Black and White.</i></p>
+
+<p>'All the characters are clearly presented, and you have no difficulty in
+knowing whether you like them or not; and that is a commendation in
+itself.'&mdash;<i>National Observer.</i></p>
+
+<p>'The novel is well written, vigorous, and interesting, and will well
+repay reading, especially to those who like breezy, outdoor, active
+existence.'&mdash;<i>Scotsman.</i></p>
+
+<p>'The interest is well sustained throughout, and once fairly embarked on
+the story, it requires no slight moral effort to lay down the book
+before finishing it.'&mdash;<i>Literary World.</i></p>
+
+<p>'The description of Indian politics and events during the Mutiny years
+is well done, and the account of the battle of Chillianwallah and the
+time immediately preceding it is excellent'&mdash;<i>Standard.</i></p>
+
+<p>'The literary qualities of the book are high, and the story itself has
+great merit and power, and can be heartily recommended as a book very
+well worth reading.'&mdash;<i>Aberdeen Free Press.</i></p>
+
+<p>'Essentially interesting and well written.'&mdash;<i>British Review.</i></p>
+
+<p>'A cleaner book, and one more free, in spite of its <i>motif</i>, from the
+trail of the sex-serpent, we scarcely remember to have read.... We need
+more such idealists ... to show us some of the good that is left in the
+world.'&mdash;<i>Blackwood's Magazine.</i></p>
+
+<p>'The picture furnished of India, of its people and their ways, and of
+the terrible experiences of the Mutiny period, is an admirable bit of
+strong literary work.'&mdash;<i>Belfast News Letter.</i></p>
+
+<p>'It is a platitude that, to be worth reading, a Mutiny story must be
+unquestionably good. The standard is high, but Mr. Irwin's book comes up
+to it, and fully satisfies the most exacting test'&mdash;<i>The Pioneer,
+Allahabad.</i></p>
+
+<h3>A. &amp; C. BLACK, SOHO SQUARE, LONDON.</h3>
+
+<hr />
+
+<h2>THE LIFEGUARDSMAN.</h2>
+
+<h3>ADAPTED FROM SCHIMMEL'S 'DE KAPTEIN VAN DE LIJFGARDE.'</h3>
+
+<p class='center'>Crown 8vo, cloth, price 6s.</p>
+
+<p>'It is a work of remarkable power and sustained interest. Right to the
+end the interest is maintained, and it is not over-estimating the work
+to say that few historical novels published within recent years are
+superior to this adaptation of the Dutchman's story.'&mdash;<i>Scotsman.</i></p>
+
+<p>'It is primarily a romance, a story of thrilling adventure, and moves
+forward with dramatic spirit from point to point.'&mdash;<i>Illustrated London
+News.</i></p>
+
+<p>'We have no other novel giving so intimate an account of how things fell
+out, and what obscure events and persons helped and hindered the
+overthrow of James II. But the chief interest of the book turns round
+the private person, the Lifeguardsman, not all a hero, mistaken, erring,
+unfortunate, yet a brave man, and of the kind that stirs our sympathies
+more than do immaculate heroes.'&mdash;<i>Bookman.</i></p>
+
+<p>'The work is characterised by great dash and vigour, and the principal
+characters in the story are strongly drawn, while the incidents are
+woven so skilfully together that the reader is carried with absorbing
+interest to the close.'&mdash;<i>Western Times.</i></p>
+
+<p>'English readers are under a considerable debt of gratitude to the
+anonymous translator who has given them a version in the vernacular of
+Schimmel's "De Kaptein van de Lijfgarde." "The Lifeguardsman" is a
+historical novel of very unusual power and fidelity. In detail and habit
+the scenes and people of that troublous period are "reconstituted" here
+with remarkable skill.'&mdash;<i>Belfast Northern Whig.</i></p>
+
+<p>'We do not often get the pleasure of handling such a lively and
+thrilling story, and can feel a due measure of gratitude for the
+anonymous "mere adapter" to whose discernment and enterprise we are
+indebted for having brought it to our notice.'&mdash;<i>Literary World.</i></p>
+
+
+<h3>A. &amp; C. BLACK, SOHO SQUARE, LONDON.</h3>
+
+<hr />
+
+<h2>A JAPANESE MARRIAGE</h2>
+
+<h3>By DOUGLAS SLADEN.</h3>
+
+<h3>FIFTH THOUSAND.</h3>
+
+<p class='center'>Crown 8vo, boards, price 2s.; or in cloth, price 2s. 6d.</p>
+
+<p>I. <span class="smcap">Zangwill</span>, in the <i>Pall Mall Magazine</i>, says: 'Bryn, the
+heroine, is a charming creature, and some of the scenes with her
+half-crazed dying sister reveal strong imaginative power.'</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Lynn Linton</span>, in the <i>Queen</i>, says: 'Another Little Dear
+has for her main quality unselfishness, penetrated through and through
+by love. Such a character is Mary Avon in Douglas Sladen's striking
+novel, "A Japanese Marriage."'</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Silas K. Hocking</span>, in the <i>Family Circle</i>: 'The stupidity, not
+to say immorality, of the English law, which prevents marriage with the
+deceased wife's sister, has rarely been more strikingly illustrated than
+in Mr. Douglas Sladen's clever novel, "A Japanese Marriage." I could
+wish the whole bench of bishops would read, mark, learn, and inwardly
+digest this sparkling and entertaining story.'</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Helen Mathers</span>, in the <i>Literary World</i>, writes: 'Philip and
+Bryn&mdash;these two are so interesting and so true to life, the Japanese
+background against which they move in such noble but intensely human
+fashion is so exquisite, that the dullest of us must feel keen pleasure
+when we mingle intimately with the little people who have quite recently
+asserted their right to be reckoned with the greatest upon earth.'</p>
+
+<p>G. A., in the <i>Westminster Gazette</i>, says: 'Mr. Douglas Sladen's first
+novel is a distinct success. To begin with, he has managed to capture a
+real live heroine, as charming and convincing a pretty girl as we have
+met with for years. Her flesh-and-blood reality is quite undeniable. She
+imposes herself upon one from the very first; she is winning and
+genuine, and as fresh as a daisy.'</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Gilbert Burgess</span>, in the <i>Illustrated London News</i>: 'This time
+it is the woes of the deceased wife's sister which are brought before us
+in a narrative that is invariably picturesque, and, especially as to the
+latter half of the volume, is of considerable humour and pathos.'</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Norman Gale</span>, in the <i>Literary World</i>: 'Bryn, a girl beautiful
+exceedingly, only a little past twenty years of age&mdash;"sweet and twenty"
+indeed!&mdash;loving Philip purely, and purely loved by him in return, living
+alone with a young widower. The moment when Bryn proves her love is a
+most exciting one, and shows that Mr. Sladen is a master of vivid
+recital.'</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Jas. Stanley Little</span>, in the <i>Academy</i>: 'He writes with
+knowledge and freshness of a country and a people as full of interest as
+Japan and the Japanese.'</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Marion Hepworth Dixon</span>, in the <i>Englishwoman</i>: 'A story
+strikingly told and animated with the doings of English residents in
+Japan.'</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Richard le Gallienne</span>, in the <i>Star</i>: 'An exceedingly sprightly
+and readable novel.'</p>
+
+<h3>A. &amp; C. BLACK, SOHO SQUARE, LONDON.</h3>
+
+<hr />
+
+<h2>MERE STORIES.</h2>
+
+<h3><span class="smcap">By Mrs</span>. W. K. CLIFFORD.</h3>
+
+<p class='center'>Crown 8vo, paper covers, in the style of a French novel, price 2s.</p>
+
+<p>'Mrs. W. K. Clifford's "Mere Stories" is not only notable for the
+excellence and uniform interest of the stories it contains, but also for
+the novelty of its shape&mdash;that of the yellow French novel pure and
+simple. The innovation deserves encouragement. You do not want, at this
+time of day, an introduction to Mrs. Clifford's many good qualities. She
+has become one of those few writers of English fiction no one of whose
+books one can afford to leave unread.'&mdash;<i>Review of Reviews.</i></p>
+
+<p>'They are neatly and incisively written, with an unfailing strain of
+humour running through them. Altogether, this is a volume to read, and
+we like its get-up&mdash;in paper covers on the French model, only neater and
+more substantial.'&mdash;<i>Daily Mail.</i></p>
+
+<p>'In type, make-up, and size, it is exactly the volume to buy at the
+book-stall and slip into such convenient receptacle as you may chance to
+carry with you in the railway carriage. It costs you no more than a few
+illustrated papers, and is more handy to bestow when you have read it.
+As for the contents, they are eight slight stories, in Mrs. Clifford's
+best manner. Yet, simple and unpretending as they are, they contain the
+real novelist's touch. There is nature, drama, character, in these short
+histories, and, above all, that command of simple pathos which Mrs.
+Clifford has more than most writers. We do not know many living writers
+who could have done either so well.'&mdash;<i>St. James's Gazette.</i></p>
+
+<hr class='smler' />
+
+<h3>UNIFORM WITH 'MERE STORIES,'</h3>
+
+<h2>THE LAST TOUCHES.</h2>
+
+<h3><span class="smcap">By Mrs</span>. W. K. CLIFFORD.</h3>
+
+<p>'Much skill is devoted to the narration of all these
+stories.'&mdash;<i>Saturday Review.</i></p>
+
+<p>'Many of them surpass even "Aunt Anne" and "Mrs. Keith's Crime" in
+terseness and brilliant originality.'&mdash;<i>Morning Post.</i></p>
+
+<p>'One reads them from beginning to end enchanted.'&mdash;<i>National Review.</i></p>
+
+<p>'There is some very pretty and delicate work in them, which the literary
+world would be the poorer for losing.'&mdash;<i>Daily Telegraph.</i></p>
+
+<p>'Indeed, in every story there are touches of wonderful cleverness, signs
+of clear insight, of fresh and just observation.'&mdash;<i>Speaker.</i></p>
+
+<p>'Two or three of the stories reach an uncommon level of thought and
+expression.'&mdash;<i>Standard.</i></p>
+
+<p>'But they are all good, all original, all distinctive, and we advise
+readers to take care not to miss them.'&mdash;<i>Guardian.</i></p>
+
+<h3>A. &amp; C. BLACK, SOHO SQUARE, LONDON.</h3>
+
+<hr />
+
+<h2>THE DREAM-CHARLOTTE.</h2>
+
+<h3><span class="smcap">By</span> M. BETHAM-EDWARDS.</h3>
+
+<p class='center'>Crown 8vo, cloth, price 6s.</p>
+
+<p>'Miss Betham-Edwards is on her own special ground in her new novel,
+which she calls "The Dream-Charlotte." Provincial France of the
+Revolution time she knows with a detailed knowledge few other English
+writers, if any, possess. It is a first-rate novel for youth, because of
+its irresistible, contagious youthfulness; and its wholesome
+enthusiasms.'&mdash;<i>The Sketch.</i></p>
+
+<p>'An historical novel of a thoroughly legitimate kind, for the picture
+and the character are brought before us with sufficient vividness, yet
+mainly through the words and thoughts of the fictitious heroine, and
+through her close sympathy with her friend.'&mdash;<i>Athen&aelig;um.</i></p>
+
+<p>'A tale of rare imaginative beauty. Needless to say, the literary charm
+of the book is great, and the atmosphere of the story true to its
+historical setting.'&mdash;<i>Dundee Advertiser.</i></p>
+
+<p>'No living writer is so thoroughly at home in describing French life as
+Miss Edwards is, or better able to give a life-like picture of the
+social condition of France at the period of Charlotte Corday's daring
+deed.'&mdash;<i>Hastings Observer.</i></p>
+
+<hr class='smler' />
+
+<h2>THE CURB OF HONOUR.</h2>
+
+<h3><span class="smcap">By</span> M. BETHAM-EDWARDS.</h3>
+
+<p class='center'>Crown 8vo, cloth, price 3s. 6d.</p>
+
+<p>'The descriptions of scenery in the Pyrenees are very attractive, and
+the author has been most skilful in her delineations of the characters
+of the leading actors.'&mdash;<i>Literary World.</i></p>
+
+<p>'The concluding chapter is a piece of masterly tragi-comedy. When I say
+that this scene is suggestive of Balzac, I mean a high
+compliment.'&mdash;<i>Academy.</i></p>
+
+<p>'Miss Betham-Edwards is a popular favourite of longstanding. She loves
+to take her readers into some quiet corner of France, and her gift of
+picturesque description is such that her tales seldom fail to yield
+interest and recreation.'&mdash;<i>Times.</i></p>
+
+<h3>A. &amp; C. BLACK, SOHO SQUARE, LONDON.</h3>
+
+<hr />
+
+<h2>AN ISLE IN THE WATER.</h2>
+
+<h3><span class="smcap">By</span> KATHARINE TYNAN (<span class="smcap">Mrs</span>. Hinkson).</h3>
+
+<h3>AUTHOR OF 'OH, WHAT A PLAGUE IS LOVE!'</h3>
+
+<p class='center'>Crown 8vo, cloth, price 3s. 6d.</p>
+
+<p>'Here, among the hosts of ladies who write with care and inelegance,
+comes a woman artist. "An Isle in the Water" is a collection of fifteen
+well-conceived and excellently-finished Irish stories, for which it
+would be hard to find anything to say but praise. They are all extremely
+short for the force of their effect, and every touch tells; they are
+gracefully phrased without an appearance of artifice, subtly expressed
+without a suspicion of affectation.'&mdash;<i>Saturday Review.</i></p>
+
+<p>'I venture to assert that in any one of its fifteen tales there is a
+finer rendering of the very essence of Irish life and character than in
+any half-dozen of the books which are responsible for the conception of
+the conventional Pat or Biddy which has had such a long and prosperous
+vogue on this side of the Channel. The book owes its momentum to its
+fascinating and powerful rendering of the pathos and the tragedy of the
+simple lives with which the writer deals. But this fascination and power
+are far too obvious to stand in need of celebration.'&mdash;<i>New Age.</i></p>
+
+<p>'Any faults the book may have are redeemed by a page torn from the
+authoress's own heart. "Changing the Nurseries" is a chapter no woman,
+mother, or maid could read without a lump in her throat. The strong
+maternal element, which is the chief virtue of the Irish, is rife in it,
+and the thousand and one little trivialities that our life is made up of
+are admirably commented upon.'&mdash;<i>St. James's Budget.</i></p>
+
+<hr class='smler' />
+
+<h2>OH, WHAT A PLAGUE IS LOVE!</h2>
+
+<h3><span class="smcap">By</span> KATHARINE TYNAN (<span class="smcap">Mrs</span>. HINKSON).</h3>
+
+<p class='center'>Crown 8vo, cloth, price 3s. 6d.</p>
+
+<p>'This sparkling story has such freshness as suggests a draught new-drawn
+from Paphian wells. It is, in fact, a vivacious little comedy, agreeably
+diversified with threatenings of tragedy, and radiant with humour from
+first to last.'&mdash;<i>Daily Chronicle.</i></p>
+
+<p>'Mrs. Hinkson is lively and pleasant in her domestic story&mdash;purely
+English this time&mdash;which relates the misgivings and man&oelig;uvrings of a
+family of young grown-up people who are ever on the watch for the
+amorous proclivities of a light-hearted father.'&mdash;<i>National Observer.</i></p>
+
+<p>'Leigh Hunt would have delighted in Mrs. Hinkson. He knew how to value
+high spirit in a writer, and the gaiety of this cheerful story would
+have charmed him immensely.'&mdash;<i>Saturday Review.</i></p>
+
+<h3>A. &amp; C. BLACK, SOHO SQUARE, LONDON.</h3>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr class="full" />
+<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A DOZEN WAYS OF LOVE***</p>
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+++ b/18086.txt
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+The Project Gutenberg eBook, A Dozen Ways Of Love, by Lily Dougall
+
+
+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: A Dozen Ways Of Love
+
+
+Author: Lily Dougall
+
+
+
+Release Date: March 30, 2006  [eBook #18086]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII)
+
+
+***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A DOZEN WAYS OF LOVE***
+
+
+E-text prepared by Robert Cicconetti, Martin Pettit, and the Project
+Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net/) from
+page images generously made available by Early Canadiana Online
+(http://www.canadiana.org/eco/index.html)
+
+
+
+Note: Images of the original pages are available through
+      Early Canadiana Online. See
+      http://www.canadiana.org/ECO/ItemRecord/27354?id=1773fdb4bf2c6d8f
+
+
+
+
+A DOZEN WAYS OF LOVE
+
+by
+
+L. DOUGALL
+
+Author of 'Beggars All,' 'The Zeitgeist,' 'The Madonna of a Day,' Etc.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+London
+Adam And Charles Black
+1897
+
+
+
+
+
+TO
+
+M. S. E.
+
+WITHOUT WHOSE AID, I THINK, MY BOOKS WOULD NEVER HAVE BEEN WRITTEN
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+                                              PAGE
+   I. YOUNG LOVE                                 1
+
+  II. A MARRIAGE MADE IN HEAVEN                 29
+
+ III. THRIFT                                    57
+
+  IV. A TAINT IN THE BLOOD                      77
+
+   V. 'HATH NOT A JEW EYES?'                   127
+
+  VI. A COMMERCIAL TRAVELLER                   141
+
+ VII. THE SYNDICATE BABY                       169
+
+VIII. WITCHCRAFT                               195
+
+  IX. THE GIRL WHO BELIEVED IN THE SAINTS      219
+
+   X. THE PAUPER'S GOLDEN DAY                  237
+
+  XI. THE SOUL OF A MAN                        251
+
+ XII. A FREAK OF CUPID                         293
+
+
+
+
+I
+
+YOUNG LOVE
+
+
+It was after dark on a November evening. A young woman came down the
+main street of a small town in the south of Scotland. She was a
+maid-servant, about thirty years old; she had a pretty, though rather
+strong-featured, face, and yellow silken hair. When she came toward the
+end of the street she turned into a small draper's shop. A middle-aged
+woman stood behind the counter folding her wares.
+
+'Can ye tell me the way to Mistress Macdonald's?' asked the maid.
+
+'Ye'll be a stranger.' It was evident that every one in those parts knew
+the house inquired for.
+
+The maid had a somewhat forward, familiar manner; she sat down to rest.
+'What like is she?'
+
+The shopkeeper bridled. 'Is it Mistress Macdonald?' There was reproof in
+the voice. 'She is much respectet--none more so. It would be before you
+were born that every one about here knew Mistress Macdonald.'
+
+'Well, what family is there?' The maid had a sweet smile; her voice fell
+into a cheerful coaxing tone, which had its effect.
+
+'Ye'll be the new servant they'll be looking for. Is it walking ye are
+from the station? Well, she had six children, had Mistress Macdonald.'
+
+'What ages will they be?'
+
+The woman knit her brows; the problem set her was too difficult. 'I
+couldna tell ye just exactly. There's Miss Macdonald--she that's at home
+yet; she'll be over fifty.'
+
+'Oh!' The maid gave a cheerful note of interested understanding. 'It'll
+be her perhaps that wrote to me; the mistress'll be an old lady.'
+
+'She'll be nearer ninety than eighty, I'm thinking.' There was a
+moment's pause, which the shop-woman filled with sighs. 'Ye'll be aware
+that it's a sad house ye're going to. She's verra ill is Mistress
+Macdonald. It's sorrow for us all, for she's been hale and had her
+faculties. She'll no' be lasting long now, I'm thinking.'
+
+'No,' said the maid, with good-hearted pensiveness; 'it's not in the
+course of nature that she should.' She rose as she spoke, as if it
+behoved her to begin her new duties with alacrity, as there might not
+long be occasion for them. She put another question before she went.
+'And who will there be living in the house now?'
+
+'There's just Miss Macdonald that lives with her mother; and there's
+Mistress Brown--she'll be coming up most of the days now, but she dinna
+live there; and there's Ann Johnston, that's helping Miss Macdonald with
+the nursing--she's been staying at the house for a year back. That's all
+that there'll be of them besides the servants, except that there's Dr.
+Robert. His name is Macdonald, too, ye know; he's a nephew, and he's the
+minister o' the kirk here. He goes up every day to see how his aunt's
+getting on. I'm thinking he'll be up there now; it's about his time for
+going.'
+
+The maid took the way pointed out to her. Soon she was walking up a
+gravel path, between trim, old-fashioned laurel hedges. She stood at the
+door of a detached house. It was an ordinary middle-class
+dwelling--comfortable, commodious, ugly enough, except that stolidity
+and age did much to soften its ugliness. It had, above all, the air of
+being a home--a hospitable open-armed look, as if children had run in
+and out of it for years, as if young men had gone out from it to see the
+world and come back again to rest, as if young girls had fluttered about
+it, confiding their sports and their loves to its ivy-clad walls. Now
+there hung about it a silence and sobriety that were like the shadows of
+coming oblivion. The gas was turned low in the hall. The old-fashioned
+omnibus that came lumbering from the railway with a box for the new maid
+seemed to startle the place with its noise.
+
+In the large dining-room four people were sitting in dreary discussion.
+The gas-light flared upon heavy mahogany furniture, upon red moreen
+curtains and big silver trays and dishes. By the fire sat the two
+daughters of the aged woman. They both had grey hair and wrinkled faces.
+The married daughter was stout and energetic; the spinster was thin,
+careworn and nervous. Two middle-aged men were listening to a complaint
+she made; the one was Robert Macdonald the minister, the other was the
+family doctor.
+
+'It's no use Robina's telling me that I must coax my mother to eat, as
+if I hadn't tried that'--the voice became shrill--'I've begged her, and
+prayed her, and reasoned with her.'
+
+'No, no, Miss Macdonald--no, no,' said the doctor soothingly. 'You've
+done your best, we all understand that; it's Mistress Brown that's
+thinking of the situation in a wrong light; it's needful to be plain and
+to say that Mistress Macdonald's mind is affected.'
+
+Robina Brown interposed with indignation and authority.
+
+'My mother has always had her right mind; she's been losing her memory.
+All aged people lose their memories.'
+
+The minister spoke with a meditative interest in a psychological
+phenomenon. 'Ay, she's been losing it backwards; she forgot who we were
+first, and remembered us all as little children; then she forgot us and
+your father altogether. Latterly she's been living back in the days when
+her father and mother were living at Kelsey Farm. It's strange to hear
+her talk. There's not, as far as I know, another being on this wide
+earth of all those that came and went to Kelsey Farm that is alive now.'
+
+Miss Macdonald wiped her eyes; her voice shook as she spoke; the
+nervousness of fatigue and anxiety accentuated her grief. 'She was
+asking me how much butter we made in the dairy to-day, and asking if the
+curly cow had her calf, and what Jeanie Trim was doing.'
+
+'Who was Jeanie Trim?' asked the minister.
+
+'How should I know? I suppose she was one of the Kelsey servants.'
+
+'Curious,' ejaculated the minister. 'This Jeanie will have grown old and
+died, perhaps, forty years ago, and my aunt's speaking of her as if she
+was a young thing at work in the next room!'
+
+'And what did you say to Mistress Macdonald?' the doctor asked, with a
+cheerful purpose in his tone.
+
+'I explained to her that her poor head was wandering.'
+
+'Nay, now, but, Miss Macdonald, I'm thinking if I were you I would tell
+her that the curly cow had her calf.'
+
+'I never'--tearfully--'told my mother a falsehood in my life, except
+when I was a very little girl, and then'--Miss Macdonald paused to wipe
+her eyes--'she spoke to me so beautifully out of the Bible about it.'
+
+The married sister chimed in mournfully, 'How often have I heard my
+mother say that not one of her children had ever told her a lie!'
+
+'Yes, yes, but----' There was a tone in the doctor's voice as if he
+would like to have used a strong word, but he schooled himself.
+
+'It's curious the notion she has got of not eating,' broke in the
+minister. 'I held the broth myself, but she would have none of it.'
+
+In the next room the flames of a large fire were sending reflections
+over the polished surfaces of massive bedroom furniture. The wind blew
+against this side of the house and rattled the windows, as if angry to
+see the picture of luxury and warmth within. It was a handsome stately
+room, and all that was in it dated back many a year. In a chintz
+arm-chair by the fireside its mistress sat--a very old lady, but there
+was still dignity in her pose. Her hair, perfectly white, was still
+plentiful; her eye had still something of brightness, and there was upon
+the aged features the cast of thought and the habitual look of
+intelligence. Beside her upon a small table were such accompaniments of
+age as daughter and nurse deemed suitable--the large print Bible, the
+big spectacles and caudle cup. The lady sat looking about her with a
+quick restless expression, like a prisoner alert to escape; she was tied
+to her chair--not by cords--by the failure of muscular strength; but
+perhaps she did not know that. She eyed her attendant with bright
+furtive glances, as if the meek sombre woman who sat sewing beside her
+were her jailer.
+
+The party in the dining-room broke up their vain discussion, and came
+for another visit of personal inspection.
+
+'Mother, this is the doctor come to see you. Do you not remember the
+doctor?'
+
+The old lady looked at all four of them brightly enough. 'I haena the
+pleasure of remembering who ye are, but perhaps it will return to me.'
+There was restrained politeness in her manner.
+
+The doctor spoke. 'It's a very bad tale I'm hearing about you to-day,
+that you've begun to refuse your meat. A person of your experience,
+Mistress Macdonald, ought to know that we must eat to live.' He had a
+basin of food in his hand. 'Now just to please me, Mistress Macdonald.'
+
+The old dame answered with the air that a naughty child or a pouting
+maiden might have had. 'I'll no eat it--tak' it away! I'll no eat it.
+Not for you, no--nor for my mither there'--she looked defiantly at her
+grey-haired daughter--'no, nor for my father himself!'
+
+'Not a mouthful has passed her lips to-day,' moaned Miss Macdonald. She
+wrung excited hands and stepped back a pace into the shadow; she felt
+too modest to pose as her mother's mother before the curious eyes of the
+two men.
+
+The old lady appeared relieved when the spinster was out of her sight.
+'I don't know ye, gentlemen, but perhaps now my mither's not here, ye'll
+tell me who it was that rang the door-bell a while since.'
+
+The men hesitated. They were neither of them ready with inventions.
+
+She leaned towards the doctor, strangely excited. 'Was it Mr. Kinnaird?'
+she whispered.
+
+The doctor supposed her to be frightened. 'No, no,' he said in cheerful
+tones; 'you're mistaken--it wasn't Kinnaird.'
+
+She leaned back pettishly. 'Tak' away the broth; I'll no' tak' it!'
+
+The discomfited four passed out of the room again. The women were
+weeping; the men were shaking their heads.
+
+It was just then that the new servant passed into the sick-room, bearing
+candles in her hands.
+
+'Jeanie, Jeanie Trim,' whispered the old lady. The whisper had a
+sprightly yet mysterious tone in it; the withered fingers were put out
+as if to twitch the passing skirt as the housemaid went by.
+
+The girl turned and bent a look--strong, helpful, and kindly--upon this
+fine ruin of womanhood. The girl had wit 'Yes, ma'am?' she answered
+blithely.
+
+'I'll speak with ye, Jeanie, when this woman goes away; it's her that my
+mither's put to spy on me.'
+
+The nurse retired into the shadow of the wardrobe.
+
+'She's away now,' said the maid.
+
+'Jeanie, is it Mr. Kinnaird?'
+
+'Well, now, would you like it to be Mr. Kinnaird?' The maid spoke as we
+speak to a familiar friend when we have joyful news.
+
+'Oh, Jeanie Trim, ye know well that I've longed sair for him to come
+again!'
+
+The maid set down her candles, and knelt down by the old dame's knee,
+looking up with playful face.
+
+'Well, now, I'll tell ye something. He came to see ye this afternoon.'
+
+'Did he, Jeanie?' The withered face became all wreathed with smiles; the
+old eyes danced with joy. 'What did ye say to him?'
+
+'Oh, well, I just said'--hesitation--'I said he was to come back again
+to-morrow.'
+
+'My father doesn't know that he's been here?' There was apprehension in
+the whisper.
+
+'Not a soul knows but meself.'
+
+'Ye didna tell him I'd been looking for him, Jeanie Trim?'
+
+'Na, na, I made out that ye didna care whether he came or not.'
+
+'But he wouldna be hurt in his mind, would he? I'd no like him to be
+affronted.'
+
+'It's no likely he was affronted when he said he'd come back to-morrow.'
+
+The smile of satisfaction came again.
+
+'Did he carry his silver-knobbed cane and wear his green coat, Jeanie?'
+
+'Ay, he wore his green coat, and he looked as handsome a man as ever I
+saw in my life.'
+
+The coals in the grate shot up a sudden brilliant flame that eclipsed
+the soft light of the candles and set strange shadows quivering about
+the huge bed and wardrobe and the dark rosewood tables. The winsome
+young woman at her play, and the old dame living back in a tale that was
+long since told, exchanged nods and smiles at the thought of the
+handsome visitor in his green coat. The whisper of the aged voice came
+blithely--
+
+'Ay, he is that, Jeanie Trim; as handsome a man as ever trod!'
+
+The maid rose, and passing out observed the discarded basin of broth.
+
+'What's this?' she said. 'Ye'll no be able to see Mr. Kinnaird to-morrow
+if ye don't take yer soup the night.'
+
+'Gie it to me, Jeanie Trim; I thought he wasna coming again when I said
+I wouldna.'
+
+The nurse slipped out of the shadow of the wardrobe and went out to tell
+that the soup was being eaten.
+
+'Kinnaird,' repeated the minister meditatively. 'I never heard my aunt
+speak the name.'
+
+'Kinnaird,' repeated the daughters; and they too searched in their
+memories.
+
+'I can remember my grandfather and my grandmother--the married daughter
+spoke incredulously--'there was never a gentleman called Kinnaird that
+any of the family had to do with. I'm sure of that, or I'd have as much
+as heard the name.'
+
+The minister shook his head, discounting the certainty.
+
+'Maybe John will remember the name; your father, and your grandfather
+too, had great talks with him when he was a lad. I'll write a line and
+ask him. Poor William or Thomas might have known, if they had lived.'
+
+William and Thomas, grey-haired men, respected fathers of families, had
+already been laid by the side of their father in the burying-ground.
+John lived in a distant country, counting himself too feeble now to
+cross the seas. The daughters, the younger members of this flock, were
+passing into advanced years. The mother sat by her fireside, and smiled
+softly to herself as she watched the dancing flame, and thought that her
+young lover would return on the morrow.
+
+The days went on.
+
+'I cannot think it right to tamper with my mother in this false way.'
+The spinster daughter spoke tearfully.
+
+'Would you rather see Mistress Macdonald die of starvation?' The doctor
+spoke sharply; he was tired of the protest. The doctor approved of the
+new maid. 'She's a wise-like body,' he said; 'let her have her way.'
+
+'Don't you know us, mother?' the daughters would ask patiently, sadly,
+day by day. But she never knew them; she only mistook one or the other
+of them at times for her own mother, of whom she stood in some awe.
+
+'Surely ye've not forgotten Ann Johnston, ma'am?' the nurse would ask,
+carefully tending her old mistress.
+
+The force of long habit had made the old lady patient and courteous, but
+no answering gleam came in her face.
+
+'Ye know who I am?' the new maid would cry in kindly triumph.
+
+'Oh, ay, I know you, Jeanie Trim.'
+
+'And now, look, I brought you a fine cup of milk, warm from the byre.'
+
+'Oh, I canna tak' it; I'm no thinking that I care about eating the day.'
+
+'Well, but I want to tell ye'--with an air of mystery. 'Who d'ye think's
+downstairs? It's Mr. Kinnaird himself.'
+
+'Did he come round by the yard to the dairy door?'
+
+'That he did; and all to ask how ye were the day.'
+
+The sparkle of the eye returned, and the smile that almost seemed to
+dimple the wrinkled cheek.
+
+'And I hope ye offered him something to eat, Jeanie; it's a long ride he
+takes.'
+
+'Bread and cheese, and a cup of milk just like this.'
+
+'What did he say? Did he like what ye gave him?'
+
+'He said a sup of milk sudna cross his lips till you'd had a cupful the
+like of his; so I brought it in to ye. You'd better make haste and take
+it up.'
+
+'Did he send ye wi' the cup, Jeanie Trim?'
+
+'Ay, he did that; and not a bit nor sup will he tak till ye've drunk it
+all, every drop.'
+
+With evident delight the cup was drained.
+
+'Ye told him I was ailing and couldna see him the day, Jeanie?'
+
+'Maybe ye'll see him to-morrow.' The maid stooped and folded the white
+shawl more carefully over the dame's breast, and smiled in protective
+kindly fashion. She had a good heart and a womanly, motherly touch,
+although many a mistress had called her wilful and pert.
+
+There were times when the minister came and sat himself behind his
+aunt's chair to watch and to listen. He was a meditative man, and wrote
+many an essay upon modern theology, but here he found food for
+meditation of another sort.
+
+There was no being in the world that he reverenced as he had reverenced
+this aged lady. In his childhood she had taught him to lisp the measures
+of psalm and paraphrase; in his youth she had advised him with shrewdest
+wisdom; in his ministerial life she had been to him a friend, always
+holding before him a greater spiritual height to be attained, and
+now---- He thought upon his uncle as he had known him, a very reverent
+elder of the kirk, a man who had led a long and useful life, and to whom
+this woman had rendered wifely devotion. He thought upon his cousins, in
+whose lives their mother's life had seemed unalterably bound up. He
+would at times emerge from his corner, and, sitting down beside the
+lady, would take her well-worn Bible and read to her such passages as he
+knew were graven deep upon her heart by scenes of joy or sorrow, parting
+or meeting, or the very hours of birth or death, in the lives that had
+been dearer to her than her own. He was not an emotional man, but yet
+there was a ringing pathos in his voice as he read the rhythmic words.
+At such times she would sit as if voice and rhythm soothed her, or she
+would bow her head solemnly at certain pauses, as if accustomed to agree
+to the sentiment expressed. Heart and thought were not awake to him, nor
+to the book he read, nor to the memories he tried to arouse. The fire of
+the lady's heart sprang up only for one word, that word a name, the name
+of a man of whose very existence, it seemed, no trace was left in all
+that country-side.
+
+The minister would retreat out of the lady's range of vision; and so
+great did his curiosity grow that he instigated the maid to ask certain
+questions as she played at the game of the old love-story in her
+sprightly, pitying way.
+
+'Now I'll tell ye a thing that I want to know,' said the maid, pouring
+tea in a cup. 'What's his given name? Will ye tell me that?'
+
+'Is it Mr. Kinnaird ye mean?'
+
+'It's Mr. Kinnaird's christened name that I'm speering for.'
+
+'An' I canna tell ye that, for he never told it to me. It'd be no place
+of mine to ask him before he chose to speak o' it himsel'.'
+
+'Did ye never see a piece of paper that had his name on it, or a card,
+maybe?'
+
+'I dinna mind that I have, Jeanie. He's a verra fine gentleman; it's
+just Mr. Kinnaird that he's called.'
+
+'What for will ye no let me tell the master that he comes every day?'
+
+'Ye must no tell my father, Jeanie Trim'--querulously. 'No, no; nor my
+mither. They'll maybe be telling him to bide away.'
+
+'Why would they be telling him to bide away?'
+
+'Tuts! How can I tell ye why, when I dinna ken mysel'? Why will ye fret
+me? I'll tak' no more tea. Tak' it away!'
+
+'I tell ye he'll ask me if ye took it up. He's waiting now to hear that
+ye took a great big piece of bread tae it. He'll no eat the bread and
+cheese I've set before him till ye've eaten this every crumb.'
+
+'Is that sae? Well, I maun eat it, for I wouldna have him wanting his
+meat.'
+
+The meal finished, the maid put on her most winsome smile.
+
+'Now and I'll tell ye what I'll do; I'll go back to Mr. Kinnaird, and
+I'll tell him ye sent yer _love_ tae him.'
+
+'Ye'll no do sic a thing as that, Jeanie Trim!' All the dignity and
+authority of her long womanhood returned in the impressive air with
+which she spoke. 'Ye'll no do sic a thing as that, Jeanie Trim! It's no
+for young ladies to be sending sic messages to a gentleman, when he
+hasna so much as said the word "love."'
+
+Had he ever said the word 'love,' this Kinnaird, whose memory was a
+living presence in the chamber of slow death? The minister believed that
+he had not. There was no annal in the family letters of his name,
+although other rejected suitors were mentioned freely. Had he told his
+love by look or gesture, and left it unspoken, or had look and gesture
+been misunderstood, and the whole slight love-story been born where it
+had died, in the heart of the maiden? 'Where it had died!'--it had not
+died. Seventy years had passed, and the love-story was presently
+enacting itself, as all past and all future must for ever be enacting to
+beings for whom time is not. Then, too, where was he who, by some means,
+whether of his own volition or not, had become so much a part of the
+pulsing life of a young girl that, when all else of life passed from her
+with the weight of years, her heart still remained obedient to him?
+Where was he? Had his life gone out like the flame of a candle when it
+is blown? Or, if he was anywhere in the universe of living spirits, was
+he conscious of the power which he was wielding? Was it a triumph to
+him to know that he had come, gay and debonair, in the bloom of his
+youth, into this long-existing sanctuary of home, and set aside, with a
+wave of his hand, husband, children, and friends, dead and living?
+
+Whatever might be the psychical aspects of the case, one thing was
+certain, that the influence of Kinnaird--Kinnaird alone of all those who
+had entered into relations with the lady--was useful at this time to
+come between her and the distressing symptoms that would have resulted
+from the mania of self-starvation. For some months longer she lived in
+comfort and good cheer. This clear memory of her youth was oddly
+interwoven with the forgetful dulness of old age, like a golden thread
+in a black web, like a tiny flame on the hearth that shoots with
+intermittent brilliancy into darkness. She was always to see her lover
+upon the morrow; she never woke to the fact that 'to-day' lasted too
+long, that a winter of morrows had slipped fruitless by.
+
+The interviews between Jeanie Trim and Kinnaird were not monotonous. All
+else was monotonous. December, January, February passed away. The
+mornings and the evenings brought no change outwardly in the sick-room,
+no change to the appearance of the fine old face and still stately
+figure, suggested no variety of thought or emotion to the lady's
+decaying faculties; but at the hours when she sat and contentedly ate
+the food that the maid brought her, her mental vision cleared as it
+focused upon the thought of her heart's darling. It was she whose
+questions suggested nearly all the variations in the game of imagination
+which the young woman so aptly played.
+
+'Was he riding his black mare, Jeanie Trim?'
+
+'I didna see the beast. He stood on his feet when he was tapping at the
+door.'
+
+'Whisht! Ye could tell if he wore his boots and spurs, an' his drab
+waistcoat, buttoned high?'
+
+'Now that ye speak of it, those were the very things he wore.'
+
+'It'd be the black mare he was riding, nae doubt; he'll have tied her to
+the gate in the lane.' Or again: 'Was it in the best parlour that ye saw
+him the day? He'd be drinking tea wi' my mither.'
+
+'That he was; and she smiling tae him over the dish of tea.'
+
+'Ay, he looks fine and handsome, bowing to my mither in the best
+parlour, Jeanie Trim. Did ye notice if he wore silk stockings?'
+
+'Fine silk stockings he wore.'
+
+'And his green coat?'
+
+'As green and smart as a bottle when ye polish, it with a cloth.'
+
+'Did ye notice the fine frills that he has to his shirt? I've tried to
+make my father's shirts look as fine, but they never have the same
+look.' The hands of the old dame would work nervously, as if eager to
+get at the goffering-irons and try once more. 'An' he'd lay his hat on
+the floor beside him; it's a way he has. Did my mither tell him that I
+was ailing? His eyes would be shining the while. Do ye notice how his
+eyes shine, Jeanie?'
+
+'Ay, do I; his eyes shine and his hair curls.'
+
+'Ye're mistaken there, his hair doesna curl, Jeanie Trim--ye've no'
+obsairved rightly; his hair is brown and straight; it's his beard and
+whiskers that curl. Eh! but they're bonny! There's a colour and shine in
+the curl that minds me of the lights I can see in the old copper kettle
+when my mither has it scoured and hung up on the nail; but his hair is
+plain brown.'
+
+'He's a graun' figure of a man!' cried the blithe maid, ever
+sympathetic.
+
+'Tuts! What are ye saying, Jeanie! He's no' a great size at all; the
+shortest of my brithers is bigger than him! Ye might even ca' him a wee
+man; it's the spirit that he has wi' it that I like.'
+
+Thus, by degrees, touch upon touch, the portrait of Kinnaird was
+painted, and whatever misconceptions they might form of him were
+corrected one by one. There was little incident depicted, yet the
+figure of Kinnaird was never drawn passive, but always in action.
+
+'Did my father no' offer to send him home in the spring-cart? It's sair
+wet for him to be walking in the wind and the rain the day.' Or: 'He had
+a fine bloom on his cheeks, I'll warrant, when he came in through this
+morning's bluster of wind.' Or again: 'He'll be riding to the hunt with
+my father to-day; have they put their pink coats on, Jeanie Trim?'
+
+The relations between Kinnaird and the father and mother appeared to be
+indefinite rather than unfriendly. There were times, it is true, when he
+came round by the dairy and gave private messages to Jeanie Trim, but at
+other times he figured as one of the ordinary guests of a large and
+hospitable household. No special honour seemed to be paid him; there was
+always the apprehension in the love-sick girl's heart that such timely
+attentions as the offer of proper refreshment or of the use of the
+spring-cart might be lacking. The parents were never in the daughter's
+confidence. She always feared their interference. There was no beginning
+to the story, no crisis, no culmination.
+
+'Now tell me when ye first saw Mr. Kinnaird?' asked the maid.
+
+But to this there was no answer. It had not been love at first sight,
+its small beginnings had left no impression; nor was there ever any
+mention of a change in the relation, or of a parting, only that
+suggestion of a long and weary waiting, given in the beginning of this
+phase of memory, when she refused to touch her food, and said she was
+'sair longing' to see him again.
+
+The household at Kelsey Farm had flourished in the palmy days of
+agriculture. Hunters had been kept and pink coats worn, and the mother,
+of kin with the neighbouring gentry, had kept her carriage to ride in.
+There had been many pleasures, no doubt, for the daughter of such a
+house, but only one pleasure remained fixed on her memory, the pleasure
+of seeing Kinnaird's eyes shining upon her. These days of the lady's
+youth had happened at a time when religion, if strong, was a sombre
+thing; and to those who held the pleasures of life in both hands, it was
+little more than a name and a rite. So it came to pass that no religious
+sentiment was stirred with the thought of this old joy and succeeding
+sorrow.
+
+The minister never failed to read some sacred texts when he sat beside
+her; and when he found himself alone with the old dame, he would kneel
+and pray aloud in such simple words as he thought she might understand.
+He did it more to ease his own heart because of the love he bore her
+than because he supposed that it made any difference in the sight of
+God whether she heard him or not. He was past the prime of life, and had
+fallen into pompous and ministerial habits of manner, but in his heart
+he was always pondering to find what the realities of life might be; he
+seldom drew false conclusions, although to many a question he was
+content to find no answer. He wore a serious look--people seldom knew
+what was passing in his mind; the doctor began to think that he was
+anxious for the safety of the old dame's soul.
+
+'I am not without hope of a lucid interval at the end,' he said; 'there
+is wonderful vitality yet, and it's little more than the power of memory
+that is impaired.'
+
+At this hope the daughters caught eagerly. They were plain women, narrow
+and dull, but their mother had been no ordinary woman; her power of love
+had created in them an affection for her which transcended ordinary
+filial affection. They had inherited from her such strong domestic
+feelings that they felt her defection from all family ties for the sake
+of the absent father and brothers, felt it with a poignancy which the
+use and wont of those winter months did not seem to blunt.
+
+No sudden shock or fit came to bring about the end. Gradually the old
+dame's strength failed. There came an hour in the spring time--it was
+the midnight hour of an April night--when she lay upon her bed, sitting
+up high against white pillows, gasping for the last breaths that she
+would ever draw. They had drawn aside the old-fashioned bed-curtains, so
+that they hung like high dark pillars at the four posts. They had opened
+wide the windows, and the light spring wind blew through the room fresh
+with the dews of night. Outside, the moon was riding among her clouds;
+the night was white. The budding trees shook their twigs together in the
+garden. Inside the room, firelight and lamplight, each flickering much
+because of the wind, mingled with the moonlight, but did not wholly
+obscure its misty presence. They all stood there--the minister, the
+doctor, the grey-haired daughters sobbing, looking and longing for one
+glance of recognition, the nurse, and the new maid.
+
+They all knelt, while the minister said a prayer.
+
+'She's looking differently now,' whispered the home-keeping daughter.
+She had drawn her handkerchief from her eyes, and was looking with awed
+solicitude at her mother's face.
+
+'Yes, there's a change coming,' said the married daughter; her large
+bosom heaved out the words with excited emotion.
+
+'Speak to her of my father--it will bring her mind back again,' they
+appealed to the minister, pushing him forward to do what they asked.
+
+The minister took the lady's hands in his, and spoke out clearly and
+strongly in her ear; but he spoke not, at first, of husband or children,
+but of the Son of God.
+
+Memories that had lain asleep so long seemed slowly to awaken for one
+last moment.
+
+'You know what I am saying, auntie?' The minister spoke strongly, as to
+one who was deaf.
+
+There was a smile on the handsome old face.
+
+'Ay, I know weel: "The Lord is my Shepherd; I shallna want ... though I
+walk through the valley o' the shadow of death."'
+
+'My uncle, and Thomas, and William have gone before you, auntie.'
+
+'Ay'--with a satisfied smile--'they've gone before.'
+
+'You know who I am?' he said again.
+
+She knew him, and took leave of him. She took leave of each of her
+daughters, but in a calm, weak way, as one who had waded too far into
+the river of death to be much concerned with the things of earth.
+
+The doctor pressed her hand, and the faithful nurse. The minister,
+feeling that justice should be done to one whose wit had brought great
+relief, bid the maid go forward.
+
+She was weeping, but she spoke in the free, caressing way that she had
+used so long.
+
+'Ye know who I am, ma'am?'
+
+The dying eyes looked her full in the face, but gave no recognition.
+
+'It's Jeanie Trim.'
+
+'Na, na, I remember a Jeanie Trim long syne, but you're not Jeanie
+Trim!'
+
+The maid drew back discomfited.
+
+The minister began to repeat a psalm that she loved. The daughters sat
+on the bedside, holding her hands. So they waited, and she seemed to
+follow the meaning of the psalm as it went on, until suddenly----
+
+She turned her head feebly towards a space by the bed where no one
+stood. She drew her aged hands from her daughters', and made as if to
+stretch them out to a new-comer. She smiled.
+
+'Mr. Kinnaird!' she murmured; then she died.
+
+'You might have thought that he was there himself,' said the daughters,
+awestruck.
+
+And the minister said within himself, 'Who knows but that he was
+there?'
+
+
+
+
+II
+
+A MARRIAGE MADE IN HEAVEN
+
+
+In the backwoods of Canada, about eighty miles north of Lake Ontario,
+there is a chain of three lakes, linked by the stream of a rapid river,
+which leads southward from the heart of a great forest. The last of the
+three lakes is broad, and has but a slow current because of a huge dam
+which the early Scottish settlers built across its mouth in order to
+form a basin to receive the lumber floated down from the lakes above.
+Hence this last lake is called Haven, which is also the name of the
+settlement at the side of the dam. The worthy Scotsmen, having set up a
+sawmill, built a church beside it, and by degrees a town and a
+schoolhouse. The wealth of the town came from the forest. The half-breed
+Indian lumber-men, toiling anxiously to bring their huge tree-trunks
+through the twisting rapids, connected all thoughts of rest and plenty
+with the peaceful Haven Lake and the town where they received their
+wages; and, perhaps because they received their first ideas of religion
+at the same place, their tripping tongues to this day call it, not
+'Haven,' but 'Heaven.'
+
+The town throve apace in its early days, and no one in it throve better
+than Mr. Reid, who kept the general shop. He was a cheerful soul; and it
+was owing more to his wife's efforts than his own that his fortune was
+made, for she kept more closely to the shop and had a sharper eye for
+the pence.
+
+Mrs. Reid was not cheerful; she was rather of an acrid disposition.
+People said that there was only one subject on which the shopkeeper and
+his wife agreed, that was as to the superiority of their daughter in
+beauty, talent, and amiability, over all other young women far or near.
+In their broad Scotch fashion they called this daughter Eelan, and the
+town knew her as 'Bonnie Eelan Reid'; everyone acknowledged her charms,
+although there might be some who would not acknowledge her preeminence.
+
+Mr. and Mrs. Reid carried their pride in their daughter to a great
+extent, for they sent her to a boarding-school in the town of Coburgh,
+which was quite two days' journey to the south. When she came back from
+this educating process well grown, healthy, handsome, and, in their
+eyes, highly accomplished, the parents felt that there was no rank in
+the Canadian world beyond their daughter's reach, if it should be her
+pleasure to attain it.
+
+'It wouldn't be anything out of the way even,' chuckled the happy Mr.
+Reid, 'if our Eelan should marry the Governor-General.'
+
+'Tuts, father, Governors!' said his wife scornfully, not because she had
+any inherent objection to Governors as sons-in-law, but because she
+usually cried down what her husband said.
+
+'The chief difficulty would be that they are usually married before they
+come to this country--aren't they, father?' Eelan spoke with a twinkling
+smile. She did not choose to explain to any one what she really thought;
+she had fancies of her own, this pretty backwoods maiden.
+
+'Well, well, there are lads enough in town, and I'll warrant she'll pick
+and choose,' said the jolly father in a resigned tone. He was not
+particular as to a Governor, after all.
+
+That conversation happened when Eelan first came home; but a year or two
+after, the family conferences took a more serious tone. She had learnt
+to keep her father's books in the shop, and had become deft at
+housework; but there was no prospect of her settling in a house of her
+own; many of the best young men in the place had offered themselves as
+lovers and been refused.
+
+'Oh! what's the use o' talking, father,' cried Mrs. Reid; 'if the girl
+won't, she won't, and that's all.--But I can tell _you_, Eelan Reid,
+that all your looks and your manners won't save you from being an old
+maid, if you turn your back on the men.'
+
+'I wasn't talking,' said Mr. Reid humbly; 'I was only saying to the
+lassie that I didn't want her to hurry; but I'd be right sorry when I'm
+getting old not to have some notion where I was going to leave my
+money--it'll more than last out Eelan's day, if it's rightly taken care
+of.'
+
+'But I can't marry unless I should fall in love,' said Eelan wistfully.
+Her parents had a vague notion that this manner of expressing herself
+was in some way a proof of her high accomplishments.
+
+Life was by no means dull in the little town. There were picnics in
+summer, sleigh-drives in winter, dances, and what not; and Eelan was no
+recluse. Still, she loved the place better than the people, and there
+was not a spot of ground in the neighbourhood that she did not know by
+heart.
+
+In summer, the sparkling water of the lake rippled under a burning sun,
+and the thousand tree-trunks left floating in it, held near to the edge
+by the floating boom of logs, became hot and dry on the upper side,
+while the green water-moss caught them from beneath. It was great fun
+for the school children to scamper out daringly on these floating fields
+of lumber; and Eelan liked to go with them, and sometimes walk far out
+alone along the edge of the boom. She would listen to the birds singing,
+the children shouting, to the whir of the saws in the mill, and the
+plash of the river falling over the dam; and she would feel that it was
+enough delight simply to live without distressing herself about marriage
+yet awhile.
+
+When winter came, Eelan was happier still. All the roughness and
+darkness of the earth was lost in a downy ocean of snow. Where the
+waterfall had been there was a fairy palace of icicles glancing in the
+sun, and smooth white roads were made across the frozen lake. Eelan
+never drew back dazzled from the glittering landscape; she was a child
+of the winter, and she loved its light. She would often harness her
+father's horse to the old family sleigh and drive alone across the lake.
+She took her snow-shoes with her, and, leaving the horse at some
+friendly farmhouse, she would tramp into the woods over the trackless
+snow. The girl would stand still and look up at the solemn pines and
+listen, awed by their majestic movement and the desolate loveliness all
+around. At such time, if the thought of marriage came, she did not put
+it aside with the light fancy that she wished still to remain free; she
+longed, in the drear solitude, for some one to sympathise with her, some
+one who could explain the meaning of the wordless thoughts that welled
+up within her, the vague response of her heart to the mystery of
+external beauty. Alas! among all her suitors there was not such a
+friend.
+
+There was no one else in the town who cared for country walks as Eelan
+did--at least, no one but the schoolmaster. She met him occasionally,
+walking far from home; he was a quaint, old-looking man, and she thought
+he had a face like an angel's. She might have wished sometimes to stop
+and speak to him, but when they met he always appeared to have his eyes
+resting on the distant horizon, and his mind seemed wrapped in some
+learned reverie, to the oblivion of outward things. The schoolmaster
+lived in the schoolhouse on the bank of the curving river, a bit below
+the waterfall. He took up his abode there a few months before Eelan Reid
+came home from school. He had come from somewhere nearer the centres of
+education--had been imported, so to speak, for the special use of Haven
+Settlement, for the leading men of the place were a canny set and knew
+the worth of books. His testimonials had told of a higher standard of
+scholarship than was usual in such schools, and the keen Scots had
+snapped at the chance and engaged him without an interview; but when he
+arrived they had been grievously disappointed. He was a gentle,
+unsophisticated man, shy as a girl, and absent-minded withal.
+
+'Aweel, I'll not say but he'll do to put sums and writing into the
+youngsters' heads and teach them to spout their poems; but he's not just
+what I call a _man_.' This was the opinion which Macpherson, the portly
+owner of the mill, had delivered to his friends.
+
+'There's something lacking, I'm thinking,' said one; 'he's thirty-six
+years old, and to see him driving his cow afield, you'd say he was
+sixty, and him not sickly either.'
+
+'I doubt he's getting far too high a salary,' said Macpherson solemnly.
+'To pass examinations is all very well; but he's not got the grit in him
+that I'd like to see.'
+
+So they had called a school committee meeting, and suggested to the new
+schoolmaster, as delicately as they could, that they were much
+disappointed with his general manner and appearance, but that, as he had
+come so far, they were graciously willing to keep him if he would
+consent to take a lower salary than that first agreed on. At this the
+schoolmaster grew very red, and, with much stammering, he managed to
+make a speech. He said that he liked the wildness and extreme beauty of
+the country, and the children appeared to him attractive; he did not
+wish to go away; and as to salary, he would take what they thought him
+worth.
+
+In this way they closed the bargain with him on terms quite satisfactory
+to themselves.
+
+'But hoots,' said the stout Macpherson as he ambled home from the
+meeting, 'I've only half a respect for a man that can't stand up for
+himself;' and this sentiment was more or less echoed by them all.
+
+Happily, the schoolmaster did not desire society. The minister's wife
+asked him to tea occasionally; and he confided to her that, up to that
+time, he had always lived with his mother, and that it was because of
+her death that he had left his old home, where sad memories were too
+great a strain upon him, and come farther west. No one else took much
+notice of him, partly because he took no notice of them. At the ladies'
+sewing meeting the doctor's wife looked round the room with an injured
+air and asked: 'How is it possible to ask a gentleman to tea when you
+know that he'll meet you in the street next morning and won't remember
+who you are?'
+
+'A lady who respected herself couldn't do it,' replied Mrs. Reid
+positively; and then in an undertone she remarked to herself, 'The
+gaby!'
+
+Miss Ann Blakely pursed her lips and craned her thin neck over her work.
+'As to that I don't know, Mrs. Reid; no one could visit the school, as I
+have done, and fail to observe that the youth of the town are more
+obedient than formerly. In my opinion, a gentleman who can command the
+respect of the growing masculine mind----' She finished the sentence
+only by an expressive wave of her head.
+
+'There is much truth in Miss Blakely's remark,' said a timid little
+mother of six sons.
+
+People married early, as a general thing, in Haven Settlement, and Miss
+Blakely, having been accidentally overlooked, had, before he came,
+indulged in some soft imaginations of her own with regard to the new
+schoolmaster; like others, she was disappointed in him; but she had not
+yet decided 'whether,' to use her own phrase, 'he would not, after all,
+be better than none.' She poised this question in her mind with a nice
+balancing of reasons for and against for about three years, and the man
+who was thus the object of her interest continued to live peacefully,
+ignorant alike of hostile criticism and tender speculation.
+
+It was a terrible day for the schoolmaster when the honest widow who
+lived with him as housekeeper was called by the death of a
+daughter-in-law to go and keep the house of her son in another town. She
+could only tell of her intention two weeks before it was necessary to
+leave; and very earnestly did the schoolmaster consult with her in the
+interval as to what he could possibly do to supply her place, for
+servants in Haven Settlement were rare luxuries.
+
+'I don't know, I'm sure, sir, what you can do,' said Mrs. Sims
+hopelessly. 'The girls in these parts are far too proud to be hired to
+work in a house. Why, the best folks in town mostly does their own
+work; there's Mrs. Reid, so rich, just has a woman to do the charing;
+and Eelan--that's the beauty, you know--makes the pies and keeps the
+house spick-and-span. But you couldn't keep your own house clean, could
+you, sir?--let alone the meals; and you wouldn't live long if you hadn't
+_them_.'
+
+As the days wore on, the schoolmaster became more urgent in his appeals
+for advice, but he did not get encouragement to expect to find a servant
+of any sort, for the widow was too sincere to suggest hope when she felt
+none, and the difficulty was not an easy one to solve. She made various
+inquiries among her friends. It was suggested that the master should go
+to 'the boarding-house,' which was a large barn-like structure, in which
+business men who did not happen to have families slept in uncomfortable
+rooms and dined at a noisy table. Mrs. Sims reported this suggestion
+faithfully, and added: 'But it's my belief it would kill you outright.'
+
+The schoolmaster looked at his books and the trim arrangements of his
+neat house, and negatived the proposition with more decision than he had
+ever shown before.
+
+After a while, Mrs. Sims received another idea of quite a different
+nature; but she did not report this so hastily--it required more
+finesse. It was entrusted to her care with many injunctions to be
+'tactful,' and it was suggested that if there was a mess made of it, it
+would be her fault. The idea was nothing less than that it would be
+necessary for the master to marry; and it was the gaunt Miss Ann Blakely
+herself who confided to his present housekeeper that she should have no
+objections to become his bride, provided he wrote her a pretty enough,
+humble sort of letter that she could show to her friends.
+
+'For, mind you, I'd not go cheap to the like of him,' she said, raising
+an admonishing finger, as she took leave of her friend: 'I'd rather
+remain single, far.'
+
+'I think he could write the letter,' replied Mrs. Sims; 'leastways, if
+he can't do that, I don't know what he can do, poor man.'
+
+Having been solemnly enjoined to be careful, Mrs. Sims thought so long
+over what she was to say before she said it, that she made herself quite
+nervous, and when she began, she forgot the half. Over her sewing in the
+sitting-room one evening she commenced the subject with a flustered
+little run of words. 'I'm sure such an amiable man as you are, sir,
+almost three years I've been in this house and never had a word from
+you, not one word'--it is to be remarked that the widow did not intend
+to assert that the schoolmaster had been mute--'and you are nice in all
+your ways, too; if I do say it, quite the gentleman.'
+
+'Oh!' said the schoolmaster, in a tone of surprise, not because he had
+heard what she said, but because he was surprised that she should begin
+to talk to him when he was correcting his books.
+
+'And not a servant to be had far or near,' she went on with agitated
+volubility; 'and as for another like myself, of course that's too much
+to be hoped for.' She did not say this out of conceit, but merely as
+representing the actual state of affairs.
+
+The schoolmaster began to look frightened. He was not a matter-of-fact
+person, but, as long as a man is a man, the prospect of being left
+altogether without his meals must be appalling.
+
+'So, why you shouldn't get married, I don't know.' She added this in
+tremulous excitement, speaking in an argumentative way, as if she had
+led him by an ordered process of thought to an inevitable conclusion.
+
+'Oh!' exclaimed the schoolmaster in surprise again, this time because he
+_had_ heard what was said.
+
+The worst was over now; and Mrs. Sims, having once suggested the
+desperate idea of the necessity of marriage, could proceed more calmly.
+She found, however, that she had to explain the notion at length before
+he could at all grasp it, and then she was obliged to urge its necessity
+for some time before he was willing to consider it. He became agitated
+in his turn, and, rising, walked up and down the room, his arms folded
+and an absent look in his eyes, as though he were thinking of things
+farther off.
+
+'I do not mind telling you, for I believe you are a motherly woman, Mrs.
+Sims, that it is not the first time that the thought of marriage has
+crossed my mind' (with solemn hesitation). 'I _have_ thought of it
+before; but I have always been hindered from giving it serious
+consideration from the belief that no woman would be willing to--ah--to
+marry me.'
+
+'Well, of course there's some truth in that, sir,' said his faithful
+friend, reluctantly obliged by her conscience to say what she thought.
+
+'Just so, Mrs. Sims,' said the schoolmaster with a patient sigh; 'and
+therefore, perhaps it will be unnecessary to discuss the subject
+further.'
+
+'Still, there's no accounting for tastes; there might be some found that
+would.'
+
+'It would not be necessary to find more than one,' said he, with a quiet
+smile.
+
+'No, that's true, sir, which makes the matter rather easier. It's always
+been my belief that while there is life there is hope.'
+
+'True, true,' he replied; and then he indulged in a long fit of musing,
+which she more than suspected had little to do with the immediate
+bearing of the subject on his present case. It was necessary to rouse
+him, for there was no time to be lost.
+
+'Of course I don't say that there's many that would have you; there's
+girls enough--but laws! they'd all make game of you if you were to go
+a-courting to them, and, I take it, courting's not the sort of thing
+you're cleverest at.'
+
+'True,' said the schoolmaster again, and again he sighed.
+
+'But now, a good sensible woman, like Miss Blakely, as would keep you
+and your house clean and tidy, not to speak of cooking--I make bold to
+say you couldn't do better than to get such a one, if she might be so
+minded.'
+
+'Who is Miss Blakely?' he asked wonderingly.
+
+'It's her that visits the school so often; you've seen her time and
+again.'
+
+'I recollect,' he said; 'but I have not spoken much with her.'
+
+'That's just what I said,' she observed triumphantly. 'You'd be no more
+up to courting than cows are up to running races. Now, as to Miss
+Blakely, not being as young as some, nor to say good-looking, she might
+not stand on the ceremony of much courting; if you just wrote her one
+letter, asking her quite modest, and putting in a few remarks about
+flowers and that sort of thing, as you could do so well, being clever at
+writing, I give it as my opinion it's not unlikely she'd take you out of
+hand; not every one would, of course, but she has a kind heart, has Miss
+Blakely.'
+
+'Kind is she?' said he, with a tone of interest; 'and sweet-tempered?'
+
+Mrs. Sims said more in favour of the scheme; it required that she should
+say much, for the schoolmaster was not to be easily persuaded. She had,
+however, three strong arguments in its favour, which she reiterated
+again and again, with more and more assurance of certitude as she warmed
+to the subject. The first point was, that if he did not marry, he must
+either starve at home or go to the boarding-house, and at the latter
+place she assured him again, as she had done at first, he would probably
+soon die. Her second point was, that no one else would be willing to
+marry him except Miss Blakely; and her third--although in this matter
+she expressed herself with some mysterious caution--that Miss Blakely
+would marry him if asked. Mrs. Sims bridled her head, spoke in lower
+tones than was her wont, and said that she had the secret of Miss
+Blakely's partiality from good authority. She sighed; and he heard her
+murmur over her sewing that the heart was always young. In fact, without
+saying it in so many words, she gave her listener to understand clearly
+that Miss Blakely had conceived a very lively affection for him. And
+this last, if she had but known it, was the only argument that carried
+weight, for the schoolmaster could have faced either the prospect of
+starvation or a lingering death in the rude noise of a boarding-house;
+but he was tender-hearted, and, moreover, he had a beautiful soul, and
+supposed all women to be like his mother, whom he had loved with all his
+strength.
+
+'You'd better make haste, sir,' said Mrs. Sims, 'for I must leave on
+Thursday, and now it's Saturday night. There's not overmuch time for
+everything--although, indeed, Mrs. Graham, that goes out charing, might
+come in and make you your meals for a week, though it will cost you half
+a quarter's salary, charing is that expensive in these parts.'
+
+The schoolmaster proceeded to think over the matter--that is to say, he
+proceeded to muse over it; by which process he did not face the facts as
+they were--did not become better acquainted with the real Miss Blakely,
+but made some sort of progress in another way, for he conjured up an
+ideal Miss Blakely, gentle and good, cheerful, with intellectual tastes
+like his own, a person who, like himself, had not fared very happily in
+the world until now, and for whom his love and protection would make a
+paradise. It did occur to him, occasionally, that the picture he was
+drawing might not be quite correct, and at those times he would seek
+Mrs. Sims, and ask a few questions of this oracle by way of adjusting
+his own ideas to the truth. Poor Mrs. Sims, between her extreme honesty
+and her desire to see the schoolmaster, whom she really loved, assured
+of future comfort, had much ado to be 'tactful' and say the right
+thing. She naturally regarded comfort as pertaining solely to the outer
+man, and fully believed that this marriage was the best step he could
+take; so her answers, when they could not be satisfactory, were vague.
+
+'How can you doubt, sir, that you'll be much happier with a wife to cook
+your meals regular, and no more bother about changements all your life?
+I'm sure if I were you, sir, I wouldn't hesitate between the joys of
+matrimony and single life.'
+
+'Perhaps not, Mrs. Sims; but I, being I, do hesitate. It is a very
+important step to take, just because, as you say, there will be no more
+change.'
+
+'And it's just you that have been telling me that the very thing you
+dislike most in this world is change. And there are other advantages,
+too, in having kith and kin, for it's lonesome without when you're old;
+and just think how beautiful for a wife to weep over you when you're
+a-dying--and she'll do all that, Miss Blakely will, sir; I'm sure, as
+her friend, I can answer for it.'
+
+'The wills above be done,' murmured the schoolmaster, 'but I would fain
+die a dry death.'
+
+Time pressed; the schoolmaster procrastinated; the very evening before
+the widow's departure had arrived, and yet nothing was done. Then it
+happened, as is frequently the case when the mind is balancing between
+two opinions, that a very small circumstance determined him to write the
+all-important note. The circumstance was none other than his having a
+convenient opportunity of sending it; for to him, as to many other
+unpractical minds, the small difficulties in the way of any action had
+as great a deterring power as more important considerations. Miss
+Blakely happened to live on the other side of the town, and though the
+master walked much farther than that himself every day, he felt that in
+this case it would hardly be dignified to be his own messenger.
+
+It was early in the evening, and the master's window was open to the
+soft spring air that came in full of the freshness of young leaves and
+the joyous splash of the flooded river. Two of his schoolboys were
+loitering under the window, wishing to speak to him, yet too bashful; he
+got up and sat on the window-sill, smiled at them, and they smiled back.
+They had a tale to tell; but, as it was of a somewhat delicate nature
+and hard to explain, he had to listen very patiently. They had a
+dollar--a brown and green paper dollar--which they gave him with an air
+of solemn importance. They said that they and some of their comrades had
+been a long way from home gathering saxifrage, and that they had met one
+of the young ladies of the town. She had her arms full of flowers, and
+her pocket quite full of moss, so full that she had had to take her
+purse and handkerchief out and hold them in her hand with the flowers
+because the moss was wet. When she came upon them, they were trying to
+get some saxifrage that was on a ledge of rock; they could only climb
+half-way up the rock, and were none of them tall enough to reach it; so
+she put down all her flowers and things and climbed up and got it for
+them; but in the meantime one of them opened the purse and took out the
+dollar. She never found it out, and went away.
+
+'Not either of you?' said the schoolmaster.
+
+'No, sir; one of the other fellows did it. But he's sorry, and wants to
+give it back; so we said that we would tell you, and perhaps you would
+give it to her.'
+
+'Why couldn't you go and give it to her, just as you have given it to
+me?'
+
+'Because we knew you'd b'lieve us that it was just the way we said; and
+her folks, you know, might think we'd done it when we said we hadn't.
+Or, mother said, if you didn't want to be troubled, perhaps you'd just
+write a line to say how it was, and we'll go and leave it at the house
+after dark and come away quick.'
+
+The master had no objection to this; so he brought the boys in and got
+out his best note-paper--he was fastidious about some things--and wrote
+a note beginning 'Dear Madam,' telling in a few lines that the money had
+been stolen and restored.
+
+'What is the lady's name?' he asked, taking up the envelope.
+
+'It was Eelan Reid, sir; Mr. Reid's daughter that keeps the shop.'
+
+So the schoolmaster wrote 'Miss Eelan Reid' in a fair round hand, and
+then he paused for a moment. He was making up his mind to the
+all-decisive action.
+
+'Perhaps you can wait for another note and take that for me at the same
+time,' he said. He gave them some picture papers to look at. Then he
+wrote the note of such moment to himself, beginning, as before, 'Dear
+Madam,' and doing his best to follow the many instructions which the
+faithful Mrs. Sims had given him. It was a curious specimen of
+literature, in which a truly elegant mind and warm heart were veiled,
+but not hidden, by an embarrassed attempt at conventional phrases--a
+letter that most women would laugh at, and that the best women would
+reverence. He addressed that envelope too, and sealed the notes and sent
+away the boys.
+
+There was no sleep for the schoolmaster that night. With folded arms he
+paced his room in restless misery. Now that the die was cast, the ideal
+Miss Blakely faded from his mind; he felt instinctively that she was
+mythical. He saw clearly that he had forfeited the best possibilities of
+life for the sake of temporary convenience, that he had sold his
+birthright for a mess of pottage.
+
+The long night passed at length, as all nights pass. The sun rose over
+purple hills to glow upon the spring-stirred forest and to send golden
+shafts deep down into the clear heart of lake and stream. The fallen
+beauty of past woodland summers had tinged the water till it glowed like
+nut-brown wine; so brown it was that the pools of the river, where it
+swirled and rushed past the schoolhouse bend, seemed to greet the sun
+with the soft dark glances of fawn-eyed water-sprites. The glorious sky,
+the tender colours of the budding wood, the very dandelions on the
+untrimmed bank, contrived their hues to accord and rejoice with the
+laughing water, and the birds swelled out its song. In the rapture of
+spring and of morning there was no echo of grief; for the unswerving law
+of nature, moving through the years, had set each thing in its right
+home. It is only the perplexed soul that is forced to choose its own way
+and suffer from the choice, and the song of our life is but set to the
+accompaniment of a sad creed if we may not trust that, above our human
+wills, there is a Power able to overrule the mistakes of true hearts, to
+lead the blind by unseen paths, and save the simple from their own
+simplicity.
+
+Very early in the morning the schoolmaster, haggard and worn, slipped
+out of his own door to refresh himself in the sunlight that gleamed down
+upon his bit of green through the budding willow trees that grew by the
+river-side. He stood awhile under the bending boughs, watching the full
+stream as it tossed its spray into the lap of the flower-fringed shore.
+He looked, as he stood there, like a ghost of the preceding night,
+caught against his will and embraced by the joyous morning. Just then he
+had a vision.
+
+A girl came towards him across the grass and stood a few paces distant.
+The slender willow twigs, with their hanging catkins and tiny golden
+leaves, made a sort of veil between them. She was very beautiful, at
+least so the schoolmaster thought; perhaps she was the personification
+of the morning, perhaps she was a wood-nymph--it did not matter much; he
+felt, in his excitement and exhaustion, that her beauty and grace were
+not real, but only an hallucination of moving sun and shade. She took
+the swaying willow-twigs in her pretty hands and looked through them at
+him and stroked the downy flowers.
+
+'Why did you send me that letter?' she said at last, with a touch of
+severity in her voice.
+
+'The letter,' he stammered, wondering what she could mean.
+
+He remembered, with a sort of dull return of consciousness, that he
+_was_ guilty of having sent a letter--terribly guilty in his own
+estimation--but it was sent to Miss Blakely, and this was not Miss
+Blakely. That one letter had so completely absorbed all his mind that he
+had quite forgotten any others that he might have written in the course
+of his whole life.
+
+'Do not be angry with me,' he said imploringly. He had but one idea,
+that was, to keep this radiant dream of beauty with him as long as
+possible.
+
+'I'm not angry; I am not angry at all--indeed'--and here she looked down
+at the twigs in her hand and began pulling the young leaves rather
+roughly--'I am not sure but that I am rather pleased. I have so often
+met you in the woods, you know; only I didn't know that you had ever
+noticed me.'
+
+'I never did,' said the schoolmaster; but happily his nervous lips gave
+but indistinct utterance to the words, and his tone was pathetic. She
+thought he had only made some further pleading.
+
+'I--I--I like you very much,' she said. 'I suppose, of course, everybody
+will be very much surprised, and mother may not be pleased, you know,
+just at first; but she's good and dear, mother is, in spite of what she
+says; and father will be glad about anything that pleases me.'
+
+He did not understand what she said; but he felt distressed at the
+moment to notice that she was twisting the tender willow leaves, albeit
+he saw that she only did so because, in her embarrassment, her fingers
+worked unconsciously. He came forward and took her hands gently, to
+disentangle them from the twigs. She let them lie in his, and looked up
+in his face and smiled.
+
+'I will try to be a good wife, and manage all the common things, and not
+tease you to be like other men, if you will sometimes read your books to
+me and explain to me what life means, and why it is so beautiful, and
+why things are as they are.'
+
+'I'm afraid I don't understand these matters myself very well,' he said;
+'but we can talk about them together.'
+
+While he held her hands, she drooped her head till it touched his
+shoulder.
+
+He had kissed no one since his mother died, and the great joy that took
+possession of his heart brought, by its stimulus, a sudden knowledge of
+what had really happened to his mind. In a marvellously tender way, for
+a man who could not go a-courting, he put his hand under the pretty chin
+and looked down wonderingly, reverently, at the serious upturned face.
+'And this is bonnie Eelan Reid?'
+
+Then Eelan, thinking that he was teasing her gently for being so easily
+won when she had gained the reputation of being so proud, cast down her
+eyes and blushed.
+
+So they were married, and lived happily, very happily, although they had
+their sorrows, as others have. The schoolmaster was man enough to keep
+the knowledge of his blunder a secret between himself and God.
+
+As for Miss Blakely, she never quite understood who had stolen the
+dollar, or when, or where; but she was glad to get it back. She never
+forgave Mrs. Sims for having managed her trust so ill, although the
+widow declared, with tears in her eyes, that she had done her best.
+
+'He would have taken in the knowingest person, he would indeed, Ann
+Blakely; and, to my notion, a straightforward woman like you is well
+quit of a man who, while he looked so innocent, could act so deep.'
+
+
+
+
+III
+
+THRIFT
+
+
+The end of March had come. The firm Canadian snow roads had suddenly
+changed their surface and become a chain of miniature rivers, lakes
+interspersed by islands of ice, and half-frozen bogs.
+
+A young priest had started out of the city of Montreal to walk to the
+suburb of Point St. Charles. He was in great haste, so he kilted up his
+long black petticoats and hopped and skipped at a good pace. The hard
+problems of life had not as yet assailed him; he had that set of the
+shoulders that belongs to a good conscience and an easy mind; his face
+was rosy-cheeked and serene.
+
+Behind him lay the hill-side city, with its grey towers and spires and
+snow-clad mountain. All along his way budding maple trees swayed their
+branches overhead; on the twigs of some there was the scarlet moss of
+opening flowers, some were tipped with red buds and some were grey. The
+March wind was surging through them; the March clouds were flying above
+them,--light grey clouds with no rain in them,--veil above veil of mist,
+and each filmy web travelling at a different pace. The road began as a
+street, crossed railway tracks and a canal, ran between fields, and
+again entered between houses. The houses were of brick or stone, poor
+and ugly; the snow in the fields was sodden with water; the road----
+
+'I wish that the holy prophet Elijah would come to this Jordan with his
+mantle,' thought the priest to himself.
+
+This was a pious thought, and he splashed and waded along
+conscientiously. He had been sent on an errand, and had to return to
+discharge a more important duty in the same afternoon.
+
+The suburb consisted chiefly of workmen's houses and factories, but
+there were some ambitious-looking terraces. The priest stopped at a
+brick dwelling of fair size. It had an aspect of flaunting
+respectability; lintel and casements were shining with varnish; cheap
+starched curtains decked every window. When the priest had rung a bell
+which jingled inside, the door was opened by a young woman. She was not
+a servant, her dress was fur-belowed and her hair was most elaborately
+arranged. She was, moreover, evidently Protestant; she held the door and
+surveyed the visitor with an air that was meant to show easy
+independence of manner, but was, in fact, insolent.
+
+The priest had a slip of paper in his hand and referred to it. 'Mrs.
+O'Brien?' he asked.
+
+'I'm not Mrs. O'Brien,' said the young woman, looking at something which
+interested her in the street.
+
+A shrill voice belonging, as it seemed, to a middle-aged woman, made
+itself heard. 'Louisy, if it's a Cath'lic priest, take him right in to
+your gran'ma; it's him she's expecting.'
+
+A moment's stare of surprise and contempt, and the young woman led the
+way through a gay and cheaply furnished parlour, past the door of a best
+bedroom which stood open to shew the frills on the pillows, into a room
+in the back wing. She opened the door with a jerk and stared again as
+the priest passed her. She was a handsome girl; the young priest did not
+like to be despised; within his heart he sighed and said a short prayer
+for patience.
+
+He entered a room that did not share the attempt at elegance of the
+front part of the house; plain as a cottage kitchen, it was warm and
+comfortable withal. The large bed with patchwork quilt stood in a
+corner; in the middle was an iron stove in which logs crackled and
+sparkled. The air was hot and dry, but the priest, being accustomed to
+the atmosphere of stoves, took no notice, in fact, he noticed nothing
+but the room's one inmate, who from the first moment compelled his whole
+attention.
+
+In a wooden arm-chair, dressed in a black petticoat and a scarlet
+bedgown, sat a strong old woman. Weakness was there as well as strength,
+certainly, for she could not leave her chair, and the palsy of
+excitement was shaking her head, but the one idea conveyed by every
+wrinkle of the aged face and hands, by every line of the bowed figure,
+was strength. One brown toil-worn hand held the head of a thick
+walking-stick which she rested on the floor well in front of her, as if
+she were about to rise and walk forward. Her brown face--nose and chin
+strongly defined--was stretched forward as the visitor entered; her
+eyes, black and commanding, carried with them something of that
+authoritative spell that is commonly attributed to a commanding mind.
+Great physical size or power this woman apparently had never had, but
+she looked the very embodiment of a superior strength.
+
+'Shut the door! shut the door behind ye!' These were the first words
+that the youthful confessor heard, and then, as he advanced, 'You're
+young,' she said, peering into his face. Without a moment's intermission
+further orders were given him: 'Be seated; be seated! Take a chair by
+the fire and put up your wet feet. It is from Father M'Leod of St.
+Patrick's Church that ye've come?'
+
+The young man, whose boots were well soaked with ice-water, was not loth
+to put them up on the edge of the stove. It was not at all his idea of a
+priestly visit to a woman who had represented herself as dying, but it
+is a large part of wisdom to take things as they come until it is
+necessary to interfere.
+
+'You wrote, I think, to Father M'Leod, saying that as the priests of
+this parish are French and you speak English----'
+
+Some current of excitement hustled her soul into the midst of what she
+had to say.
+
+''Twas Father Maloney, him that had St. Patrick's before Father M'Leod,
+who married me; so I just thought before I died I'd let one of ye know a
+thing concerning that marriage that I've never told to mortal soul. Sit
+ye still and keep your feet to the fire; there's no need for a young man
+like you to be taking your death with the wet because I've a thing to
+say to ye.'
+
+'You are not a Catholic now,' said he, raising his eyebrows with
+intelligence as he glanced at a Bible and hymn-book that lay on the
+floor beside her.
+
+He was not unaccustomed to meeting perverts; it was impossible to have
+any strong emotion about so frequent an occurrence. He had had a long
+walk and the hot air of the room made him somewhat sleepy; if it had not
+been for the fever and excitement of her mind he might not have picked
+up more than the main facts of all she said. As it was, his attention
+wandered for some minutes from the words that came from her palsied
+lips. It did not wander from her; he was thinking who she might be, and
+whether she was really about to die or not, and whether he had not
+better ask Father M'Leod to come and see her himself. This last thought
+indicated that she impressed him as a person of more importance and
+interest than had been supposed when he had been sent to hear her
+confession.
+
+All this time, fired by a resolution to tell a tale for the first and
+last time, the old woman, steadying as much as she might her shaking
+head, and leaning forward to look at the priest with bleared yet
+flashing eyes, was pouring out words whose articulation was often
+indistinct. Her hand upon her staff was constantly moving, as if she
+were about to rise and walk; her body seemed about to spring forward
+with the impulse of her thoughts, the very folds of the scarlet bedgown
+were instinct with excitement.
+
+The priest's attention returned to her words.
+
+'Yes, marry and marry and marry--that's what you priests in my young
+days were for ever preaching to us poor folk. It was our duty to
+multiply and fill the new land with good Cath'lics. Father Maloney, that
+was his doctrine, and me a young girl just come out from the old country
+with my parents, and six children younger than me. Hadn't I had enough
+of young children to nurse, and me wanting to begin life in a new place
+respectable, and get up a bit in the world? Oh, yes! but Father Maloney
+he was on the look-out for a wife for Terry O'Brien. He was a widow man
+with five little helpless things, and drunk most of the time was Terry,
+and with no spirit in him to do better. Oh! but what did that matter to
+Father Maloney when it was the good of the Church he was looking for,
+wanting O'Brien's family looked after? O'Brien was a good, kind fellow,
+so Father Maloney said, and you'll never hear me say a word against
+that. So Father Maloney got round my mother and my father and me, and
+married me to O'Brien, and the first year I had a baby, and the second
+year I had another, so on and so on, and there's not a soul in this
+world can say but that I did well by the five that were in the house
+when I came to it.
+
+'Oh! "house"!---- d'ye think it was one house he kept over our heads?
+No, but we moved from one room to another, not paying the rent. Well,
+and what sort of a training could the children get? Father Maloney he
+talked fine about bringing them up for the Church. Did he come in and
+wash them when I was a-bed? Did he put clothes on their backs? No, and
+fine and angry he was when I told him that that was what he ought to
+have done! Oh! but Father Maloney and I went at it up and down many a
+day, for when I was wore out with the anger inside me, I'd go and tell
+him what I thought of the marriage he'd made, and in a passion he'd get
+at a poor thing like me teaching him duty.
+
+'Not that I ever was more than half sorry for the marriage myself,
+because of O'Brien's children, poor things, that he had before I came to
+them. Likely young ones they were too, and handsome, what would they
+have done if I hadn't been there to put them out of the way when O'Brien
+was drunk, and knocking them round, or to put a bit of stuff together to
+keep them from nakedness?
+
+'"Well," said Father Maloney to me, "why isn't it to O'Brien that you
+speak with your scolding tongue?" Faix! and what good was it to spake to
+O'Brien, I'd like to know? Did you ever try to cut water with a knife,
+or to hurt a feather-bed by striking at it with your fist? A nice
+good-natured man was Terry O'Brien--I'll never say that he wasn't
+that,--except when he was drunk, which was most of the time--but he'd no
+more backbone to him than a worm. That was the sort of husband Father
+Maloney married me to.
+
+'The children kept a-coming till we'd nine of them, that's with the five
+I found ready to hand; and the elder ones getting up and needing to be
+set out in the world, and what prospect was there for them? What could
+I do for them? Me always with an infant in my arms! Yet 'twas me and no
+other that gave them the bit and sup they had, for I went out to work;
+but how could I save anything to fit decent clothes on them, and it
+wasn't much work I could do, what with the babies always coming, and
+sick and ailing they were half the time. The Sisters would come from the
+convent to give me charity. 'Twas precious little they gave, and
+lectured me too for not being more submiss'! And I didn't want their
+charity; I wanted to get up in the world. I'd wanted that before I was
+married, and now I wanted it for the children. Likely girls the two
+eldest were, and the boy just beginning to go the way of his father.'
+
+She came to a sudden stop and breathed hard; the strong old face was
+still stretched out to the priest in her eagerness; the staff was
+swaying to and fro beneath the tremulous hand. She had poured out her
+words so quickly that there was in his chest a feeling of answering
+breathlessness, yet he still sat regarding her placidly with the
+serenity of healthy youth.
+
+She did not give him long rest. 'What did I see around me?' she
+demanded. 'I saw people that had begun life no better than myself
+getting up and getting up, having a shop maybe, or sending their
+children to the "Model" School to learn to be teachers, or getting them
+into this business or that, and mine with never so much as knowing how
+to read, for they hadn't the shoes to put on----
+
+'And I had it in me to better them and myself. I knew I'd be strong if
+it wasn't for the babies, and I knew, too, that I'd do a kinder thing
+for each child I had, to strangle it at it's birth than to bring it on
+to know nothing and be nothing but a poor wretched thing like Terry
+O'Brien himself----'
+
+At the word 'strangle' the young priest took his feet from the ledge in
+front of the fire and changed his easy attitude, sitting up straight and
+looking more serious.
+
+'It's not that I blamed O'Brien over much, he'd just had the same sort
+of bringing up himself and his father before him, and when he was sober
+a very nice man he was; it was spiritiness he lacked; but if he'd had
+more spiritiness he'd have been a wickeder man, for what is there to
+give a man sense in a rearing like that? If he'd been a wickeder man I'd
+have had more fear to do with him the thing I did. But he was just a
+good sort of creature without sense enough to keep steady, or to know
+what the children were wanting; not a notion he hadn't but that they'd
+got all they needed, and I had it in me to better them. Will ye dare to
+say that I hadn't?
+
+'After Terry O'Brien went I had them all set out in the world, married
+or put to work with the best, and they've got ahead. All but O'Brien's
+eldest son, every one of them have got ahead of things. I couldn't put
+the spirit into _him_ as I could into the littler ones and into the
+girls. Well, but he's the only black sheep of the seven, for two of them
+died. All that's living but him are doing well, doing well' (she nodded
+her head in triumph), 'and their children doing better than them, as
+ought to be. Some of them ladies and gentlemen, real quality. Oh! ye
+needn't think I don't know the difference' (some thought expressed in
+his face had evidently made its way with speed to her brain)--'my
+daughter that lives here is all well enough, and her girl handsome and
+able to make her way, but I tell you there's some of my grandchildren
+that's as much above her in the world as she is above poor Terry
+O'Brien--young people that speak soft when they come to see their poor
+old grannie and read books, oh! I know the difference; oh! I know very
+well--not but what my daughter here is well-to-do, and there's not one
+of them all but has a respect for me.' She nodded again triumphantly,
+and her eyes flashed. 'They know, they know very well how I set them out
+in the world. And they come back for advice to me, old as I am, and see
+that I want for nothing. I've been a _good_ mother to them, and a good
+mother makes good children and grandchildren too.'
+
+There was another pause in which she breathed hard; the priest grasped
+the point of the story; he asked--
+
+'What became of O'Brien?'
+
+'I drowned him.'
+
+The priest stood up in a rigid and clerical attitude.
+
+'I tell ye I drowned him.' She had changed her attitude to suit his; and
+with the supreme excitement of telling what she had never told, there
+seemed to come to her the power to sit erect. Her eagerness was not that
+of self-vindication; it was the feverish exaltation with which old age
+glories over bygone achievement.
+
+'I'd never have thought of it if it hadn't been O'Brien himself that put
+it into my head. But the children had a dog, 'twas little enough they
+had to play with, and the beast was useful in his way too, for he could
+mind the baby at times; but he took to ailing--like enough it was from
+want of food, and I was for nursing him up a bit and bringing him round,
+but O'Brien said that he'd put him into the canal. 'Twas one Sunday that
+he was at home sober--for when he was drunk I could handle him so that
+he couldn't do much harm. So says I, "And why is he to be put in the
+canal?"
+
+'Says he, "Because he's doing no good here."
+
+'So says I, "Let the poor beast live, for he does no harm."
+
+'Then says he, "But it's harm he does taking the children's meat and
+their place by the fire."
+
+'And says I, "Are ye not afraid to hurry an innocent creature into the
+next world?" for the dog had that sense he was like one of the children
+to me.
+
+'Then said Terry O'Brien, for he had a wit of his own, "And if he's an
+innocent creature he'll fare well where he goes."
+
+'Then said I, "He's done his sins, like the rest of us, no doubt."
+
+'Then says he, "The sooner he's put where he can do no more the better."
+
+'So with that he put a string round the poor thing's neck and took him
+away to where there was holes in the ice of the canal, just as there is
+to-day, for it was the same season of the year, and the children all
+cried; and thinks I to myself, "If it was the dog that was going to put
+their father into the water they would cry less." For he had a peevish
+temper in drink, which was most of the time.
+
+'So then, I knew what I would do. 'Twas for the sake of the children
+that were crying about me that I did it, and I looked up to the sky and
+I said to God and the holy saints that for Terry O'Brien and his
+children 'twas the best deed I could do; and the words that we said
+about the poor beast rang in my head, for they fitted to O'Brien
+himself, every one of them.
+
+'So you see it was just the time when the ice was still thick on the
+water, six inches thick maybe, but where anything had happened to break
+it the edges were melting into large holes. And the next night when it
+was late and dark I went and waited outside the tavern, the way O'Brien
+would be coming home.
+
+'He was just in that state that he could walk, but he hadn't the sense
+of a child, and we came by the canal, for there's a road along it all
+winter long, but there were places where if you went off the road you
+fell in, and there were placards up saying to take care. But Terry
+O'Brien hadn't the sense to remember them. I led him to the edge of a
+hole, and then I came on without him. He was too drunk to feel the pain
+of the gasping. So I went home.
+
+'There wasn't a creature lived near for a mile then, and in the morning
+I gave out that I was afraid he'd got drowned, so they broke the ice and
+took him up. And there was just one person that grieved for Terry
+O'Brien. Many's the day I grieved for him, for I was accustomed to have
+him about me, and I missed him like, and I said in my heart, "Terry,
+wherever ye may be, I have done the best deed for you and your children,
+for if you were innocent you have gone to a better place, and if it were
+sin to live as you did, the less of it you have on your soul the better
+for you; and as for the children, poor lambs, I can give them a start
+in the world now I am rid of you!" That's what I said in my heart to
+O'Brien at first--when I grieved for him; and then the years passed, and
+I worked too hard to be thinking of him.
+
+'And now, when I sit here facing the death for myself, I can look out of
+my windows there back and see the canal, and I say to Terry again, as if
+I was coming face to face with him, that I did the best deed I could do
+for him and his. I broke with the Cath'lic Church long ago, for I
+couldn't go to confess; and many's the year that I never thought of
+religion. But now that I am going to die I try to read the books my
+daughter's minister gives me, and I look to God and say that I've sins
+on my soul, but the drowning of O'Brien, as far as I know right from
+wrong, isn't one of them.'
+
+The young priest had an idea that the occasion demanded some strong form
+of speech. 'Woman,' he said, 'what have you told me this for?'
+
+The strength of her excitement was subsiding. In its wane the
+afflictions of her age seemed to be let loose upon her again. Her words
+came more thickly, her gaunt frame trembled the more, but not for one
+moment did her eye flinch before his youthful severity.
+
+'I hear that you priests are at it yet. "Marry and marry and marry,"
+that's what ye teach the poor folks that will do your bidding, "in
+order that the new country may be filled with Cath'lics," and I thought
+before I died I'd just let ye know how one such marriage turned; and as
+he didn't come himself you may go home and tell Father M'Leod that, God
+helping me, I have told you the truth.'
+
+The next day an elderly priest approached the door of the same house.
+His hair was grey, his shoulders bent, his face was furrowed with those
+benign lines which tell that the pain which has graven them is that
+sympathy which accepts as its own the sorrows of others. Father M'Leod
+had come far because he had a word to say, a word of pity and of
+sympathy, which he hoped might yet touch an impenitent heart, a word
+that he felt was due from the Church he represented to this wandering
+soul, whether repentance should be the result or not.
+
+When he rang the bell it was not the young girl but her mother who
+answered the door; her face, which spoke of ordinary comfort and good
+cheer, bore marks of recent tears.
+
+'Do you know,' asked the Father curiously, 'what statement it was that
+your mother communicated to my friend who was here yesterday?'
+
+'No, sir, I do not.'
+
+'Your mother was yesterday in her usual health and sound mind?' he
+interrogated gently.
+
+'She was indeed, sir,' and she wiped a tear.
+
+'I would like to see your mother,' persisted he.
+
+'She had a stroke in the night, sir; she's lying easy now, but she knows
+no one, and the doctor says she'll never hear or see or speak again.'
+
+The old man sighed deeply.
+
+'If I may make so bold, sir, will you tell me what business it was my
+mother had with the young man yesterday or with yourself?'
+
+'It is not well that I should tell you,' he replied, and he went
+away.
+
+
+
+
+IV
+
+A TAINT IN THE BLOOD
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+
+The curate was walking on the cliffs with his lady-love. All the sky was
+grey, and all the sea was grey. The soft March wind blew over the rocky
+shore; it could not rustle the bright green weed that hung wet from the
+boulders, but it set all the tufts of grass upon the cliffs nodding to
+the song of the ebbing tide. The lady was the vicar's daughter; her name
+was Violetta.
+
+'Let us stand still here,' said the curate, 'for there is something I
+must say to you to-day.' So they stood still and looked at the sea.
+
+'Violetta,' said the curate, 'you cannot be ignorant that I have long
+loved you. Last night I took courage and told your father of my hope and
+desire that you should become my wife. He told me what I did not know,
+that you have already tasted the joy of love and the sorrow of its
+disappointment. I can only ask you now if this former love has made it
+impossible that you should love again.'
+
+'No,' she answered; 'for although I loved and sorrowed then with all the
+strength of a child's heart, still it was only as a child, and that is
+past.'
+
+'Will you be my wife?' said the curate.
+
+'I cannot choose but say "yes," I love you so much.'
+
+Then they turned and went back along the cliffs, and the curate was very
+happy. 'But tell me,' he said, 'about this other man that loved you.'
+
+'His name was Herbert. He was the squire's son. He loved me and I loved
+him, but afterwards we found that his mother had been mad----' Violetta
+paused and turned her sweet blue eyes upon the sea.
+
+'So you could not marry?' said the curate.
+
+'No,' said Violetta, casting her eyes downward, 'because the taint of
+madness is a terrible thing.' She shuddered and blushed.
+
+'And you loved him?'
+
+'Dearly, dearly,' said Violetta, clasping her hands. 'But madness in the
+blood is too terrible; it is like the inheritance of a curse.'
+
+'He went away?' said the curate.
+
+'Yes, Herbert went away; and he died. He loved me so much that he
+died.'
+
+'I do not wonder at that,' said the curate, 'for you are very lovely,
+Violetta.'
+
+They walked home hand in hand, and when they had said good-bye under the
+beech trees that grew by the vicarage gate, the curate went down the
+street of the little town. The shop-keepers were at their doors
+breathing the mild spring air. The fishermen had hung their nets to dry
+in the market-place near the quay. The western cloud was turning
+crimson, and the steep roofs and grey church-tower absorbed in sombre
+colours the tender light. The curate was going home to his lodgings, but
+he bethought him of his tea, and turned into the pastry-cook's by the
+way.
+
+'Have you any muffins, Mrs. Yeander?' he asked.
+
+'No, sir,' said the portly wife of the baker, in a sad tone, 'they're
+all over.'
+
+'Crumpets?' said he.
+
+'Past and gone, sir,' said the woman with a sigh. She had a coarsely
+poetical cast of mind, and commonly spoke of the sale of her goods as
+one might speak of the passing of summer flowers. The curate was turning
+away.
+
+'I would make bold, sir,' said the woman, 'to ask if you've heard that
+we've let our second-floor front for a while. It's a great thing for us,
+sir, as you know, to 'ave it let, not that you'll approve the person as
+'as took it.'
+
+'Oh!' said the curate, 'how is that?'
+
+'He's the new Jewish rabbi, sir, being as they've opened the place of
+their heathenish worship again. It's been shut this two year, for want
+of a Hebrew to read the language.'
+
+'Oh, no, Mrs. Yeander; you're quite mistaken in calling the Jews
+heathens.'
+
+'The meeting-place is down by the end of the street, sir--a squarish
+sort of house. It's not been open in your time; likely you'll not know
+it. The new rabbi's been reading a couple of weeks to them. They do say
+it's awful queer.'
+
+'Oh, indeed!' said the curate; 'what are their hours of service?'
+
+'Well, to say the truth, sir, they'll soon be at it now, for it's Friday
+at sunset they've some antics or other in the place. The rabbi's just
+gone with his book.'
+
+'I think I'll look them up, and see what they're at,' said he, going
+out.
+
+He was a thin, hard-working man. His whole soul was possessed by his
+great love for Violetta, but even the gladness of its success could not
+turn him from his work. When the day was over he would indulge in
+brooding on his joy; until then the need of the world pressed. He
+stepped out again into the evening glow. The wind had grown stronger,
+and he bent his head forward and walked against it towards the west. He
+felt a sudden sympathy for this stranger who had come to minister in his
+own way to the few scattered children of the Jews who were in the town.
+He knew the unjust sentiment with which he would be surrounded as by an
+atmosphere. The curate was broad in his views. 'All nations and all
+people,' thought he, 'lust for an excuse to deem their neighbour less
+worthy than themselves, that they may oppress him. This is the
+selfishness which is the cause of all sin and is the devil.' When he got
+to this point in his thoughts he came to a sudden stand and looked up.
+'But, thank God,' he said to himself, 'the True Life is still in the
+world, and as we resist the evil we not only triumph ourselves, but make
+the triumph of our children sure.' So reasoned the curate; he was a
+rather fanatical fellow.
+
+The people near gave him 'good-day' when they saw him stop. All up and
+down the street the children played with shrill noises and pattering
+feet. The sunset cloud was brighter, and the dark peaked roofs of tile
+and thatch and slate, as if compelled to take some notice of the fire,
+threw back the red where, here and there, some glint of moisture gave
+reflection to the coloured light. He had come near the end of the town,
+and, where the houses opened, the red sky was fretted with dark twigs
+and branches of elm trees which grew on the grassy slope of the cliff.
+The elm trees were in the squire's park, and the curate looked at them
+sadly and thought of Herbert who had died.
+
+Up a little lane at the end of the street he found the entrance to a low
+square hall. There was a small ante-room to the place of service, and in
+this a dull-looking man was seated polishing a candlestick. He was a
+crossing-sweeper by trade and a friend of the curate.
+
+'Well, Issachar; so you've got your synagogue open again!'
+
+The man Issachar made some sound meant for a response, but not
+intelligible.
+
+'How many Jews will there be in the town?'
+
+'Twenty that are heads of families, and two grown youths,' said
+Issachar.
+
+'That's enough to keep up a service, for some of them will be rich?'
+
+'Some are very rich,' said Issachar, wrinkling his face with
+satisfaction when he said the words.
+
+'Then how is it you don't always keep up the service?'
+
+But Issachar had no explanation to give. He polished his candlestick the
+more vigorously, and related at some length what he knew of the present
+reader, which was, in fact, nothing, except that he was a foreigner and
+had only offered to read while he was visiting the town.
+
+'I have come for the service,' said the curate.
+
+'Better not,' said Issachar; 'it's short to-night, and there'll not be
+many.'
+
+The curate answered by opening the inner door and entering. There were
+some high pews up and down the sides of the room. There was a curtain at
+the farther end and a reading desk in the centre, both of which were
+enclosed in a railing ornamented by brass knobs, and in which were set
+high posts supporting gas-lamps, nine in all, which were lit, either for
+heat or ceremony, and turned down to a subdued light. The evening light
+entered through the domed roof. Hebrew texts which the curate could not
+decipher were painted on the dark walls. He took off his hat reverently
+and sat down. There was no one there. He felt very much surprised at
+finding himself alone. To his impressible nervous nature it seemed that
+he had suddenly entered a place far removed in time and space from the
+every-day life with which he was so familiar. He sat a long time; it was
+cold, and the evening light grew dim, and yet no one came. Issachar
+entered now and then, and made brief remarks about sundry things as he
+gave additional polish to the knobs on the railing, but he always went
+out again.
+
+At length a side door opened and the reader came in from his vestry. He
+had apparently waited in hope of a congregation, but now came in to
+perform his duty without their aid. Perhaps he was not so much
+disappointed as the curate was. It would have been very difficult to
+tell from looking at him what his emotions were. He was a stout large
+man with a coarse brown beard. There was little to be seen of his face
+but the hair upon it, and one gathered the suggestion, although it was
+hard to know from what, that the man and his beard were not as clean as
+might be. He wore a black gown and an ordinary high silk hat, although
+pushed much farther back on his head than an Englishman would have worn
+it. He walked heavily and clumsily inside the railing, and stood before
+the desk, slowly turning over backward the leaves of the great book.
+Then suddenly he began to chant in the Hebrew tongue. His voice fell
+mellow and sweet upon the silence, filling it with drowsy sound, as the
+soft music of a humble-bee will suddenly fill the silence of a woodland
+glade. There was no thought, only feeling, conveyed by the sound.
+
+Issachar had gone out, and the Anglican priest sat erect, gazing at the
+Jew through the fading light, his attention painfully strained by the
+sense of loneliness and surprise. From mere habit he supposed the chant
+to be an introduction to a varied service, but no change came. On and on
+and on went the strange music, like a potent incantation, the big Jew
+swaying his body slightly with the rhythm, and at long intervals came
+the whisper of paper with the turning of the leaf.
+
+The curate gazed and wondered until he forgot himself. Then he tried
+with an effort to recall who he was, and where he was, and all the
+details of the busy field of labour he had left just outside the door.
+He wished that the walls of the square room were not so thick, that some
+sound from the town might come in and mingle with the chant. He strained
+his ear in vain to catch a word of the Hebrew which might be
+intelligible to him. He wondered much what sort of a man this Jew might
+be, actuated by what motives, impelled by what impulses to his lonely
+task. All the sorrow of a hope deferred through ages, and a long torture
+patiently borne, seemed gathered in the cadence; but the man--surely the
+man was no refined embodiment of the high sentiment of his psalm! And
+still the soft rich voice chanted the unknown language, and the daylight
+grew more dim.
+
+The curate was conscious that again he tried to remember who he was, and
+where; and then the surroundings of the humble synagogue fell away, and
+he himself was standing looking at a jewel. It was a purple stone,
+oval-shaped and polished, perhaps about as large as the drop of dew
+which could hang in a harebell's heart. The stone was the colour of a
+harebell, and there was a ray of light in it, as if in the process of
+its formation the jewel had caught sight of a star, and imprisoned the
+tiny reflection for ever within itself. The curate moved his head from
+side to side to see if the ray within the stone would remain still, but
+it did not, turning itself to meet his eye as if the tiny star had a
+life and a light of its own. Then he looked at the setting, for the
+stone was set in steel. A zigzag-barred steel frame held it fast, and
+outside the zigzag bars there was a smooth ring, with some words cut
+upon it in Hebrew. The characters were very small; he knew, rather than
+saw, that they were Hebrew; but he did not know what they meant. All
+this time he had been stooping down, looking at this thing as if it lay
+very near the ground. Then suddenly he noticed upon what it was lying.
+There was a steel chain fastened to it, and the chain was around the
+neck of a woman who lay upon the earth; the jewel was upon her breast.
+But how white and cold the breast was! Surely there was no life in it.
+And he observed with horror that the garments which had fallen back were
+oozing with water, and that the hair was wet. He hardly saw the face;
+for a moment he thought he saw it, and that it was the face of a Jewess,
+young and beautiful, but the vision passed from him. The chant had
+ceased, and the rabbi was kissing his book.
+
+Very solemnly the Jew bowed himself three times and kissed the book,
+and then in the twilight of the nine dim lamps he stumbled out and shut
+the door, without giving a glance to his one listener.
+
+As for the young Christian priest, he was panic-stricken. When our
+senses themselves deceive us we are cut off from our cheerful belief in
+the reality of material things, or forced to face the unpleasant fact
+that we hold no stable relationship to them. He rushed out into the
+street. Issachar was at the entrance as he passed, and he fancied he saw
+the face of the reader peeping at him from the vestry window, but he
+crushed his hat hard down on his head and strode away, courting the
+bluster of the wind, striving by the energy of action to cast off the
+trance that seemed to enslave him.
+
+When he reached his own door he found the baker's wife sitting on the
+doorstep. It was quite dusk; perhaps that was the reason he did not
+recognise her at first.
+
+'La, sir, I found them two muffins lying unbeknown in the corner of the
+shelf, so I brought them round, thinking you mightn't 'ave 'ad your
+tea.'
+
+'Muffins?' said the curate, as if he were not quite sure what muffins
+might be. Then he began to wonder if he was really losing his wits, and
+he plunged into talk with the woman, saying anything and everything to
+convince himself that he was not asleep or mad. 'Do you know, Mrs.
+Yeander, that I am going to be married?'
+
+'Well, I am sure, sir,' said she, curtseying and smiling. 'It's a great
+compliment to me to hear it from your own lips; not that it's
+unexpected. Miss Violetta's a sweet saint, just like her ma, she is, an'
+her ma's a saint if there ever was one. Mr. Higgs, the verger, says that
+to see her pray that length of time on her knees after the service is
+over in church is a touching sight.'
+
+'But I don't think Miss Violetta is like her mother,' said the curate.
+
+'Well no, sir; now that you mention it, perhaps she's not--at least, not
+in looks. But lor' sir, she's wonderful like her ma when it comes to
+paying a bill, not but what they're to be respected for keeping a heye
+on the purse. I often tell Yeander that if we were a bit more saving,
+like the vicar's lady, we'd lay by a bit for our old age.'
+
+'Yes, Mrs. Yeander, yes; that would be an excellent plan,' said the
+curate, fumbling with his latch-key in the door. 'Suppose you come in
+and make my tea for me, Mrs. Yeander. I'm all alone to-night.'
+
+'I bethought I might do that, sir, when I came along. Yeander was in the
+shop, and I said, Mrs. Jones having gone to see her son, that you'd 'ave
+no one, so I just says to Yeander, "I'll step round, an' if I'm asked
+I'll make tea."'
+
+The curate lit his lamp and poked his fire, and the portly woman began
+to toast his muffins. The flame lit up the placid wrinkles of her face
+as she knelt before it:
+
+'But I don't think Miss Violetta is in the least like her mother,' said
+he again.
+
+'Lor' sir, don't you? Well, you ought to know best. They do say what's
+bred in the bone comes out in the flesh; but it'll be none the worse for
+you if she looks sharp after the spending. You're not much given to
+saving.'
+
+The curate walked nervously up and down his small room.
+
+'Make the tea strong to-night,' he said.
+
+'Mr. Higgs, the verger, do hate the vicar's lady, sir--he do, and no
+mistake--but he says anybody could see with 'alf a heye that she was a
+real saint. The subscriptions she puts down to missions and church
+restorings--it's quite wonderful.'
+
+The curate ran his hand wearily through his hair. He felt called upon to
+say something. 'I have the highest respect for Mrs. Moore,' he began. 'I
+know her to be a most devoted helpmeet to the vicar, and a truly good
+woman. At the same time'--he coughed--'at the same time, I should wish
+to say distinctly that after being niggardly in her domestic affairs,
+which is unfortunately the case, I do not think it adds to her stock of
+Christian virtues to give the money thus saved to church work.'
+
+The curate cleared his throat. It was because he was flying from himself
+that he had let the woman talk until this speech of his had been made
+necessary; but at all times his humble friends in this town were well
+nigh irrepressible in their talk. This woman was in full tide now.
+
+'They do say, sir, there's a difference between honest saving and greed.
+Mr. Higgs said to Yeander one day, says he, "Mrs. Moore's folks far back
+made their money by sharp trading, and greed's in the family, and it's
+the worst sort of greed, for it grasps both at 'eaven and earth, both at
+this life and the 'eavenly. And," says he, "no one could doubt that the
+lady's that way constituted that she couldn't cut a loaf of bread in
+'alf without giving herself the largest share, even if it were the bread
+of life."'
+
+'My good Mrs. Yeander----' began the curate in stern rebuke.
+
+'Oh, no, sir, Mr. Higgs don't mean no harm. He only gets that riled at
+Mrs. Moore sometimes that he kind of lets off to Yeander and me.'
+
+'And I don't think, Mrs. Yeander,' said the curate, for the third time,
+'that Miss Violetta is at all like her mother.'
+
+'She's young yet, sir,' said the woman. Then she went away, leaving the
+curate to interpret her last remark as he chose.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+
+About a week after that there was a fine dinner given at the vicarage to
+welcome the curate into the family. The old squire was invited, but he
+refused to come. Violetta's mamma wrote and asked some of her relatives
+to come down from town. 'Our chosen son-in-law is not rich,' she wrote,
+'but he comes of an old family, and that is a great thing. Dear Violetta
+will, of course, inherit my own fortune, which will be ample for them,
+and his good connections, with God's blessing, will complete their
+happiness.' So they came down. There was the vicar's brother, who was a
+barrister, and his wife. Then there were two sisters of Mrs. Moore, who
+were both very rich. One was an old maid, and one was married to a
+dean--she brought her husband. 'You see,' said Violetta's mamma to the
+curate, 'our relatives are all either law or clergy.'
+
+There were very grand preparations made for the dinner, and Mrs. Higgs,
+the wife of the verger, came to the curate's rooms the day before and
+took away his best clothes, that she might see they were well brushed
+for the occasion. She did up his collar and wristbands herself, and
+gave them a fine gloss. Higgs brought them back just in time for the
+dinner.
+
+'It's just about five years since they had such a turn-out at the
+vicarage,' said Higgs in a crisp little voice. 'Miss Violetta was
+nineteen then; she'll be twenty-four now.'
+
+'Yes,' said the curate absently; 'what was up then?'
+
+''Twas a dinner much of a muchness to this. Mrs. Higgs, she was just
+reminding me of it. But that was in honour of Mr. Herbert, of the 'All.
+You'll 'ave heard of him?'
+
+'Oh, yes,' said the curate, 'all that was very sad.'
+
+'The more so,' said Higgs briskly, 'that when it was broke hoff, Mr.
+Herbert died of love. He went to some foreign countries and took up with
+low company, and there he died. Squire hasn't held his head up straight
+since that day.'
+
+'All that was before I came,' said the curate very gravely, for he did
+not know exactly what to say.
+
+'Lor' bless you, sir,' said Higgs, 'I was in no way blaming you. There's
+no blame attaching to any, that I know; squire's wife was as mad as a
+hare. Miss Violetta, she cried her pretty eyes nigh out for Mr. Herbert;
+it's time she'd another.'
+
+The curate went to the dinner, and it was a very fine affair indeed.
+Violetta wore a silk gown and looked charming. She does not look a day
+older than she did when I saw her five years ago,' said the dean to the
+curate, meaning to be very polite, but the curate did not smile at the
+compliment.
+
+'How fine your flowers are!' said the maiden aunt to Violetta. 'Where
+did you get them, my dear?'
+
+'The squire sent them to me,' said Violetta, with a droop of her eyelids
+which made her look more charming than ever. Then they had dinner, and
+after dinner Violetta gave them some music. It was sacred music, for
+Mrs. Moore did not care for anything else.
+
+When the song was over Mrs. Moore said to the curate, 'It has been my
+wish to give dear Violetta a little gift as a slight remembrance of this
+happy occasion, and I thought that something of my own would be more
+valuable than----' Here the mother's voice broke with very natural
+emotion, and she pressed her handkerchief to her eyes. 'You must excuse
+me,' she murmured, 'she is such a dear--such a very dear girl, and she
+is our only child.'
+
+'Indeed, I can well understand,' said he, with earnest sympathy.
+
+'Such a dear--such a very dear girl,' murmured Mrs. Moore again. Then
+she rose and embraced Violetta and wept, and the aunts all shed tears,
+and the vicar coughed. Violetta's own blue eyes over-flowed with very
+pretty tears.
+
+The curate felt very uncomfortable indeed, and said again that he quite
+understood, and that it was quite natural. The dean and the barrister
+both said what they ought. The dean remarked that these dear parents
+ought not to sorrow at losing a daughter, but rejoice at finding a son.
+The barrister pointed out that as the bride was only expected to move
+into the next house but one after her marriage, all talk of parting was
+really quite absurd. The vicar did not say anything; he rarely did when
+his wife was present. Then Mrs. Moore became more composed, and put a
+ring on her daughter's finger. The curate did not see the ring at the
+moment. He was leaning against the mantel-shelf, feeling very much
+overcome by the responsibility of his new happiness.
+
+'Oh, mamma, how lovely!' cried Violetta. 'How perfectly beautiful!'
+
+'A star-amethyst!' said the barrister in a tone of surprise.
+
+'Is it a star-amethyst indeed?' said the dean, looking over the
+shoulders of the group with his double eye-glass. 'I am not aware that I
+ever saw one before; they are a very rare and beautiful sort of gem.'
+
+'Where did you get it, sister Matilda?' asked the maiden aunt.
+
+Now, although Mrs. Moore was in a most gracious humour, she never liked
+being asked questions at any time. 'I am surprised that you should ask
+me that, Eliza. I have had it for many years.'
+
+'But you must have got it somewhere at the beginning of the years,'
+persisted Eliza, who was of a more lively disposition.
+
+Mrs. Moore gave her a severe glance for the frivolous tone of her
+answer. 'I was just about to explain that this stone has been lying for
+years among the jewellery which poor uncle Ford bequeathed to me. I
+thought it a pity that such a beautiful stone should lie unnoticed any
+longer.'
+
+'Oh, a great pity!' they all cried.
+
+'I should not have supposed that poor dear uncle Ford possessed such a
+rare thing,' said the wife of the dean.
+
+'It is very curious you never mentioned it before,' said Eliza.
+
+But Eliza was not in favour.
+
+'Not at all,' said Mrs. Moore; 'I take very little interest in such
+things. Life is too short to allow our attention to be diverted from
+serious things by mere ornaments.'
+
+'That is very true,' said the dean.
+
+Violetta broke through the little circle to show her lover the ring.
+'Look,' she said, holding up her pretty hand. 'Isn't it lovely? Isn't
+mamma very kind?'
+
+The curate turned his eyes from the fire with an effort. He had been
+listening to all they said in a state of dreamy surprise. He did not
+wish to look at the stone, and the moment he saw it he perceived it was
+what he had seen before. It was not exactly the same shade of purple,
+but it appeared to him that he had seen it before by daylight, and now
+the lamps were lit. It was the same shape and size, and the tiny
+interior star was the same. He moved his head from side to side to see
+if the ray moved to meet his eye, and he found that it did so. He looked
+at Violetta. How beautiful she was in her white gown, with her little
+hand uplifted to display the shining stone, and her face upturned to
+his! The soft warm curve of the delicate breast and throat, the red lips
+that seemed to breathe pure kisses and holy words, the tender eyes
+shining like the jewel, dewy with the sacred tears she had been
+shedding, and the yellow hair, smooth, glossy, brushed saintly-wise on
+either side of the nunlike brow--all this he looked at, and his senses
+grew confused. The sad rise and fall of the Hebrew chant was in his ears
+again; the bright room and the people were not there, but the chant
+seemed in some strange way to rise up in folds of darkness and surround
+Violetta like a frame; and everything else was dark and filled with the
+music, except Violetta, who stood there white and shining, holding up
+the ring for him to look at; and at her feet lay that other woman, wet
+and dead, with the same stone in the steel chain at her throat. 'Isn't
+it lovely? Isn't mamma very kind?' Violetta was saying.
+
+'My dear, I think he is ill,' said the vicar.
+
+They took him by the arm, putting him on a chair, and fetched water and
+a glass of wine. He heard them talking together.
+
+'I daresay it has been too much for him,' said the dean. 'Joy is often
+as hard to bear as grief.'
+
+'He is such a fellow for work,' said the vicar, 'I never knew any one
+like him.'
+
+The curate sat up quite straight. 'Did any of you ever see an amethyst
+like this set in steel?'
+
+'In steel? What an odd idea!' said the maiden aunt.
+
+'He is not quite himself yet,' said the dean in a low voice, tapping her
+on the shoulder.
+
+'I think it would be very inappropriate, indeed very wrong, to set a
+valuable stone in any of the baser metals,' said Mrs. Moore. She spoke
+as if the idea were a personal affront to herself, but then she had an
+immense notion of her own importance, and always looked upon all
+wrong-doing as a personal grievance.
+
+'Whatever made you think of it?' asked Violetta.
+
+'I daresay it was rather absurd,' said the curate meekly.
+
+'By no means,' said the barrister; 'the idea of making jewellery
+exclusively of gold is modern and crude. In earlier times many beautiful
+articles of personal ornamentation were made of brass and even of iron.'
+
+'Mamma,' said Violetta, 'I remember one day seeing a curious old thing
+in the bottom of your dressing-case. It looked as if it might be made of
+steel. It was a very curious old thing--chain, and a pendant with some
+inscription round it.'
+
+'Did you?' said Mrs. Moore. 'I have several old trinkets. I do not know
+to which you refer.'
+
+She bade Violetta ring for tea. 'I am sure you will be the better for a
+cup of tea,' she said, turning to the curate.
+
+'I am quite well,' he replied. 'I think, if you will excuse me, I will
+walk home at once; the air will do me good.'
+
+But they would not hear of his walking home. They made him drink tea and
+sit out the evening with them. Violetta gave them some more music; and
+they all made themselves exceedingly agreeable. When the evening was
+over they sent the curate home in the carriage.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+
+The night was frosty, calm, and clear, and quite light, for the March
+moon was just about to rise from the eastern sea.
+
+When the carriage set him down at his own door the curate had no mind to
+go in. He waited till the sound of the horse's feet had died away, and
+then he walked back down the empty street. The town was asleep; his
+footsteps echoed sharply from roofs and walls.
+
+He was not given to morbid fancies or hallucinations, and he was
+extremely annoyed at what had taken place. Twice in the last eight days
+he had been the subject of a waking dream, and now he was confronted
+with what seemed an odd counterpart of his vision in actual fact. It was
+no doubt a mere coincidence, but it was a very disagreeable one. Of
+course if he saw the old trinket described by Violetta, the chances were
+that it would be quite different from the setting of the stone which the
+dead woman wore; but even if the two were exactly the same, what
+difference could it make? A dream is nothing, and that which appears in
+a dream is nothing. The coincidence had no meaning.
+
+He turned by the side of the church down the lane which led to the
+little quay. The tide was halfway up the dark weed, and the
+fishing-boats were drawn near to the quay, ready for the cruise at dawn;
+their dark furled sails were bowing and curtseying to one another with
+all ceremony, like ghosts at a stately ball. To the east and south lay
+the sea, vacant, except that on the eastern verge stood a palace of
+cloud, the portals of which were luminous with the light from within,
+and now they were thrown open with a golden flash, and yellow rays shot
+forth into the upper heavens, spreading a clear green light through the
+deep midnight of the sky where the other worlds wandered. Then the
+yellow moon came from her palace, wrapping herself at first with a
+mantle of golden mist, as if--Godiva-like--she shrank from loosening her
+garments; but the need of the darkling earth pressed upon her, and she
+dropped her covering and rode forth in nakedness.
+
+Everything was more lovely now, for there was light to see the
+loveliness. The bluff wind that came from the bosom of the sea seemed
+only to tell of a vast silence and a world asleep. The rocky shore, with
+its thin line of white breakers, stretched round to the west. About a
+mile away there was a rugged headland, with some crags at its feet,
+which had been broken off and rolled down into the sea by the Frost
+Demon of bygone years. The smallest was farthest out, and wedged behind
+it and sheltered by it was the black hulk of a wrecked vessel. This
+outermost rock lay so that it broke the waves as they came against the
+wreck, and each was thrown high in a white jet and curl of spray, and
+fell with a low sob back into the darkness of the sea.
+
+The curate turned and walked toward the headland on the cliff path where
+he had walked a week before with Violetta. The cliffs were completely
+desolate, except for some donkeys browsing here and there, their brown
+hair silvered by the frost. There was a superstition in the town that
+the place was haunted on moonlight nights by the spirit of a woman who
+had perished in the wreck. It had been a French vessel, wrecked five
+years before, and all on board were drowned--six men and one woman, the
+wife of the skipper. They had all been buried in one grave in the little
+cemetery that was on the top of the headland; and it was easy to see how
+the superstition of the haunting came about, for as the curate watched
+the spray on the rock near the wreck rise up in the moonlight and fall
+back into the sea, he could almost make himself believe that he saw in
+it the supple form of a woman with uplifted hands, praying heaven for
+rescue.
+
+The wind was pretty rough when he got to the head of land, and he walked
+up among the graves to find a place where he might be sheltered and yet
+have advantage of the view. He knew that close by the edge of the
+cliff, over the grave of the shipwrecked people, stood a marble cross,
+large enough to shelter a man somewhat if he leaned against it. Upon
+this cross was a long inscription giving a touching account of the
+wreck, and stating that it was erected by Matilda Moore, wife of the
+vicar, out of grief for the sad occurrence, and with an earnest prayer
+for the unknown bereaved ones.
+
+The curate was rather fond of reading this inscription, as we all are
+apt to be fond of going over words which, although perfectly familiar to
+us, still leave some space for curiosity concerning their author and
+origin, and he was wondering idly as he walked whether there would be
+light enough from the moon to read them now. The wind came, like the
+moonlight, from the south-east, and he walked round by the western side
+of the graveyard in order to come up the knoll on which the cross stood
+by the sheltered side. Everything around him was intensely bleak and
+white, for the moon, having left the horizon, had lost her golden light,
+and the colouring of the night had toned down to white and purple.
+Patches of wild white cloud were scudding across the pallid purple sky
+beneath the stars, and there was a silver causeway across the purple
+sea. The purple was not unlike that of an amethyst. The cliffs sloped
+back to the town; the boats and peaked roofs and church tower were seen
+by the sharp outline of their masses of light and shade. The street
+lamps were not lit in the town because of the moon, and only in two or
+three places there was the warm glow of a casement fringed with the rays
+of a midnight candle. To the left of the cliffs, close to the town, were
+the trees of the squire's park and the roof of the Hall. Perhaps it was
+because the curate was looking at these things, as he walked among the
+graves, that he did not look at the monument towards which he was making
+way, until he came within half a dozen yards of it; then he suddenly saw
+that there was another man leaning against it, half hid in the shadow.
+He stopped at once and stood looking.
+
+The man had thrown his arms backward over the arms of the cross, and was
+leaning, half hanging, upon it; the young priest was inexpressibly
+shocked and startled by the attitude. He knew that none of the humbler
+inhabitants of the town would venture near such a place at such a time,
+nor could he think of any one else who was likely to be there. Besides,
+although he could not see the stranger distinctly, he himself was
+standing in full moonlight, and yet the man in the shadow of the cross
+made no sign of seeing him. At that moment he would gladly have gone
+home without asking further question, but that would have looked as if
+he were afraid.
+
+He tried a chance remark. 'It is a fine night,' he said, as lightly as
+might be.
+
+'Yes,' said the other, and moved his arms from the arms of the cross. It
+was only one word, but the curate recognised the soft voice at once. It
+was the Jewish rabbi.
+
+'I was at one of your services the other day,' he said, advancing
+nearer.
+
+'Yes.'
+
+'I felt sorry your people did not turn out better.'
+
+There was no answer.
+
+'It is a very cold wind,' said the curate. 'I hardly know why I came out
+so far.'
+
+'Shall I tell you?' asked the Jew softly. He spoke good English, but
+very slowly, and with some foreign accent.
+
+'Certainly, if you can.'
+
+'I desired very much to see you.'
+
+'But you did not tell me, so that could not be the reason. Your will
+could not influence my mind. I assure you I came of my own free will; it
+would be terrible if one man should be at the mercy of another's
+caprice.'
+
+'Be it so; let us call it chance then. I desired that you should come,
+and you came.'
+
+'But you do not think that you have a power over other men like that?'
+
+'I do not know; I find that with some men such correspondence between
+my will and their thoughts and actions is not rare; but I could not
+prove that it is not chance. It makes no difference to me whether it be
+chance or not. I have been thinking of you very much, desiring your aid,
+and twice you have come to me--as you say--of your own free will.'
+
+'If you have such a power, you may be responsible for a very
+disagreeable dream I had in your synagogue the other day.'
+
+'What was the dream?'
+
+'Nay, if you created it you should be able to tell me what it was.'
+
+'I have no idea what it was; if I influenced your imagination I did so
+unconsciously.'
+
+There was about this Jew such a complete gentleness and repose, such
+earnestness without eagerness, such self-confidence without
+self-assertion, that the curate's heart warmed to him instinctively.
+
+'I believe you are an honest Christian,' said the Jew very simply.
+
+'I hope honest Christians are not rare.'
+
+'I think a wholly honest man is very rare, because to see what is honest
+it is necessary to look at things without self-interest or desire.'
+
+'I am certainly not such a man. The most I can say is that I try to be
+more honest every day.'
+
+'That is very well said,' said the Jew. 'If you had believed in your
+own honesty, I should have doubted it.' Then, in a very simple and quiet
+way, he told the curate a strange story.
+
+He said that he lived in Antwerp. They were five in one family--the
+parents, a sister and brother, and himself. His father and brother did
+business with the English ships, but he was a teacher and reader in the
+synagogue. There had been in their family a very sacred heirloom in the
+form of an amulet or charm. Their forefathers had believed that it came
+from Jerusalem before their nation lost the holy city; but he himself
+did not think that this could be true; he only knew that it was ancient,
+and possessed very valuable properties as a talisman to those who knew
+how to use it. About five years before, his sister, who was beautiful
+and wayward, had loved and married a French sea-captain. The father
+cursed his daughter, but the mother could not let her go from them under
+the fear of this curse, and she hung the amulet about her neck as a
+safeguard. Alas for such safeguard! in a few weeks the captain's ship
+was wrecked, and all on her were drowned. He said that it was that same
+ship which lay near them, a wreck among the waves, and his sister lay
+buried beneath their feet.
+
+The family did not hear of the wreck till some time after the burial,
+and then they knew for the first time what their mother had done with
+the amulet. His brother came over at once to this town to seek it, but
+in vain. The people said they had not seen the necklace; that it had
+certainly not been buried with the girl. The people seemed simple and
+honest; the brother was a shrewd man, and he believed that they spoke
+the truth. He returned home, in distress; they could not tell what to
+think, for they knew their sister would not have dared to take off the
+necklace, and the chain was too strong to be broken by the violence of
+the waves.
+
+Some months after they heard that there was a young Englishman dying in
+Antwerp who came from this town. The name of the town was graven on
+their hearts, and they went to see him. He was a mere boy, a pretty boy,
+and when they asked him about the wreck he became excited in his
+weakness and fever, and told them all the story of it as he had seen it
+with his own eyes.
+
+It was an October afternoon. A storm had been lowering and partially
+breaking over the town for three days, and that day there was a glare of
+murky light from the cloud that made the common people think that the
+end of the world was come. When the ship struck, the fisher-people ran
+out of the town to the shore nearest her, and this boy would have run
+out with them and been among the foremost but that a very pious and
+charitable lady of the place had besought him to take her with him.
+There was a great rain and wind, and it was with difficulty that he led
+the lady out and helped her down to the shore. By that time the wreck
+had been dashed to pieces, and the fishermen were bringing in the dead
+bodies of the crew. There was a woman among them, and when they brought
+her body in, they did not lay it with the bodies of the sailors, but
+carried it respectfully and laid it close to the lady who stood in the
+shelter of some rocks. The wet clothes had fallen back from her
+breast--the boy remembered it well, for it had been his first sight of
+death, and his heart was touched by the girl's youth and beauty. He had
+not seen her again, for he had gone to help with the boats, and the
+fishermen's wives had run at the lady's bidding and brought coverings to
+wrap her in.
+
+The Jewish father then told the dying man about the amulet. He said
+that, to the best of his memory, some such thing had been about the neck
+of the dead girl, but that he was certain that none of the fisher-people
+would have been bad enough to steal from the dead. They entreated him to
+think well what he said, and to consider again if there was no doubtful
+character there who might have had the opportunity and the baseness to
+commit the crime. At that the dying man fell into profound thought, and
+when he looked at them again the fever-flush had mounted to his face,
+and there was a light in his eyes. He told them that if there was any
+one upon the shore that day who would have done such a thing it was the
+very rich and pious lady that he himself had taken to the wreck. She had
+been alone with the body when she sent the other women for wrappings.
+They thought that perhaps his mind was wandering, and left him,
+promising to return next day; but when they came again he was dead.
+
+'I have learned since I came here,' said the Jew, 'that he was the son
+of the old man who lives in the great house down there among the trees.'
+
+They both looked down at the park. The leafless elms stood up like giant
+feathers in the white mist of the moonbeams, and the chimney-stacks of
+the house threw a deep shadow on the shining roof.
+
+'But we felt,' said the Jew, 'that even if the judgment of the dying boy
+were a true one, and this lady had committed the crime, we still had no
+evidence against her, and that whoever was wicked enough to steal would
+certainly deny the act, and conceal that which was stolen. Hopeless as
+it seemed to wait, doing nothing, our only chance of redress would be
+lost by making any inquiry which might frighten her. We sent a message
+to the goldsmith in London who mends her jewels, asking him to watch for
+this necklace, and so we waited. At last we heard news. An amethyst
+which we do not doubt is ours came to the goldsmith to be put in a
+ring; but there was no necklace with it. I came here to see if I could
+do something, but I have been here for some time and can devise no plan.
+If she still possess the other part, to speak would be to cause its
+destruction, and how can I find out without asking if she still has by
+her the thing that would prove her crime? Do not be angry with me when I
+tell you this. Remember it was not I who presumed to suspect the wife of
+your priest, but the English boy, who knew her well.'
+
+'Yes,' said the curate, 'I shall remember that.' He had grown tired of
+standing in the wind, and had sat down on the frosty grass below the
+cross. The blast was very cold, and he crouched down to avoid it,
+hugging his knees with his hands.
+
+'You are about to be united to the family,' said the Jew; 'perhaps you
+have seen the stone. Will you, for the sake of that justice which we all
+hope for, try to find out for me if the other part of the amulet still
+exists? I will give you a drawing of it, and if you find it as I
+describe, you will know that my tale is true. Remember this--that we
+have no wish to make the wrong public or punish the wrong-doer. We only
+want to obtain our property.'
+
+'Have you got a drawing of it now?'
+
+'Yes, I have it here.'
+
+The curate rose up and took the paper. He lit a match, and held its
+tiny red flame in the shelter of the stone. The paper was soiled and
+untidily folded, but the drawing was clear. It took but a glance to
+satisfy him that what he had seen in his dream was but the reflection in
+his own thought of the idea in the Jew's mind. He did not stop to ask
+any explanation of the fact; the fact itself pressed too hard upon him.
+While the match was still burning he mechanically noticed the Jew's
+face, as it leaned over the paper near his own--not a handsome face, but
+gentle and noble in its expression. Then the match went out; it dropped
+from his hand, a tiny spark, into the grass, and for a moment
+illuminated the blades among which it fell.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+
+The two men walked back over the bleak cliffs together, and for the
+greater part of the way in silence; at last the curate spoke. He told
+the Jew quite truly that he believed the vicar's wife had his jewel, and
+that he supposed she must have come by it according to his worst
+suspicions. 'But,' he added, 'I believe she is a good woman.'
+
+The other looked at him in simple surprise. 'That is very curious,' he
+said.
+
+'Let us not try to find out her secret by prying; let us go to her
+to-morrow, and tell her openly what we think. You fear that she will
+deny her action; I have no such fear; and if she does not stand our
+test, I give you my word for it, you shall not be the loser.'
+
+'I have put my case in your hands,' said the Jew. 'I will do as you
+say.'
+
+They turned into the sleeping town; but when they reached the place of
+parting the curate put his hand on the Jew's arm and said, 'I should not
+have your forbearance. If some one unconnected with myself had wronged
+me so, at the same time making profession of religion, I should think
+she deserved both disgrace and punishment.'
+
+'And that she shall have, but not from us,' he replied. 'The sin will
+surely be visited on her and on her children.'
+
+'Surely not on the children,' said the curate. 'You cannot believe that.
+It would be unjust.'
+
+'You have seen but little of the world if you do not know that such is
+the law. The vagabond who sins from circumstances may have in him the
+making of a saint, and his children may be saints; but with those who
+sin in spite of the good around them it is not so. For them and for
+their children is the curse.'
+
+'God cannot punish the innocent for the guilty,' said the priest
+passionately.
+
+'Surely not; for that is the punishment--that they are not innocent. The
+children of the proud are proud; the children of the cruel, cruel; and
+the children of the dishonest are dishonest, unto the third and fourth
+generation. Fight against it as they may, they cannot see the difference
+between right and wrong; they can only, by struggling, come _nearer_ to
+the light. Do you call this unjust of God? Is it unjust that the
+children of the mad are mad, and the children of the virtuous virtuous.'
+
+'You take from us responsibility if we inherit sin.'
+
+'Nay, I increase responsibility. If we inherit obliquity of conscience,
+we are the more responsible for acting not as seems right in our own
+eyes, the more bound to restrain and instruct ourselves, for by this
+doctrine is laid upon us the responsibility of our children and
+children's children, that they may be better, not worse, than we.'
+
+All night long the curate paced up and down his room. The dawn came and
+he saw the fishermen hurry away to the boats at the quay. The sunrise
+came with its dull transient light upon the rain cloud. When the morning
+advanced he went for the Jew, and they walked down the street in the
+driving rain. The wet paving-stones and roofs reflected the grey light
+of the clouds which hurried overhead. The ruddy-twigged beech trees at
+the vicarage gate were shaken and buffeted by the storm. The two men
+shook their dripping hats as they entered the house. They were received
+in a private parlour, which was filled with objects of art and devotion.
+Very blandly did the good wife of the vicar greet them, yet with
+business-like condescension.
+
+The Jew, in a few very simple words, told the story of his sister's
+death and the loss of the amulet. He told the peculiar value of the
+amulet, and added, 'I have reason, madam, to believe that it has come
+into your possession. If so, and if you have it still by you, I entreat
+that you will give it to me at once, for to you it can only be a pretty
+trinket, and to us it is like a household god.'
+
+She looked at the Jew with evident emotion. 'I cannot tell you how it
+grieves me to hear you speak as if you attributed to any inanimate
+object the saving power which belongs to God alone,' she said. 'Think
+for a moment, only think, how dishonouring such a superstition is to the
+Creator.'
+
+'Madam!' said the Jew in utmost surprise.
+
+'Consider how wrong such a superstition is,' she said. 'What virtue can
+there be in a stone, or a piece of metal, or an inscription? None. They
+are as dead and powerless as the idols of the heathen; and to put the
+faith in any such thing that we ought to put in God's providence, is to
+dishonour Him. It grieves me to think that you, or any other intelligent
+man, could believe in such a superstition.'
+
+'Madam,' said the Jew again, 'these things are as we think of them. You
+think one way and I another.'
+
+'But you think wrongly. I would have you see your error, and turn from
+it. Can you believe in the Christian faith and yet----'
+
+'I am a Jew,' he said.
+
+'A Jew!' she exclaimed. She began to preach against that error also;
+entering into a long argument in a dull dogmatic way, but with an
+earnestness which held the two men irresolute with wonder and surprise.
+
+'It would seem, madam,' said the Jew, after she had talked much, 'that
+you desire greatly to set an erring world to rights again.'
+
+'And should we not all desire that?' she asked, unconscious of the
+irony. 'For what else are we placed in the world but to pass on to
+others the light that God has entrusted to us?'
+
+'I verily believe, madam,' said he seriously, 'that you think exactly
+what you say, and that you desire greatly to do me good. But, putting
+these questions aside, will you tell me if you have this ornament which
+I venerate?'
+
+'Yes, I have it.'
+
+'You took it from the breast of my sister when she lay dead upon your
+shore?'
+
+'I unfastened it from her neck, and have kept it with the greatest
+care. It was an ornament which was quite unsuitable to your sister's
+station in life. I could not have allowed any of our poor women to see
+such a valuable stone on the neck of a girl like themselves in station;
+it would have given them false ideas, and I am careful to teach them
+simplicity in dress. In England we do not approve of people of your
+class wearing jewellery.'
+
+The curate put his arms on the table and bowed his head on his hands.
+
+'Be that as it may,' said the Jew, rising, 'I will thank you if you will
+give me my property now and let me go.'
+
+'I cannot give it to you.' She was a little flustered in her manner, but
+not much. 'It would be against my conscience to give you what you would
+use profanely. Providence has placed it in my care, and I am responsible
+for its use. If I gave it to you it would be tempting you to sin.'
+
+He sat down again and looked at her with wonder in his soft brown eyes.
+'You have had the stone taken out,' he said, 'and set in a ring.'
+
+'Yes, and I have given it to my daughter, so that it is no longer mine
+to return to you. You must be aware that the marble cross stone I set up
+over your sister's grave cost me much more than the value of this stone.
+I am very much surprised that you should ask me to give it back. Surely
+any real feeling of gratitude for what I did for her would prompt you to
+be glad that you have something to give me in return.' She paused, then
+harped again upon the other string. 'But under any circumstances I could
+not feel justified in giving you anything that you would put to a bad
+use.'
+
+'That you have stolen my property does not make it yours to withhold,
+whatever may be your sentiments concerning it.'
+
+'"Stolen!" I do not understand you when you use such a word. Do you
+think it possible that I should steal? I took the chain from your
+sister's neck with the highest motives. Do not use such a word as
+"stolen" in speaking to me.'
+
+'Truly, madam,' he said, 'you could almost persuade me that you are in
+the right, and that I insult you.'
+
+She looked at him stolidly, although evidently not without some inward
+apprehension. It was a piteous sight--the poor distorted reasoning
+faculty grovelling as a slave to the selfish will.
+
+'I cannot give you back the amethyst,' she said, 'for I have given it
+away; but if you will promise me never again to regard it as having any
+value as an amulet or talisman, I will give you the necklace, and I will
+pay you something to have another stone put in.'
+
+The curate looked up. 'Get him the necklace and Violetta's ring,' he
+said, 'and we will go.'
+
+A man had arisen within the curate who was stronger than his
+self-control. They might have argued with her for ever: he frightened
+her into compliance. He took her by the arm and turned her to the door.
+
+'There is not a man, woman or child in this town,' he said, 'who shall
+not hear of this affair if you delay another moment to get him the chain
+and the ring. It is due to his charity if the matter is concealed then.'
+
+When she was gone the Jew was disposed to make remarks. 'I truly
+believe,' he said, 'that it is as you say, that this woman is very
+virtuous in the sight of her own conscience.'
+
+A servant brought them a packet. The Jew opened it, taking out the chain
+and the ring reverently and putting them in his breast. Then they went
+out into the wind and the rain.
+
+The Jew went to his native city, and the curate accompanied him as far
+as London. There he said good-bye to him as to a friend. He did not
+return at once to his parish, but found a substitute to do his work
+there, and went inland for a month, seeking by change and relaxation to
+attain to the true judgment of calm pulses and quiet nerves. It was in
+April and in Lent that he returned.
+
+Higgs, the irrepressible, received him with joy. 'It's you that are the
+good sight for sore eyes,' he said. 'Not but what we've been 'aving an
+uncommon peaceful time for Lent. The vicar's lady she's took bad and
+took to bed.'
+
+The curate reproved the wicked Higgs, but he inquired after the health
+of the invalid.
+
+'I hope Mrs. Moore is not very ill?'
+
+'Bless you, no, sir; she's 'ale and 'earty. Cook says she's sure she've
+fell out with some one. That's her way; she takes to bed when she've
+fell out with any one. It makes them repent of their sins.'
+
+A soft grey mist lay over land and sea. The church and vicarage were
+grey and wet. The beeches at the vicarage gate had broken forth in a
+myriad buds of silver green, and all the buds were tipped with water,
+and the grey stems were stained and streaked. The yew trees in the
+churchyard were bedewed with tiny drops. At the little gate that led
+from the vicarage into the churchyard, between the yew trees and the
+beeches, the curate waited for Violetta, after evensong. She came out of
+the old grey porch and down the path between the graves and the yew
+trees with her prayer-book in her hand. She looked like an Easter lily
+that holds itself in bud till the sadness of Lent is past, so pure, so
+modest, such a perfect thing from the hand of God.
+
+She stopped and started when she saw her lover, and then greeted him
+with a little smile, but blent with some reproachful dignity.
+
+'I am glad you have come at last, for I have been wanting to speak to
+you. Poor mamma has been very poorly and ill. It has grieved her very
+much indeed that you should have so misunderstood her motives, and
+treated her so rudely. Mamma takes things like that most deeply to
+heart.'
+
+'She told you why I treated her rudely?'
+
+'Yes, she told me, but she did not tell papa anything about it; it would
+only vex papa and do no good. Mamma told me to tell you that she had
+made up her mind to forgive you, and to say no more about it, although
+she was deeply grieved that you should have so misunderstood her.'
+
+'Yes,' said the curate vaguely, for he did not know what else to say.
+
+'Of course, as to the necklace, it may be a matter of opinion as to
+whether mamma judged rightly or not; but no one who knows her could
+doubt that her one desire was to do what was right. It is quite true
+what she says: that the stone was most unsuitable to the station of
+those people; every one says that the man was a very common and
+vulgar-looking person; and of course to regard such a thing with
+superstitious veneration is a very great sin, from which she saved them
+as long as she kept it. Mamma says of course she knew she ran the risk
+of being misunderstood in acting as she did, but she thought it her duty
+to run that risk if by that means she could save anything that God had
+entrusted to her keeping from being misused. You know what mamma is;
+there is nothing she would not do if she thought it right.'
+
+'Yes,' he said again, as though simply admitting that he had heard what
+she said.
+
+'So I think we had better not say anything more about it. I know you
+will see that it is wisest to say nothing to papa or any one else.
+People think so differently about such things that it would only cause
+needless argument, and give poor mamma more pain when she has already
+suffered so much.'
+
+'You may trust me. I will never mention the matter to your father, or to
+any one else. No one shall ever hear of it through me.'
+
+'I was sure that you would see that it is wisest not to; I told mamma
+so. When she is better, and you have shown her that you regret having
+misunderstood her, we shall all be very happy again.' She held up her
+pretty face for a kiss.
+
+No one could see them except the chattering starlings in the church
+tower, for they stood in the soft mist between the dewy yew trees and
+the red-budding hedge by the vicarage lawn. The beech trees stretched
+out their graceful twigs above them, the starlings talked to one another
+rather sadly, and far off through the stillness of the mist came the
+sound of the tide on the shore. The curate was very pale and grave. His
+tall frame trembled like a sick woman's as he stooped to give Violetta
+that kiss. He took her hands in his for a moment, and then he clasped
+her in his arms, lifting her from the grass and embracing her in a
+passion of tenderness and love. Then he put her from him.
+
+'Violetta, it is amiable of you, and loyal, to excuse and defend your
+mother, but tell me--tell me, as you speak before God, that you do not
+think as you have spoken. You are a woman now, with a soul of your own;
+tell me you know that to take this necklace and to keep it secretly was
+a terrible sin.'
+
+'Indeed'--with candour--'I do not think anything of the sort. I think it
+is wicked of you to slander mamma in that way. And if you want to know
+what I think'--with temper now--'I think it was most unkind of you to
+give away my ring. After it had been given to me on such an occasion,
+too, it was priceless to us, but we could easily have paid that vulgar
+man all it was worth to him.'
+
+'I will not argue with you. I perceive now that that would do no good.'
+There was a heart-broken tone in his voice that frightened Violetta. 'I
+will--I will only say----'
+
+'What?' she asked. The thin sharp sound in her voice was a note of
+alarm.
+
+'I will not marry you,' moaned the curate.
+
+'Not marry me!' she exclaimed in astonishment.
+
+'I love you. I shall always love you. No other woman shall ever be my
+wife; but I will never marry you; and I shall go away and leave you free
+to forget me.'
+
+'But why? What have I done?' she asked, her breath catching her tones.
+
+'You have done nothing, my poor, poor girl; but--oh, my darling, I would
+gladly die if by dying I could open your eyes to see the simple
+integrity of unselfishness!'
+
+'It is very absurd for you to speak of unselfishness at the very moment
+when you are selfishly giving me so much pain,' she cried, defiant.
+
+He bent his head and covered his face with his hands.
+
+She stood and looked at him, her cheeks flushed and her breast heaving
+with a great anger.
+
+'Good-bye, Violetta,' he said, and turned slowly away.
+
+'I never heard of anything so dishonourable,' she cried.
+
+And that was what the world said; the curate was in disgrace with
+society for the rest of his life.
+
+
+
+
+V
+
+'HATH NOT A JEW EYES?'
+
+
+Mr. Saintou the hairdresser was a Frenchman, therefore his English
+neighbours regarded him with suspicion. He was also exceedingly stout,
+and his stoutness had come upon him at an unbecomingly early age, so
+that he had long been the object of his neighbours' merriment. When to
+these facts it is added that, although a keen and prosperous business
+man, he had attained the age of fifty without making any effort to
+marry, enough will have been said to show why he was disliked.
+
+Why was he not married? Were English women not good enough for him? The
+pretty milliner across the street had been heard to remark in his
+presence that she should never refuse a man simply because he was a
+foreigner. Or if he did not want an English wife, why did he not import
+one from Paris with his perfumes? No, there was no reason for his
+behaviour, and Mr. Saintou was the object of his neighbours' aversion.
+
+Neighbours are often wrong in their estimates. In the heart of this
+shrewd and stout French hairdresser there lay the rare capacity for one
+supreme and lasting affection. Mr. Saintou's love story was in the past,
+and it had come about in this way.
+
+One day when the hairdresser was still a young man, not long after he
+had first settled in Albert Street, the door of his shop opened, and a
+young woman came in. Her figure was short and broad, and she was lame,
+walking with a crutch. Her face and features were large and peculiarly
+frank in expression; upon her head was a very large hat. When she spoke,
+it was with a loud staccato voice; her words fell after one another like
+hailstones in a storm, there was no breathing space between them.
+
+'I want Mr. Saintou.'
+
+'What may I have the pleasure of showing madame?'
+
+'Good gracious, I told you I wanted to be shown Mr. Saintou. Are you Mr.
+Saintou? None of your assistants for me; I want my hair cut.'
+
+The hairdresser laid his hand upon his heart, as though to point out his
+own identity. He bowed, and as even at that age he was very stout, the
+effort of the bow caused his small eyes to shut and open themselves
+again. There was nothing staccato about the manner of the hairdresser,
+he had carefully cultivated that address which he supposed would be most
+soothing to those who submitted themselves to his operations.
+
+'Very well,' said the little lady, apparently satisfied with the
+identification, 'I want my hair cut. It is like a sheaf of corn. It is
+like a court train. It is like seven horses' manes tied together, if
+they were red. It is like a comet's tail.'
+
+It is probable that the hairdresser only took in that part of this
+speech upon which he was in the habit of concentrating his attention,
+and that the force of the similes which followed one another like
+electric shocks escaped him altogether. He was about to show the new
+customer into the ladies' room, where his staid and elderly sister was
+accustomed to officiate, but she drew back with decision.
+
+'No, not at all; I have come to have my hair cut by Mr. Saintou, and I
+want to have it done in the room with the long row of chairs where the
+long row of men get shaved every morning. I told my sister I should sit
+there. You have no men in at this time of day, have you, Mr. Saintou?
+Now I shall sit here in the middle chair, and you shall wash my hair. My
+father is the baker round the corner. He makes good bread; do you wash
+people's hair as well? Will you squirt water on it with that funny tube?
+Will you put it in my eyes? Now, I am up on the chair. Don't put the
+soap in my eyes, Mr. Saintou.'
+
+Saintou was not a man easily surprised. 'Permit me, mademoiselle, would
+it not be better to remove the hat? Mon Dieu! Holy Mary, what hair!' For
+as the Eastern women carry their burdens on the crown of the head to
+ease the weight, so, when the large hat was off, it appeared that the
+baker's daughter carried her hair.
+
+'Like the hair of a woman on a hair-restorer bottle, if it were red,'
+remarked the girl in answer to the exclamation.
+
+'No, mademoiselle, no, it is not red. Mon Dieu! it is not red. Holy
+Mary! it is the colour of the sun. Mon Dieu, what hair!' As he untwined
+the masses, it fell over the long bib, over the high chair, down till it
+swept the floor, in one unbroken flood of light.
+
+'Wash it, and cut it, and let me go home to make my father's dinner,'
+said the quick voice with decision. 'My father is the baker round the
+corner, and he takes his dinner at two.'
+
+'Is it that mademoiselle desires the ends cut?' asked the hairdresser,
+resuming his professional manner.
+
+'Which ends?'
+
+'Which ends?' he exclaimed, baffled. 'Mon Dieu! these ends,' and he
+lifted a handful of the hair on the floor and held it before the eyes of
+the girl.
+
+'Good Heavens, no! Do you think I am going to pay you for cutting those
+ends? It's the ends at the top I want cut. Lighten it; that's what I
+want. Do you think I am a woman in a hairdresser's advertisement to sit
+all day looking at my hair? I have to get my father's dinner. Lighten
+it, Mr. Saintou; cut it off; that's what I want.'
+
+'Mon Dieu, no!' Saintou again relapsed from the hairdresser into the
+man. He too could have decision. He leant against the next chair and set
+his lips very firmly together. 'By all that is holy, no,' he said; 'you
+may get some villain Englishman to cut that hair, but me, never.'
+
+'You speak English very well, Mr. Saintou. Have you been long in the
+country? Well, wash the hair then, and be done. Don't put the soap in my
+eyes.'
+
+Saintou was in ecstasies. He touched the hair reverently as one would
+touch the garments of a saint. He laid aside his ordinary brushes and
+sponges, and going into the shop he brought thence what was best and
+newest. Do not laugh at him. Have we not all at some time in our lives
+met with what seemed the embodiment of our ideal; have we not set aside
+for the time our petty economies and reserves, and brought forth
+whatever we had that was best, of thought, or smiles, or vesture?
+
+'Ah, mademoiselle,' he said, 'to take care of such hair for ever--that
+would be heaven. I am a Frenchman; I have a soul; I can feel.'
+
+'Should you be afraid to die a sudden death, Mr. Saintou?' said the
+quick voice from the depths of a shower of water.
+
+'Ciel! We do not speak of such things, mademoiselle. There will come a
+time, I know, when my hair will turn grey; then for the sake of my
+profession I shall be obliged to dye it. There will come a time after
+that when I shall die; but we do not even think of these things, it is
+better not.'
+
+'But should you be afraid to die now?' persisted the girl.
+
+'Very much afraid,' said the hairdresser candidly.
+
+'Then don't feel, Mr. Saintou. I never feel. I make it the business of
+my life not to feel. They tell me there is something wrong at my heart,
+and that if I ever feel either glad or sorry I shall go off, pop, like a
+crow from a tree when it is shot, like a spark that falls into water.'
+
+The hairdresser meditated upon this for some time. He did not believe
+her. He had drawn the bright hair back now from the water, and was
+fondling it with his whitest and softest towels.
+
+'Who was it that said to mademoiselle that her heart was bad?'
+
+'Good gracious, Mr. Saintou, my heart is not bad. I know my catechism
+and go to church, and cook my father's dinner every day, and a very good
+dinner it is too. What put it into your head that I had a bad heart?'
+
+'Pardon! mademoiselle; I mistake. Who told mademoiselle that she was
+sick at heart?'
+
+'Good gracious heavens! I am not sick at heart. To be sure my mother is
+dead, and my sister is ill, and my father is as cross as two sticks, but
+for all that I am not heart-sick. I like this world very well, and when
+I feel sad I put more onions into the soup.'
+
+Saintou went on with his work for some time in silence, then he tried
+again. 'You say I speak good English, and I flatter myself I have the
+accent very well, but what avails if I cannot make you understand? Was
+it a good doctor who said mademoiselle's heart was affected; touched, I
+might say?'
+
+There was a shout of laughter from under the shower of gold.
+
+'My heart touched! One would think I was in love. No, my heart is not
+touched yet; least of all by you, Mr. Saintou.
+
+
+     'Least of all by you,
+         Mr. Saintou.'
+
+
+She repeated this last rhyming couplet with a quaint musical intonation,
+as though it was the refrain of a song, and after her voice and
+laughter had died away she went on nodding her head in time to the
+brushing as if she were singing it over softly to herself. This
+distressed the hairdresser not a little, and he remained silent.
+
+'What shall I pay you, Mr. Saintou?' said the little lady, when the
+large hat was once more on the head.
+
+'If mademoiselle would but come again,' said the hairdresser, putting
+both hands resolutely behind his back.
+
+'When I come again I shall pay you both for that time and this,' she
+said, with perhaps more tact than could have been expected of her. 'And
+if you want to live long, Mr. Saintou, don't feel. If I should feel I
+should die off, quick, sharp, like a moth that flies into the candle.'
+She made a little gesture with her hand, as if to indicate the ease and
+suddenness with which the supposed catastrophe was to take place, and
+hobbled down the street. Saintou stood in the doorway looking after her,
+and his heart went from him.
+
+He sent her flowers--flowers that a duchess might have been proud to
+receive. He sent them more than once, and they were accepted; he argued
+much from that. He made friends with the baker in order that he might
+bow to him morning and evening. Then he waited. He said to himself,
+'She is English. If I go to see her, if I put my hand on my heart and
+weep, she will jeer at me; but if I wait and work for her in silence,
+then she will believe.' He made a parlour for her in the room above his
+shop; and every week, as he had time and money, he went out to choose
+some ornament for it. His maiden sister watched these actions with
+suspicion, threw scornful looks at when he observed her watchfulness,
+and lent a kindly helping hand when he was out of sight. The parlour
+grew into a shrine ready for its divinity, and the hairdresser worked
+and waited in silence. In this he made a mistake, but he feared her
+laughter.
+
+Meanwhile the girl also waited. She could not go back to the
+hairdresser's shop lest she should seem to invite a renewal of those
+attentions which had given her the sweet surprise of love. The law of
+her woman's nature stood like a lion in the path. She waited through the
+months of the dreary winter till the one gleam of sunshine which had
+come into her hard young life had faded, till the warmth it had kindled
+in her heart died--as a lamp's flame dies for lack of oil; died--as a
+flower dies in the drought; died into anger for the man who had
+disturbed her peace, and when she thought she cared for him no more she
+went again to get her hair cut.
+
+'You have come,' said Saintou; but the very strength of his feeling made
+him grave.
+
+'Good gracious, yes, I have come to have my hair cut. You would not cut
+it when I was here, and I have been very poorly these three months. I
+could not come out, so the other day I had my sister cut it off. My
+father wanted to send for you, but I said "no," and, oh, my! it looks
+just as if a donkey had come behind and mistaken it for hay.'
+
+How quickly a train of thought can flash through the brain! Saintou
+asked himself if he loved the girl or the hair, and his heart answered
+very sincerely that the hair, divine as it was, had been but the outward
+sign which led him to love the inward grace of the girl.
+
+'Mademoiselle ought not to have said "no"; I should have come very
+willingly and would have cut her hair, if I had known it must be so.'
+
+'I made my sister cut it, but it's frightful. It looks as if one had
+tried to mow a lawn with a pair of scissors, or shear a sheep with a
+penknife.'
+
+'I will make all that right,' said Saintou soothingly; 'I will make it
+all right. Just in a moment I will make it very nice.'
+
+Yes, it was too true, the hair was gone; and very barbarously it had
+been handled. 'I shall make it all right,' he said cheerfully; 'I shall
+trim it beautifully for mademoiselle. Ah, the beautiful colour is there
+all the same.'
+
+'As red as a sunset or a geranium,' she said.
+
+'You do not believe that,' sighed Saintou. He trimmed the hair very
+tenderly, and curled it softly round the white face, till it looked like
+a great fair marigold just beginning to curl in its petals for the
+night. He worked slowly, for he had something he wanted to say, and when
+his work was done he summoned up courage and said it. He told her his
+hopes and fears. He told her the story blunderingly enough, but it had
+its effect.
+
+'Mon Dieu!' said Saintou, but he said it in a tone that made his sister,
+who was listening to every word through the door, leave that occupation
+and dart in to his assistance.
+
+'Qu'elle est morte,' was her brief stern comment. And so it was. The
+baker's daughter had felt, and she had died.
+
+'This is not wholly unexpected,' said the baker sadly, when he came to
+carry away the corpse of his daughter. 'We all expected it,' said the
+neighbours; 'she had heart disease.' And they talked their fill, and
+never discovered the truth it would have pleased them best to talk
+about.
+
+The short hair curled softly about the face of the dead girl as she lay
+in her coffin, and Saintou paid heavily for masses for her sweet soul.
+When they had laid her in the churchyard he came home, and took the key,
+and went into the little parlour all alone. She had never seen it. She
+had never even heard of it. It is sad to bury a baby that is dead; it
+is sadder, if we but knew it, to bury in darkness and silence a child
+that has never lived. A joy that has gone from us for ever is a jewel
+that trembles like a tear on Sorrow's breast, but the brightest stars in
+her diadem are the memories of hopes that have passed away unrealised
+and untold. Ah well, perhaps the gay trappings of the little room, by
+their daily influence on his life, drew him nearer to heaven. He gave
+the key to his sister afterwards, and they used the room as their own;
+but that day he locked himself in alone, and, hiding his face in the
+cushions of her chair, he wept as only a strong man can weep.
+
+
+
+
+VI
+
+A COMMERCIAL TRAVELLER
+
+
+Mam'selle Zilda Chaplot keeps the station hotel at St. Armand, in the
+French country.
+
+The hotel is like a wooden barn with doors and windows, not a very large
+barn either. The station is merely a platform of planks between the
+hotel and the rails. The railroad is roughly made; it lies long and
+straight in a flat land, snow-clad in winter, very dusty in the summer
+sun, and its line is only softened by a long row of telegraph poles,
+which seem to waver and tremble as the eye follows their endless
+repetition into the distance. In some curious way their repetition lends
+to the stark road a certain grace.
+
+When Zilda Chaplot was young there were fewer wires on these telegraph
+poles, fewer railway-lines opposite the station, fewer houses in St.
+Armand, which lies half a mile away. The hotel itself is the same, but
+in those days it was not painted yellow, as it is now, and was not half
+so well kept. The world has progressed by twenty years since mam'selle
+was a girl, and, also, she owns the place herself now, and is a much
+better inn-keeper than was her father.
+
+Mam'selle Chaplot is a very active person, tall, and somewhat stout. Her
+complexion is brown; her eyes are very black; over them there is a
+fringe of iron-grey hair, which she does up in curl-papers every night,
+and which, in consequence, stands in very tight little curls all day.
+
+Mam'selle Chaplot minds her affairs well; she has a keen eye to the main
+chance. She is sometimes sharp, a trifle fiery, but on the whole she is
+good-natured. There are lines about the contour of her chin, and also
+where the neck sweeps upward, which suggest a more than common power of
+satisfaction in certain things, such as dinners and good sound sleep,
+and good inn-keeping--yes, and in spring flowers, and in autumn leaves
+and winter sunsets. Zilda Chaplot was formed for pleasure, yet there is
+no tendency latent in her which could have made her a voluptuary. There
+are some natures which have so nice a proportion of faculties that they
+are a law of moderation to themselves. They take such keen delight in
+small pleasures that to them a little is enough.
+
+The world would account Mam'selle Chaplot to have had a life of toil and
+stern limitations; a prosperous life, truly, for no one could see her
+without observing her prosperity, but still a hard dry life. Even her
+neighbours, whose ideas of enjoyment do not soar above the St. Armand
+level, think that her lot would be softer if she married. Many of the
+men have offered marriage, not with any disinterested motive, it is
+true, but with kindly intent. They have been set aside like children who
+make requests unreasonable, but so natural for them to make that the
+request is hardly worth noticing. The women relatives of these rejected
+suitors have boasted to mam'selle of their own domestic joys, and have
+drawn the contrast of her state in strong colour. Zilda only says
+'Chut!' or she lifts her chin a little, so that the pretty upward sweep
+of the neck is apparent, and lets them talk. Mam'selle is not the woman
+to be turned out of her way by talk.
+
+The way of single blessedness is not chosen by Zilda Chaplot because of
+any fiction of loyalty to a quondam lover. Her mind is such that she
+could not have invented obligations for herself, because she has not the
+inventive faculty. No, it is simply this: Mam'selle Chaplot loved once,
+and was happy; her mind still hugs the memory of that happiness with
+exultant reserve; it is enough; she does not desire other happiness of
+that sort.
+
+When she looks out on the little station platform and sees the loungers
+upon it, once and again she lets her busy mind stop in its business to
+think of some one else she was once accustomed to see there. When she
+looks with well-practised critical eye down the hotel dining-room, which
+is now quite clean and orderly, when she is scolding a servant, or
+serving a customer, her mind will revert to the room in its former rough
+state, and she will remember another customer who used to eat there.
+When the spring comes, and far and near there is the smell of wet moss,
+and shrubs on the wide flat land shoot forth their leaves, and the
+fields are carpeted with violets, then mam'selle looks round and hugs
+her memories, and thinks to herself, 'Ah! well, I have had my day.' And
+because of the pleasant light of that day she is content with the
+present twilight, satisfied with her good dinners and her good
+management.
+
+This is the story of what happened twenty years ago.
+
+St. Armand is in the French country which lies between the town of
+Quebec and the townships where the English settlements are. At that time
+the railway had not been very long in existence; two trains ran
+southward from the large towns in the morning, and two trains ran
+northward to the large towns in the evening; besides these, there was
+just one local train which came into St. Armand at noon, and passengers
+arriving at noon were obliged to wait for the evening train to get on
+farther.
+
+There were not many passengers by this short local line. Even on the
+main line there was little traffic that affected St. Armand. Yet most
+of the men of the place found excuse of business or pleasure to come and
+watch the advent of the trains. The chief use of the station platform
+seemed to be for these loungers; the chief use of the bar at the hotel
+was to slake their thirst, although they were not on the whole an
+intemperate lot. They stood about in homespun clothes and smoked. A
+lazy, but honest set of humble-minded French papists were the men at St.
+Armand.
+
+It was on the station platform that Zilda Chaplot came out in society,
+as the phrase might be. She was not a child, for when her father took
+the place she was twenty-four. There was red in her cheeks then, and the
+lashes of her eyes were long; her hair was not curled, for it was not
+the fashion, but brushed smoothly back from broad low brows. She was
+tall, and not at all thin. She was very strong, but less active in those
+days, as girls are often less active than women. When Zilda had leisure
+she used to stand outside the hotel and watch the men on the platform.
+She was always calm and dignified, a little stupid perhaps. She did not
+attract a great deal of attention from them.
+
+They were all French at St. Armand, but most of the strangers which
+chance brought that way spoke English, so that the St. Armand folks
+could speak English also.
+
+Anything which is repeated at appreciable intervals has to occur very
+often before the unscientific mind will perceive the law of its
+repetition. There was a little red-haired Englishman, John Gilby by
+name, who travelled frequently that way. It was a good while before the
+loungers at the station remarked that upon a certain day in the week he
+always arrived by the local train and waited for the evening train to
+take him on to Montreal. It was, in fact, Gilby himself who pointed out
+to them the regularity of his visits, for he was of a social
+disposition, and could not spend more than a few afternoons at that dull
+isolated station without making friends with some one. He travelled for
+a firm in Montreal; it was his business to make a circuit of certain
+towns and villages in a certain time. He had no business at St. Armand,
+but fate and the ill-adjusted time-table decreed that he should wait
+there.
+
+This little red-haired gentleman--for gentleman, in comparison with the
+St. Armand folk he certainly was--was a thorough worldling in the sense
+of knowing the world somewhat widely, and corresponding to its ways,
+although not to its evil deeds. Indeed, he was a very good sort of man,
+but such a worldling, with his thick gold chain, and jaunty clothes, and
+quick way of adjusting himself to passing circumstances, that it was
+some time before his good-natured sociableness won in the least upon
+the station loungers. They held aloof, as from an explosive, not knowing
+when it would begin to emit sparks. He was short in stature, much
+shorter than the hulking fellows who stood and surveyed him through the
+smoke of their pipes, but he had such a cocky little way with him that
+he overawed them much more than a big man would have done. Out of sheer
+dulness he took to talking to Zilda.
+
+Zilda stood with her back against the wall.
+
+'Fine day,' said Gilby, stopping beside her.
+
+'Oui, monsieur.'
+
+Gilby had taken his cigar from his mouth, and held it between two
+fingers of his right hand. Her countrymen commonly held their pipes
+between their thumb and finger. To Zilda, Gilby's method appeared
+astonishingly elegant, but she hardly seemed to observe it.
+
+'You have a flat country here,' said he, looking round at the dry summer
+fields; 'rather dull, isn't it?'
+
+'Oui, monsieur.'
+
+'Don't you speak English?'
+
+'Yes, sir,' said Zilda.
+
+This was not very interesting for Gilby. He had about him a good deal of
+the modern restlessness that cannot endure one hour without work or
+amusement. He made further efforts to make up to the men; he asked them
+questions with patronising kindness, he gave them scraps of information
+upon all subjects of temporary interest, with a funny little air of
+pompous importance. When by mere force of habit they grew more familiar
+with him, he would strut up and engage them in long conversations,
+listen to all they said with consummate good nature, giving his opinion
+in return. He was wholly unconscious that he looked like a bantam
+crowing to a group of larger and more sleepy fowls, but the Frenchmen
+perceived the likeness.
+
+As the months wore on he did them good. They needed waking up, those men
+who lounged at the station, and he had some influence in that direction;
+not much, of course, but every traveller has some influence, and his was
+of a lively, and, on the whole, of a beneficial sort. The men brought
+forth a mood to greet him which was more in correspondence with his own.
+
+When winter came the weather was very bleak; deep snow was all around.
+Gilby disliked the closeness of the hotel, which was sealed to the outer
+air.
+
+'Whew!' he would say, 'you fellows, let us do something to keep
+ourselves warm.' And after much exercise of his will, which was strong,
+he actually had the younger men all jumping with him from a wood pile
+near the platform to see who could jump farthest. He was not very young
+himself; he was about thirty, and rather bald; the men who were with him
+were much younger, but he thought nothing of that. He led them on, and
+incited them to feats much greater than his own, with boisterous
+challenges and loud bravos. Before he jumped himself he always made mock
+hesitation for their amusement, swinging his arms, and apparently
+bracing himself for the leap. Perhaps the deep frost of the country made
+him frisky because he was not accustomed to it; perhaps it was always
+his nature to be noisy and absurd when he tried to be amusing. Certain
+it was that it never once occurred to him that under the French
+politeness with which he was treated, under the sincere liking which
+they really grew to have for him, there was much quiet amusement at his
+expense. It was just as well that he did not know, for he would have
+been terribly affronted; as it was, he remained on the best of terms
+with them to the end.
+
+The feeling of amusement found vent in his absence in laughter and
+mimicry. Zilda joined in this mimicry; she watched the Frenchmen strut
+along the platform in imitation of Gilby, and smiled when their
+imitation was good. When it was poor she cried, 'Non, ce n'est pas comme
+ca,' and she came out from the doorway and showed them how to do it. Her
+imitation was very good indeed, and excited much laughter. This showed
+that Zilda had been waked into greater vivacity. Six months before she
+could not have done so good a piece of acting.
+
+Zilda's exhibition would go further than this. Excited by success, she
+would climb the wood pile, large and heavy as she was, and, standing
+upon its edge, would flap her arms and flutter back in a frightened
+manner and brace herself to the leap, as Gilby had done. She was aided
+in this representation by her familiarity with the habits of chickens
+when they try to get down from a high roost. The resemblance struck her;
+she would cry aloud to the men--
+
+'Voici Monsieur Geelby, le poulet qui a peur de descendre!'
+
+The fact that at the thought of mimicking Gilby Zilda was roused to an
+unwarranted glow of excitement showed, had any one been wise enough to
+see it, that she felt some inward cause of pleasurable excitement at the
+mention of his name. A narrow nature cannot see absurdity in what it
+loves, but Zilda's nature was not narrow. She had learnt to love little
+Gilby in a fond, deep, silent way that was her fashion of loving.
+
+He had explained to her the principles of ventilation and why he
+disliked close waiting-rooms. Zilda could not make her father learn the
+lesson, but it bore fruit afterwards when she came into power. Gilby had
+explained other things to her, small practical things, such as some
+points in English grammar, some principles of taste in woman's dress,
+how to choose the wools for her knitting, how to make muffins for his
+tea. It was his kindly, conceited, didactic nature that made him
+instruct whenever he talked to her. Zilda learned it all, and learned
+also to admire and love the author of such wisdom.
+
+It was not his fault; it was not hers. It was the result of his gorgeous
+watch-chain and his fine clothes and his worldly knowledge, and also of
+the fact that because of his strict notions and conceited pride it never
+occurred to him to be gallant or to make love to her. Zilda, the
+hotel-keeper's daughter, was accustomed to men who offered her light
+gallantry. It was because she did not like such men that she learned to
+love--rather the better word might be, to adore--little John Gilby. From
+higher levels of taste he would have been seen to be, in external
+notions, a common little man, but from Zilda's standpoint, even in
+matters of outward taste he was an ideal; and Zilda, placed as she was,
+quickly perceived, what those who looked down upon him might not have
+discovered, that the heart of him was very good. 'Mon Dieu, but he is
+good!' she would say to herself, which was simply the fact.
+
+All winter long Gilby came regularly. Zilda was happy in thinking of him
+when he was gone, happy in expecting him when he was coming, happy in
+making fun of him so that no one ever suspected her affection. All that
+long winter, when the snow was deep in the fields, and the engines
+carried snow-ploughs, and the loungers about the station wore buffalo
+coats, Zilda was very happy. Gilby wore a dogskin cap and collar and
+cuffs; Zilda thought them very becoming. Then spring came, and Gilby
+wore an Inverness cape, which was the fashion in those days. Zilda
+thought that little Gilby looked very fascinating therein, although she
+remarked to her father that one could only know he was there because the
+cape strutted. Then summer came and Gilby wore light tweed clothes. The
+Frenchmen always wore their best black suits when they travelled. Zilda
+liked the light clothes best.
+
+Then there came a time when Gilby did not come. No one noticed his
+absence at first but Zilda. Two weeks passed and then they all spoke of
+it. Then some one in St. Armand ascertained that Gilby had had a rise in
+the firm in which he was employed, that he sat in an office all day and
+did not travel any more. Zilda heard the story told, and commented upon,
+and again talked over, in the way in which such matters of interest are
+slowly digested by the country intellect.
+
+Alas! then Zilda knew how far she had travelled along a flowery path
+which, as it now seemed to her, led to nowhere. It was not that she had
+wanted to marry Gilby; she had not thought of that as possible; it was
+only that her whole nature summed itself up in an ardent desire that
+things should be as they had been, that he should come there once a
+week, and talk politics with her father and other men, and set the boys
+jumping, and eat the muffins he had taught her to make for his tea. And
+if this might not be, she desired above all else to see him again, to
+have one more look at him, one more smile from him of which she could
+take in the whole value, knowing it to be the last. How carelessly she
+had allowed him to go, supposing that he would return! It was not her
+wish to express her affection or sorrow in any way; it was not her
+nature to put her emotions into words; but ah, holy saints! just to see
+him again, and at least take leave of him with her eyes!
+
+It was very sad that he should simply cease to come, yet that she knew
+was just what was natural; a man does not bid adieux to a railway
+station, and Zilda knew that she was, as it were, only part of the
+station furniture. She resented nothing; she had nothing to resent.
+
+So the winter came again, and Christmas, and again the days grew longer
+over the snowfields. Zilda always looked for the sunsets now, for she
+had been taught that they were beautiful. She cultivated geraniums and
+petunias in pots at her windows, just as she had done for many winters,
+but she would stop oftener to admire the flowers now.
+
+The men had taken again to congregating in the hot close bar-room, or
+huddling together in their buffalo coats, smoking in the outer air.
+Zilda looked at the wood pile, from which no one jumped now, with weary
+eyes. It had grown intolerable to her that now no one ever mentioned
+Gilby; she longed intensely to hear his name or to speak it. She dared
+not mention him gravely, soberly, because she was conscious of her
+secret which no one suspected. But it was open to her to revive the
+mimicry. 'Voici Monsieur Geelby,' she would cry, and pass along the
+station platform with consequential gait. A great laugh would break from
+the station loungers. 'Encore,' they cried, and Zilda gave the encore.
+
+There was only one other relief she found from the horrible silence
+which had settled down upon her life concerning the object of her
+affection. At times when she lay awake in the quiet night, or at such
+times as she found herself within the big stone church of St. Armand,
+she prayed that the good St. Anne would intercede for her, that she
+might see 'Monsieur Geelby' once more.
+
+This big church of St. Armand has a great pointed roof of shining tin.
+It is a bright and conspicuous object always in that landscape; under
+summer and winter sun it glistens like some huge lighthouse reflector.
+Ever since, whenever Zilda goes out on the station platform, for a
+breath of air, for a moment's rest and refreshing, or, on business
+intent, to chide the loungers there, the roof of this church, at a
+half-mile's distance, twinkles brightly before her eyes, set in green
+fields or in a snow-buried world; and every time it catches her eye it
+brings to her mind more or less distinctly that she has in her own way
+tested religion and found it true, because the particular boon which she
+had demanded at this time was granted.
+
+It was a happy morn of May; the snow had just receded from the land,
+leaving it very wet, and Spring was pushing on all the business she had
+to do with almost visible speed. The early train came in from Montreal
+as usual, and who should step out of it but Gilby himself! He was a
+little stouter, a little more bald, but he skipped down upon the
+platform, radiant as to smile and the breadth of his gold watch-chain,
+and attired in a check coat which Zilda thought was the most perfect
+thing in costume which she had ever beheld.
+
+In a flash of thought it came to Zilda that there would be more than a
+momentary happiness for her. 'Ah, Monsieur Geelby, do you know that the
+river has cut into the line three miles away, and that this train can go
+no farther till it is mended.'
+
+Gilby was distinctly annoyed; he had indeed left town by the earlier of
+the two morning trains in order to stop an hour and take breakfast at
+St. Armand; he had been glad of the chance of doing that, of seeing
+Chaplot and his daughter and the others; but to be stopped at St. Armand
+a whole day--he made exhibition of his anger, which Zilda took very
+meekly. Why had the affair not been telegraphed? Why were busy men like
+himself brought out of the city when they could not get on to do their
+work?
+
+There were other voices besides Gilby's to rail; there were other voices
+besides Zilda's to explain the disaster. In the midst of the babel Zilda
+slipped away to make muffins hastily for Gilby's breakfast. Her heart
+was singing within her, but it was a tremulous song, half dazed with
+delight, half frightened, fearing that with his great cleverness he
+would see some way to proceed on his journey although she saw none.
+
+When she came out of the kitchen with the muffins in her hand her
+sunshine suddenly clouded. Gilby, unconscious that a special breakfast
+was preparing for him, had hastily swallowed coffee and walked on to the
+site of the breakdown to see for himself how long the mending would
+take.
+
+It was as if one, looking through long hours for the ending of night,
+had seen the sunrise, only to see the light go out suddenly again in
+darkness. Zilda felt that her heart was broken. Her disappointment grew
+upon her for an hour, then she could no longer keep back the tears;
+because she had no place in which to weep, she began to walk away from
+the hotel down the line. There was no one to notice her going; she was
+as free to go and come as the wild canaries that hopped upon the budding
+bramble vines growing upon the railway embankment, or the blue-breasted
+swallows that sat on the telegraph wire.
+
+At first she only walked to hide her tears; then gradually the purpose
+formed within her to go on to the break in the road. There was no reason
+why she should not go to see the mishap. Truly there had been many a
+breakdown on this road before and Zilda had never stirred foot to
+examine them, but now she walked on steadily. Her fear told her that
+Gilby might find some means of getting on to the next station, some
+engine laden with supplies for the workmen from the other station might
+take him back with it. If so, what good would this her journey do? Ah,
+but perhaps the good God would allow her to see him first, or--well, she
+walked on, reason or no reason.
+
+The sun was high, the blue of the sky seemed a hundred miles in depth,
+and not wisp or feather of cloud in it anywhere! Where the flat fields
+were untilled they were very green, a green that was almost yellow, it
+was so bright. Within the strip of railway land a tangle of young bushes
+grew, and on every twig buds were bursting. About a mile back from the
+road, on either side, fir woods stood, the trees in close level phalanx.
+Everywhere over the land birds big and little were fluttering and
+flying.
+
+Zilda did not notice any of these things; she had only learned to
+observe two things in nature, both of which Gilby had pointed out to
+her--the red or yellow rose of the winter sunset, the depth of colour in
+the petals of her flowers. Nature was to her like a language of which
+she had only been told the meaning of two words. In the course of the
+next month she learned the meaning of a few more; she never made further
+progress, but what she learned she learned.
+
+The river which, farther on, had done damage to the line, here ran close
+to it for some distance, consequently Zilda came to the river before she
+reached the scene of the disaster. The river banks at this season were
+marshy, green like plush or velvet when it is lifted dripping from green
+vats of the brightest dye. There were some trees by the river bank,
+maples and elms, and every twig was tipped with a crimson gem. Zilda did
+not see the beauty of the river bank either; she regarded nothing until
+she came to a place where a foot-track was beaten down the side of the
+embankment, as if apparently to entice walkers to stray across a bit of
+the meadow and so cut off a large curve of the line. At this point
+Zilda heard a loud chirpy voice calling,'Hi! hi! who's there? Is any one
+there?'
+
+Zilda did not know from whence the voice came, but she knew from whom it
+came. It was Gilby's voice, and she stopped, her soul ravished by the
+music. All the way along, bobolinks, canaries, and song-sparrows had
+been singing to her, the swallows and red-throats had been talking;
+everywhere among the soft spongy mosses, the singing frog of the
+Canadian spring had been filling the air with its one soft whistling
+note. Zilda had not heard them, but now she stopped suddenly with head
+bent, listening eager, enraptured.
+
+'Hi! hi!' called the voice again. 'Is any one there?'
+
+Zilda went down the bank halfway among the bushes and looked over. She
+saw Gilby sitting at the edge of the meadow almost in the river water.
+She saw at once that something was wrong. His attitude was as natural as
+he could make it, such an attitude as a proud man might assume when pain
+is chaining him in an awkward position, but Zilda saw that he was
+injured. Her heart gave a great bound of pleasure. Ah! her bird was
+wounded in the wing; she had him now, for a time at least.
+
+'You! Mam'selle Zilda,' he said in surprise; 'how came you here?'
+
+'I wished to see the broken road, monsieur.' There was nothing in her
+voice or manner then or at any other time to indicate that she took a
+special interest in him.
+
+'Do you often take such long walks?' he asked with curiosity.
+
+Zilda shrugged her shoulders. 'Sometimes; why not?'
+
+She could not have told why she dissembled; it was instinct, just as it
+was the instinct of his proud little spirit to hate to own that he was
+helpless. 'Look here,' he said, 'I slipped on the bank--and I--I think I
+have sprained my ankle.'
+
+'Oui, monsieur,' said Zilda.
+
+Her manner evinced no surprise; her stolidity was grateful to him.
+
+Stooping down, she took his foot in her hand, gently, but as firmly as
+if it had been a horse's hoof. She straightened it, unlaced his muddy
+boot, and with strong hands tore the slit further open until she could
+take it off.
+
+'Look here,' he said, with a little nervous shout of laughter, 'do you
+not know you are hurting me?' It was the only wince he gave, although he
+was faint with pain.
+
+'Oui, monsieur'--with a smile as firm and gentle as her touch.
+
+She took off her hat, and, heedless of the ribbon upon it, filled it
+with water again and again and drenched the swollen leg. It was so
+great a relief to him that he hardly noticed that she stood ankle-deep
+in the river to do it. She wore a little red tartan shawl upon her
+shoulders, and she dipped this also in the river, binding it round and
+round the ankle, and tying it tight with her own boot-lace.
+
+'Thank you,' said he; 'you are really very good, Mam'selle Zilda.'
+
+She stood beside him; she was radiantly happy, but she did not show it
+much. She had him there very safe; it mattered less to her how to get
+him away; yet in a minute she said--
+
+'Monsieur had better move a little higher up; he is very uncomfortable.'
+
+He knew that much better than she, but he had borne all the pain he
+could just then. He nodded as if in dismissal of the idea. 'Presently.
+But, in the meantime, Zilda, sit down and see what a beautiful place
+this is; you have not looked at it.'
+
+So she found a stone to sit on, and immediately her eyes were opened and
+she saw the loveliness around her.
+
+The river was not a very broad one, but ah! how blue it was, with a
+glint of gold on every wave. The trees that stood upon either bank cast
+a lacework of shadow upon the carpet of moss and violets beneath them.
+The buds of the maples were red. On a tree near them a couple of male
+canaries, bright gold in the spring season, were hopping and piping;
+then startled, they flew off in a straight line over the river to the
+other shore.
+
+'See them,' said Gilby; 'they look like streaks of yellow light!'
+
+'I see,' said Zilda, and she did see for the first time.
+
+Now Gilby had a certain capacity for rejoicing in the beauties of
+nature; it was overlaid with huge conceit in his own taste and
+discernment and a love of forcing his observations on other people, but
+the flaws in his character Zilda was not in a position to see. The good
+in him awakened in her a higher virtue than she would otherwise have
+known; she was unconscious of the rest, just as eyes which can see form
+and not colour are unconscious of the bad blending of artificial hues.
+
+Presently Zilda rose up. 'I will make monsieur more comfortable,' she
+said, and she lifted him to a drier place upon the bank.
+
+This was mortifying to little Gilby; his manner was quite huffy for some
+minutes after.
+
+Zilda had her own ideas of what she would do. She presently left him
+alone and walked on swiftly to the place of the breakdown. There she
+borrowed a hand-car; it was a light one that could be worked easily by
+two men, and Zilda determined to work it alone. While she was coming
+back along the iron road on the top of the narrow embankment, Gilby
+could see her from where he sat--a stalwart young woman in homespun
+gown, stooping and rising with regular toilsome movement as she worked
+the rattling machine that came swiftly nearer.
+
+When the carriage thus provided for him was close at hand, the almost
+breathless Zilda actually proposed to exert her strength to carry Gilby
+up to it. He insisted upon hopping on one foot supported by her arm; he
+did not feel the slightest inclination to lean upon her more than was
+needful, he was too self-conscious and proud. Even after she had placed
+him on the car, he kept up an air of offence for a long time just
+because she had proved her strength to be so much greater than his own.
+His little rudenesses of this sort did not disturb Zilda's tranquillity
+in the least.
+
+Gilby sat on the low platform of the hand-car. He looked like a bantam
+cock whose feathers were much ruffled. Zilda worked at the handles of
+the machine; she was very large and strong, all her attitudes were
+statuesque. The May day beamed on the flat spring landscape through
+which they were travelling; the beam found a perfect counterpart in the
+joy of Zilda's heart.
+
+So she brought Gilby safely to the hotel and installed him in the best
+room there. The sprain was a very bad one. Gilby was obliged to lie
+there for a month. Sometimes his friends came out from the town to see
+him, but not very often, and they did not stay long. Zilda cooked for
+him, Zilda waited upon him, Zilda conversed with him in the afternoons
+when he needed amusement. This month was the period of her happiness.
+
+When he was going home, Gilby felt really very grateful to the girl. He
+had not the slightest thought of making love to her; he felt too
+strongly on the subject of his dignity and his principles for that; but
+although he haggled with Chaplot over the bill, he talked in a bombastic
+manner about making Zilda a present.
+
+It did not distress Zilda that he should quarrel with her father's bill;
+she had no higher idea in character than that each should seek his own
+in all things; but when Gilby talked of giving her a present she shrank
+instinctively with an air of offence. This air of offence was the one
+betrayal of her affection which he could observe, and he did not gather
+very much of the truth from it.
+
+'I will give you a watch, Zilda,' he said, 'a gold watch; you will like
+that.'
+
+'No, monsieur.' Zilda's face was flushed and her head was high in the
+air.
+
+'I will give you a ring; you would like that--a golden ring.'
+
+'No, monsieur; I would not like it at all.'
+
+Gilby retired from the discussion that day feeling some offence and a
+good deal of consternation. He thought the best thing would be to have
+nothing more to do with Zilda; but the next day, in the bustle of his
+departure, remembering all she had done for him, he relented entirely,
+and he gave her a kiss.
+
+Afterwards, when the train was at the station, and Chaplot and Zilda had
+put his bags and his wraps beside him on a cushioned seat, Gilby turned
+and with great politeness accosted two fine ladies who were travelling
+in the same carriage and with whom he had a slight acquaintance. His
+disposition was at once genial and vain; he had been so long absent from
+the familiar faces of the town that his heart warmed to the first
+townsfolk he saw; but he was also ambitious: he wished to appear on good
+terms with these women, who were his superiors in social position.
+
+They would not have anything to do with him, which offended him very
+much; they received his greeting coldly and turned away; they said
+within themselves that he was an intolerably vulgar little person.
+
+But all her life Zilda Chaplot lived a better and happier woman because
+she had known him.
+
+
+
+
+VII
+
+THE SYNDICATE BABY
+
+
+Some miles above the city of La Motte, the blue Merrian river widens
+into the Lake of St. Jean. In the Canadian summer the shores of this
+lake are as pleasant a place for an outing as heart could desire. The
+inhabitants of the city build wooden villas there, and spend the long
+warm days in boats upon the water. The families that live in these
+wooden villas do not take boarders; that was the origin of 'The
+Syndicate.' It consisted of some two dozen bachelors who were obliged to
+sit upon office stools all day in the hot city. 'If,' said they, 'we
+could live upon the lake, we could have our morning swim and our evening
+sail; and the trains would take us in and out of the city.'
+
+The one or two uncomfortable hotels of this region were already
+overcrowded, so these bachelors said to each other--'Go to; we will put
+our pence together, and build us a boat-house with an upper story, and
+live therein.'
+
+They bought a bit of the beach for a trifle of money. They built a
+boat-house, of which the upper half was one long dormitory, with a great
+balcony at the end over the water which served as kitchen and
+dining-hall. The ground floor was the lake itself, and each man who
+could buy a boat tethered it there. The property, boats excepted, was in
+common. By and by they bought a field in which they grew vegetables;
+later they bought two cows and a pasture. The produce of the herd and
+the farm helped to furnish forth the table. This accretion of wealth
+took several years; some of the older men grew richer, and took to
+themselves wives and villas; the ranks were always filled up by more
+impecunious bachelors. The bachelors called themselves 'The Syndicate.'
+
+The plan worked well, chiefly because of the fine air and the sunshine,
+the warm starry nights, and, above all, the witchery of the lake, which
+is to every man who has spent days and nights upon it like a mystical
+lady-love, ever changeful and ever charming. Then, too, there was the
+contrast with the hot city; the sense of need fulfilled makes men
+good-natured. The one servant of the establishment, an old man who made
+the beds and the dinners, was not a professional cook; the meals were
+often indifferent; yet the Syndicate did not quarrel among themselves.
+
+Some outlet for temper perhaps was needful. At any rate they had one
+outside quarrel with an old Welshman named Johns, a farmer of great
+importance in the place, who had sold them the land and tried, in their
+opinion, to cheat them afterwards about the boundaries. Their united
+rage waxed hot against Johns, and he, on his side, did nothing to
+propitiate. The quarrel came to no end; it was a feud. 'Esprit de
+corps,' like the fumes of wine, gives men a wholly unreasonable sense of
+complacence in themselves and their belongings, whatever the belongings
+may happen to be. The Syndicate learned to cherish this feud as a
+valuable possession.
+
+The Syndicate, as has been seen, had one house, one servant, and one
+enemy. It also had one Baby. The Baby was the youngest member of the
+community, a pretty boy who by some chance favour had obtained a bed in
+the dormitory at the hoyden age of nineteen. He had a tendency to
+chubbiness, and his moustache, when it did come, was merely a silken
+whisp, hardly visible. He did some fagging in return for the
+extraordinary favour of adoption. The Baby from the first was entirely
+accustomed to being 'sat upon.' He had no unnecessary independence of
+mind. At twenty-one he still continued to be 'Baby.'
+
+All the affairs of the Syndicate flourished, including the feud with
+the neighbouring landowner. All went well with the men and their boats
+and the Baby, until, at length, upon one fateful day for the latter,
+there came a young person to the locality who made an addition to the
+household of Farmer Johns.
+
+'Old Johns has got a niece,' said the bachelors sitting at dinner, as if
+the niece had come fresh to the world as babies do, and had not held the
+same relation to old Johns for twenty-five years. Still, it was true she
+had never been in the old man's possession before, and now she had
+arrived at his house, a sudden vision of delight as seen from the road
+or on the verandah.
+
+Now Helen Johns was a beauty; no one unbiassed by the party spirit of a
+time-honoured feud would have denied that. She was not, it is true, of
+the ordinary type of beauty, whose chief ornament is an effort at
+captivation. She did not curl her hair; she did not lift her eyes and
+smile when she was talking to men; she did not trouble herself to put on
+her prettiest gown when the evening train came in, bringing the
+bachelors from the city. She was tall--five foot eight in her stockings;
+all her muscles were well developed; there was nothing sylph-like about
+her waist, but all her motions had a strong, gentle grace of their own
+that bespoke health and dignity. She had a profession, too, which was
+much beneath most of the be-crimped and smile-wreathed maidens who
+basked in the favour of the bachelors. She had been to New York and had
+learned to teach gymnastics, the very newest sort; 'Delsart' or
+'Emerson,' or some such name, attached to the rhythmic motions she
+performed. The Syndicate had no opportunity to criticise the gymnastic
+performance, for they had not the honour of her acquaintance; they
+criticised everything else, the smooth hair, the high brow, the
+well-proportioned waist, the profession; they decided that she was not
+beautiful.
+
+There were, roughly speaking, two classes of girls in this summer
+settlement, each held in favour by the Syndicate men according as
+personal taste might dispose. There were the girls who in a cheerful
+manner were ever to be found walking or boating in such hours and places
+as would assuredly bring them into contact with the happy bachelors, and
+there were those who would not 'for the world' have done such a thing,
+who sedulously shunned such paths, and had to be much sought after
+before they were found. Now it chanced that Helen Johns was seen to row
+alone in her uncle's boat right across the very front of the Syndicate
+boat-house, at the very hour when the assembled members were eating
+roast beef upon the verandah above and arriving at their decisions
+concerning her, and she did not look as if she cared in the least
+whether twenty-four pair of eyes were bent upon her or not. To be sure,
+it was her nearest way home from the post-office across the bay, and the
+post came in at this evening hour. No one could find any fault, not even
+any of the bachelors, but none the less did the affront sink deep into
+their hearts. It added a new zest to the old feud. 'We do not see that
+she is beautiful,' they cried over their dinner. 'We should not care for
+Helen of Troy if she looked like that.'
+
+The Baby dissented; the Baby actually had the 'cheek' to say, right
+there aloud at the banquet, that he might not be a man of taste, but,
+for his part, he thought she looked 'the jolliest girl' he had ever
+seen. In his heart he meant that he thought she looked like a goddess or
+an angel (for the Baby was a reverent youth), but he veiled his real
+feeling under this reticent phrase.
+
+One and all they spoke to him, spoke loudly, spoke severely. 'Baby,'
+they said, 'if you have any dealings with the niece of Farmer Johns
+we'll kick you out of this.'
+
+It was a romantic situation; love has proverbially thriven in the
+atmosphere of a family feud. The Baby felt this, but he felt also that
+he could not run the risk of being kicked out of the Syndicate. The Baby
+did sums in a big hot bank all day; he had no dollars to spare, there
+was no other place upon the lake where he could afford to live, and he
+had a canoe of his own which his uncle had given him. Hiawatha did not
+love the darling of his creation more than the Baby loved his cedar-wood
+canoe. All this made him conceal carefully that mysterious sensation of
+unrestful delight which he experienced every time he saw Miss Helen
+Johns. This, at least, in the first stage of his love-sickness.
+
+Fate was hard; she led the Baby, all cheerful and unsuspecting, to spend
+an evening at a picnic tea in a wood a mile or more from the shore.
+Mischievous Fate! She led him to flirt frivolously until long after dark
+with a girl that he cared nothing at all about, and then whispered in
+his ear that he would get home the quicker if in the obscurity he ran
+across the Johns' farm. Fate, laughing in her sleeve, led him to pass
+with noiseless footsteps quite near the house itself; then she was
+content to leave him to his own devices, for through the open window he
+caught sight of Helen Johns doing her gymnastics. Her figure was all
+aglow with the yellow lamplight; she was happy in the poetry of her
+motions and in the delight that the family circle took in watching them.
+The Baby was in the dark and the falling dew; he was uncomfortable, for
+he had to stand on tiptoe, but nothing would have induced him to ease
+his strained attitude. The pangs of a fierce discontent took possession
+of his breast.
+
+Art was consulted in the gymnasium in which Miss Johns had studied; the
+theory was that only that which is beautiful is healthful. Sometimes she
+poised herself on tiptoe with one arm waved toward heaven, an angel all
+ready, save the wings, for aerial flight. Sometimes she seemed to hover
+above the ground like a running Mercury. Sometimes she stood, a hand
+behind her ear, listening as a maid might who was flying from danger in
+some enchanted land. Often she waved her hands slowly as if weaving a
+spell.
+
+A spell was cast over the soul of the Baby; he held himself against the
+extreme edge of a verandah; his mouth remained open as if he were
+drinking in the beams from the bright interior and all the beautiful
+pictures that they brought with them. It was only when the show was over
+that he noiselessly relaxed his strained muscles, and crept away over
+the dew-drenched grass, hiding under the shadow of maple boughs, guilty
+trespasser that he was.
+
+After that, one evening, Farmer Johns and his niece had an errand to
+run; at a house about two miles away on the other side of the bay there
+was a parcel which it was their duty to fetch. They had started out in
+the calm white light of summer twilight; a slight wind blew, just enough
+to take their sail creeping over the rippled water, no more. The lake
+within a mile of the shore was thickly strewn with small yachts, boats,
+and canoes. Upon the green shore the colours of the gaily painted villas
+could still be seen among the trees, and most conspicuous of all the
+great barn-like boat-house of the Syndicate, which was painted red. By
+and by the light grew dimmer and stars came out in the sky; then one
+could no longer distinguish the outline of the shore, but in every
+window a light twinkled, like a fallen star.
+
+Helen sat in the side of the tiny ship as near the prow as might be; her
+uncle sat at the tiller and managed the sails. They were a silent pair,
+the one in a suit of tweeds with a slouch hat, the other in a muslin
+gown with a veil of black lace wrapped about her head.
+
+The sailing of the boat was an art which Helen had not exerted herself
+to understand; she only knew that every now and then there was a minute
+of bluster and excitement when her uncle shouted to her, and she was
+obliged to cower while the beam and the sail swung over her head with a
+sound of fluttering wind. When she was allowed to take her seat after
+this little hurly-burly the two lighthouses upon the lake and all the
+lights upon the shore had performed a mysterious dance; they all lay in
+different places and in different relation to one another. She had not
+learned to know the different lights. When dusk came she was lost to her
+own knowledge. She only knew that the sweet air blew upon her face and
+that she trusted her uncle.
+
+The moonless night closed in. Now and then, as they passed a friendly
+craft, evening greetings were spoken across the dark space. By the time
+they got to the place for which they were bound they were floating
+almost alone upon the black water.
+
+Johns descended into a small boat and secured the sailing-boat to the
+buoy which belonged to the house whither he was going, or rather, he
+thought that he secured it.
+
+Helen heard the plash of his oars until he landed. The shore was but
+twenty yards away, but she could hardly see it. The sail hung limp,
+wrinkled, and motionless. She began to sing, and there alone in the
+darkness she fell in love with her own voice, and sang on and on,
+thinking only of the music.
+
+Her uncle was long in coming; she became conscious of movement in the
+water, like the swell of waves outside rolling into the cove. She heard
+the sound of swaying among all the trees on the shore. She looked up and
+saw that the stars of one half the sky were obscured, that the darkness
+was rolling onward toward those that were still shining.
+
+She stopped her own singing, and the song of the waters beneath her prow
+was curiously like the familiar sound when the boat was in motion. She
+strained her eyes, but could not see how far she was from the near
+shore. She looked on the other side and it seemed to her that the lights
+on the home-ward side of the bay were moving. That meant that she was
+moving, at what speed and in what direction she had no means of knowing.
+
+She stood up, lifted her arms in the air and shouted for help; again and
+again her shouts rang out, and she did not wait to hear an answer. She
+thought that the masters of other boats had seen the storm coming and
+gone into shore.
+
+She was out now full in the whistling wind and the boat was leaping. Her
+throat was hoarse with calling, her eyes dazzled by straining.
+
+When she turned in despair from scanning the shore she saw a sight that
+was very strange. At the tiller where her uncle ought to have been, and
+just in the attitude in which he always stood, was a slight white
+figure. A new sort of fear took possession of Helen; at first she could
+not speak or move, but kept her eyes wide open lest the ghostly thing
+should come near her unawares.
+
+This illusion might be a forerunner of the death to which she was
+hastening, the Angel of Death himself steering her to destruction!
+
+Then in a strange voice came the familiar shout, the warning to hold
+down her head. The sail swung over in the customary way; every movement
+of the figure at the helm was so familiar and natural that comfort
+began to steal into her heart. Plainly, whoever had taken command of the
+drifting craft knew his business; might it not be an angel of life, and
+not of death?
+
+Now in plain sober reality, as her pulses ceased to dance so wildly,
+Helen could not believe that her companion was angel or spirit. One does
+not believe in such companionship readily.
+
+She scrambled to her knees and steadied herself by the seat. 'Who are
+you?' she asked.
+
+The figure made a gesture that seemed like a signal of peace, but no
+answer was given.
+
+The lights upon her own part of the shore were now not far distant. She
+looked above and saw breaks in the darkness that had hidden the stars;
+the clouds were passing over.
+
+The squall that was taking them upon their journey was still whistling
+and blowing, but she feared its force less as she realised that she was
+nearing home.
+
+She desired greatly to work herself along the boat and touch the sailor
+curiously with her hand, but she was afraid to do it, and that for two
+reasons: if he was a spirit she had reason for shrinking from such
+contact, and if he was a man--well, in that case she also saw
+objections.
+
+The man at the helm dropped the sail; for a minute or two he stood not
+far from Helen as he busied himself with it.
+
+'Who are you?' she asked again, but she still had not courage to put out
+her hand and touch him.
+
+There was a little wooden wharf upon the shore, and to this the sailor
+held the boat while Helen sprung out. Her feet were no sooner safe upon
+it than the boat was allowed to move away. She saw the black mast and
+the white figure recede together and disappear in the darkness.
+
+Johns had to walk home by the shore, and in no small anxiety. When he
+saw that his niece was safe he chuckled over her in burly fashion.
+
+'Then I suppose,' he said, 'that some fellow got aboard her between the
+puffs of wind. I hope it was none of those Syndicate men; they're a fast
+lot. What was his name? What had he to say for himself?'
+
+'She was flying far too fast for any one to get aboard,' asserted Helen.
+'I don't know what his name was; he didn't say anything; I don't know
+where he went to.'
+
+Then the uncle suggested toddy in an undertone to his wife. The aunt
+looked over her spectacles with solicitude, and then arose and put her
+niece to bed.
+
+When Helen was left alone she lay looking out at the stars that again
+were shining; she wondered and wondered; perhaps the reason that she
+came to no definite conclusion was that she liked the state of wonder
+better. Helen was a modern girl; she had friends who were spiritualists,
+friends who were theosophists, friends who were 'high church' and
+believed in visions of angels.
+
+In the morning Johns' boat was found tethered as usual to the buoy in
+front of his house.
+
+Long before this the Syndicate had suspected the Baby's attachment. The
+strength of that attachment they did not suspect in the least; never
+having seen depths in the Baby, they supposed there were none. They had
+fallen into the habit of taking the Baby by the throat and asking him in
+trenchant tones, 'Have you spoken to her?' The Baby found it convenient
+to be able to give a truthful negative, not that he would have minded
+fibbing in the least, but in this case the fib would certainly have been
+detected; he could not expect his goddess to enter into any clandestine
+parley and keep his secret.
+
+Had the Baby taken the matter less to heart he would have been more rash
+in asserting his independence, but he meditated some great step and 'lay
+low.' What or when the irrevocable move was to be he had no definite
+idea, the thought of it was only as yet an exalted swelling of mind and
+heart.
+
+There was a period, after the affair of the boat, when he spent a good
+deal of time haunting the sacred precincts of the house where Helen
+lived. The precincts consisted of a dusty lane, a flat, ugly fenced
+field where a cow and a horse grazed, and a place immediately about the
+house covered with thick grass and shaded by maple trees. There were
+some shrubs too, behind which one could hide if necessary, but they were
+prickly, uncomfortable to nestle against, and the unmown grass absorbed
+an immense quantity of dew. In imagination, however, the Baby wandered
+on pastoral slopes and in classic shades. At first he paid his visits at
+night when the family were asleep, and he slipped about so quietly that
+no one but the horse and the cow need know where he went or what he did.
+At length, however, he grew more bold, and took his way across the maple
+grove going and coming from other evening errands. Trespassing is not
+much of a fault at the lake of St. Jean. The Baby became expert in
+dodging hastily by, with his eyes upon the windows; the dream of his
+life was to see the gymnastics performed again; at length it was
+realised.
+
+The thing we desire most is often the thing that brings us woe.
+
+The Baby caught sight of Helen practising her beautiful attitudes. He
+hung on to a rail of the verandah, and gazed and gazed. Then he took his
+life in his hand, as it were, and swung himself up on the verandah; he
+moved like a cat, for he supposed that the stalwart Johns was within.
+From this better point of view, peeping about, he now surveyed the whole
+interior of the small drawing-room. What was his joy to find that there
+was no family circle of spectators; Helen was exercising herself alone!
+He hugged to himself the idea that the gracious little spectacle was all
+his own.
+
+Now, as it happened, the Baby in his secret hauntings of this house had
+not been so entirely unseen as he supposed. Certainly Johns had never
+caught sight of him or he would have been made aware of it, but Helen,
+since the night of the boating mystery, had more than once caught sight
+of a white figure passing among the maple shadows. These glimpses had
+added point and colour to all the mystical fancies that clustered round
+the helmsman of the yacht. She hardly believed that some guardian spirit
+was protecting her in visible semblance, or that some human Prince
+Charming, more kingly and wise than any man that she had yet seen, had
+chosen this peculiar mode of courting her; but her wish was the father
+of thoughts that fluttered between these two explanations, and hope was
+fed by the conviction that no man who could see her every day if he
+chose would behave in this romantic manner.
+
+So upon this evening it happened that when Helen, poised upon her toes
+and beating the time of imaginary music with her waving hand, caught
+sight of the Baby's white flannels through the dark window pane, she
+recognised the figure of her dreams and, having long ago made up her
+mind what to do when she had the chance, she ran to the French window
+without an instant's delay, and let herself out of it with graceful
+speed.
+
+The Baby, panic-stricken, felt but one desire, that she might never know
+who had played the spy. He threw himself over the verandah rail with an
+acrobat's skill, and with head in front and nimble feet he darted off
+under the maple trees: but he had to reckon with an agile maiden. Helen
+had grown tired of a fruitless dream. A crescent moon gave her enough
+light to pursue; lights of friendly houses on all sides assured her of
+safety.
+
+Over the log fence into the pasture vaulted the Baby, convinced now that
+he had escaped. Vain thought! He had not considered the new education.
+Over the fence vaulted Helen as lightly: in a minute the Baby heard her
+on his track.
+
+The cow and the horse had never before seen so pretty a chase. There was
+excitement in the air and they sniffed it; they were both young and they
+began to run too. The sound of heavy galloping filled the place.
+
+Of the two sides of the field which lay farthest from the house, one
+looked straight over to the glaring Syndicate windows, and one to the
+rugged bank that rose from the shore. The Baby's one mad desire was to
+conceal his identity. He made for the dark shore. Another fence, he
+thought, or the rocks of the bank, would surely deter her flying feet.
+
+They both vaulted the second fence. The Baby still kept his distance
+ahead, but when he heard that she too sprang over, a fear for her safety
+darted across his excited brain. Would those cantering animals jump
+after and crush her beneath their feet, or would she fall on the rocks
+of the shore which he was going to leap over? The Baby intended to leap
+the shore and lose his identity by a swim in the black water.
+
+It was this darting thought of anxiety for Helen that made him hesitate
+in his leap. Too late to stop, the hesitation was fatal to fair
+performance. The Baby came down on the shore with a groan, his leg under
+him and his head on the earth.
+
+He saw Helen pause beside him, deliberately staring through the dim
+light.
+
+'I'm not hurt,' said the Baby, because he knew that he was.
+
+'You are only the Syndicate Baby!' she exclaimed with interrogatory
+indignation.
+
+'I'm going to cut the Syndicate; I'll never have anything more to do
+with them, Miss Johns.'
+
+Helen did not understand the significance of this eager assurance.
+
+The Baby's brain became clear; he tried to rise, but could not.
+
+'Are you not hurt?' she asked.
+
+'Oh! no, not at all, Miss Johns' (he spoke with eager, youthful
+politeness); 'it's only--it's only that I've doubled my leg and can't
+quite get up.'
+
+The Baby was pretty tough; a few bumps and breaks were matters of small
+importance to him; his employers had already bargained with him not to
+play football as he gained so many holidays in bandages thereby. Just
+now he was quick enough to take in the situation: Helen despised him, it
+was neck or nothing, he must do all his pleading once for all, and the
+compensation for a broken leg was this, that she could not have the
+inhumanity to leave him till he declared himself fit to be left. He
+pulled himself round, and straightened the leg before him as he sat.
+
+Helen was not accustomed to falls and injuries; she was shocked and
+pitiful, but she was stern too; she felt that she had the right.
+
+'I'm very sorry; I will go and get some one to help you, but you know
+it's entirely your own fault. What have you been behaving in this way
+for?'
+
+'If you'd only believe me,' pleaded the Baby, 'I--I--you really can have
+no idea, Miss Johns----'
+
+If she could have seen how white and earnest his young face was she
+might have listened to him, but the light was too dim.
+
+'I want to know this' (severely), 'Was it you who got on to our sailing
+boat that other night?'
+
+'I thought you were alarmed, Miss Johns, and in a rather--rather
+dangerous situation.' The Baby was using his prettiest tones, such as he
+used when he went out to a dance.
+
+If she could have known how heroic it was to utter these mincing accents
+over a broken leg she might have been touched; but she did not even know
+that the leg was broken. She went on rigidly, 'How could you get aboard
+when she was sailing so fast? Where did you come from?'
+
+'Oh! it wasn't difficult at all, I assure you, Miss Johns; I only got on
+between the gusts of the wind. I swam from the Syndicate boat. You know,
+of course, one of us must have gone when we heard you singing out for
+help, and I was only too happy, frightfully happy, I am sure--and it was
+nothing at all to do. If you were much here, and saw us swimming and
+boating, you'd see fellows do that sort of thing every day.'
+
+It was a delicate instinct that made him underrate the feat he had
+performed, for he would have been so glad to have her feel under the
+slightest obligation to him; but as far as her perceptions were
+concerned, the beauty of his sentiment was lost, for when he said that
+the thing that he had done was easy, she believed him.
+
+She still interrogated. 'Why did you not speak and tell me who you
+were?'
+
+There had been an ostensible and a real reason for this conduct on the
+Baby's part. The first was the order which his friends in the Syndicate
+boat had called after him as he jumped into the water, the second he
+spoke out now for the first time to Helen.
+
+'I didn't speak, Miss Johns, because I--I _couldn't_. Oh! you have no
+idea--really, you know, if you'd only believe me--I love you so much,
+Miss Johns, I couldn't say anything or I'd have said more than I ought,
+the sort of thing I'm saying now, you know.'
+
+'Tut!' said Helen sharply, 'what rubbish!'
+
+'Oh! but Miss Johns--yes, I knew you would think it was all rot and that
+sort of thing; that was the reason I didn't say it in the boat, and that
+is the reason I've never dared to ask to be introduced to you, Miss
+Johns. It wasn't that I cared for the Syndicate. You see, the worst of
+it is, I'm so confoundedly poor; they give me no sort of a screw at all
+at the bank, I do assure you. But, Miss Johns, my uncle is one of the
+directors; he's sure to give me a leg up before very long, and if you
+only knew--oh! really if you only knew----,' words failed him quite when
+he tried to describe the strength of his devotion. He only sat before
+her, supporting himself with both hands on the ground and looking up
+with a face that had no rounded outline now, but was white, passionate
+and pathetic; he could only murmur, 'really, really--if you only
+knew----'
+
+The darkness barred her vision and the extravagant words in the boyish
+voice sounded ridiculous to her.
+
+'I will believe you,' she said, 'if you want me to, but it doesn't make
+any difference; I am sorry you are hurt, and sorry you have taken this
+fancy for me. I think you will find some other girl very soon whom you
+will like better; I hope you will. There isn't' (she was becoming
+vehement), 'there isn't the slightest atom of use in your caring for
+me.'
+
+'Isn't there?' asked the Baby despairingly. 'I wish you would say that
+you will think over it, Miss Johns; I wish you would say that I might
+know you and come and see you sometimes. I'd cut the Syndicate and make
+it up with your uncle.'
+
+'It wouldn't be the slightest use,' she repeated excitedly.
+
+'Of course if you go on saying that, I sha'n't bore you any more, but
+do, Miss Johns, do, do just think a minute before you say it again.'
+
+A note in his voice touched her at last; she paused for the required
+minute and then answered gently; her gentleness carried conviction. 'I
+could never care for you. You are not at all the sort of man I could
+ever care for, and I am going back to New York in a few days, so you
+won't be troubled by seeing me any more.'
+
+When Helen rushed breathless to the door of the Syndicate boat-house and
+told of the accident, the bachelors went out in a body and bore the Baby
+home.
+
+They petted him until he was on his feet again. They gained some vague
+knowledge of his interview with Helen, and he kept a very distinct
+remembrance of it. Both he and they believed that his first attempt at
+love had come to nothing, but that was a mistake.
+
+The Baby had loved with some genuine fervour, and his grief made a man
+of him.
+
+
+
+
+VIII
+
+WITCHCRAFT
+
+
+A young minister was walking through the streets of a small town in the
+island of Cape Breton. The minister was only a theological student who
+had been sent to preach in this remote place during his summer holiday.
+The town was at once very primitive and very modern. Many log-houses
+still remained in it; almost all the other houses were built of wood.
+The little churches, which represented as many sects, looked like the
+churches in a child's Dutch village. The town hall had only a brick
+facing. On the hillsides that surrounded the town far and wide were many
+fields, in which the first stumps were still standing, charred by the
+fires that had been kindled to kill them. There were also patches of
+forest still to be seen among these fields, where the land had not yet
+been cleared. In spite of all this, the town was very advanced, every
+improvement being of the newest kind because so recently achieved. Upon
+huge ungainly tree-trunks roughly erected along the streets, electric
+lamps hung, and telephone wires crossed and recrossed one another from
+roof to roof. There was even an electric tram that ran straight through
+the town and some distance into the country on either side. The general
+store had a gaily dressed lay figure in its window,--a female
+figure,--and its gown was labelled 'The Latest Parisian Novelty.'
+
+The theological student was going out to take tea. He was a tall, active
+fellow, and his long strides soon brought him to a house a little way
+out of the town, which was evidently the abode of some degree of taste
+and luxury. The house was of wood, painted in dull colours of red and
+brown; it had large comfortable verandahs under shingled roofs. Its
+garden was not old-fashioned in the least; but though it aspired to
+trimness the grass had not grown there long enough to make a good lawn,
+so the ribbon flower-beds and plaster vases of flowers lacked the
+green-velvet setting that would have made them appear better. The
+student was the less likely to criticise the lawn because a very pretty,
+fresh-looking girl met him at the gate.
+
+She was really a fine girl. Her dress showed rather more effort at
+fashion than was quite in keeping with her very rural surroundings, and
+her speech and accent betrayed a childhood spent among uneducated folk
+and only overlaid by more recent schooling. Her face had the best parts
+of beauty: health and good sense were written there, also flashes of
+humour and an habitual sweet seriousness. She had chanced to be at the
+gate gathering flowers. Her reception of the student was frank, and yet
+there was just a touch of blushing dignity about it which suggested that
+she took a special interest in him. The student also, it would appear,
+took an interest in her, for, on their way to the house, he made a
+variety of remarks upon the weather which proved that he was a little
+excited and unable to observe that he was talking nonsense.
+
+In a little while the family were gathered round the tea-table. The
+girl, Miss Torrance by name, sat at the head of the table. Her father
+was a banker and insurance agent. He sat opposite his eldest daughter
+and did the honours of the meal with the utmost hospitality, yet with
+reserve of manner caused by his evident consciousness that his grammar
+and manners were not equal to those of his children and their guest.
+There were several daughters and two sons younger than Miss Torrance.
+They talked with vivacity.
+
+The conversation soon turned upon the fact that the abundant supply of
+cream to which the family were accustomed was not forthcoming.
+Strawberries were being served with the tea; some sort of cold pudding
+was also on the table; and all this to be eaten without cream,--these
+young people might have been asked to go without their supper, so
+indignant they were.
+
+Now, Mr. Torrance had been decorously trying to talk of the young
+minister's last sermon and of the affairs of the small Scotch church of
+which he was an elder, and Miss Torrance was ably seconding his effort
+by comparing the sentiments of the sermon to a recent magazine article,
+but against her will she was forced to attend to the young people's
+clamour about the cream.
+
+It seemed that Trilium, the cow, had recently refused to give her milk.
+Mary Torrance was about eighteen; she suddenly gave it as her opinion
+that Trilium was bewitched; there was no other explanation, she said, no
+other possible explanation of Trilium's extraordinary conduct.
+
+A flush mounted Miss Torrance's face; she frowned at her sister when the
+student was not looking.
+
+'It's wonderful, the amount of witchcraft we have about here, Mr.
+Howitt,' said the master of the house tentatively to the minister.
+
+Howitt had taken Mary's words in jest. He gave his smooth-shaven face
+the twist that with him always expressed ideas wonderful or grotesque.
+It was a strong, thin face, full of intelligence.
+
+'I never could have conceived anything like it,' said he. 'I come across
+witch tales here, there, everywhere; and the marvellous thing is, some
+of the people really seem to believe them.'
+
+The younger members of the Torrance family fixed their eyes upon him
+with apprehensive stare.
+
+'You can't imagine anything more degrading,' continued the student, who
+came from afar.
+
+'Degrading, of course.' Mr. Torrance sipped his tea hastily. 'The Cape
+Breton people are superstitious, I believe.'
+
+An expression that might have betokened a new resolution appeared upon
+the fine face of the eldest daughter.
+
+'_We_ are Cape Breton people, father,' she said, with dignified
+reproach. 'I hope'--here a timid glance, as if imploring support--'I
+hope we know better than to place any real faith in these degrading
+superstitions.'
+
+Howitt observed nothing but the fine face and the words that appeared to
+him natural.
+
+Torrance looked at them both with the air of an honest man who was still
+made somewhat cowardly by new-fashioned propriety.
+
+'I never put much o' my faith in these things myself,' he said at last
+in broad accents, 'still,'--an honest shake of the head--'there's queer
+things happens.'
+
+'It is like going back to the Middle Ages'--Howitt was still
+impervious--'to hear some of these poor creatures talk. I never thought
+it would be my lot to come across anything so delightfully absurd.'
+
+'Perhaps for the sake of the ministry ye'd better be careful how ye say
+your mind about it,' suggested Mr. Torrance; 'in the hearing of the poor
+and uneducated, of course, I mean. But if ye like to make a study o'
+that sort of thing, I'd advise ye to go and have a talk with Mistress
+Betty M'Leod. She's got a great repertory of tales, has Mistress Betty.'
+
+Mary spoke again. Mary was a young woman who had the courage of her
+opinions. 'And if you go to Mistress M'Leod, Mr. Howitt, will you just
+be kind enough to ask her how to cure poor Trilium? and don't forget
+anything of what she says.'
+
+Miss Torrance gave her sister a word of reproof. There was still upon
+her face the fine glow born of a new resolution never again to listen to
+a word of witchcraft.
+
+As for Howitt, there came across his clever face the whimsical look
+which denoted that he understood Mary's fun perfectly. 'I will go
+to-morrow,' he cried. 'When the wise woman has told me who has bewitched
+Trilium, we will make a waxen figure and stick pins in it.'
+
+The next day Howitt walked over the hills in search of Mistress Betty
+M'Leod. The lake of the Bras d'Or held the sheen of the western sun in
+its breast. The student walked upon green slopes far above the water,
+and watched the outline of the hills on the other side of the inlet, and
+thought upon many things. He thought upon religion and philosophy, for
+he was religious and studious; he thought upon practical details of his
+present work, for he was anxious for the welfare of the souls under his
+charge; but on whatever subject his thoughts dwelt, they came back at
+easy intervals to the fair, dignified face of his new friend, Miss
+Torrance.
+
+'There's a fine girl for you,' he said to himself repeatedly, with
+boyish enthusiasm. He thought, too, how nobly her life would be spent if
+she chose to be the helpmeet of a Christian minister. He wondered
+whether Mary could take her sister's place in the home circle. Yet with
+all this he made no decision as to his own course. He was discreet, and
+in minds like his decisions upon important matters are fruits of slow
+growth.
+
+He came at last to a farm, a very goodly farm for so hilly a district.
+It lay, a fertile flat, in a notch of the green hillside. When he
+reached the house yard he asked for Mistress Betty M'Leod, and was led
+to her presence. The old dame sat at her spinning-wheel in a farm
+kitchen. Her white hair was drawn closely, like a thin veil, down the
+sides of her head and pinned at the back. Her features were small, her
+eyes bright; she was not unlike a squirrel in her sharp little movements
+and quick glances. She wore a small shawl pinned around her spare
+shoulders. Her skirts fell upon the treadle of the spinning-wheel. The
+kitchen in which she sat was unused; there was no fire in the stove. The
+brick floor, the utensils hanging on the walls, had the appearance of
+undisturbed rest. Doors and windows were open to the view of the green
+slopes and the golden sea beneath them.
+
+'You come from Canada,' said the old dame. She left her spinning with a
+certain interested formality of manner.
+
+'From Montreal,' said he.
+
+'That's the same. Canada is a terrible way off.'
+
+'And now,' he said, 'I hear there are witches in this part of the land.'
+Whereupon he smiled in an incredulous cultured way.
+
+She nodded her head as if she had gauged his thought. 'Ay, there's many
+a minister believes in them if they don't let on they do. I mind----'
+
+'Yes,' said he.
+
+'I mind how my sister went out early one morning, and saw a witch
+milking one of our cows.'
+
+'How did you know she was a witch?'
+
+'Och, she was a neighbour we knew to be a witch real well. My sister
+didn't anger her. It's terrible unlucky to vex them. But would you
+believe it? as long as we had that cow her cream gave no butter. We had
+to sell her and get another. And one time--it was years ago, when
+Donald and me was young--the first sacrament came round----'
+
+'Yes,' said he, looking sober.
+
+'And all the milk of our cows would give hardly any butter for a whole
+year! And at house-cleaning time, there, above the milk shelves, what
+did they find but a bit of hair rope! Cows' and horses' hair it was. Oh,
+it was terrible knotted, and knotted just like anything! So then of
+course we knew.'
+
+'Knew what?'
+
+'Why, that the milk was bewitched. We took the rope away. Well, that
+very day more butter came at the churning, and from that time on, more,
+but still not so much as ought by rights to have come. Then, one day, I
+thought to unknot the rope, and I undid, and undid, and undid. Well,
+when I had got it undone, that day the butter came as it should!'
+
+'But what about the sacrament?' asked he.
+
+'That was the time of the year it was. Oh, but I could tell you a sad,
+sad story of the wickedness of witches. When Donald and me was young,
+and had a farm up over on the other hill, well, there was a poor widow
+with seven daughters. It was hard times then for us all, but for her,
+she only had a bit of flat land with some bushes, and four cows and some
+sheep, and, you see, she sold butter to put meat in the children's
+mouths. Butter was all she could sell.
+
+'Well, there came to live near her on the hill an awful wicked old man
+and woman. I'll tell you who their daughter is: she's married to Mr.
+M'Curdy, who keeps the store. The old man and his wife were awful wicked
+to the widow and the fatherless. I'll tell you what they did. Well, the
+widow's butter failed. Not one bit more could she get. The milk was just
+the same, but not one bit of butter. "Oh," said she, "it's a hard world,
+and me a widow!" But she was a brave woman, bound to get along some way.
+So, now that she had nothing to sell to buy meal, she made curds of the
+milk, and fed the children on that.
+
+'Well, one day the old man came in to see her in a neighbouring way, and
+she, being a good woman,--oh, but she was a good woman!--set a dish of
+curds before him. "Oh," said he, "these are very fine curds!" So he went
+away, and next day she put the rennet in the milk as usual, but not a
+bit would the curd come. "Oh," said she, "but I must put something in
+the children's mouths!" She was a fine woman, she was. So she kept the
+lambs from the sheep all night, and next morning she milked the sheep.
+Sheep's milk is rich, and she put rennet in that, and fed the children
+on the curd.
+
+'So one day the old man came in again. He was a wicked one; he was
+dreadful selfish; and as he was there, she, being a hospitable woman,
+gave him some of the curd. "That's good curd," said he. Next day, when
+she put the rennet in the sheep's milk, not a bit would the curd come.
+She felt it bitterly, poor woman; but she had a fine spirit, and she fed
+the children on a few bits of potato she had growing.
+
+'Well, one day, the eldest daughter got up very early to spin--in the
+twilight of the dawn it was--and she looked out, and there was the old
+woman coming from her house on the hill, with a shawl over her head and
+a tub in her arms. Oh, but she was a really wicked one! for I'll tell
+you what she did. Well, the girl watched and wondered, and in the
+twilight of the dawn she saw the old woman crouch down by one of the
+alder bushes, and put her tub under it, and go milking with her hands;
+and after a bit she lifted her tub, that seemed to have something in it,
+and set it over against another alder bush, and went milking with her
+hands again. So the girl said, "Mother, mother, wake up, and see what
+the neighbour woman is doing!" So the mother looked out, and there, in
+the twilight of the dawn, she saw her four cows in the bit of land,
+among the alder bushes, and the old neighbour woman milking away at a
+bush. And then the old woman moved her tub likewise to another bush, and
+likewise, and likewise, until she had milked four bushes, and she took
+up her tub, and it seemed awful heavy, and she had her shawl over it,
+and was going up the hill.
+
+'So the mother said to the girl, "Run, run, and see what she has got in
+it." For they weren't up to the ways of witches, and they were
+astonished like. But the girl, she said, "Oh, mother, I don't like."
+Well, she was timid, anyway, the eldest girl. But the second girl was a
+romping thing, not afraid of anything, so they sent her. By this time
+the wicked old woman was high on the hill; so she ran and ran, but she
+could not catch her before she was in at her own door; but that second
+girl, she was not afraid of anything, so she runs in at the door, too.
+Now, in those days they used to have sailing-chests that lock up; they
+had iron bars over them, so you could keep anything in that was a
+secret. They got them from the ships, and this old woman kept her milk
+in hers. So when the girl bounced in at the door, there she saw that
+wicked old woman pouring milk out of the tub into her chest, and the
+chest half full of milk, and the old man looking on! So then, of course
+they knew where the good of their milk had gone.'
+
+The story was finished. The old dame looked at the student and nodded
+her head with eyes that awaited some expression of formal disapproval.
+
+'What did they know?' asked he.
+
+'Know! Oh, why, that the old woman was an awful wicked witch, and she'd
+taken the good of their milk.'
+
+'Oh, indeed!' said the student; and then, 'But what became of the widow
+and the seven daughters?'
+
+'Well, of course she had to sell her cows and get others, and then it
+was all right. But that old man and his wife were that selfish they'd
+not have cared if she'd starved. And I tell you, it's one of the things
+witches can do, to take the good out of food, if they've an eye to it;
+they can take every bit of nouriture out of it that's in it. There were
+two young men that went from here to the States--that's Boston, ye know.
+Well, pretty soon one, that was named M'Pherson, came back, looking so
+white-like and ill that nothing would do him any good. He drooped and he
+died. Well, years after, the other, whose name was McVey, came back. He
+was of the same wicked stock as the old folks I've been telling ye of.
+Well, one day, he was in low spirits like, and he chanced to be talking
+to my father, and says he, "It's one of the sins I'll have to 'count for
+at the Judgment that I took the good out of M'Pherson's food till he
+died. I sat opposite to him at the table when we were at Boston
+together, and I took the good out of his food, and it's the blackest sin
+I done," said he.
+
+'Oh, they're awful wicked people, these witches! One of them offered to
+teach my sister how to take the good out of food, but my sister was too
+honest; she said, "I'll learn to keep the good of my own, if ye like."
+However, the witch wouldn't teach her that because she wouldn't learn
+the other. Oh, but I cheated a witch once. Donald, he brought me a pound
+of tea. 'Twasn't always we got tea in those days, so I put it in the tin
+box; and there was just a little over, so I was forced to leave that in
+the paper bag. Well, that day a neighbour came in from over the hill. I
+knew fine she was a witch; so we sat and gossiped a bit; she was a real
+pleasant woman, and she sat and sat, and the time of day went by. So I
+made her a cup of tea, her and me; but I used the drawing that was in
+the paper bag. Said she, "I just dropped in to borrow a bit of tea going
+home, but if that's all ye have"--Oh, but I could see her eyeing round;
+so I was too sharp for her, and I says, "Well, I've no more in the paper
+just now, but if ye'll wait till Donald comes, maybe he'll bring some."
+So she saw I was too sharp for her, and away she went. If I'd as much as
+opened the tin, she'd have had every grain of good out of it with her
+eyes.'
+
+At first the student had had the grave and righteous intention of
+denouncing the superstition, but gradually he had perceived that to do
+so would be futile. The artistic soul of him was caught by the curious
+recital. He remembered now the bidding of Mary Torrance, and thought
+with pleasure that he would go back and repeat these strange stories to
+Miss Torrance, and smile at them in her company.
+
+'Now, for instance,' he said aloud, 'if a good cow, that is a great pet
+in the family, should suddenly cease to give her milk, how would you set
+about curing her?'
+
+The dame's small bright eyes grew keener. She moved to her
+spinning-wheel and gave it a turn. 'Ay,' she said, 'and whose is the
+cow?'
+
+He was not without a genuine curiosity. 'What would you do for _any_ cow
+in that case?'
+
+'And is it Torrance's cow?' asked Mistress Betty. 'Och, but I know it's
+Torrance's cow that ye're speiring for.'
+
+The young minister was recalled to a sense of his duty. He rose up with
+brisk dignity. 'I only asked you to see what you would say. I do not
+believe the stories you have been telling me.'
+
+She nodded her head, taking his assertion as a matter of course. 'But
+I'll tell you exactly what they must do,' she said. 'Ye can tell Miss
+Torrance she must get a pound of pins.'
+
+'A pound of pins!' said he.
+
+'Ay, it's a large quantity, but they'll have them at the store, for it's
+more than sometimes they're wanted--a time here, a time there--against
+the witches. And she's to boil them in whatever milk the cow gives, and
+she's to pour them boiling hot into a hole in the ground; and when she's
+put the earth over them, and the sod over that, she's to tether the
+animal there, and milk it there, and the milk will come right enough.'
+
+While the student was making his way home along the hillside, through
+field and forest, the long arm of the sea turned to red and gold in the
+light of the clouds which the sun had left behind when it sank down over
+the distant region that the Cape Breton folk call Canada.
+
+The minister meditated upon what he had heard, but not for long. He
+could not bring his mind into such attitude towards the witch-tales as
+to conceive of belief in them as an actual part of normal human
+experience. Insanity, or the love of making a good story out of notions
+which have never been seriously entertained, must compose the warp and
+woof of the fabric of such strange imaginings. It is thus we account for
+most experiences we do not understand.
+
+The next evening the Torrance family were walking to meeting. The
+student joined himself to Miss Torrance. He greeted her with the
+whimsical look of grave humour. 'You are to take a pound of pins,' he
+said.
+
+'I do not believe it would do any good,' she interrupted eagerly.
+
+It struck him as very curious that she should assert her unbelief. He
+was too nonplussed to go on immediately. Then he supposed it was part of
+the joke, and proceeded to give the other details.
+
+'Mr. Howitt,'--a tremulous pause,--'it is very strange about poor
+Trilium, she has always been such a good, dear cow; the children are
+very fond of her, and my mother was very fond of her when she was a
+heifer. The last summer before she died, Trilium fed out of mother's
+hand, and now--she's in perfect health as far as we can see, but father
+says that if she keeps on refusing to give her milk he will be obliged
+to sell her.'
+
+Miss Torrance, who was usually strong and dignified, spoke now in a very
+appealing voice.
+
+'Couldn't you get an old farmer to look at her, or a vet?'
+
+'But why do you think she has suddenly stopped giving milk?' persisted
+the girl.
+
+'I am very sorry, but I really don't know anything about animals,' said
+he.
+
+'Oh, then if you don't know anything about them----' She paused. There
+had been such an evident tone of relief in her voice that he wondered
+much what would be coming next. In a moment she said, 'I quite agreed
+with you the other night when you said the superstition about witchcraft
+was degrading.'
+
+'No one could think otherwise.' He was much puzzled at the turn of her
+thought.
+
+'Still, of course, _about animals_, old people like Mistress Betty
+M'Leod may know something.'
+
+As they talked they were walking down the street in the calm of the
+summer evening to the prayer meeting. The student's mind was intent upon
+his duties, for, as they neared the little white-washed church, many
+groups were seen coming from all sides across the grassy space in which
+it stood. He was an earnest man, and his mind became occupied with the
+thought of the spiritual needs of these others who were flocking to hear
+him preach and pray.
+
+Inside the meeting-room, unshaded oil lamps flared upon a congregation
+most serious and devout. The student felt that their earnestness and
+devotion laid upon him the greater responsibility; he also felt much
+hindered in his speech because of their ignorance and remote ways of
+thought. It was a comfort to him to feel that there was at least one
+family among his hearers whose education would enable them to understand
+him clearly. He looked with satisfaction at the bench where Mr. Torrance
+sat with his children. He looked with more satisfaction to where Miss
+Torrance sat at the little organ. She presided over it with dignity and
+sweet seriousness. She drew music even out of its squeaking keys.
+
+A few days after that prayer meeting the student happened to be in the
+post-office. It was a small, rough place; a wooden partition shut off
+the public from the postmistress and her helpers. He was waiting for
+some information for which he had asked; he was forced to stand outside
+the little window in this partition. He listened to women's voices
+speaking on the other side, as one listens to that which in no way
+concerns oneself.
+
+'It's just like her, stuck up as she is since she came from school,
+setting herself and her family up to be better than other folks.'
+
+'Perhaps they were out of them at the store,' said a gentler voice.
+
+'Oh, don't tell me. It's on the sly she's doing it, and then pretending
+to be grander than other folks.'
+
+Then the postmistress came to the window with the required information.
+When she saw who was there, she said something else also.
+
+'There's a parcel come for Miss Torrance,--if you happen to be going up
+that way,' the postmistress simpered.
+
+The student became aware for the first time that his friendship with
+Miss Torrance was a matter of public interest. He was not entirely
+displeased. 'I will take the parcel,' he said.
+
+As he went along the sunny road, he felt so light-hearted that, hardly
+thinking what he did, he began throwing up the parcel and catching it
+again in his hands. It was not large; it was very tightly done up in
+thick paper, and had an ironmonger's label attached; so that, though he
+paid small attention, it did not impress him as a thing that could be
+easily injured. Something, however, did soon make a sharp impression
+upon him; once as he caught the parcel he felt his hand deeply pricked.
+Looking closely, he saw that a pin was working its way through the thick
+paper. After that he walked more soberly, and did not play ball. He
+remembered what he had heard at the post-office. The parcel was
+certainly addressed to Miss Torrance. It was very strange. He remembered
+with displeasure now the assumption of the postmistress that he would be
+glad to carry this parcel.
+
+He delivered the pound of pins at the door without making a call. His
+mind had never come to any decision with regard to his feeling for Miss
+Torrance, and now he was more undecided than ever. He was full of
+curiosity about the pins. He found it hard to believe that they were to
+be used for a base purpose, but suspicion had entered his mind. The
+knowledge that the eyes of the little public were upon him made him
+realise that he could not continue to frequent the house merely to
+satisfy his curiosity.
+
+He was destined to know more.
+
+That night, long after dark, he was called to visit a dying man, and the
+messenger led him somewhat out of the town.
+
+He performed his duty to the dying with wistful eagerness. The spirit
+passed from earth while he yet knelt beside the bed. When he was
+returning home alone in the darkness, he felt his soul open to the power
+of unseen spirit, and to him the power of the spiritual unseen was the
+power of God.
+
+Walking on the soft, quiet road, he came near the house where he had
+lately loved to visit, and his eye was arrested by seeing a lantern
+twinkling in the paddock where Trilium grazed. He saw the forms of two
+women moving in its little circle of light; they were digging in the
+ground.
+
+He felt that he had a right to make sure of the thing he suspected. The
+women were not far from a fence by which he could pass, and he did pass
+that way, looking and looking till a beam of the lantern fell full on
+the bending faces. When he saw that Miss Torrance was actually there, he
+went on without speaking.
+
+After that two facts became known in the village, each much discussed in
+its own way; yet they were not connected with each other in the common
+mind. One was that the young minister had ceased to call frequently upon
+Miss Torrance; the other, that Trilium, the cow, was giving her
+milk.
+
+
+
+
+IX
+
+THE GIRL WHO BELIEVED IN THE SAINTS
+
+
+Marie Verine was a good girl, but she was not beautiful or clever. She
+lived with her mother in one flat of an ordinary-looking house in a
+small Swiss town. Had they been poorer or richer there might have been
+something picturesque about their way of life, but, as it was, there was
+nothing. Their pleasures were few and simple; yet they were happier than
+most people are--but this they did not know.
+
+'It is a pity we are not richer and have not more friends,' Madame
+Verine would remark, 'for then we could perhaps get Marie a husband; as
+it is, there is no chance.'
+
+Madame Verine usually made this remark to the Russian lady who lived
+upstairs. The Russian lady had a name that could not be pronounced; she
+spoke many languages, and took an interest in everything. She would
+reply--
+
+'No husband! It is small loss. I have seen much of the world.'
+
+Marie had seen little of the world, and she did not believe the Russian
+lady. She never said anything about it, except at her prayers, and then
+she used to ask the saints to pray for her that she might have a
+husband.
+
+Now, in a village about half a day's journey from the town where Marie
+dwelt, there lived a young girl whose name was Celeste. Her mother had
+named her thus because her eyes were blue as the sky above, and her face
+was round as the round moon, and her hair and eyelashes were like
+sunbeams, or like moonlight when it shines in yellow halo through the
+curly edges of summer clouds. The good people of this village were a
+hard-working, hard-headed set of men and women. While Celeste's father
+lived they had waxed proud about her beauty, for undoubtedly she was a
+credit to the place; but when her parents died, and left her needy, they
+said she must go to the town and earn her living.
+
+Celeste laughed in her sleeve when they told her this, because young
+Fernand, the son of the inn-keeper, had been wooing and winning her
+heart, in a quiet way, for many a day; and now she believed in him, and
+felt sure that he would speak his love aloud and take her home to his
+parents. To be sure, it was unknown in that country for a man who had
+money to marry a girl who had none; but Fernand was strong to work and
+to plan; Celeste knew that he could do what he liked.
+
+It was the time when the April sun smiles upon the meadow grass till it
+is very green and long enough to wave in the wind, and all amongst it
+the blue scilla flowers are like dewdrops reflecting the blue that hangs
+above the gnarled arms of the still leafless walnut trees. The cottage
+where Celeste lived was out from the village, among the meadows, and to
+the most hidden side of it young Fernand came on the eve of the day on
+which she must leave it for ever. Very far off the snow mountains had
+taken on their second flush of evening red before he came, and Celeste
+had grown weary waiting.
+
+'Good-bye,' said Fernand. He was always a somewhat stiff and formal
+young man, and to-night he was ill at ease.
+
+'But,' cried Celeste--and here she wept--'you have made me love you. I
+love no one in the world but you.'
+
+'You are foolish,' said he. 'It is, of course, a pity that we must part,
+but it cannot be helped. You have no dowry, not even a small one. It
+would be unthrifty for the son of an innkeeper to marry a girl without a
+sou. My parents would not allow me to act so madly!' and his manner
+added--'nor would I be so foolish myself.'
+
+Next day Celeste went up to the town, and went into the market-place to
+be hired as a servant.
+
+This was the day of the spring hiring. Many servants were wanting work,
+and they stood in the market-place. All around were the old houses of
+the square; there was the church and the pastor's house, and the house
+and office of the notary, and many other houses standing very close
+together, with high-peaked roofs and gable windows. The sun shone down,
+lighting the roofs, throwing eaves and niches into strong shadow,
+gleaming upon yellow bowls and dishes, upon gay calicoes, upon cheese
+and sausages, on all bright things displayed on the open market-stalls,
+and upon the faces of the maid-servants who stood to be hired. Many
+ladies of the town went about seeking servants: among them was Madame
+Verine, and the Russian lady and Marie were with her. When they came in
+front of Celeste they all stopped.
+
+'Ah, what eyes!' said the Russian lady--'what simple, innocent, trustful
+eyes! In these days how rare!'
+
+'She is like a flower,' said Marie.
+
+Now, they quickly found out that Celeste knew very little about the work
+she would have to do; it was because of this she had not yet found a
+mistress.
+
+'I myself would delight to teach her,' cried the Russian lady.
+
+'And I,' cried Marie. So Madame Verine took her home.
+
+They taught Celeste many things. Marie taught her to cook and to sew;
+the Russian lady taught her to write and to cipher, and was surprised at
+the progress she made, especially in writing. Celeste was the more
+interesting to them because there was just a shade of sadness in her
+eye. One day she told Marie why she was sad; it was the story of
+Fernand, how he had used her ill.
+
+'What a shame!' cried Marie, when the brief facts were repeated.
+
+'It is the way of the country,' said the Russian lady. 'These Swiss
+peasants, who have so fair a reputation for sobriety, are mercenary
+above all: they have no heart.'
+
+Celeste lived with Madame Verine for one year. At the end of that time
+Madame Verine arose one morning to find the breakfast was not cooked,
+nor the fire lit. In the midst of disorder stood Celeste, with flushed
+cheeks and startled eyes, and a letter in her hand.
+
+'Ah, madam,' she faltered, 'what a surprise! The letter, it is from
+monsieur the notary, who lives in the market-place, and to me,
+madam--_to me_!'
+
+When Madame Verine took the letter she found told therein that an aunt
+of Celeste, who had lived far off in the Jura, was dead, and had left to
+Celeste a little fortune of five thousand francs, which was to be paid
+to her when she was twenty-one, or on her marriage day.
+
+'Ah,' cried Celeste, weeping, 'can it be true? Can it be true?'
+
+'Of course, since monsieur the notary says so.'
+
+'Ah, madam; let me run and see monsieur the notary. Let me just ask him,
+and hear from his lips that it is true!'
+
+So she ran out into the town, with her apron over her head, and Marie
+made the breakfast.
+
+The Russian lady came down to talk it over. 'The pretty child is
+distraught, and at _so small_ a piece of good fortune!' said she.
+
+But when Celeste came in she was more composed. 'It is true,' she said,
+with gentle joy, and she stood before them breathless and blushing.
+
+'It will be three years before you are twenty-one,' said Madame Verine;
+'you will remain with me.'
+
+'If you please, madam, no,' said Celeste, modestly casting down her
+eyes; 'I must go to my native village.'
+
+'How!' they cried. 'To whom will you go?'
+
+Celeste blushed the more deeply, and twisted her apron. 'I have good
+clothes; I have saved my year's wages. I will put up at the inn. The
+wife of the innkeeper will be a mother to me now I can pay for my
+lodging.'
+
+At which Madame Verine looked at the Russian lady, and that lady looked
+at her, and said behind her hand, 'Such a baby, and so clever! It is the
+mere instinct of wisdom; it cannot be called forethought.'
+
+It is to be observed that, all the world over, however carefully a
+mistress may guard her maid-servant, no great responsibility is felt
+when the engagement is broken. Madame Verine shrugged her shoulders and
+got another servant. Celeste went down to her village.
+
+After that, when Marie walked in the market-place, she used to like to
+look at the notary's house, and at him, if she could espy him in the
+street. The house was a fine one, and the notary, in spite of iron-grey
+hair and a keen eye, good-looking; but that was not why Marie was
+interested; it was because he and his office seemed connected with the
+romance of life--with Celeste's good fortune.
+
+When summer days grew long, Madame Verine, her friend and daughter, took
+a day's holiday, and out of good nature they went to see Celeste.
+
+'Celeste lives like a grand lady now,' cried the innkeeper's wife, on
+being questioned. 'She will have me take her coffee to her in bed each
+morning.'
+
+'The wages she has saved will not hold out long,' said the visitors.
+
+'When that is finished she gives us her note of hand for the money she
+will get when she is married. She has shown us the notary's letter. It
+is certainly a tidy sum she will have, and our son has some thoughts of
+marrying.'
+
+They saw Celeste, who was radiant; they saw young Fernand, who was
+paying his court to her. They returned home satisfied.
+
+It was not long after that when one morning Celeste came into Madame
+Verine's house; she was weeping on account of the loss of some of her
+money. She had come up to town, she said, to buy her wedding clothes,
+for which the notary had been so good as to advance her a hundred
+francs, but her pocket had been picked in the train. The money was
+gone--quite gone--alas!
+
+So tearful was she that they lent her some money--not much, but a
+little. Then she dried her eyes, and said she would also get some things
+on credit, promising to pay in a month, for it was then she was to be
+married. At the end of the day she came back gaily to show her
+treasures.
+
+'When the rejoicings of your wedding are over,' said Madame Verine, 'and
+your husband brings you to town to claim the money, you may stay here in
+the upper room of this house--it is an invitation.'
+
+In a month came the wedding pair, joyful and blooming. The Russian lady
+made them a supper. They lodged in an attic room that Madame Verine
+rented. In the morning they went out, dressed in their best, to see the
+notary.
+
+An hour later Madame Verine sat in her little salon. The floor was of
+polished wood; it shone in the morning light; so did all the polished
+curves of the chairs and cabinets. Marie was practising exercises on the
+piano.
+
+They heard a heavy step on the stair. The bridegroom came into the room,
+agitated, unable to ask permission to enter. He strode across the floor
+and sat down weakly before the ladies.
+
+They thought he had been drinking wine, but this was not so, although
+his eye was bloodshot and his voice unsteady.
+
+'Can you believe it!' he cried, 'the notary never wrote letters to her;
+there was no aunt; there is no money!'
+
+'It is incredible,' said Madame Verine, and then there was a pause of
+great astonishment.
+
+'It is impossible!' cried the Russian lady, who had come in.
+
+'It is true,' said the bridegroom hoarsely; and he wept.
+
+And now Celeste herself came into the house. She came within the room,
+and looked at the ladies, who stood with hands upraised, and at her
+weeping husband. If you have ever enticed a rosy-faced child to bathe
+in the sea, and seen it stand half breathless, half terrified, yet
+trying hard to be brave, you know just the expression that was on the
+face of the child-like deceiver. With baby-like courage she smiled upon
+them all.
+
+Now the next person who entered the room was the notary himself. He was
+a gentleman of manners; he bowed with great gallantry to the ladies, not
+excepting Celeste.
+
+'She is a child, and has had no chance to learn the arts of cunning,'
+cried the Russian lady, who had thought that she knew the world.
+
+The notary bowed to her in particular. 'Madam, the true artist is born,
+not made.'
+
+Then he looked at Celeste again. There were two kinds of admiration in
+his glance--one for her face, the other for her cleverness. He looked at
+the weeping husband with no admiration at all, but the purpose in his
+mind was steady as his clear grey eye, unmoved by emotion.
+
+'I have taken the trouble to walk so far,' said he, 'to tell this young
+man what, perhaps, I ought to have mentioned when he was at my office.
+Happily, the evil can be remedied. It is the law of our land that if the
+fortune has been misrepresented, a divorce can be obtained.'
+
+Celeste's courage vanished with her triumph. She covered her face. The
+husband had turned round; he was looking eagerly at the notary and at
+his cowering bride.
+
+'Ah, Heaven!' cried the two matrons, 'must it be?'
+
+'I have walked so far to advise,' said the notary.
+
+All this time Marie was sitting upon the piano-stool; she had turned it
+half-way round so that she could look at the people. She was not pretty,
+but, as the morning light struck full upon her face, she had the
+comeliness that youth and health always must have; and more than that,
+there was the light of a beautiful soul shining through her eyes, for
+Marie was gentle and submissive, but her mind and spirit were also
+strong; the individual character that had grown in silence now began to
+assert itself with all the beauty of a new thing in the world. Marie had
+never acted for herself before.
+
+She began to speak to the notary simply, eagerly, as one who could no
+longer keep silence.
+
+'It would be wrong to separate them, monsieur.'
+
+Madame Verine chid Marie; the notary, no doubt just because he was a man
+and polite, answered her.
+
+'This brave young fellow does not deserve to be thus fooled. I shall be
+glad to lend him my aid to extricate himself.'
+
+'He does deserve it,' cried Marie. 'Long ago he pretended to have love
+for her, just for the pleasure of it, when he had not--that is worse
+than pretending to have money! And in any case, it is a _wicked_ law,
+monsieur, that would grant a divorce when they are married, and--look
+now--left to himself he will forgive her, but he is catching at what you
+say. You have come here to tempt him! You dare not go on, monsieur!'
+
+'Dare not, mademoiselle?' said the notary, with a superior air.
+
+'No, monsieur. Think of what the good God and the holy saints would say!
+This poor girl has brought much punishment on herself, but--ah,
+monsieur, think of the verdict of Heaven!'
+
+'Mademoiselle,' said the notary haughtily, 'I was proposing nothing but
+justice; but it is no affair of mine.' And with that he went out
+brusquely--very brusquely for a gentleman of such polite manners.
+
+'I am astonished at you, Marie,' said Madame Verine. This was true, but
+it was meant as a reproach.
+
+'She is beside herself with compassion,' said the Russian lady; 'but
+that is just what men of the world despise most.'
+
+Then Marie went to her room weeping, and the two ladies talked to
+Celeste till her soft face had hard lines about the mouth and her eyes
+were defiant. Young Fernand slipped out and went again to the
+market-place.
+
+'I come to ask your aid, monsieur the notary.'
+
+'I do not advise you.'
+
+'But, monsieur, to whom else can I apply?'
+
+'I am too busy,' said the notary.
+
+Fernand and Celeste walked back to their village, hand in hand, both
+downcast, both peevish, but still together.
+
+Now the notary was not what might be called a bad man himself, but he
+believed that the world was very bad. He had seen much to confirm this
+belief, and had not looked in the right place to find any facts that
+would contradict it. This belief had made him hard and sometimes even
+dishonest in his dealings with men; for what is the use of being good in
+a world that can neither comprehend goodness nor admire it? On the
+whole, the notary was much better satisfied with himself than with human
+nature around him, although, if he had only known it, he himself had
+grown to be the reflex--the image as in a mirror--of what he thought
+other men were; it is always so. There was just this much truth in him
+at the bottom of his scorn and grumbling--he flattered himself that if
+he could see undoubted virtue he could admire it; and there was in him
+that possibility of grace.
+
+After he left Madame Verine's door he thought with irritation of the
+girl who had rebuked him. Then he began to remember that she was only a
+woman and very young, and she had appealed to his heart--ah, yes, he had
+a heart. After all, he was not sure but that her appeal was charming.
+Then he thought of her with admiration. This was not the result of
+Marie's words--words in themselves are nothing; it is the personality of
+the speaker that makes them live or die, and personality is strongest
+when nourished long in virtue and silence and prayer. When it came to
+pass that the notary actually did the thing Marie told him to do, he
+began to think of her even with tenderness in his heart.
+
+Now a very strange thing happened. In about a week the notary called on
+Madame Verine a second time; he greeted her with all ceremony, and then
+he sat down on a little stiff chair and explained his business in his
+own brief, dry way.
+
+Marie was not there. The little _salon_, all polished and shining, gave
+faint lights and shadows in answer to every movement of its inmates.
+Madame Verine, in a voluminous silk gown, sat all attention, looking at
+the notary; she thought he was a very fine man, quite a great personage,
+and undoubtedly handsome.
+
+'Madam,' began he, 'I am, as you know, at middle age, yet a bachelor,
+and the reason, to be plain with you, is that I have not believed in
+women. Pardon me, I would not be rude, but I am a business man. I have
+no delusions left, yet it has occurred to me that a young woman who
+would make the lives of the saints her rule of life--I do not believe
+in such things myself, but--in short, madam, I ask for your daughter in
+marriage.'
+
+He said it as if he was doing quite a kind thing, as, indeed, he thought
+he was. Madame Verine thought so too, and with great astonishment, and
+even some apologies, gave away her daughter with grateful smiles.
+
+Marie was married to the notary, and he made her very happy. At first
+she was happy because he had good manners and she had such a loving
+heart that she loved him. After a few years he found out that she was
+too good for him, and then he became a better man.
+
+
+
+
+X
+
+THE PAUPERS' GOLDEN DAY
+
+
+Betty Lamb was a comely girl; she was big to look at, being tall and
+strong. She was never plump; she was never well clothed, not even in the
+best days of her youth. She had been brought up in the work-house; after
+that she belonged to no one. Her mind was a little astray: she had
+strong, rude, strange ideas of her own; she would not be humble and work
+day in, day out, like other folk, and for that reason she never throve
+in the world. She lived here and there, and did this and that. All the
+town knew her; she was just 'Betty Lamb'; no one expected aught of her.
+
+It was a small town in the west of Scotland. On different sides of it
+long lanes of humble cottages straggled out into the fields; the
+cottages had grey stone walls and red tiled roofs. There were new grey
+churches in the town, and big buildings, and streets of shops. The
+people in those days thought these very fine; they thought less about
+the real glory of the town--a ruined abbey which stood upon an open
+heath just beyond the houses.
+
+Three walls, two high gothic windows with the slender mullions unbroken,
+a few stately columns broken off at different heights from the ground,
+and one fragment of the high arch of the nave standing up against the
+sky in exquisite outline--these formed the ruin. It was built of the red
+sandstone that in its age takes upon it a delicate bloom of pink and
+white; it looked like a jewel in the breast of the grey hill country.
+Furze grew within the ruin and for acres on all sides. Sheep and goats
+came nibbling against the old altar steps. A fringe of wallflower and
+grass grew upon the top of the highest arch and down the broken
+fragments of the wall.
+
+All around the stately hills looked down upon the town and the ruin, and
+the sky that bent over was more often than not full of cloud, soft and
+grey.
+
+Betty Lamb was getting on to middle age, about thirty, when she had a
+baby. They had put her again in the poorshouse, but she rose when her
+baby was but a day old and went away from the place.
+
+It was summer time then; the sky relented somewhat; there was sunshine
+between the showers, and sometimes a long fair week of silvery weather,
+when a white haze of lifting moisture rose ever, like incense, from the
+hills, and the light shone white upon the yellow bloom of the furze.
+
+Betty Lamb found the ambry niche in the wall of the ruin at the side of
+the place where the altar had been. She laid her baby there. That was
+his cradle, and by sunlight and moonlight she was heard singing loud
+songs to him. The people were afraid of going too near her at that time.
+'It is dangerous,' said they, 'to touch an animal when she has her young
+with her.'
+
+As years went on Betty Lamb and her little boy spent summer after summer
+upon the moor. The child was not christened, unless, indeed, the dew
+falling from the sacred stones and the pity of God for fatherless
+innocents had christened him. In this world, at least, his name was
+written in no book of life, for he had no name.
+
+He grew to be a little lithe lad. Then it was that in every pickle of
+mischief where a little lad could be this elf-child, with his black eyes
+and curly auburn hair, was to be found. So maddening indeed were his
+naughty tricks that the townspeople spoke not so often of beating him,
+as they would have beaten a human child, but of wringing his neck like a
+young thing that had no right to live. Yet it was more often in word
+than in deed that punishment of any sort was inflicted, for the
+preliminary stage was perforce, 'first catch your boy,' and that was far
+from easy.
+
+Even when the catching was accomplished the beating did not always come.
+One day the minister of the Kirk looked out upon his glebe. His
+favourite cow, with a bridle in her mouth, was being galloped at
+greatest speed around the field, Betty's lad standing tip-toe upon her
+back. The minister, with the agility which unbounded wrath gave him,
+caught the boy' and swung his cane.
+
+'I am going to thrash you,' said he.
+
+'Ay, ye maun do that.' The small face was drawn to the aspect of a grave
+judge--'ye maun do that; it's yer juty.'
+
+The minister, who had looked upon his intention rather in the light of
+natural impulse, felt the less inclination for the task. 'Are you not
+afraid of being beaten?' he asked.
+
+'Aweel'--an air of profound reflection--'I'm thinking I can even it ony
+day wi' ridin' on a coo's back when she'll rin like yon.'
+
+The sunlight of habitual benevolence began to break through the cloud of
+wrath upon the good minister's face. 'If I let you off, laddie, what
+will you do for me in return?'
+
+An answering gleam of generosity broke upon the sage face of the child.
+'I'll fair teach ye how to dae't ye'sel'.'
+
+The lad grew apace. The neighbours said that he showed 'a caring' for
+his mother, but no one held toward him a helping hand. They were so sure
+that no good could come of him or of her. The mother had taken to
+drink, and one day it was found that the lad was gone. Just as he had
+often slipped from the grasp of one or other of the angry townsmen,
+dodged, darted, and disappeared for the moment, so now it seemed that he
+had slipped from the grasp of the town, run quickly and disappeared. No
+one knew why he had gone, or whither, or to what end.
+
+Betty Lamb remained in the town, a fine figure of a woman, but bowed in
+the shoulders, dirty, and clad in rags. At last, when her strong
+defiance of poverty and need would no longer serve her, she was seen to
+go about from door to door in the early dawn, raking among the ashes for
+such articles as she chose to put in an old sack and carry upon her
+back. The townsfolk honestly thought that all had been done that could
+be done to make a decent woman of her, and now in her old age she must
+needs go down to the gutter.
+
+One day a man came to the town with circus pictures and a bucket of
+paste. He pasted his pictures upon all the blank spaces of walls which
+he could find. Great was the joy of the children who stood and stared,
+their little hearts made glad by novelty and colour. Great was the
+surprise of the older folk, who said, 'It is a new thing in the world
+when so great a show as this comes out of the accustomed track of shows
+to erect its tent in our small town!' Yet so it was; from some whim of
+the manager, or of some one who had the ear of the manager, the thing
+was decreed.
+
+Upon these circus pictures there figured, in a series of many wonderful
+harlequin attitudes, a certain Signor Lambetti. Very foreign was the
+curl of his hair and the waxen ends of his moustache; very magnificent
+was his physique; he wore the finest of silken tights and crimson small
+clothes, and medals were depicted hanging upon his breast.
+
+When at length the circus came for that one night's entertainment and
+the huge tent was set up upon the common not far from the old red ruin,
+all the town flocked to see the brilliant spectacle. The minister was
+there, and what was more, his wife and daughters too; they were far
+grander than he was, and wore silken furbelows and fringed shawls. The
+minister paid for the best seats for them to sit in. All the shopkeepers
+were there; every man, woman and child in all the town who could find as
+much as sixpence to pay for standing room was there. But the strangest
+circumstance was that before the show began a man went out from the
+brightly-lit doorway and called in a loud voice to the beggars and
+little ragged boys and girls who had come to survey the tent on the
+outside, and he brought them all in and gave them a good part of the
+tent to sit in, although they had not sixpence to pay, nor even a penny.
+
+Ah! in those days it was a very grand sight. There were elephants who
+performed tricks, and camels who walked about with men and bundles on
+their backs just as they do in eastern deserts, and there were wonderful
+ladies who dressed and behaved like fairies, and who rode standing
+tip-toe on the backs of horses and jumped through swinging rings. But
+the crowd had not read the circus bills and the newspapers from all the
+neighbouring cities for nothing. They were a canny Scotch crowd; they
+were not to be taken in by mere glitter, no, not the smallest barefoot
+boy nor the most wretched beggar, for they knew very well that the real
+crisis of the evening was to be the appearance of Signor Lambetti, and
+the word 'wonderful' was not to be spoken until his feats began to be
+performed.
+
+At length he came outside the curtain upon which all eyes had long been
+fixed. The curl of his hair and the waxed ends of his moustache proved
+him to be beyond doubt from foreign parts. He was indeed a most grand
+and handsome gentleman. His dress was, if anything, more superb than it
+had been in the pictures; all his well-formed muscles showed through the
+silken gauze that he wore. His velvet trappings were trimmed with gold
+lace and his medals shone like gold.
+
+He walked upon a tight rope away up in the peaked roof of the tent; he
+held a wand in his hand by which to balance himself and in the other
+hand a cup of tea which he drank in the very middle of his walk;
+tossing it off, bowing to the crowd below, and bringing the cup and
+saucer to the other end in safety.
+
+The crowd gave deep sighs, partly of satisfaction for being permitted to
+see so wonderful a sight, partly out of relief for the safety of the
+performer. 'Ay me,' they said to one another, 'did ye ever see the licht
+o' that?' It meant more from them than the loudest clamour of applause,
+yet they applauded also.
+
+Then Signor Lambetti, looking quite as fresh and jaunty as at first,
+ascended a small platform, standing out upon it in the full light of all
+the lamps. He made a little speech to the effect that he was now going
+to perform a feat which was so difficult and dangerous that hitherto he
+had kept it solely for the benefit of crowned heads, before whom on many
+occasions he had had the privilege of appearing. He said, in an airy
+way, that the reason he did the town the honour of beholding this most
+wonderful of all his feats was merely that he had taken a liking to the
+place.
+
+'Ay, but he's grond,' said the little barefoot boys to one another as
+they huddled against the front of the stand allotted to them. 'Ay me,
+but he's grond'; and all the rest of the townsfolk said the same to
+themselves or each other, but they expressed it in all the different
+ways of that dignified caution common to the Scotch.
+
+There was a series of swings, one trapeze fixed higher than another,
+like a line of gigantic steps, to the very pinnacle of the tent. 'The
+Signor' announced that he was going to swing himself up upon these
+hanging bars until he reached the topmost, and from that he would leap
+through the air down, down into the lighted abyss below, and catch a
+rope that was stretched at the foot of the Grand Stand.
+
+Merely to hear him tell what he was going to do made the crowd draw
+breath with thrills of joyful horror.
+
+Up and up he went, swinging himself with lissome grace, raising each
+trapeze with the force of his swing until he could reach the one above
+it.
+
+He looked smaller as he travelled higher in his wonderful flying
+progress. The little boys had not breath left now even to say, 'Ay me,
+but he's grond.' There was silence among all the crowd.
+
+To every one in all that crowd--to all except one--the spectacle was
+that of a strange man performing a strange feat; one poor woman present
+saw a different sight, one alone in all that crowd knew that the acrobat
+was not a stranger.
+
+In a corner of the beggars' gallery sat Betty Lamb. Dirty and clothed in
+rags as she was, she held up her head at this hour with the old queenly
+defiance of her youthful days. Her eyes, bleared and sunken, had
+descried her son; her mother's heart, mad though all pronounced her to
+be, had vibrated to the first sound of her son's voice. She knew him as
+certainly as if she had seen him standing before her again, the little
+lad of past years, or the infant cradled in the ambry of the ruined
+chancel.
+
+The monarchs of whom Lambetti had been glibly speaking were not more
+noble in rank or more surrounded with glory in the thought of Betty Lamb
+than was this hero of the circus, and he her son! What constitutes
+glory? Is it not made up of the glare of lamps and the wearing of
+shining clothes, the shout of a thousand voices in applause, the glance
+of a thousand eyes in admiration, and the renown that spreads into the
+newspapers? In the mind of Betty Lamb there was no room for gradations;
+she knew glory, she knew shame; she herself had sunk to shame; but now
+that was past, her son had attained to glory, and her soul went out, as
+it were, from the circumstances of her own degradation and accepted his
+glory as her own.
+
+They said (the townsfolk said) that Betty Lamb had not lacked
+opportunity. Ah well, God knows better than we what to each soul may be
+its opportunity.
+
+Betty Lamb watched her son in his perilous upward flight, and, for the
+first time in her life, prayed that Heaven would forgive her misdeeds.
+By some inborn instinct she assumed that it was this prayer she must
+pray in order to obtain that desire of her eyes, his safety. When he
+reached the highest swing, when he made his leap from that awful height
+and caught the lower rope, there had come a change in Betty Lamb's soul.
+It had seemed hours, nay, years to her, the space of time in which he
+was swinging himself up and leaping down. Perhaps, half-witted as she
+had been, this was in reality her life, not the other that for sixty
+years she had been visibly living. She saw that his eye was fixed upon
+her; she knew that the kisses were thrown to her. She rose and walked
+erect, in her heart a new sense of responsibility and of the value of
+life.
+
+Next day in Betty Lamb's cellar-room a shadow darkened the doorway, and
+her son stood before her. He did not kiss her--that had not been their
+way, even when he was an infant and she had sung her songs to him in the
+lonely ruin--but he bowed to her with all the foreign graces that he had
+learned, just as if she were one of the queens before whom he had
+performed. She feasted her eyes upon him.
+
+He looked round upon the cellar. 'You must not live here any longer,'
+said he.
+
+For the first time in her life humility reigned in her heart and she
+resigned her gypsy freedom. 'I'm thinking,' she replied modestly, 'that
+it's nae fit for the mither of sich as ye are noo.'
+
+With the minister Lambetti left money that would defray the expenses of
+a decent habitation for his mother, and, to the wonder of all, from that
+day forth the mother lived in it decently. She was even charitable with
+her little store; she was even known to raise the fallen.
+
+When she was dead Lambetti was dead too. He had lived his life fast,
+and, if gold be of worth, it seemed as if he had lived it to some
+purpose. Lambetti left money to the town, money for two purposes which
+in due time the long-headed townsmen carried into effect. An asylum was
+built upon the moor; it is called 'Betty Lamb's Home for the Young and
+the Aged.' The old Abbey also was walled in; lawns and flower beds were
+spread about the broken stones, and where the walls might totter they
+were supported. The honour of this change too is ascribed to the famous
+son of Betty Lamb, who had no name but his mother's.
+
+
+
+
+XI
+
+THE SOUL OF A MAN
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+
+A man was standing on one of the highroads in the south of
+Gloucestershire. He was a man of science; his tools and specimens were
+in his hand, and he was leaning against the wayside paling, enjoying a
+well-earned rest. A long flock of birds fluttered over the autumn
+fields; beneath them a slow ploughman trudged with his horses, breaking
+the yellow stubble. The sky hung low, full of sunshine yet full of
+haze--an atmosphere of blue flame, and the earth was bright with the
+warm autumn colours of woods and hedgerow.
+
+Just as the birds were flying past, a young woman came by upon the road,
+treading with quick powerful step upon the fallen leaves. She was a poor
+woman; her beauty, which would have been almost perfect in a simpler
+gown, was marred by garments cut in cheap conformity to fashionable
+dress. It could not be hidden, however, and her large symmetrical
+figure, swinging as she walked, attracted the attention of the man; as
+he stood there, leaning against the paling, he felt by no means
+disinclined to while away his hour of rest by a few soft words with the
+comely stranger. If he had put his thoughts into words, he would have
+held it as good luck that she had come to amuse his leisure, thinking
+very little about luck as it concerned her. His dog lying at his feet
+stirred to look at the woman, and the man, following the same instinct
+of nature, accosted her.
+
+'Can you tell me, my girl, what time it is?'
+
+She stopped short and looked at him. 'That I can't, sir,' she said in
+clear hearty tones, and turned to continue her walk.
+
+'But tell me what time you think it is, my good girl; I am not good at
+reading the sun.'
+
+She turned again, and looked at him with a longer pause, but, if there
+was suspicion or disapproval in her thoughts, she expressed nothing in
+her face.
+
+'Yer a gent; I'd 'a thought ye'd 'a had a watch.'
+
+'But mine is at the watchmaker's getting mended,' he said with a smile.
+He was neither young nor handsome, but he was clever, and that goes
+further than either in dealing with a woman.
+
+She still stood staring at him in rude independence.
+
+'The shadows is longer 'an they was a while by; mebbe it's three.'
+
+He sighed and shifted his position wearily against the paling, as though
+faint with fatigue.
+
+'You can't tell me of any place near where I can get something to eat? I
+have been working hard since daybreak, and now I am out of my reckoning,
+and tired and hungry.' He glanced down at his tools and earth-stained
+clothes.
+
+He won his wish; the woman, who would not have tarried a moment for
+selfish pleasure, remained out of generous pity.
+
+'I've the piece mother put up, mebbe it's big enou' for we two.'
+
+'But I could not think of taking your luncheon,' he exclaimed, with a
+gallantry that was meant to be impressive, but was quite lost on his
+practical companion. She proceeded to open her parcel and examine the
+contents to see whether or not there was enough for two. He also
+examined it critically with his eyes, in some alarm at her prompt
+response to his appeal, but the thick slices of bread and meat, if not
+dainty, were clean, and of excellent quality.
+
+She took the largest and thickest bit and thrust it into his hand, very
+much as a mother would feed her child with the portion she considered
+its fair share.
+
+''Ere, ye may 'ev that, fur I shan't want it.'
+
+'You are very kind,' he said, with a touch of sarcasm too fine for her.
+
+It appeared that, having taken out the food, she thought well to make
+her own meal, for she went a few steps farther on, and, sitting down on
+the grass with her back to the paling, began to eat. A large tuft of
+weeds grew midway between him and her. Truly we can foresee consequences
+but a very little way in our dealings with a fellow-creature, and this
+man, as he stood munching his bread, uncertain how to proceed in winning
+favour from the bold beauty, was hardly pleased with the result of his
+encounter. His dog went and laid its head upon her knee, and she fed it
+with crumbs; its master, after watching them a minute, stepped out on
+the road with the intention of sitting down between them and the weeds.
+As he did so he caught sight, as he thought, of a man seated in the very
+place he intended to occupy. So strong was the impression that he
+started and stared; but again, as before, there was no one to be seen.
+The sunshine was bright upon all things; the palings were so far apart
+that he could see everything in the fields behind; there was no one far
+or near but the ploughman at half a field's distance, and they two, and
+the dog.
+
+The woman turned coolly round and looked through the paling, as if she
+supposed he had seen something behind her. 'Was't a haer?' she asked,
+eyeing him with interest; 'ye ain't feared o' the like o' that?'
+
+'No, it was not a hare; I did not see a hare.'
+
+'What was't ye seed then?' she asked, looking at him with bold
+determination.
+
+'What did I see?' he repeated vaguely, 'I saw nothing.'
+
+'Thought ye looked as if ye'd seed something',' she remarked
+incredulously, and then went on eating and feeding the dog, as
+indifferent to his presence as she was to the presence of the weeds.
+
+'Are you going far to-night?' he asked at length, thinking he would make
+more progress toward friendship before he sat down.
+
+'To th' town.'
+
+'Indeed, as far as that! Which town, may I ask?' he said, with
+mechanical politeness, for his mind was running on what he had seen.
+
+'Yer a fool and noae mistake,' she replied with emphasis. 'There's but
+one town wi'in a walk.'
+
+'On the contrary, I am considered a man of great learning,' he replied,
+with more eager self-assertion than he could hitherto have believed
+possible under the circumstances.
+
+'Is't larning ye've got?' she asked, with much greater interest than she
+had before evinced.
+
+'Yes; I am a man who spends his life seeking for knowledge.'
+
+'Are ye wiser ner parson?'
+
+'Very much wiser,' replied the man of science, with honest conviction.
+
+She looked much more impressed than he had hoped; and thinking that he
+had made himself sufficiently interesting, he began to speak about her
+own affairs, supposing they would please her better.
+
+'You are not a married woman?' he said, looking at her ringless hand.
+
+'Married or no,' she replied, 'it's nowt to you.'
+
+'I beg your pardon; everything which concerns such a beautiful woman
+must be of interest to me.'
+
+At that she laughed outright in hard derision, and went on eating her
+bread and meat.
+
+'But won't you tell me if you are married or not?' he pleaded, pursuing
+a subject which he thought must interest her. He was surprised to see
+the sudden expression of womanly sorrow that came over her face, giving
+her eyes new depth and light. She answered him sadly, looking past him
+into the sunny distance--
+
+'No, nor like to be.'
+
+'I must disagree with you there. If you are not married yet, I am sure
+you will be very soon. I never saw a more likely lassie than yourself.'
+
+Manlike, he was quite unconscious of the consummate impertinence of the
+form this compliment had taken; but afterwards he realised it when his
+idle words recurred to his mind.
+
+She turned her eyes full upon him, and said with energy: 'Ye know nowt
+at all about it;' and then added more meditatively, 'neither do
+parson.'
+
+She had been so absorbed in her thoughts for a few minutes that she had
+ceased to stroke the dog, and, resenting this, it raised its silky head
+from her lap and laid it upon her breast. Thus reminded, she smiled down
+into the eyes of the dog and caressed it, pressing its head closer
+against her bosom. The man stood a few paces away, watching these two
+beautiful creatures as they sat in the hazy autumn sunlight, with their
+background of weeds and moss-grown paling. He felt baffled and
+perplexed, for he knew that he stood apart, excluded from their
+companionship by something he could not define. So intolerable did this
+feeling become that he resolved to break through it, and made a hasty
+movement to sit down beside them; but, as he stepped forward, he was
+suddenly aware that there was another man in the place he would have
+taken, embracing and protecting the girl. He swore a loud oath, and
+flung himself backwards to stand by the hedge on the opposite side of
+the road, that he might the better review the situation. It was all as
+it had been before--that quiet autumn landscape--only the woman appeared
+much interested in his sudden movements.
+
+'What was't ye seed; was't a snaike?' she inquired loudly, at the same
+time moving her skirts to look for that dangerous reptile.
+
+'No,' he shouted, putting his whole energy into the word.
+
+'What was't ye seed, cutting them capers as if ye was shot, an' saying
+o' words neyther fit fur heaven above nor earth beneath?'
+
+So loudly did she ask, and so resolutely did she wait for an answer,
+that he was forced into speech. 'I don't know,' he said, with another
+oath, milder than the first.
+
+'Well, sure enow,' she said, still speaking loudly, ''ere's somethin'
+awful queer, ye says yer a man that's got larning more ner parson, an'
+ye sees somethin', an' can't tell what ye's seed. That's twice this
+short while; are ye often took bad the like o' that?'
+
+The bold derision of this speech fell without effect upon its object,
+because he perceived a gleam of mischievous intelligence in her eyes
+which she had intended to conceal, but she was no adept in the art of
+concealment. The conviction that the woman knew perfectly what he had
+seen and did not in reality despise him for his conduct, took the sting
+from her jeers but did not make his position pleasanter. The repeated
+shock to his nerves had produced a chilly feeling of depression and
+almost fear, which he could not immediately shake off, and he stood back
+against the opposite hedge, with his half-eaten bread in his hand,
+conscious that he looked and felt more like a whipped schoolboy than, as
+he had fondly imagined when he first stopped the woman, the hero of a
+rural love scene. That was nothing; he was, as he had described
+himself, a man who devoted his life to the search for knowledge, and
+personal consciousness was almost lost in the intense curiosity which
+the circumstances had aroused in him. With the trained mind of one
+accustomed to investigation, he instantly perceived that his only clue
+to the explanation of the phenomenon lay in the personality of the
+woman. His one eager desire was to probe her thought through and
+through, but how was he to approach the interior portals of a mind
+guarded by a will as free and strong as his own? He would fain have
+bound down her will with strong cords and analysed the secrets of her
+mind with ruthless vivisection. But how? His tact, trained by all the
+subtleties of a life cast in cultured social relations, was unequal to
+the occasion, and, fearing to lose ground by a false step, he remained
+silent.
+
+The woman finished eating and shook herself free of the crumbs. He
+supposed, almost with a sense of desperation, that she was about to
+leave him before he could begin his inquiry, but instead of moving she
+motioned him to come near, and he went, and stood on the road in front
+of her.
+
+'Ye says yer a man o' larning, an' I b'lieves ye, she began.
+
+He was about to reply that he was only a seeker after truth, but he was
+checked by the knowledge that she would accept no answer she could not
+understand. He fell back on the truth as it was to her, and said
+simply, 'Yes.'
+
+'I wants to ask ye two questions; will ye answer like an honest man?'
+
+She had laid aside all her loud rudeness, and was speaking with intense
+earnestness--an earnestness that won his entire respect.
+
+'I will indeed answer you honestly, if I can answer.'
+
+'Then tell me this--What's the soael o' a man?'
+
+He stood with lips sealed, partly by surprise at the question, and
+partly by self-acknowledged ignorance of the answer.
+
+'The soael o' a man,' she repeated more distinctly, 'ye knows what I mean
+surely?'
+
+Yes, he knew what she meant, but he knew also that his own most honest
+convictions hovered between a materialist philosophy and faith in the
+spiritual unseen. If at that moment he could have decided between the
+two he would gladly have done so, for the sake of the eager woman
+sitting at his feet, but he knew that he did not know which was the
+truth.
+
+She, still labouring under the impression that she had not made her
+meaning plain, endeavoured to explain. 'Ye knows when a man dies,
+there's two parts to him; one they buries, and one goes--' she pointed
+upward with her thumb, not irreverently, but as merely wishing to
+indicate a fact without the expense of words.
+
+'Yes, I understand what you mean,' he said slowly, 'and under that
+theory, the soul----'
+
+'Under what?' she said sharply.
+
+'I mean that if you say the soul is divided from the body at death----'
+
+'But it is--ain't it?' she interrupted.
+
+'Yes, it is,' he said, feeling that it was better to perjure himself
+than to shake her faith.
+
+'Go on,' she said, 'for parson says the soael is the thing inside that
+thinks; but when a man's luny, ye knows--off his head like--has he no
+soael then? I've looked i' the Catechis', an' i' Bible, an' i'
+Prayer-book, an' fur the life o' me, I doaen't know.'
+
+'I don't wonder at that,' he said, with mechanical compassion, casting
+about in his mind for some possible motive for her extraordinary
+vehemence.
+
+He felt as certain, standing there, that this was a true woman, true to
+all the highest attributes of her nature, as if he had been able to
+weigh all the acts of her life and find none of them wanting. In the
+midst of his perplexity he found time to ask himself whence he had this
+knowledge. Did he read it in the lines of her face, or was it some
+unseen influence of her mind upon his own? He had only time to question,
+not to answer, for she looked up in his face with the trust and
+expectation of a child, awaiting his words.
+
+He spoke. 'You say when a man dies he is divided into two parts--the
+body that rots and the part "that lives elsewhere."' He was speaking
+very slowly and distinctly. 'If that part of a man which lives goes to
+Heaven, where everything is quite different from this, he could have no
+use for most of his thoughts--what we call opinions, for they are formed
+on what he sees, and hears, and feels here. Look here!'--he held out his
+arm and moved it up and down from the elbow--'there are nerves and
+muscles; behind them is something we call life--we don't know what it
+is. And behind your thoughts and feeling there is the same life--we
+don't know what it is. The part of you that you say goes to Heaven must
+be that life. If you ask me what I think, I think the greater part of
+what you call mind is part of your body. If your body can live a spirit
+life, so can it; but it would need as much changing first.'
+
+It was most extraordinary to him to see the avidity with which she drank
+in his words, and also the intelligence with which she seemed to master
+them, for she cried--
+
+'What's i' the soael then? When ye _will_ to do a thing agen all costs,
+is that i' the soael?'
+
+'Certainly the spirit must be the self, and the will, as far as we know,
+is that self--more that self than anything else is.' He spoke in the
+pleased tone of a schoolmaster who finds that the mind beneath his
+touch is being moulded into the right shape; and besides he supposed he
+could question her next.
+
+'I _knowed_ that,' she said, with an intensity of conviction that
+confounded her listener, 'I _knowed_ the soael was will.'
+
+'It must be intelligence, and will, and probably memory,' he said,
+beguiled into the idea that she was interested in the nicety of his
+theory, 'but not in any sense that activity of mind which shows itself
+in the opinions most men conceive so important.'
+
+But of this she took no heed. 'When a man's off his head or par'lysed,
+wi' no more life in him than babe unborn--yet when he's living and not
+dead--where's his soael then? Parson he says the soael's sleeping inside
+him afore going to glory, like a grub afore it turns into a fly; but I
+asked him how he knowed, and he just said he knowed, an' I mun b'lieve,
+and that's no way to answer an honest woman.'
+
+'He did not really know.'
+
+'Well, tell what you knows,' she said.
+
+'Indeed, I do not know anything about it.'
+
+'Ye doaen't know!'
+
+'I do not know.'
+
+The animation of hope slowly faded from her face, giving place to a look
+of bitter disappointment. It was as if a little child, suddenly denied
+some darling wish, should have strength to restrain its tears and mutely
+acquiesce in the inevitable.
+
+'Then there's nowt to say,' she said, rising, sullen in the first moment
+of pain.
+
+'But you'll tell me why you have asked?' he begged; 'I am very sorry
+indeed that I cannot answer.'
+
+'Noae, I'll not tell ye, fur it's no concern o' yours; but thank ye
+kindly, sir, all the same. Yer an honest man. Good-day.'
+
+With that she walked resolutely away, nor would she accept his offer of
+payment for the food she had given. He stood and watched her, feeling
+checkmated, until he saw her exchange greetings with the ploughman, who
+reached the end of his furrow as she passed the side of the field.
+Seeing this, he took up his specimens and walked slowly in the same
+direction, waiting for the ploughman's next return. As he stood at the
+hedge he noticed that the labourer, who appeared to be a middle-aged man
+of average intelligence, surveyed him with more than ordinary interest.
+
+'Good-day,' he said.
+
+'Good-day, sir.' There was a clank of the chains, a shout and groan to
+the horses, and they stopped beside the hedge.
+
+'Can you tell me the name of the young woman who passed down the road
+just now?'
+
+'Jen Wilkes, sir; "Jen o' the glen" they calls 'er, for she lives in the
+holler down there, a bit by on the town road, out of West Chilton.'
+
+'She has not lived here long, surely; she seems a north country woman by
+her speech.'
+
+'Very like, sir; it's a while by sin' she came with 'er mother to live
+i' Chilton.'
+
+It was evident that the ploughman had much more to say, and that he
+wished to say it, but his words did not come easily.
+
+'Can you tell me anything more about her?' The man rubbed his coarse
+beard down upon his collar, and clanked his chains, and made guttural
+sounds to his horses, which possibly explained to them the meaning he
+did not verbally express. Then he looked up and made a facial
+contortion, which clearly meant that there was more to be said
+concerning Jen if any one could be found brave enough to say it.
+
+'I feel assured she is everything that is good and respectable.'
+
+At this the ploughman could contain himself no longer, but heaving up
+one shoulder and looking round to see that there was no one to hear, he
+blurted out--''Ave you seen 'er shadder, sir?'
+
+'Her what?'
+
+''Er shadder. I seen you so long with 'er on the road I thought maybe
+you'd tried to 'ave a kiss. Gentlemen mostly thinks a sight of Jen's
+looks; an' it ain't no harm as I knows on to kiss a tidy girl, if
+y'ain't married, or th' missus don't object.'
+
+'And if I did, what has that to do with it? What do you mean by her
+shadow?'
+
+'Oh, I dunno; I h'ain't seen nothing myself; but they says, whenever any
+has tried to be friendly with 'er, they's seed something not just o' the
+right sort. They calls it 'er shadder--but I dunno, I h'ain't seen
+nothing myself.'
+
+When we are suddenly annoyed, by whatever cause, we are apt to vent our
+annoyance upon the person nearest to us; and at this unlooked-for
+corroboration of his unpleasant vision, the gentleman said rudely,
+'You're not such a fool as to believe such confounded trash as that, are
+you?'
+
+'No sir, I'm no fool,' said the ploughman sulkily, starting his horses
+to go up the furrow. In vain the other called out an attempted apology,
+and tried to delay him; the accustomed shout and clank of the chains was
+all he got in answer. The birds that had settled upon the field rose
+again at the return of the horses, and curveted in a long fluttering
+line above their heads. The man on the road turned reluctantly away,
+and, too perplexed almost for thought, walked off to catch his
+home-bound train.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+
+The man of science, Skelton by name, passed some seven days in business
+and pleasure at home among men of his own class, and then, impelled by
+an intolerable curiosity, he went to seek the home of the woman with
+whom he had so strange a meeting. Concerning the mad delusion from which
+he had suffered in her presence, his mind would give him no rest. Some
+further effort he must make to understand the cause of an experience
+which he could not reason from his memory. The effort might be futile;
+he could form no plan of action; yet he found himself again upon the
+highroad which led from the nearest station to the village of West
+Chilton.
+
+The autumn leaf that had bedecked the trees was lying upon the ground,
+its brightness soiled and tarnished. The cloud rack hung above, a vault
+of gloom in which the upper winds coursed sadly.
+
+'This is the field,' said Skelton within himself. 'The ploughman has
+finished his work, but the crows are still flapping about it. I wonder
+if they are the same crows! That is the clump of weeds by which she sat;
+it was as red as flame then, but now it is colourless as the cinders of
+a fire that is gone out.'
+
+His words were like straws, showing the current of his thoughts.
+
+Just then in the west the cloud masses in the horizon, being moved by
+the winds, rent asunder, exposing the land to the yellow blaze of the
+setting sun. The distant hills stood out against the glow in richer
+blue, and far and near the fields took brighter hues--warm brown of
+earth ready to yield the next harvest, yellow of stubble lands at rest,
+bright green of slopes that fed the moving cows. There were luminous
+shadows, too, that gathered instantly in the copses, as if they were the
+forms of dryads who could sport unseen in the murk daylight, but must
+fly under each shrub for refuge in the sudden sunshine. Close at his
+feet lay the patch of cabbages--purple cabbages they were, throwing back
+from each glossy leaf and stalk infinite gradations of crimson light.
+Parts of the leaves were not glossy but were covered with opaque bloom
+of tender blue, and here and there a leaf had been broken, disclosing
+scarlet veins. They were very beautiful--Skelton stood looking down into
+their depth of colour.
+
+It had been difficult for him to conjecture a possible cause for the
+phantom he had thought he saw a week before, but one theory which had
+floated in his mind had been that from these cabbages, which had lain a
+trifle too long in sun and moisture; gases might have arisen which had
+disturbed his senses. It was true that his theory did not account for
+other instances of the same optical delusion to which the talk of the
+ploughman had seemed to point, but Skelton could not bring himself to
+attach much importance to his words. He meditated on them now as he
+stood.
+
+'I dare not go to the young woman and ask her to show me her "shadder."
+If she knew I was here she would only try to defeat my purpose. I _can_
+only interview her neighbours; and this first rustic whom I questioned
+shut himself up like an oyster; if all the rest act in this way, what
+can I do? And if I can hear all the vulgar superstition there is to be
+heard, will there be in the whole of it the indication of a single
+fact?'
+
+So he mused by the road-side while the sun hung in the dream temple of
+fire made by the chasm of cloud. Then the earth moved onward into the
+night, and he walked on upon his curious errand.
+
+The darkness of evening had already fallen, and he was still about a
+mile from the village when he discerned a woman coming towards him on
+the road. It was the very woman about whom his mind was occupied. There
+was a house at one side; the gate leading to it was close to him, and,
+not wishing to be recognised at the moment, he turned in through it to
+wait in the darkness of some garden shrubs till she had passed.
+
+But she did not pass. She came up, walking more and more slowly, till
+she stood on the road outside the gate. She looked up and down the road
+with a hesitating air, and then, clasping her hands behind her, leaned
+back against a heavy gate-post and composed herself to wait. There was
+light enough to see her, for there was a moon behind the clouds, and
+also what was left of the daylight in the west was glimmering full upon
+her. The house was close to the road--apparently an old
+farmstead--turning blank dark walls and roofs to them, so that it was
+evidently uninhabited or else inhabited only at the other side. The
+young woman looked up at it, apparently not without distrust, but even
+to her keen scrutiny there was no sign of life. For the rest, the road
+lay through a glen, the village was out of sight, and the hills around
+them were like the hills in Hades--silent, shadowy and cold.
+
+It seemed an unearthly thing that she should have come there to stand
+and lean against the gate, as if to shut him into his self-sought trap;
+and there was no impatience about this woman--she stood quite still in
+that dark, desolate place, as though she was perfectly contented to wait
+and wait--for what? how long?--these were the questions he asked
+himself. Was this dark house the abode of evil spirits with which she
+was in league? and if so, what result would accrue to him? There are
+circumstances which suggest fantastic speculations to the most learned
+man.
+
+At length he heard a footfall. He could not tell where at first, but, as
+it approached, he saw a countryman in a carter's blouse coming across
+the opposite field. He got through the hedge and came toward the gate.
+Then the girl spoke in her strong voice and north-country accent, but
+Skelton would hardly have known the voice again, it was so soft and sad.
+
+'I've been waiting on ye, Johnnie; some women thinks shame to be first
+at the trysting, but that's not me when I loves ye true.'
+
+At this Skelton by an impulse of honour thought to pass out of ear-shot,
+and then another motive held him listening. He thought of the ghostly
+thing he had seen by this girl, of the wild tale the ploughman had told.
+The passion of investigation, which had grown lusty by long exercise,
+rose within him triumphing over his personal inclinations. Too much was
+at stake to miss a chance like this. Honour in this situation seemed
+like a flimsy sentiment. He waited for the answer of the girl's lover
+with breathless interest.
+
+The man was evidently a fine young fellow, tall and strong, and when he
+spoke it was not without a touch of manly indignation in his tone.
+
+'If you love me true, Jen, I can't think what the meaning of your doings
+is. It's two years since you came to live in the glen, and you can't say
+as you've not understood my meaning plain since the first I saw you;
+it's to take you to church and take care of you as a woman ought to be
+took care of by a man. And you know I could do it, Jen, for my wages is
+good; but you've shied an' shied whenever you've seen me, and baulked
+an' baulked when you couldn't shy, so as no skittish mare is half so
+bad.'
+
+'Because, Johnnie, I wouldn't ha' yer heart broke the way mine is. I
+loved ye too true for that.'
+
+'But what's to hinder that we may be like other folks is? There's
+troubles comes to all, but we can bear them like the rest. What's to
+hinder? I thought there was some one else, an' that you didn't like. God
+knows, Jen, if that 'ad been the way, I'd never 'ev troubled you again;
+but last night when we heard your mother was took bad, an' mother an' me
+stepped round to see what we could do, an' you let on as you did 'ave a
+caring for me, I says,--"Let's be cried in the church," so as your
+mother could die happy, if die she must. But when you says, "no," and as
+you'd meet me here an' tell me why, I was content to wait an' come here;
+an' now what I want to know is--why? what's to hinder, Jen?'
+
+'Ye knows as well as me the tales about me, Johnnie.'
+
+'Tales!' said the young man passionately; 'what tales? All along I've
+knocked down any man as 'ud say a word against you.'
+
+'Ay, but the women, Johnnie; ye couldn't knock them down; that's why a
+woman's tale's allus the worst.'
+
+'An' what can they say? the worst is that if any man comes nigh you for
+a kiss or the like o' that--and no offence, Jen, but you're an uncommon
+tidy girl to kiss--he sees another man betwixt himself an' you. Fools
+they be to believe such trash! If you'd give me the leave--which I'm not
+the fellow to take without you say the word--I'd soon show as no shadder
+'ud come betwixt.'
+
+He came a step nearer, reproachful in his frank respect, as if he would
+claim the liberty he asked; but she drew back, holding up her hand to
+ward him off.
+
+'I believe you half believe the nonsense yourself, Jen.'
+
+'Heaven knows, Johnnie, I've reason to b'lieve it weel, none knows
+better ner me. It's that I've comed to tell ye to-night; an' there's
+nowt fur it but we mun part. An' if I trouble yer peace staying here i'
+the glen, I'll go away out o' yer sight. It wasn't a wish o' mine to
+bring ye trouble. None knows better ner me how hard trouble's to bear.'
+
+Her voice trembled as if with some physical pain; he only answered by a
+sound of incredulous surprise.
+
+'I'll tell ye the whole on't, Johnnie. Ye sees, we lived i'
+Yarm--mother and me. Mother, she sewed books fur a book-binding man; an'
+we'd a little coming in as father'd saved. Well, mother, she was feared
+lest I'd fall into rough ways like, an' she kep' me in a good bit, an'
+there was a man as helped i' the book-binding----' she stopped, and then
+said half under her breath--
+
+'His name was Dan'el, Dan'el McGair, it was.'
+
+'Go on, Jen.'
+
+'He was a leaen man and white to look at. He was very pious, and knowed
+lots o' things. Least, I don't know if he was pious, fur he didn't go to
+church, but he'd his own thoughts o' things, an' he was steady, an' kep'
+himself to himself. He niver telled me his thoughts o' things--he said
+it 'ud unsettle me like--but he taught me reading; an' mother, she liked
+his coming constant to see us. As fur as I knows, he was a good man; but
+I tell ye, Johnnie, that man had a will--whatsoever thing Dan'el McGair
+wanted, that thing he mun have, if he died i' the getting. He was about
+forty, an' I was nigh on twenty; it was after he'd taught me reading,
+an' whenever I'd go out here or there, or do this or that he didn't
+like, he'd turn as white as snow, an' tremble like a tree-stem i' the
+wind, an' dare me to do anything as he didn't like. Ye sees he allus had
+that power over mother to make her think like him, but I wouldn't give
+in to him. If I'd gived in--well, I doaent know what 'ud 'a comed. God
+knows what did come were bad enow.' She stopped speaking and toed the
+damp ground--crushing her boot into the frosty mud and drawing it
+backwards and forwards as she stood against the gate.
+
+'Go on, Jen.'
+
+'Ye sees, what he willed to get, that he mun have, an' at the end he
+willed to have me--mind, body, an' soael. He'd 'a had me, only I made a
+stand fur my life. Mother, she was all on his side, only she didn't want
+fur me to do what I wouldn't; but she cried like, an' talked o' his
+goodness--an' Dan'el, he wouldn't ask out an' out, or I could 'a told
+him my mind an' 'a done wi' it; but he went on giving us, an' paying
+things, an' mother she took it all, till I was fairly mad wi' the shame
+an' anger on't. I doaent say as I acted as I ought; I knowed I'd a power
+over him to drive him wild like wi' a smile or a soft word, an' power's
+awful dangerous fur a young thing--it's like as if God gave the wind a
+will o' its own, an' didn't howd it in His own hand. Then I was feared
+o' Dan'el's power over mother, an' give in times when I ought to 'a held
+my own. An' I liked to have him fur a sarvint to me, an' I led him on
+like. So it went on--he niver doubted I'd marry wi' him, an' I held out
+fur my life. Then at th' end, some words we had made things worse. 'Twas
+i' spring--i' March I think--he walked out miles an' miles on the bad
+roads to bring me the first flowers. I was book-binding then, out late
+at night, an' I comed home to find he'd left them fur me--snowdrops they
+was, an' moss wi' a glint o' green light on't, like sun shining through
+th' trees; an' there was a grey pigeon's feather he'd picked up
+somewheres, all clean and unroughed, like a bit o' the sky at th' dawn;
+an' there was a twig wi' a wee pink toaedstood on't, all pink an' red.
+The sight o' them fairly made me mad. 'Twas bad enow to buy me wi' munny
+an' the things munny can buy, but it seemed he'd take the very thoughts
+o' God A'mighty and use them to get his will. I were mad; but if he'd
+comed to our house I couldn't 'a spoke fur mother's being there; so I
+just took them bits o' Spring i' my hand, an' went out i' the dark to
+his house, an' went into his room, an' threw 'em on the floor, an'
+stamped 'em wi' my foot, an' I told him how he'd sneaked round to bind
+me to him, an' as how I'd die first. I was mad, an' talked till I
+couldn't speak fur my voice give out, an' that wasn't soon. He just sat
+still hearing me, but he was white, an' shook like a man wi' the palsy.
+They said he'd had fits once an' that made him nervous, but I didn't
+think o' him like that. He was strong, fur he could make most all men do
+as he wanted. He was spoiling my life wi' his strength, an' I didn't
+think o' him as weakly. When I'd raged at him an' couldn't say more, I
+went out an' was going home i' the dark, howding by the wall, as weak as
+a baby; an' just afore I got home, I seed him stand just in front' o'
+me. I thought he'd runned after me--mebbe he did--but I've thought
+since, mebbe not, that his body mayn't 'a been there at all; but anyway
+I seed him stand just afore me, wi' his eyes large and like fire, an'
+him all white and trembling. He said, "I tell ye, Jen, I will have ye
+mine, an' as long as I live no other man shall," an' wi' that I went
+past him into the house.'
+
+'Go on, Jen,' said the carter.
+
+'All I knows is that the word he spoke was a true word. Next day they
+comed and telled us he was found all par'lysed in his chair, an' he
+couldn't move nor speak. From that time the doctors 'ud sometimes come
+from a long way off; they said as there was somethin' strange about his
+sickness. I doaent know what they said, I niver seed him again. There's
+part o' him lies i' the bed, an' the parish feeds him, an' the doctors
+they talk about him. I niver seed him again sin' that night, but I knows
+what he said was true, an' there's many a man as 'as seed him anear me
+sin' that day. I tell ye, Johnnie, there's trouble to face i' this world
+worse ner death,--not worse ner our own death, fur that's most times a
+good thing, but worse ner the death o' them we love most true--an' worse
+ner parting i' this world, Johnnie, an' worse _a'most_ than sin itself;
+but, thank God, not _quite_ worse ner sin. But I never knowed, lad, how
+bad my own trouble was--though it's a'most drove me hard at times, not
+recking much what I said or did--I niver knowed, my lad, how bad it was
+till I knowed it was yer trouble too.'
+
+The young carter stood quite silent. His blue blouse glimmered white in
+the darkness and flapped a little in the wind, but he stood still as a
+rock, with his strong arms crossed upon his breast, and the silence
+seemed filled with the expression of thoughts for which words would have
+been useless. It was evident that her strong emotion had brought to his
+mind a conviction of the truth of her words which could not have been
+conveyed by the words alone. So they stood there, he and she, in all the
+rugged power of physical strength, confronted with their life's problem.
+At last, after they had been silent a long time, and it seemed that he
+had said many things, and that she had answered him, he appeared
+suddenly to sum up his thoughts to their conclusion, and stretched out
+both his strong arms to take her and all her griefs into his heart. It
+seemed in the darkness as though he did clasp her and did not, for she
+gave a low terrible cry and fled from him--a cry such as a spirit might
+give who, having ascended to Heaven's gate with toil and prayer, falls
+backward into Hell; and she ran from him--it seemed that with only her
+human strength she could not have fled so fast. He followed her, dashing
+with all his strength into the darkness. They went towards the village,
+and in the mud their footfalls were almost silent.
+
+The listener came out of his hiding and went back on the road by which
+he had come.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+
+Next morning Skelton travelled northward to Yarm. After some difficulty
+he succeeded in discovering the paralytic whom he sought. The medical
+interest which had at first been aroused by the case appeared to have
+died away; and it was only after some time spent in interviewing
+officials that he at last found the man, Daniel McGair. A parish
+apothecary had him in charge. The apothecary was a coarse good-natured
+fellow, one of that class of ignorant men upon whose brains the dregs of
+a refined agnosticism have settled down in the form of arrogant
+assumption. He had enough knowledge of the external matters of science
+to know, upon receiving Skelton's card, that he was receiving a visitor
+of distinction. 'Yes, sir,' he said, leading the way out of the
+dispensary, 'I'll exhibit the case. I don't know that there's much
+that's remarkable about it. Of course, to us who take an interest in
+science, all these things are interesting in their way.'
+
+It was quite clear he did not know in what way the most special interest
+accrued to this case.
+
+'No sir, he ain't in the Union; he saved, and bought his cottage before
+his stroke, so that's where he is. He ain't got no kith or kin, as far
+as we know.'
+
+It was bright noonday when they walked through the narrow streets of
+mean houses, passing among the numerous children which swarm in such
+localities. The sun was shining, the children were shouting, the women
+were gossiping at their doors, when the apothecary stopped at a low
+one-roomed cottage, the home of Daniel McGair. He opened the door with a
+key and went in, as though the house were empty.
+
+It was a plain bare room; there was no curtain on the window and the sun
+shone in. There was a smouldering fire in the grate, a bookshelf on one
+side, still holding its dusty and unused volumes; there was an
+arm-chair--was that the chair in which he had sat to see his love-gifts
+trampled down, in which he had received that mysterious stroke from the
+unseen enemy? There was also a table in the room, and a chest, and, in
+the corner, a pallet-bed, upon which lay the withered body of a man.
+That was all, except some prints that hung upon the wall, dusty and
+lifeless-looking. Such changes do years of disuse make in dwellings
+which, when inhabited, have been replete with human interest. Even yet
+there was abundant indication that the room had once been the abode of
+one who put much of his own personality into his surroundings. The chair
+and the chest were carved with a rude device--the Devil grappling with
+the Son of God. The prints were crude allegorical representations of
+Life and Death. The books were full of the violent polemic of the
+Reformation. A flowerpot stood on the window-sill; perhaps ten years ago
+it had had a flower in it, but now it held the apothecary's empty
+phials. Everything proclaimed the room tenantless.
+
+Skelton walked to the bed and looked down upon it with profound
+curiosity. Only the head lay above the coverlet; withered and shrunken
+it was, yet the brow was high, and it was plain that the features had
+been fine and strong, betokening the once keen and sensitive
+nerve--there was nothing sensitive now; all thought and feeling had for
+ever fled. The half-shut lids disclosed the vacant eyes; the hair lay
+clammy and matted on the wrinkled brow; there was nothing of life left
+but the breath.
+
+'It's my opinion, sir, that he'll live out his natural time. It's a
+theory of mine that we are all born with a certain length of life in us,
+and, barring accident, that time we'll live. Well, of course this man
+had the accident of his stroke, which by rights ought to have done for
+him, but by some fluke he weathered it, and now he'll live out his time.
+If one could find out his ancestors and see how long they each lived,
+with a little calculation I could tell you how long he'd lie there.'
+With that the apothecary poked his patient in the cheek, and jerked him
+by the arm, to show Skelton how completely consciousness was gone. He
+would have treated a corpse with more respect: the lowest of us has some
+reverence for death.
+
+Just then the door, which had been left ajar, was pushed open, and a
+slight, sweet-faced woman came in from the street. She was evidently a
+district Bible-reader, but, although perceiving that she had entered a
+house where she was not needed, she advanced as far as the bed and
+looked down upon it with a passion of tenderness and pity depicted on
+her face.
+
+'Bless you, mum, he ain't suff'ring,' said the apothecary.
+
+'I was thinking of his soul, not of his body,' she said. 'I was
+wondering if he had been prepared to meet his Creator.'
+
+'Where do you suppose his soul is?' asked Skelton curiously. He asked
+the question in all reverence; she was not a lady apparently, only a
+working woman, but there was about her the strong majesty of a noble
+life.
+
+'He is not dead yet,' she replied with evident astonishment.
+
+'Lor, mum,' said the apothecary, 'his brain ain't in working order just
+at present, and as for his spirit apart from his body, that's an unknown
+quantity we scientific men don't deal in.'
+
+She looked at them both with a look of indescribable compassion, and
+went away. Skelton would fain have followed the woman out into the sunny
+street, but he remained to pay that courtesy which was due to the
+brusque good nature of his companion.
+
+After examining the room and finding nothing more of interest, he went
+and talked over the physical circumstances of the case with the parish
+doctor. He did not gain much information about the patient's diseased
+body, and naturally none whatever concerning the whereabouts of his
+soul. The peculiar interest of the case he did not mention to any one.
+Afterwards he went back to the neighbourhood by himself, and
+endeavoured, as quietly as possible, to find out what traces the man's
+past life had left upon the minds of his neighbours. Ten years bring
+more change to any community than we are apt to suppose; and among the
+poor, where rude necessity rules rather than choice, there is more
+change than among the rich. There were a few who had seen McGair moving
+up and down the streets, and knew him to have been a book-binder by
+trade. One or two remembered the widow Wilkes and her daughter, and
+could affirm that they had been friends of McGair and had moved away
+after his illness. Whither they had gone no one knew.
+
+When there was nothing more to be seen or heard at Yarm, Skelton went
+home. Again he threw himself into all the daily interests of his life in
+order that he might think the more dispassionately of the circumstances
+of this strange case. In truth it was not now entirely out of curiosity
+that he was tempted to think of it; his sympathy had been stirred by the
+courage and sorrow of the woman whom he had so idly accosted on that
+bright autumn day only a few weeks before. She had appealed to him
+because he had knowledge. Was all his knowledge, then, powerless to help
+her? He believed that the shadowy appearance which dogged her footsteps
+could only be some projection of mind, whether or not its cause was the
+strong will of the paralytic transcending the ordinary limits of time
+and space, he could not tell. Certainly no discussion as to its nature
+and origin could in any way aid its victim, and he could only fall back
+upon the comfort material kindness and sympathy could give. At last he
+went down once more to West Chilton, this time for the express purpose
+of seeing Jen.
+
+He found the cottage in the glen road near the village, and his knock
+was answered by Jen herself. She recognised him instantly, but was too
+pre-occupied to take much interest in the fact of his coming. He learned
+that her mother had just died, and that the neighbours were in the
+house, keeping vigil during the few sad days preceding the burial. It
+was evident that there was little real sympathy between them and the
+bereaved daughter, so he easily persuaded her to come out and walk a bit
+up the road with him. She did so, evidently supposing that he had some
+business with her, but too deeply buried in her sorrow to inquire what
+it was.
+
+They came to the house by the roadside where he had last seen her and
+she had been unconscious of his presence. The place seemed to rouse her
+from the dulness of grief, and she suddenly raised her head, like a
+beautiful animal scenting some cause of excitement, and stood still,
+looking round with brightened eyes, taking long deep breaths in the pure
+frosty air. No doubt she had passed the same road many times since the
+tryst, but the mind which has lately stood face to face with death
+perceives more clearly the true relations of all things to itself; and,
+in this spot, among all life's shiftings of the things that seem and are
+not, she had stood and wrestled with the reality of her ghostly bondage.
+
+All about them the hills were covered with the year's first snow. How
+bright the light was upon their heights! how soft the shadows that
+gathered in their slopes! The fields were white also, and the
+hedgerows. Above them the sky was veiled with snow clouds, soft and
+grey, except that at the verge of east and west there were faint
+metallic lines, such as one sees upon clouds across snowfields, like the
+pale reflections of a distant fire. Jen had come to a full stop now. She
+raised her hands to her face and sobbed out like a little child.
+
+Skelton stood by her, feeling his own feebleness. 'I know you are in
+great trouble,' he said.
+
+Her sobs did not last long; she soon mastered them, not by any art of
+concealment but by rude force. Then standing shame-faced, with
+half-averted head, she wiped her eyes with her apron.
+
+'Yes, sir, I'm in great trouble, greater ner ye can know, fur death's
+neither here nor there--it's living that's hard. Parson, he speaks out
+about preparing to die, but to my mind it takes a sight more preparing
+to know how to go on living.'
+
+'I know that you have greater trouble than your mother's death. I know
+that you love a young man who loves you, and also what it is that you
+think keeps you apart from him.'
+
+'And how do you know that, sir?' she asked, still with averted face.
+
+Then he confessed, humbly enough, just how he did know it, and all that
+he knew, and told her about his visit to Yarm. When he spoke of Yarm
+and his visit to Daniel McGair she turned and looked full at him,
+drinking in every word with hungry curiosity.
+
+'Yes, sir, we left the place, an' I haven't heard o' him this nine year,
+but I knowed he wasn't dead.'
+
+'How did you know that, Jen?'
+
+'Because, sir, when God A'mighty sees fit that he should die, I'll be
+free o' him, that's all.'
+
+'And aren't you going to marry?'
+
+'Noae, sir. Johnnie an' me has talked it over, an' he says as how he'll
+wait till such time as I'm free. An' I didn't say "no" to him, fur when
+one knows what it is to love true, sir, one knows well it's noae use to
+say as this thing's best or t'other, but just it's like being taken up
+like a leaf by the wind an' moved whether one will or no. There's just
+this diff'rence betwixt true love an' the common kind--the common kind
+o' love moves ye i' the wrong way, an' true love i' the right; fur it's
+a true word the blessed St. John said when he said that love is God.'
+
+'Did St. John say that?' said Skelton.
+
+'Yes, sir, I read it to mother just afore she died. An' Johnnie's gone
+across the sea, sir, wi' his mother; he got a right good chance to
+better hisself, an' I made him go. His ship sailed the day after
+Christmas; an' I said, "Johnnie, I'll bide here, an' God 'ull take care
+o' me as well as ye could yerself;" an' I said, "Johnnie, I'll pray
+every day, night an' morning, that if ye can forget me, ye will; for if
+ye can forget, then yer love's not o' the right sort, as I could take,
+or God 'ud want ye to give; and if ye can't forget, then there's nowt to
+say but as I'll bide here." An' I said, sir, as he munna think as loving
+him made me sad, fur I was a big sight happier to love him, if he
+forgets or if he comes again.'
+
+'Will you live here; Jen, where the neighbours distrust you?'
+
+'It 'ud just be the same any other place, sir, an' here I can work i'
+the fields, spring and harvest, an' earn my own bread. I know the
+fields, sir, an' the hills--they's like friends to me now, an' I knows
+the dumb things about, an' they all knows me. It's a sight o' help one
+can get, sir, when one's down wi' the sorrow o' all the world lying on
+the heart, to have a kind look an' a word wi' the dogs an' cows when
+they comes down the hills fur the milking. An' the children they mostly
+lets come to me now, though they kep 'em from me at first.
+
+Then he told her that he had come a long way on purpose to see if he
+could help her; that he felt ashamed of having listened to her story,
+and that it would give him happiness in some way or other to make her
+life more easy. He explained that he had a great deal of money and many
+friends, and could easily give her anything that these could procure. In
+saying this he did not disguise from himself for a moment that his
+motive was mixed, and that he desired to gain some hold over her, such
+as benevolence could give, that he might further examine the problem of
+her extraordinary misfortune. Even as he spoke he marvelled at the
+strength of his respect for her, which could so outweigh his own
+interest as to make it impossible that he should interfere in her
+affairs otherwise than with all deference, as if she were a lady.
+
+When he had made it quite clear to her that he was able and willing to
+give her anything she should ask, she thought of his words a while, and
+then answered--
+
+'I thank ye, sir, but there's nowt ye can do o' that sort, fur if there
+was I'd take it from Johnnie an' none other. But there's one thing I'll
+ask, sir, an' wi' all yer kind offers ye can't but agree to it, fur it's
+not much. Ye've found out this tale o' my life; there's none else as
+knows it, save mother lying dead, an' Johnnie I telled fur love's sake,
+an' him as lies palsied i' Yarm--God A'mighty only knows, sir, what
+Dan'el McGair could tell on't--but this I ask, sir,--that ye'll keep all
+ye knows an' say nowt. I did Dan'el a great wrong, for I smiled on him
+whiles for the sake o' power; not but what he did me a worse wrong, so
+far worse that whiles I think no woman has so sore a life as me; but I
+did do him wrong, sir, and fur that reason I'll not ha' his name blazed
+abroad, hanging on to a tale as 'ud buzz i' the ears o' all. To tell it
+'ud not make _my_ life worse but better, fur now them as sees this thing
+says dark things, an' speaks o' the devil an' worse. The times ha' been
+when I cursed God an' prayed to die, but, thank Heaven, when I learned
+what love was, I learned as God A'mighty can love us in spite o' our
+wrong-doing, an' the pain it brings. Th' use o' such sore pain as mine,
+sir, isna fur us to say, or to think great things to bear it patient;
+but the use o' life, sir, to my thinking, is to keep all His creatures
+from pain if we can, an' to take God's love like the sunshine, an' be
+thankful. So I'll ask ye to keep what ye knows o' this tale an' not
+speak on't, an' go no more to Yarm; an' if ye'll give me yer hand on
+that, sir, I'll thank ye kindly.'
+
+So he gave her his hand on it, and went away.
+
+
+
+
+XII
+
+A FREAK OF CUPID
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+
+The earth was white, the firmament was white, the plumage of the wind
+was white. The wind flew between curling drift and falling cloud,
+brushing all comers with its feathers of light dry snow. At the sides of
+the road the posts and bars of log-fences stood above the drifts; on the
+side of the hill the naked maple trees formed a soft brush of grey; just
+in sight, and no more, the white tin roof and grey walls of a huge
+church and a small village were visible; all else was unbroken snow. The
+surface of an ice-covered lake, the sloping fields, the long straight
+road between the fences, were as pure, in their far-reaching whiteness,
+as the upper levels of some cloud in shadeless air.
+
+A young Englishman was travelling alone through this region. He had set
+out from the village and was about to cross the lake. A shaggy pony, a
+small sleigh, a couple of buffalo-robes and a portmanteau formed his
+whole equipment. The snow was light and dry; the pony trotted, although
+the road was soft; the young man, wrapped in his fur-lined coat, had
+little to do in driving.
+
+In England no one would set out in such a storm; but this traveller had
+learned that in Canada the snowy vast is regarded as a plaything, or a
+good medium of transit, or at the worst, an encumbrance to be plodded
+through as one plods through storms of rain. He had found that he was
+not expected to remain at an inn merely because it snowed, and, being a
+man of spirit, he had on this day, as on others, done what was expected
+of him.
+
+To-day, in the snow and wind, there was a slight difference from the
+storms of other days. The innkeeper, who had given him his horse an hour
+before by the walls of the great tin-roofed church, had looked at the
+sky and the snow, and asked if he knew the road well; but this had been
+accepted as an ignorant distrust of the foreign gentleman. Having
+learned his lesson, that through falling snow he must travel, into the
+heart of this greater snowstorm he travelled, valiant, if somewhat
+doubtful.
+
+When he descended upon the ice of the lake he was no longer accompanied
+by the grey length of the log-fences. This road across the lake had been
+well tracked after former snowfalls, and so the untrodden snow rose
+high on either side; branches of fir and cedar, stuck at short intervals
+in these snow walls, marked out the way. The pony ceased to trot. The
+driver was only astonished that this cessation of speed had not come
+sooner.
+
+Standing up in his sleigh and looking round he could see two or three
+other sleighs travelling across nearer the village. The village he could
+no longer see, scarcely even the hill, nor was there any communication
+over the deep untrodden snow between his road and that other on which
+there were travellers.
+
+Another hour passed, and now, as he went on slowly up the length of the
+lake, all sound and sight of other sleighs were lost. The cloud was not
+dark; the snow fell in such small flakes that it did not seem that even
+an infinite number of them could bury the world; the wind drifting them
+together, though strong, was not boisterous; the March evening did not
+soon darken: and yet there was something in the determined action of
+cloud and wind and snow, making the certainty that night would come with
+no abatement, which caused even the inexperienced Englishman to perceive
+that he was passing into the midst of a heavy storm.
+
+As is frequently the case with travellers, he had certain directions
+concerning the road which appeared to be adequate until he was actually
+confronted with that small portion of the earth's surface to which it
+was necessary to apply them. He was to take the first road which crossed
+his, running from side to side of the lake; but the first cross track
+appeared to him so narrow and so deeply drifted that he did not believe
+it to be the public road he sought. 'Some farm, hidden in the level
+maple bush just seen through the falling snow, sends an occasional cart
+to the village by this by-path,' so he reassured himself; and the pony,
+who had spied the track first and paused to have time to consider it, at
+the word of command obediently plodded its continuous route. A quarter
+of a mile farther on the traveller saw something on the road in front;
+as the sound of his pony's jangling bells approached, a horse lifted its
+head and shook its own bells. The horse, the sleigh which it ought to
+have been drawing, were standing still, full in the centre of the road.
+The first thought, that it was cheering to come upon the trace of
+another wayfarer, was checked by the gloomy idea that some impassable
+drift must bar the way.
+
+The other sleigh was a rough wooden platform on runners. Upon it a man,
+wrapped in a ragged buffalo-skin, lay prostrate. The Englishman jumped
+to the ground and waded till he could lay his hand upon the recumbent
+figure.
+
+At the touch the man jumped fiercely, and shook himself from sleep.
+Warm, luxurious sleep, only that, seemed to have enthralled him. His
+cheeks were red, his aquiline nose, red also, suggested some amount of
+strong drink; but his black eyes were bright, showing that the senses
+were wholly alive. He looked defiant, inquiring. He was a
+French-Canadian, apparently a _habitant_, but he understood the English
+questions addressed to him. The curious thing was that he seemed to have
+no reason for stopping. When he had with difficulty made way for the
+gentleman to pass him on the road, he followed slowly, as it seemed
+reluctantly. A mile farther on the Englishman, now far in front,
+suspected that the other had again stopped, and wondered much. The man's
+face had impressed him; the high cheek bones, the aquiline nose, the
+clearness of the eye and complexion--these had not expressed dull folly.
+
+Now the Englishman came to another cross road, wider but more deeply
+drifted than the track he was on. He turned into it and ploughed the
+drifts. When he reached the shore, where the land undulated, the drifts
+were still deeper. There were no trees here; he could see no house;
+there was hardly any evidence, except the evergreen branches stuck in
+the sides, that the road had ever been trodden. The March dusk had now
+fallen, yet not darkly. The full moon was beyond the clouds, and
+whatever wave of light came from declining day or rising night was held
+in by, and reflected softly from, the storm of pearl. After some debate
+he turned back to the lake and his former road. It must lead somewhere;
+he pressed steadily on toward the western end of the lake.
+
+The western shore was level; he hardly knew when he was upon the land.
+The glimmering night blinded the traveller; no ray of candle light was
+in sight. He began to think that he was destined to see his horse slowly
+buried, and himself to fight, as long as might be, a losing battle with
+the fiends of the air.
+
+At last the plodding pony stopped again resolutely. Long lines of
+Lombardy poplars here met the road. They were but as the ghosts of
+trees; their stately shape, their regular succession, inspired him with
+some sentiment of romance which he did not stay to define. He dimly
+discerned shrubs as if planted in a pleasure-ground. Wading and fumbling
+he found a paling and a gate. The pony turned off the high road with
+renewed courage in its motion; the Englishman, letting loose the rein,
+found himself drawn slowly up a long avenue of the ghostly poplar trees.
+The road was straight, the land was flat, the poplars were upright. The
+simplicity affected him with the notion that he was coming to an
+enchanted palace. The pony approached the door of a large house, dim to
+the sight; its huge pointed tin roof, its stone sides, mantled as they
+were with snowflakes and fringed with icicles at eaves and lintels,
+hardly gave a dark outline in the glimmering storm. The rays of light
+which twinkled through chinks of shutters might be analogous to the
+stars produced by a stunned brain; it seemed to the Englishman that if
+he went up and tried to knock on the door the ghostly house, the ghostly
+poplar avenue, would vanish. The thought was born of the long monotony
+of a danger which had called for no activity of brain or muscle on his
+part. The pony knew better; it stopped before the door.
+
+The traveller stood in a small porch raised a step or two from the
+ground. The door was opened by a middle-aged Frenchwoman clad in a
+peasant's gown of bluish-grey. Behind her, holding a lamp a little above
+her head, stood a young girl, large, womanly in form, with dimpled
+softness of face, and dressed in a rich but quaint garment of amber
+colour. With raised and statuesque wrist she held the lamp aloft to keep
+the light from dazzling her eyes. She was looking through the doorway
+with the quiet interest of responsibility, nothing of which was
+expressed in the servant's furrowed countenance.
+
+'Is the master of the house at home?'
+
+'There is no master.'
+
+The girl spoke with a mellow voice and with a manner of soft dignity;
+yet, having regarded the stranger, there leaped into her face, as it
+seemed to him, behind the outward calm of the dark eyes and dimpling
+curves, a certain excited interest and delight. The current of thought
+thus revealed contrasted with the calm which she instinctively turned to
+him, as the words which an actor speaks aside contrast with those which
+are not soliloquy.
+
+With more hesitation, more obvious modesty, he said--
+
+'May I speak to the mistress of the house?'
+
+'I am the mistress.'
+
+He could but look upon her more intently. She could not have been more
+than eighteen years of age. Her hair had the soft and loose manner of
+lying upon her head that is often seen in hair which has, till lately,
+been allowed to hang loose to the winds. Her dress, folded over the full
+bosom and sweeping to the ground in ample curves, was, little as he
+could have described a modern fashion, even to his eyes evidently
+fantastic--such as a child might don at play. Above all, as evidence of
+her youth, there was that inward quiver of delight at his appearance and
+presence, veiled perfectly, but seen behind the veil, as one may detect
+glee rising in the heart of a child even though it be upon its formal
+behaviour.
+
+'Can you tell me if there is any house within reach where I can stop
+for the night?' He gave a succinct account of his journey, the lost
+road, the increasing storm. 'My horse is dead tired, but it might go a
+mile or so farther.'
+
+The serving-woman, evincing some little curiosity, received from the
+girl an interpretation in low and rapid French. The woman expressed by
+her gestures some pity for man and beast. The girl replied with gentle
+brevity--
+
+'We know that the roads are snowed up. The next house is three miles
+farther on.'
+
+He hesitated, but his necessity was obvious.
+
+'I am afraid I must beg for a night's shelter.'
+
+He had been wondering a good deal what she would say, how she would
+accede, and then he perceived that her dignity knew no circumlocution.
+'I will send the man for your horse.' She said it with hardly a moment's
+pause.
+
+The woman gave him a small broom, an implement to the use of which he
+had grown accustomed, and disappeared upon the errand. The girl stood
+still in her statuesque pose of light-bearer. The young man busied
+himself in brushing the snow from cap and coat and boots. As he brushed
+himself he felt elation in the knowledge, not ordinarily uppermost, that
+he was a good-looking fellow and a gentleman.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+
+'My name is Courthope.' The visitor, denuded of coat and cap, presented
+his card, upon which was written, 'Mr. George Courthope.'
+
+He began telling his hostess whence he came and what was his business. A
+quarry which a dead relative had bequeathed to him had had sufficient
+attraction to bring him across the sea and across this railless region.
+His few words of self-introduction were mingled with and followed by
+regrets for his intrusion, expressions of excessive gratitude. All the
+time his mind was questioning amazedly.
+
+By the time the speeches which he deemed necessary were finished, he had
+followed the girl into a spacious room, furnished in the large gay style
+of the fifties, brilliantly lit, as if for a festival, and warmed by a
+log fire of generous dimensions. Having led him in, listening silently
+the while, and put her additional lamp upon the table, she now spoke,
+with no _empressement_, almost with a manner of _insouciance_.
+
+'You are perfectly welcome; my father would never have wished his house
+to be inhospitable.'
+
+With her words his own apologies seemed to lose their significance; he
+felt a little foolish, and she, with some slight evidence of childish
+awkwardness, seemed to seek a pretext for short escape.
+
+'I will tell my sister.' These words came with more abruptness, as if
+the interior excitement was working itself to the surface.
+
+The room was a long one. She went out by a door at the farther end, and,
+as with intense curiosity he watched her quickly receding form, he
+noticed that when she thought herself out of his sight she entered the
+other room with a skip. At that same end of the room hung a full-length
+portrait of a gentleman. It was natural that Courthope should walk
+towards it, trying to become acquainted with some link in the train of
+circumstances which had raised this enchanted palace in the wilderness;
+he had not followed to hear, but he overheard.
+
+'Eliz, it's a _real_ young man!'
+
+'No! you are only making up, and' (here a touch of querulousness) 'I've
+often told you that I don't like make-ups that one wants too much to be
+true. I'll only have the Austens and Sir Charles and Evelina and----'
+
+'Eliz! He's _not_ a make-up; the fairies have sent him to our party.
+Isn't it just fairilly entrancing? He has a curly moustache and a nice
+nose. He's English, like father. He says "cawn't," and "shawn't," and
+"heah," and "theyah,"--genuine, no affectation. Oh' (here came a little
+gurgle of joy), 'and to-night, too! It's the first _perfectly_ joyful
+thing that has _ever_ come to us.'
+
+Courthope moved quietly back and stood before the blazing logs, looking
+down into them with a smile of pure pleasure upon his lips.
+
+It was not long before the door, which she had left ajar, was re-opened,
+and a light-wheeled chair was pushed into the room. It contained a
+slight, elfin-like girl, white-faced, flaxen-haired, sharp-featured, and
+arrayed in gorgeous crimson. The elder sister pushed from behind. The
+little procession wore an air of triumphant satisfaction, still tempered
+by the proprieties.
+
+'This is my sister,' said the mistress of the house.
+
+'I am very glad to see you, Mr. Courthope.' The tones of Eliz were sharp
+and thin. She was evidently acting a part, as with the air of a very
+grand lady she held out her hand.
+
+He was somewhat dazzled. He felt it not inappropriate to ask if he had
+entered fairyland. Eliz would have answered him with fantastic
+affirmative, but the elder sister, like a sensible child who knew better
+how to arrange the game, interposed.
+
+'I'll explain it to you. Eliz and I are giving a party to-night. There
+hasn't been any company in the house since father died four years ago,
+and we know he wouldn't like us to be dull, so when our stepmother went
+out, and sent word that she couldn't come back to-night, we decided to
+have a grand party. There are only to be play-people, you know; all the
+people in Miss Austen's books are coming, and the nice ones out of _Sir
+Charles Grandison_.'
+
+She paused to see if he understood.
+
+'Are the _Mysteries of Udolpho_ invited?' he asked.
+
+'No, the others we just chose here and there, because we liked
+them--Evelina, although she was rather silly and we told her that we
+couldn't have Lord Ormond, and Miss Matty and Brother Peter out of
+_Cranford_, and Moses Wakefield, because we liked him best of the
+family, and the Portuguese nun who wrote the letters. We thought we
+would have liked to invite the young man in _Maud_ to meet her, but we
+decided we should have to draw the line somewhere and leave out the
+poetry-people.'
+
+The girl, leaning her forearms slightly on the back of her sister's
+chair, gave the explanation in soft, business-like tones, and there was
+only the faintest lurking of a smile about the corners of her lips to
+indicate that she kept in view both reality and fantasy.
+
+'I think that I shall have to ask for an introduction to the Portuguese
+nun,' said Courthope; 'the others, I am happy to say, I have met
+before.'
+
+A smile of approval leapt straight out of her dark eyes into his, as if
+she would have said: 'Good boy! you have read quite the right sort of
+books!'
+
+Eliz was not endowed with the same well-balanced sense of proportion;
+for the time the imaginary was the real.
+
+'The only question that remains to be decided,' she cried, 'is what
+_you_ would prefer to be. We will let you choose--Bingley, or Darcy,
+or----'
+
+'It would be fair to tell him,' said the other, her smile broadening
+now, 'that it's only the elderly people and notables who have been
+invited to dinner, the young folks are coming in after; so if you are
+hungry----' Her soft voice paused, as if suspended in mid-air, allowing
+him to draw the inference.
+
+'It depends entirely on who you are, who I would like to be.' He did not
+realise that there was undue gallantry in his speech; he felt exactly
+like another child playing, loyally determined to be her mate, whatever
+the character that might entail. 'I will even be the idiotic Edward if
+you are Eleanor Dashwood.'
+
+Her chin was raised just half-an-inch higher; the smile that had been
+peeping from eyes and dimples seemed to retire for the moment.
+
+'Oh, we,' she said, 'are the hostesses. My sister is Eliz King and I am
+Madge King, and I think you had better be a real person too; just a Mr.
+Courthope, come in by accident.'
+
+'Well, then, he can help us in the receiving and chatting to them.' Eliz
+was quite reconciled.
+
+He felt glad to realise that his mistake had been merely playful. 'In
+that case, may I have dinner without growing grey?' He asked it of
+Madge, and her smile came back, so readily did she forget what she had
+hardly consciously perceived.
+
+When the sharp-voiced little Eliz had been wheeled into the dining-room
+to superintend some preparations there before the meal was ready,
+Courthope could again break through the spell that the imaginary
+reception imposed. He came from his dressing-room to find Madge at the
+housewifely act of replenishing the fire. Filled with curiosity,
+unwilling to ask questions, he remarked that he feared she must often
+feel lonely, that he supposed Mrs. King did not often make visits
+unaccompanied by her daughters.
+
+'She does not, worse luck!' Madge on her knees replied with childish
+audacity.
+
+'I hope when she returns she may not be offended by my intrusion.'
+
+'Don't hope it,'--she smiled--'such hope would be vain.'
+
+He could not help laughing.
+
+'Is it dutiful then of you'--he paused--'or of me?'
+
+'Which do you prefer--to sleep in the barn, or that I should be
+undutiful and disobey my stepmother?'
+
+In a minute she gave her chin that lift in the air that he had seen
+before.
+
+'You need not feel uncomfortable about Mrs. King; the house is really
+mine, not hers, and father always had his house full of company. I am
+doing my duty to him in taking you in, and in making a feast to please
+Eliz when the stepmother happens to be away and I can do it peaceably.
+And when she happens to be here I do my duty to him by keeping the peace
+with her.'
+
+'Is she unkind to you?' he asked, with the ready, overflowing pity that
+young men are apt to give to pretty women who complain.
+
+But she would have him know that she had not complained.
+
+There was no bitterness in her tone--her philosophy of life was all
+sweetness. 'No! Bless her! God made her, I suppose, just as He made us;
+so, according to the way she is made, she packs away all the linen and
+silver, she keeps this room shut up for fear it will get worn out, and
+we never see any visitors. But to-day she went away to St. Philippe to
+see a dying man--I think she was going to convert him or something; but
+he took a long time to die; and now we may be snowed up for days, and we
+are going to have a perfectly glorious time.' She added hospitably, 'You
+need not feel under the slightest obligation, for it gives us pleasure
+to have you, and I know that father would have taken you in.'
+
+Courthope rose up and followed her glance, almost an adoring glance, to
+the portrait he had before observed. He went and stood again face to
+face with it.
+
+A goodly man was painted there, dressed in a judge's robe. Courthope
+read the lineaments by the help of the living interpretation of the
+daughter's likeness. Benevolence in the mouth, a love of good cheer and
+good friends in the rounded cheeks, a lurking sense of the poetry of
+life in the quiet eyes, and in the brow reason and a keen sense of right
+proportion dominant. He would have given something to have exchanged a
+quiet word with the man in the portrait, whose hospitality, living after
+him, he was now receiving.
+
+Madge had been arranging the logs to her satisfaction, she would not
+accept Courthope's aid, and now she told him who were going to dine with
+them. She had great zest for the play.
+
+'Mr. and Mrs. Bennett, of course, and we thought we might have Mr.
+Knightley, because he is a squire and not so very young, even though he
+is not yet married. Miss Bates, of course, and the Westons. Mrs.
+Dashwood has declined, of which we are rather glad, but we are having
+Mrs. Jennings.' So she went on with her list. 'We could not help asking
+Sir Charles with Lord and Lady G----, because he is so important; but
+Grandmamma Shirley is "mortifying" at present. She wrote that she could
+not stand "so rich a regale." Sir Hargrave Pollexfen will come
+afterwards with Harriet, and I am thankful to say that Lady Clementina
+is not in England at present, so could not be invited.' She stopped,
+looking up at him freshly to make a comment. 'Don't you detest Lady
+Clementina?'
+
+When they went into the dining-room, the choice spirits deemed worthy to
+be at the board were each introduced by name to the Lady Eliz, who
+explained that because of her infirmities she had been unable to have
+the honour of receiving them in the drawing-room. She made appropriate
+remarks, inquiring after the relatives of each, offering congratulations
+or condolences as the case demanded. It was cleverly done. Courthope
+stood aside, immensely entertained, and when at last he too began to
+offer spirited remarks to the imaginary guests, he went up in favour so
+immensely that Eliz cried, 'Let Mr. Courthope take the end of the table.
+Let Mr. Courthope be father. It's much nicer to have a master of the
+house.' She began at once introducing him to the invisible guests as her
+father, and Madge, if she did not like the fancy, did not cross her
+will. There was in Madge's manner a large good-humoured tolerance.
+
+The table was long, and amply spread with fine glass and silver; nothing
+was antique, everything was in the old-fashioned tasteless style of a
+former generation, but the value of solid silver was not small. The
+homely serving-woman in her peasant-like dress stood aside, submissive,
+as it seemed, but ignorant of how to behave at so large a dinner.
+Courthope, who in a visit to the stables had discovered that this
+Frenchwoman with her husband and one young daughter were at present the
+whole retinue of servants, wondered the more that such precious articles
+as the young girls and the plate should be safe in so lonely a place.
+
+Madge was seated at the head of the table, Courthope at the foot; Eliz
+in her high chair had been wheeled to the centre of one side. Madge,
+playing the hostess with gentle dignity, was enjoying herself to the
+full, a rosy, cooing sort of joy in the play, in the feast that she had
+succeeded in preparing, in her amusement at the literary sallies of
+Eliz, and, above all perhaps, in the company of the new and unexpected
+playmate to whom, because of his youth, she attributed the same perfect
+sympathy with their sentiments which seemed to exist between themselves.
+Courthope felt this--he felt that he was idealised through no virtue of
+his own; but it was a delightful sensation, and brought out the best
+that was in him of wit and pure joyfulness. To Eliz the creatures of
+her imagination were too real for perfect pleasure; her face was tense,
+her eyes shot sparkles of light, her voice was high, for her the
+entertainment of the invisible guests involved real responsibility and
+effort.
+
+'Asides are allowed, of course?' said Eliz, as if pronouncing a
+debatable rule at cards.
+
+'Of course,' said Madge, 'or we could not play.'
+
+'It's the greatest fun,' cried Eliz, 'to hear Sir Charles telling Mr.
+John Knightley about the good example that a virtuous man ought to set.
+With "hands and eyes uplifted" he is explaining the duty he owes to his
+Maker. It's rare to see John Knightley's face. I seated them on purpose
+with only Miss Matty between them, because I knew she wouldn't
+interrupt.'
+
+Courthope saw the smile in Madge's eyes was bent upon him as she said
+softly, 'You won't forget that you have Lady Catherine de Bourg at your
+right hand to look after. I can see that brother Peter has got his eye
+upon her, and I don't know how she would take the "seraphim" story.'
+
+'If she begins any of her dignified impertinence here,' he answered, 'I
+intend to steer her into a conversation with Charlotte, Lady G----.'
+
+Courthope had a turkey to carve. He was fain to turn from the guests to
+ask advice as to its anatomy of Madge, who was carving a ham and
+assuring Mr. Woodhouse that it was 'thrice baked, exactly as Serle
+would have done it.'
+
+'Stupid!--it was apples that were baked,' whispered Eliz.
+
+'You see,' said Madge, when she had told him how to begin upon the
+turkey, 'we wondered very much what a dinner of "two full courses" might
+be, and where the "corner dishes" were to be set. We did not quite
+know--do you?'
+
+'You must not have asides that are not about the people,' cried Eliz
+intensely. 'Catherine Moreland's mother is talking common sense to
+General Tilney and Sir Walter Eliot, and there'll be no end of a row in
+a minute if you don't divert their attention.'
+
+Eliz had more than once to call the other two to account for talking
+privately adown the long table.
+
+'What a magnificent ham!' he exclaimed. 'Do you keep pigs?'
+
+Madge had a frank way of giving family details. 'It was once a _dear_
+little pig, and we wanted to teach it to take exercise by running after
+us when we went out, but the stepmother, like Bunyan, "penned it"--
+
+
+     '"Until at last it came to be,
+     For length and breadth, the bigness which you see."'
+
+
+More than once he saw Madge's quick wit twinkle through her booklore.
+When he was looking ruefully at a turkey by no means neatly carved, she
+gave the comforting suggestion, '"'Tis impious in a good man to be
+sad."'
+
+'I thought it one of the evidences of piety.'
+
+'It is true that he was "Young" who said it, but so are we; let us
+believe it fervently.'
+
+When Madge swept across the drawing-room, with her amber skirts
+trailing, and Eliz had been wheeled in, they received the after-dinner
+visitors. Courthope could almost see the room filled with the quaint
+creations to whom they were both bowing and talking incessantly.
+
+'Mr. Courthope--Miss Jane Fairfax--I believe you have met before.'
+Madge's voice dropped in a well-feigned absorption in her next guest;
+but she soon found time again to whisper to him a long speech which Miss
+Bates had made to Eliz. Soon afterwards she came flying to him in the
+utmost delight to repeat what she called a "lovely sneap" which Lady
+G---- had given to Mrs. Elton; nor did she forget to tell him that Emma
+Woodhouse was explaining to the Portuguese nun her reasons for deciding
+never to marry. 'Out of sheer astonishment she appears to become quite
+tranquillised,' said Madge, as if relating an important fact.
+
+His curiosity concerning this nun grew apace, for she seemed a favourite
+with both the girls.
+
+When it was near midnight the imaginary pageant suddenly came to an
+end, as in all cases of enchantment. Eliz grew tired; one of the lamps
+smoked and had to be extinguished; the fire had burned low. Madge
+declared that the company had departed.
+
+She went out of the room to call the servant, but in a few minutes she
+came back discomfited, a little pout on her lips. 'Isn't it tiresome!
+Mathilde and Jacques Morin have gone to bed.'
+
+'It is just like them,' fretted Eliz.
+
+At the fretful voice Madge's face cleared. 'What does it matter?' she
+cried. 'We are perfectly happy.'
+
+She lifted the lamp with which he had first seen her, and commenced an
+inspection of doors and shutters. It was a satisfaction to Courthope to
+see the house. It was a French building, as were all the older houses in
+that part of the country, heavily built, simple in the arrangements of
+its rooms. Every door on the lower floor stood open, inviting the heat
+of a large central stove. Insisting upon carrying the lamp while Madge
+made her survey, he was introduced to a library at the end of the
+drawing-room, to a large house-place or kitchen behind the dining-room;
+these with his own room made the square of the lower story. A wing
+adjoining the further side was devoted to the Morins. Having performed
+her duty as householder, Madge said good-night.
+
+'We have enjoyed it ever so much more because you were here.' She held
+out her hand; her face was radiant; he knew that she spoke the simple
+truth.
+
+She lifted the puny Eliz in her arms and proceeded to walk slowly up the
+straight staircase which occupied one half of the long central hall. The
+crimson scarfs hanging from Eliz, the length of her own silk gown,
+embarrassed her; she stopped a moment on the second step, resting her
+burden upon one lifted knee to clutch and gather the gorgeous raiment in
+her hand.
+
+'You see we put on mother's dresses, that have always been packed away
+in the garret.'
+
+Very simply she said this to Courthope, who stood holding a lamp to
+light them in their ascent. He waited until the glinting colours of
+their satins, the slow motion of the burden-bearer's form, reached the
+top and were lost in the shadows of an open door.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+
+Courthope opened the shutters of his window to look out upon the night;
+they were heavy wooden shutters clasped with an iron clasp. A French
+window he could also open; outside that a temporary double window was
+fixed in the casement with light hooks at the four corners. The wind was
+still blustering about the lonely house, and, after examining the
+twilight of the snow-clad night attentively, he perceived that snow was
+still falling. He thought he could almost see the drifts rising higher
+against the out-buildings.
+
+Two large barns stood behind the house; from these he judged that the
+fields around were farmed.
+
+It was considerations concerning the project of his journey the next day
+which had made him look out, and also a restless curiosity regarding
+every detail of the _menage_ whose young mistress was at once so
+child-like and so queenlike. While looking out he had what seemed a
+curious hallucination of a dark figure standing for a moment on the top
+of the deep snow. As he looked more steadily the figure disappeared. All
+the outlines at which he looked were chaotic to the sight, because of
+the darkness and the drifting snow, and the light which was behind him
+shimmering upon the pane. If half-a-dozen apparitions had passed in the
+dim and whirling atmosphere of the yards, he would have supposed that
+they were shadows formed by the beams of his lamp, being interrupted
+here and there by the eddying snow where the wind whirled it most
+densely. He did not close his shutters, he even left his inner window
+partially open, because, unaccustomed to a stove, he felt oppressed by
+its heat. When he threw himself down, he slept deeply, as men sleep
+after days among snowfields, when a sense of entire security is the
+lethargic brain's lullaby.
+
+He was conscious first of a dream in which the sisters experienced some
+imminent danger; he heard their shrieks piercing the night. He woke to
+feel snow and wind driving upon his face, to realise a half-waking
+impression that a man had passed through his room, to know that the
+screams of a woman's voice were a reality. As he sprang for his clothes
+he saw that the window was wide open, the whole frame of the outer
+double glass having been removed, but the screams of terror he heard
+were within the house. Opening the door to the dark hall he ran, guided
+by the sound, to the foot of the staircase which the girls had ascended,
+then up its long straight ascent. He took its first steps in a bound,
+but, as his brain became more perfectly awake, confusion of thought,
+wonder, a certain timidity because now the screaming had ceased, caused
+him to slacken his pace. He was thus hesitating in the darkness when he
+found himself confronted by Madge King. She stood majestic in grey
+woollen gown, candle in hand, and her dark eyes blazed upon him in
+terror, wrath and indignation.
+
+It seemed for a moment that she could not speak; some movement passed
+over the white sweep of her throat and the full dimpling lips, and
+then--
+
+'Go down!' She would have spoken to a dog with the same authority, but
+never with such contemptuous wrath. 'Go down at once! How dare you!'
+
+Abashed, knowing not what he might have done to offend, Courthope fell
+back a step against the wall of the staircase. From within the room Eliz
+cried, 'Is he there? Come in and lock the door, Madge, or he'll kill
+you!' The voice, sharp, high with terror, rose at the end, and burst
+into one of those piercing shrieks which seemed to fill the night, as
+the voices of some small insects have the power to make the welkin ring
+in response.
+
+Before Courthope could find a word to utter, another light was thrown
+upon him from a lamp at the foot of the stair. It was held by Jacques
+Morin, grey-haired, stooping, dogged. The Morin family--man, wife and
+daughter--were huddling close together. They, too, were all looking at
+him, not with the wrath and contempt to which Madge had risen, but with
+cunning desire for revenge, mingled with the cringing of fear. There was
+a minute's hush, too strong for expression, in which each experienced
+more intensely the shock of the mysterious alarm.
+
+It was Madge who broke the silence. Her voice rang clear, although
+vibrating.
+
+'Jacques Morin, he came into our room to rob!' She pointed at
+Courthope.
+
+The thin voice of Eliz came in piercing parenthesis: 'I saw him in the
+closet, and when I screamed he ran.'
+
+Madge began again. 'Jacques Morin, what part of the house is open? I
+feel the wind.' All the time Madge kept her eyes upon Courthope, as upon
+some wild animal whose spring she hoped to keep at bay.
+
+That she should appeal to this dull, dogged French servant for
+protection against him, who only desired to risk his life to serve her,
+was knowledge of such intense vexation that Courthope could still find
+no word, and her fixed look of wrath did actually keep him at bay. It
+took from him, by some sheer physical power which he did not understand,
+the courage with which he would have faced a hundred Morins.
+
+When Jacques Morin began to speak, his wife and daughter took courage
+and spoke also; a babel of French words, angry, terrified, arose from
+the group, whose grey night-clothes, shaken by their gesticulations,
+gave them a half-frenzied appearance.
+
+In the midst of their talking Courthope spoke to Madge at last. 'I ran
+up to protect you when I heard screams; I did not wake till you
+screamed. Some one has entered the house. He has entered by the window
+in my room; I found it open.'
+
+With his own words the situation became clear to him. He saw that he
+must hunt for the house-breaker. He began to descend the stairs.
+
+The Morin girl screamed and ran. Morin, producing a gun from behind his
+back, pointed it at Courthope, and madam, holding the lamp, squared up
+behind her husband with the courage of desperation.
+
+It was not this fantastic couple that checked Courthope's downward rush,
+but Madge's voice.
+
+'Keep still!' she cried, in short strong accents of command.
+
+Eliz, becoming aware of his movement, shrieked again.
+
+Courthope, now defiant and angry, turned towards Madge, but, even as he
+waited to hear what she had to say, reflected that her interest could
+not suffer much by delay, for the thief, if he escaped, could make but
+small speed in the drifting storm over roads which led to no near place
+of escape or hiding.
+
+It was the judge's daughter which Courthope now saw in Madge--the desire
+to estimate evidence, the fearless judgment.
+
+'We took you in last night, a stranger; and now we have been robbed,
+which never happened before in all our lives. My sister says it was you
+she saw in our room. As soon as I could get the candle lit I found you
+here, and Jacques Morin says that you have opened your window so that
+you would be able to escape at once. What is the use of saying that you
+are not a robber?'
+
+He made another defiant statement of his own version of the story.
+
+The girl had given some command in French to Morin; to Courthope she
+spoke again in hasty sentences, reiterating the evidence against him.
+Her manner was a little different now--it had not the same
+straightforward air of command. He began to hope that he might persuade
+her, and then discovered suddenly that she had been deliberately
+riveting his attention while the command which he had not understood was
+being obeyed. A noose of rope was thrown round his arms and instantly
+tightened; with a nimbleness which he had not expected Morin knotted it
+fast. Courthope turned fiercely; for a moment he struggled with all his
+force, bearing down upon Morin from his greater height, so that they
+both staggered and reeled to the foot of the stair. At his violence the
+voices of the Morin women, joined by that of Eliz, were lifted in such
+wild terror that a few moments were sufficient to bring Courthope to
+reason. He spoke to Madge with haughty composure.
+
+'Tell him to untie this rope at once. There is some villain about the
+house who may do you the greatest injury; you are mad to take from me
+the power of arresting him.'
+
+Madam Morin, seeing the prisoner secured, hastened with her lamp to his
+bedroom.
+
+Madge, feeling herself safer now, came a little way down the stair with
+her candle. 'How can we tell what you would do next?' she asked. 'And I
+have the household to protect; it is not for myself that I am afraid.'
+
+The anger that he had felt toward her died out suddenly.
+
+It was not for herself that she was afraid! She stood a few steps above
+him; her little candle, flashing its rays into the darkness of the upper
+and lower halls, made walls and balustrades seem vast by its flickering
+impotence to oust the darkness. Surely this girl, towering in her
+sweeping robe and queenly pose, was made to be loved of men and gods!
+Hero, carrying her vestal taper in the temple recesses, before ever
+Leander had crossed the wave, could not have had a larger or more noble
+form, a more noble and lovely face.
+
+Well, if she chose to tie his arms he would have preferred to have them
+tied, were it not for the maddening thought that more miscreants than
+one might be within reach of her, and that they would, if skilled, find
+the whole household an easy prey.
+
+Madam Morin came back from the room with the open window, making
+proclamation in the most excited French.
+
+'What do they say?' asked Courthope of Madge.
+
+The Morin girl was following close to her mother, and Jacques Morin was
+eagerly discussing their information.
+
+Madge passed Courthope in silence. They all went to the window to see;
+Courthope, following in the most absurd helplessness, trailing the end
+of his binding-cord behind him, brought up the rear of the little
+procession. Madge walked straight on into his room, where Madam Morin
+was again opening the window-shutters.
+
+'They say,' said Madge to Courthope, 'that you have had an accomplice,
+and that he is gone again; they saw his snow-shoe tracks.'
+
+He begged her to make sure that the man was gone, to let him look at the
+tracks himself and then to search the house thoroughly. Outside the
+window the same chaotic sweep and whirl of the atmosphere prevailed. It
+was difficult, even holding a lantern outside, to see, but they did see
+that a track had come up to the window and again turned from it. After
+that they all searched the house, Courthope allowed to be of the
+company, apparently because he could thus be watched. The thief of the
+night had come and gone; some silver and jewellery which had been
+stored in a closet adjoining the bedroom of the sisters had been taken.
+
+Courthope understood very little of the talk that went on. At length, to
+his great relief, Madge gave her full attention to him in parley.
+
+'Won't you believe that I know nothing whatever of the doings of this
+sneak-thief?'
+
+Some of her intense excitement had passed away, succeeded by distress,
+discouragement, and perhaps perplexity, but that last she did not
+express to him. She leaned against the wall as she listened to him with
+white face.
+
+'We never took in any one we didn't know anything about before, and we
+never were robbed before.' She added, 'We treated you kindly; how could
+you have done it? If you did it'--his heart leaped at the 'if' as at a
+beam of sunshine on a rainy day--'you must have known all about us,
+although I can't think how; you must have known where we kept things,
+and that mamma had taken our other man-servant away. You must have
+brought your accomplice to hide in the barn and do the work while you
+played the gentleman! That is what Jacques Morin says; he says no one
+but a child would have taken you in as I did, and that you might have
+murdered us all. They are very angry with me.'
+
+There was conflict in her manner; a few words would be said haughtily,
+as to some one not worthy of her notice, and then again a few words as
+to a friend. He saw that this conflict of her mind was increasing as she
+stood face to face with him, and with that consolation he submitted, at
+her request, to be more securely bound--the rope twisted round and
+round, binding his arms to his sides. It was a girl's device; he made no
+complaint.
+
+It seemed that Morin had no thought of following the thief; his
+faithfulness was limited to such service as he considered necessary, and
+was of a cowardly rather than a valiant sort. Courthope, when his first
+eagerness to seek passed off, was comforted by reflecting that, had he
+himself been free, it would have been futile for him to attempt such a
+quest while darkness lay over the land in which he was a stranger.
+
+He was allowed to rest on the settle in the large inner kitchen,
+securely locked in, and so near Morin's room that his movements could be
+overheard. There, still in bonds, he spent the rest of the night.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+
+When the March morning shone clear and white through the still-falling
+snow, and the Morins began to bustle about their work for the day, the
+mental atmosphere in the kitchen seemed to have lost something of the
+excited alarm that had prevailed in the night. Courthope arose; the
+garments which he had donned in the night with frantic speed clothed but
+did not adorn him; he knew that he must present a wild appearance, and
+the domestic clothes-line, bound round and round his arms, prevented him
+from so much as pushing back the locks of hair which straggled upon his
+brow. He was rendered on the whole helpless; however murderous might be
+his heart, a tolerably safe companion. He interested himself by
+considering how Samson-like he could be in breaking the cords, or, even
+tied, how vigorously he could kick Morin, if he were not a girl's
+prisoner. He reflected with no small admiration upon the quick resource
+and decision that she had displayed; how, in spite of her almost
+child-like frankness, she had beguiled him into turning his back to the
+noose when a supposed necessity pressed her. He meditated for a few
+minutes upon other girls for whom he had experienced a more or less
+particular admiration, and it seemed to him that the characters of these
+damsels became wan and insipid by comparison. He began to have a
+presentiment that Love was now about to strike in earnest upon the harp
+of his life, but he could not think that the circumstances of this
+present attraction were propitious. What could he say to this girl, so
+adorably strong-minded, to convince her of his claim to be again treated
+as a man and a brother? Letters? He had offered them to her last night,
+and she had replied that any one could write letters. Should he show
+that he was not penniless? She might tell him in the same tone that it
+was wealth ill-gotten. It was no doubt her very ignorance of the world
+that, when suspicion had once occurred, made her reject as unimportant
+these evidences of his respectability, but he had no power to give her
+the eyes of experience.
+
+These thoughts tormented him as he stood looking out of the window at
+the ever-increasing volume of the snow. How long would he be detained a
+prisoner in this house, and, when the roads were free, how could he find
+for Madge any absolute proof of his innocence? The track of the midnight
+thief was lost for ever in the snow; if he had succeeded in escaping as
+mysteriously as he had come--but here Courthope's mind refused again to
+enter upon the problem of the fiend-like enemy and the impassable
+snowfields, which in the hours of darkness he had already given up,
+perceiving the futility of his speculation until further facts were
+known.
+
+Courthope strolled through the rooms, the doors of which were now open.
+Morin permitted this scant liberty chiefly, the prisoner thought,
+because of a wholesome fear of being kicked. In the library at the back
+of the drawing-room he found amusement in reading the titles of the
+books down one long shelf and up another. Every book to which Madge had
+had access had an interest for him. Three cases were filled with books
+of law and history; there was but one from which the books had of late
+been frequently taken. It was filled with romance and poetry, nothing so
+late as the middle of the present century, nothing that had not some
+claim upon educated readers, and yet it was a motley collection. Upon
+the front rim of the upper shelf some one, perhaps the dead father in
+his invalid days, had carved a motto with a knife, the motto that is
+also that of the British arms. It might have been done out of mere
+patriotism; it might have had reference to this legacy of books left to
+the child-maidens, for whom, it seemed, other companionship had not been
+provided.
+
+At length Courthope realised that there was one book which he greatly
+desired to take from the shelf. The Morin daughter was dusting in the
+room, and, with some blandishments, he succeeded in persuading her to
+lay it open upon the table where he could peruse it. To his great
+amusement he observed that she was very careful not to come within a
+yard or two of him, darting back when he approached, evidently thinking
+that the opening of the book might be a ruse to attack her by a sudden
+spring. At first the curious consciousness produced by this damsel's
+awkward gambols of fear so absorbed him that he could not fix his
+attention upon the book; flashes of amusement and of grave annoyance
+chased themselves through his mind like sunshine and shadow over
+mountains on a showery day; he knew not which was the more rational
+mood. Then, attempting the book again, and turning each leaf with a good
+deal of contortion and effort, he became absorbed. It was the _Letters
+of a Portuguese Nun_, and in the astonishment of its perusal he forgot
+the misfortune that had befallen the household, and his own discomfort
+and ignominy. The Morin girl had left him in the room, shutting the
+door.
+
+An hour passed--it might have been about nine of the clock--when
+Courthope began to be roused from his absorption in the book by a sound
+in the next room. It was a low uncertain sound, but evidently that of
+sobbing and tears. He stopped, listened; his heart was wrung with pity.
+It was not the sharp little Eliz who cried like that! He knew such sobs
+did not come from the stormy and uncontrolled bosoms of the French
+servants. He was convinced that it was Madge who was weeping, that she
+was in the long drawing-room, where the portrait of the judge hung near
+the door.
+
+He went nearer the door. His excited desire to offer her some sympathy,
+to comfort, or if possible to help, became intolerable. So conscious was
+he of a common interest between them that not for a moment did the sense
+of prying enter his mind.
+
+He heard then a few words whispered as if to the portrait: 'Father, oh,
+father, we were so happy with him! It is almost the only time that we
+have been quite happy since you went away.'
+
+The sense of the broken whispers came tardily to Courthope's
+understanding through the smothering door. The handle of the door was on
+a level with the hands that were bound to his sides; he turned himself
+in order to bring his fingers near it.
+
+Before he touched it he heard Madge sob and whisper again: 'I was so
+happy, father; I thought it was such fun he had come. I like gentlemen,
+and we never, never see any except the ones that come out of books.'
+
+To Courthope it suddenly seemed that the whole universe must have been
+occupied with purpose to bring him here in order to put an end to her
+gloom and flood her life with sunshine; the universe could not be foiled
+in its attempt. Young love argues from effect to cause, and so limitless
+seemed the strength of his sentiment that the simplicity of her mind and
+the susceptibility of her girlhood were to him like some epic poem which
+arouses men to passion and strong deeds. Ignominiously bound as he was,
+his heart lightened; all doubt of his mission to love her and its
+ultimate success passed from him. He turned the handle and pushed the
+door half open.
+
+The long drawing-room was almost dark; the shutters had not been opened;
+the furniture remained as it had stood when the brilliant assembly of
+the previous evening had broken up; the large fireplace was full of
+ashes; the atmosphere was deadly cold. Courthope stood in the streak of
+light which entered with him. Upon the floor, crouching, her cheek
+leaning against the lower part of her father's picture, was Madge King.
+She was dressed in a blanket coat; moccasins were upon her feet; a fur
+cap lay upon the ground beside her. At the instant of his entrance she
+lifted her bare head, and across the face flushed with tears and prayers
+there flashed the look of haughty intolerance of his presence. She had
+thought that he was locked up in one of the kitchens; she told him so,
+intensely offended that he should see her tears. It was for that reason
+that she did not rise or come to the light, only commanding and
+imploring him to be gone.
+
+'I am quite helpless, even if I wanted to harm you.' He spoke
+reproachfully, knowing instinctively that if she pitied him she would
+accept his pity.
+
+'You have harmed us enough already,' she sighed; 'all the rest of our
+silver, all my dear father's silver is gone. We found that out this
+morning, for what we had used for the feast had been put in a basket
+until we could store it away; it is all taken.'
+
+He was shocked and enraged to hear of this further loss. He did not
+attempt to reason with her; he had ceased to reason with himself.
+
+'You trusted me when you let me in last night,' he said. 'Don't you
+think that you would have had some perception of it last night if I had
+been entirely unworthy? Think what an utter and abominable villain I
+must be to have accepted your hospitality--to have been so very happy
+with you----' So he went on appealing to her heart from the sentiments
+that arose in his own.
+
+Madge listened only for a reasonable period; she rose to her feet. 'I
+must go,' she said.
+
+He found that she proposed to walk on snow-shoes three miles to the
+nearest house, which belonged to a couple of parish priests, where she
+would be certain of obtaining a messenger to carry the news of the
+robbery to the telegraph station. She could not be brought even to
+discuss the advisability of her journey; Morin could not be sent, for
+the servants and Eliz would go mad with terror if left alone.
+
+To Courthope's imagination her journey seemed to be an abandonment of
+herself to the utmost danger. If between the two houses she failed to
+make progress over high drifts and against a heavy gale, what was to
+hinder her from perishing? Then, too, there was that villain, who had
+seemed to stalk forth from the isolated house afar into the howling
+night as easily as the Frankenstein demon, and might even now be
+skulking near--a dangerous devil--able to run where others must trudge
+toilsomely.
+
+Madge, it seemed, had only come to that room to make her confession and
+invoke protection at the shrine of the lost father; she was ready to set
+forth without further delay. She would not, in spite of his most
+eloquent pleading, set Courthope at liberty to make of him either
+messenger or companion.
+
+'The evidence,' she said sadly, 'is all against you. I am very sorry.'
+
+A wilder unrest and vexation at his position returned upon his heart
+because of the lightening that had come with the impulse of love. That
+impulse still remained, an under-current of calm, a knowledge that his
+will and the power of the world were at one, such as men only feel when
+they yield themselves to some sudden conversion; but above this
+new-found faith the cross-currents of strife now broke forth again. Thus
+he raged--
+
+'What was the use of my coming here? Why should the Fates have sent me
+here if I cannot go this errand for you, or if I cannot go with you to
+protect you? If this beast is walking about on snow-shoes, how do you
+know that he will not attack you as soon as you are out of sight of the
+house?'
+
+She seemed to realise that it was strange to be discussing her own
+safety with her prisoner. Very curious was the conflict in her face; her
+strong natural companionableness, her suspicion of him, and her sense of
+the dignity which her situation demanded, contending together. It seemed
+easier for her to disregard his words than to give all the answers which
+her varying feelings would prompt. She was tying on a mink cap by
+winding a woollen scarf about her head.
+
+'Miss Madge! Miss King! It is perfectly intolerable! It--it is
+intolerable!' He stepped nearer as he spoke. A thought came over him
+that even the conventional title of 'Miss' which he had given her was
+wholly inappropriate in a situation so strong--that he and she, merely
+as man and woman, as rational beings, were met together in a wilderness
+where conventions were folly. 'I cannot allow you to risk your life in
+this way.' There was a tense emphasis in his words; he felt the natural
+authority of the protector over the tender thing to be protected, the
+intimate authority which stress of circumstance may give.
+
+She dropped her hands from tying the scarf under her chin, returning for
+his words a look of mingled curiosity, indecision, and distrust.
+
+Quick as she looked upon him, his mind's eye looked upon himself; there
+he stood in grotesque undress, bound around with the cords of an
+extraordinary disgrace. He blamed himself at the moment for not having
+had his hair cut more recently, for he knew that it stood in a wild
+shock above his head, and he felt that it dangled in his eyes. Then a
+gust of emotion, the momentary desire for laughter or groans of
+vexation, rose and choked his utterance, and in the minute that he was
+mute the girl, sitting down upon a low stool, began tightening the
+strings of her moccasins, which, after the first putting on, had relaxed
+with the warmth of the feet. Her business-like preparations for the road
+maddened him.
+
+'Don't you see,' he said, 'what disgrace you are heaping upon me? What
+right have you to deny to me, a gentleman and your guest, the right to
+serve and protect you? Consider to what wretchedness you consign me if I
+am left here to think of you fighting alone with this dangerous storm,
+or attacked by blackguards who we know may not be far away!'
+
+She said in a quiet, practical, girlish way, 'It was I who was
+responsible for letting you in last night, and then this happened--this
+most unheard-of thing. We never heard of any but a petty theft ever
+committed in this whole region before. Now I am bound to keep you here
+until we can hear where father's silver is.'
+
+'You don't believe that I have done it! I am sure you do not' (he
+believed what he said). 'Why haven't you the courage to act upon your
+conviction? You will never regret it.'
+
+'Eliz says that she saw you quite distinctly.'
+
+'Eliz is a little fool,' were the words that arose within him, but what
+he said was, 'Your sister is excitable and nervous; she saw the thief
+undoubtedly, and by some miserable freak of fortune he may have
+resembled me.'
+
+'Does that seem at all likely?'
+
+'Well, then, there was no resemblance, and she fancied it.'
+
+She stood up, looking harassed, but without relenting. 'I must go--there
+is nothing else to be done. Do you think I would stay here when a day
+might make all the difference in recovering the things which belonged to
+my father? Do you think that I am going to lose the things that belonged
+to him just because I am too much of a coward to go out and give the
+alarm?'
+
+She walked away from him resolutely, but the thought of the lost
+treasures and all the dear memories that in her mind were identified
+with them seemed to overcome her. She drew her hand hastily across her
+eyes, and then, to his dismay, the sorrow for her loss emphasised her
+wavering belief in his guilt; for the first time he realised how strong
+that sorrow was. Impelled by emotion she turned again and came
+shrinkingly back into his presence.
+
+'I have not reproached you,' she said, 'because I thought it would be
+mean in case you had not done it; but it seems that you must have done
+it. Won't you tell me where the other man has taken our things? They
+cannot be of any value to you compared with their value to us; and, oh,
+indeed I would much rather give you as much money as you could possibly
+make out of them, and more too, if you would only tell me which way this
+man has gone, and send word to him that he must give them back! I will
+pledge you my word of honour that----'
+
+For the first time he was offended with her. He stepped back with a
+gesture of pride, which in a moment he saw she had construed into
+unwillingness to give the booty up.
+
+'I could promise to give you the money; I could promise that you should
+not be tracked and arrested. I have enough in the savings-bank of my own
+that I could get out without our lawyer or mamma knowing, and you don't
+know how dear, how very dear, everything that belonged to father is to
+Eliz and me. If you wait here tied until my stepmother comes she will
+not give any money to get the things back; she would not care if you
+kept them, so long as she could punish you.'
+
+Every word of her gentle pleading made the insult deeper and more gross,
+and the fact that she was who she was only made the hurt to his pride
+the sorer. He would not answer; he would not explain; he would let her
+think what she liked; it is the way of the injured heart.
+
+Angry, and confirmed in her suspicion, she too turned proudly away. He
+saw her, as she crossed the hall, take up a pair of snow-shoes that she
+had left leaning against the wall, and without further farewell to any
+one turn toward the front door.
+
+He knew then what he must do. Without inward debate, without even
+weighing what his act's ultimate consequences might be, he followed her.
+
+'I will do what you ask. I give you my word of honour--and there is
+honour, you know, even among thieves--that I will do all in my power to
+bring back everything that has been stolen. Give me snow-shoes. Keep my
+horse and my watch and my luggage as surety that I mean what I say. I
+cannot promise that I can get back the silver from the other man, but I
+will do far more than you can do. I will do more than any one else could
+do. If it is within my power I will bring it back to you.'
+
+She considered for a little time whether she would trust him or not. It
+seemed, curiously enough, that from first to last she had never
+distrusted her first instinct with regard to his character, but that her
+child-like belief that in the unknown world all things were possible,
+allowed her to believe also in his criminality. Now that he had, as she
+thought, made his confession and promised restitution, it was perhaps
+the natural product of her conflicting thoughts and feelings that she
+should trust to his oft-repeated vows, and make the paction with him.
+
+She did not consult the Morins; perhaps she knew that she would only
+provoke their opposition, or perhaps she knew that they would only be
+too glad to get rid of the man they feared, caring for nothing but the
+actual safety of the lives in the household. She brought him his coat
+and cap and also a man's moccasins and snow-shoes. With a courage that,
+because somewhat shy and trembling, evoked all the more his admiration,
+she untied the first knot of his rope, unwound the coil, and then untied
+the last knot. The process was slow because of the trembling of her
+fingers, which he felt but could not see. She stood resolute, making him
+dress for the storm upon the threshold of the door. He did not know how
+to strap on the snow-shoes. She watched his first attempt with great
+curiosity; looking up, he was made the more determined to succeed with
+them by seeing the pain of incredulity returning to her eyes.
+
+'How do you expect me to know how to manage things that I have never
+handled in my life before?'
+
+'But if you don't know how to put them on how can you walk in them?'
+
+'I have seen men walk in them, and there are a great many things we can
+do when something depends upon it.'
+
+She directed him how to cross and tie the straps; she continued to watch
+him, increasing anxiety betraying itself in her face.
+
+The snow was so light that even the snow-shoes sank some four or five
+inches. It was just below the porch that he had tied his straps, and
+when he first moved forward he trod with one shoe on the top of the
+other. He had not expected this; he felt that no further progress was
+within the bounds of possibility. For some half minute he stood, his
+back to the door, his face turned to the illimitable region of drifts
+and feathery air, unable to conceive how to go forward and without a
+thought of turning back. When his pulses were surging and tingling with
+the discomfort of her gaze, he heard the door shut sharply. Perhaps she
+thought that he was shamming and was determined not to yield again;
+perhaps--and this seemed even worse--she had been overcome in the midst
+of her stern responsibility by the powers of laughter; perhaps, horrid
+thought, she had gone for Morin to bid him again throw the noose over
+his treacherous shoulders. The last thought pricked him into motion. By
+means of his reason he discovered that if he was to make progress at all
+the rackets must not overlap one another as he trod; his next effort was
+naturally to walk with his feet so wide apart that the rackets at their
+broadest could not interfere. The result was that in a few moments he
+became like a miniature Colossus of Rhodes, fixed again so that he could
+not move, his feet upon platforms at either side of a harbour of snow.
+
+He heard the door open now again sharply, and he felt certain, yes,
+certain, that the lasso was on its way through the air; this time he was
+not going to submit. As men do unthinkingly what they could in no way do
+by thought, he found himself facing the door, his snow-shoes truly
+inextricably mixed with one another, but still he had turned round.
+There was no rope, no Morin; Madge was standing alone upon the outer
+step of the porch, her face aflame with indignation.
+
+'This is either perfect folly or you have deceived me,' she cried.
+
+'I shall learn how to use them in a minute,' he said humbly. He was
+conscious as he spoke that his twisted legs made but an unsteady
+pedestal, that the least push would have sent him headlong into the
+drift.
+
+'How could you say that you would go?' she asked fiercely.
+
+He looked down at his feet as schoolboys do when chidden, but for
+another reason. The question as to whether or not he could get his
+snow-shoes headed again in the right direction weighed like lead upon
+his heart.
+
+'I thought that I could walk upon these things,' he said, and he added,
+with such determination as honour flying from shame only knows, 'and I
+will walk on them and do your errand.'
+
+With that, by carefully untwisting his legs, he faced again in the right
+direction, but, having lifted his right foot too high in the untwisting
+process, he found that the slender tail of its snow-shoe stuck down in
+the snow, setting the shoe pointing skyward and his toe, tied by the
+thongs, held prisoner about a foot above the snow. He tried to kick, but
+the shoe became more firmly embedded. He lost his balance, and only by a
+wild fling of his body, in which his arms went up into the air, did he
+regain his upright position. The moment of calm which succeeded produced
+from him another remark.
+
+'It seems to me that you have got me now in closer bonds than before.'
+As he spoke he turned his glance backward and saw that comment of his
+was needless.
+
+The girl had at last yielded to laughter. Worn out, no doubt, by a
+long-controlled excitement, laughter had now entirely overcome her.
+Leaning her head on her hand and her shoulders against a pillar of the
+porch, she was shaking visibly from head to foot, and the effort she
+made to keep the sound of her amusement within check only seemed to make
+its hold upon her more absolute.
+
+'I don't wonder you laugh,' he said, feebly beginning to laugh himself a
+little.
+
+But she did not make the slightest reply. Her face was crimson; the
+ripples of her laughter went over her form as ripples of wind over a
+young tree.
+
+He was forced to leave her thus. By a miracle of determination, as it
+seemed, he freed his right shoe and made slow and wary strides forward.
+He saw that he had exaggerated the width of his snow-shoes, but his
+progress now was still made upon the plan of keeping his feet wide
+apart, although not too wide for motion. He knew that this was not the
+right method; he knew that she peered at him between her fingers and was
+more convulsed with laughter at his every step. He was thankful to think
+that the falling flakes must soon begin to obscure his figure, but he
+did not dare to try another plan of walking while she watched, lest she
+should see him stop again.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+
+Courthope had struck across to the main road at right angles to the
+poplar avenue. The poplars stood slim, upright, more like a stiff and
+regular formation of feathery seaweed growing out of a frozen ocean than
+like trees upon a plain. He was nearing a grove of elm and birch which
+he had not seen the evening before; by the almost hidden rails of the
+fence there were half-buried shrubs. So dry, so hard, so absolutely
+without bud or sere leaf was the interlacing outline of the trees and
+shrubs, that they too seemed to be some strange product of this new sort
+of ocean; they did not remind him of verdant glades. Not that beauty was
+absent, nor charm, but the scene was strange, very strange; the domain
+of the laughing princess, on whom he had turned his back, was, in the
+daylight, more than ever an enchanted land which he could fancy to be
+unknown in story and until now unexplored by man. Such ideas only came
+to him by snatches; the rest of him, mind and body, was summed up in a
+fierce determination to catch the thief and bring back his spoils.
+Whether by this he would prove himself honest or guilty, he neither knew
+nor felt that he cared.
+
+Gradually, as he thought less about his snow-shoes, he found that the
+wide lateral swing which he had been giving to his leg was unneeded.
+Strange as it seemed, the large rackets did not interfere when he took
+an ordinary step. Having made this pleasant discovery he quickened
+speed. He did not know whether the girl had stopped laughing and had
+gone into the house again, but he knew that the falling snow and the
+branches of the trees must now hinder her from seeing him distinctly.
+
+In a moment he was glad of this, for, becoming incautious, he fell.
+
+Both arms, put out to save himself, were embedded to the very shoulder
+straight down in snow that offered no bottom to his touch; when his next
+impulse was to move knees and feet he found that the points of his
+snow-shoes were dug deep, and his toes, tied to them, held the soles of
+his feet in the same position.
+
+What cursed temerity had made him confess to a criminal act in order to
+be allowed to come on this fool's errand? Fool, indeed, had he been to
+suppose that he could walk upon a frozen cloud without falling through!
+Such were Courthope's reflections.
+
+By degrees he got himself up, but only by curling himself round and
+taking off his snow-shoes. By degrees he got the snow-shoes put on
+again, and mounted out of the hole which he had made, with snow
+adhering to all his garments and snow melting adown his neck and wrists.
+He now realised that he had spent nearly half an hour in walking not a
+quarter of a mile. With this cheerless reflection as a companion he went
+doggedly on, choosing now the drifted main road for a path.
+
+Having left behind him the skeleton forms of the trees, he was trudging
+across an open plain, flat almost as the surface of the lake which he
+had traversed yesterday. Sometimes the fences at the side of the road
+were wholly hidden, more often they showed the top of their posts or
+upper bar; sometimes he could see cross-fences, as if outlining fields,
+so that he supposed he still walked through lands farmed from the lonely
+stone house, that he was still upon his lady's domain. He meditated upon
+her, judging that she was sweet beyond compare, although why he thought
+so, after her mistrust and derision, was one of those secrets which the
+dimpled Cupid only could explain. He was forced to acknowledge the fact
+that thus he did think, because here he was walking, whither he hardly
+knew, how he hardly knew, battling with the gale, hustled roughly by its
+white wings, in danger at every turn of falling off the two small moving
+rafts of his shoes into a sea in which no man could swim very long. He
+wondered, should his snow-shoes break, if he would be able to flounder
+to the rim of the fence? How long could he sit there? Certainly it would
+seem, looking north and south and east and west, that he would need to
+sit as long as the life in him might endure the frost.
+
+At length a shed or small barn met his eye. His own approach seemed to
+have been heard and answered from within; the neigh of a horse greeted
+him. At first he supposed that some horses belonging to the house were
+stabled here, and neglected because the roads were impassable; then he
+judged that so slight a shed could not be intended for a stable.
+
+He answered the animal's cry by seeking the door. Against it the drift
+was not deep, for, as it opened on the sheltered side, he had only the
+snowfall to scrape away. The door, which had very recently been freed
+from its crust of frost, yielded easily. He found a brown shaggy horse
+tied within, and beside it a sleigh, such as he had frequently seen, a
+mere platform of wood upon runners. Otherwise the shed was empty.
+Courthope was quickly struck by the recognition of something which set
+his memory working. The old buffalo-skin on the sleigh was such as was
+common, but the way it was stretched upon a heap of sacks made him
+remember the sleigh that he had yesterday passed upon the river, and the
+keen sinister face of the driver, which had ill contrasted with his
+apparent sleep and stupidity.
+
+Courthope tossed aside the skin with a jerk. A rum bottle, a small hoard
+of frozen bread and bacon, a heavy blanket folded beneath, all seemed to
+prove that the driver had made provision for a longer journey. The horse
+had no food before it; no blanket was upon its back. Probably its driver
+had not intended to leave it here so long. Where was the driver? This
+quickly became in Courthope's mind the all-important question. Why had
+he been skulking on the most lonely part of the lake? And now, recalling
+again the man's face, he believed that he had had an evil design.
+
+Courthope pursued his way; for, whether the thief had gone farther or
+remained in this vicinity, it was evidently desirable to have help from
+the nearest neighbours to seek and capture him. Courthope soon reached
+what seemed to be a dip or hollow in the plain; in this the wind had
+been very busy levelling the surface with the higher ground. At first he
+supposed that, for some reason, road and fences had come to an abrupt
+ending; then he discovered that he merely walked higher above the
+natural level. The thought came to him that if here he should break his
+snow-shoes there would not even be the neighbouring fence-top on which
+to perch and freeze.
+
+Suddenly all his attention was concentrated upon a dark something, like
+a bit of cloth fallen in the snow. As he came close and touched the
+cloth he found it to be the covering of a basket almost buried; pushing
+away the snow-crusted covering and feeling with eager fingers among the
+icy contents, he quickly knew that this was no other than the stolen
+silver of which he was in quest. A thrill of gratitude to Fortune for so
+kindly a freak had hardly passed through his mind before his eye sought
+a depression in the snow just beyond. He saw now that a man was lying
+there. The head resting upon an arm was but slightly covered with snow;
+the whole form had sunk by its own heat into a cavity like a grave.
+
+Courthope lifted the head; the face was that of the man whom he had seen
+yesterday upon the river. The arms, when he raised them, fell again to
+the snow like lead, yet he perceived that life was not extinct. Even in
+the frost the odour of rum was to be perceived, and breath, although so
+feeble as to be unseen, still passed in and out of the tightly-drawn
+nostrils. The touch, that would have been reverent to a corpse, was now
+rough. He shook the fallen man and shouted. He raised him to a sitting
+posture, but finding that, standing as he did upon soft snow, to lift
+him was impossible, he laid him again in the self-made grave. That
+posture at least would be most conducive to the continued motion of the
+heart.
+
+Standing upon the other side of the body, Courthope's shoe struck upon
+another hard object which he found to be a case, stolen locked as it
+was, which contained, no doubt, the other valuables whose loss Madge had
+first discovered. The wretch, weighted by a burden in each hand, had
+apparently missed his way when endeavouring to return to the shed in
+which he had left his horse, and wandering in circles, perhaps for
+hours, had evidently succumbed to drink and to cold, caught as in a trap
+by the unusual violence of the storm.
+
+There was nothing to be done but return to the house for Morin's aid,
+and, lifting the handles of basket and case in either hand, Courthope
+doubled back upon his own track, thankful that he had already attained
+to some skill in snow-shoeing. As he neared the house his heart beat
+high at the excitement of seeing Madge's delight. He closely scanned the
+windows, even the tiny windows in the pointed tin roof, but no eager
+eyes were on the look-out.
+
+Loudly he thumped upon the heavy front door. There was somewhat of a
+bustle inside at the knock. The snow-bound household collected quickly
+at the welcome thought of a message from the outside world. When the
+door was opened Madge and the Morins were there to behold Courthope
+carrying the plunder. He perceived at once that his guilt, if doubted
+before, was now proved beyond all doubt. There was a distinct measure of
+reserve in the satisfaction they expressed. Madge especially was very
+grave, with a strong flavour of moral severity in her words and
+demeanour.
+
+Courthope explained to her that the other man was dying in the snow,
+that if his life was to be saved no time must be lost. She repeated the
+story in French to Morin, and thereupon arose high words from the
+Frenchman. Madge looked doubtfully at Courthope, and then she
+interpreted.
+
+It seemed that the Frenchman's desire was to put him out again and lock
+up the house, leaving the two accomplices to shift for themselves as
+best they might. Courthope urged motives of humanity. He described the
+man and his condition.
+
+At length he prevailed. Madge insisted that if Morin did not go she
+would. In a few moments both she and Morin were preparing to set out.
+
+It seemed useless for Courthope to precede them; he went into the
+dining-room, demanding food of Madam Morin.
+
+He found that Eliz had been carried down and placed in her chair in the
+midst of domestic activities.
+
+As soon as she spied him, being in a nervous, hysterical state, she
+opened her mouth and shrieked sharply; the shriek at this time had more
+the tone of a child's anger than of a woman's fear. With a strong sense
+of humour he sat down at the table, and she, realising that he was not
+immediately dangerous, railed upon him.
+
+'Viper in the bosom!' said Eliz.
+
+Courthope, almost famished, ate fast.
+
+'Daughter of the horse-leech crying "give," and sucking blood from the
+hand it gives!' she continued.
+
+'Sir Charles Grandison would never have kicked a man when he was down,'
+he said. 'He would have tried to do good even to the viper he had
+nourished.'
+
+The memory of Sir Charles's well-known method even with the most
+villainous, appeared to distract her attention for a moment.
+
+'And then they all sent for him and confessed and made amends, just as I
+have done,' Courthope went on; but the fact that a laugh was gleaming in
+his eyes enraged the little cripple.
+
+'How dare you talk to me, sitting there pretending to be a gentleman!'
+
+'I would rather be allowed to make a better toilet if my reputation were
+to rest upon a pretence. I never heard of a gentlemanly villain who went
+about without collar and cuffs, and had not been allowed access to his
+hair-brush.'
+
+'A striped jacket and shaved head is generally what he goes about in
+after he's unmasked. If I had been Madge I would not have let you off.'
+
+'Come, remember how sorry Elizabeth Bennett was when she found she had
+given way to prejudice. If I remember right she lay awake many nights.'
+
+'Are you adding insult to injury by insinuating that either of us might
+bestow upon you----?'
+
+'Oh! certainly not, I merely wish to suggest that a young lady
+possessing lively talents and "remarkably fine eyes" might yet make
+great mistakes in her estimate of the masculine character.'
+
+The cripple, who perhaps had never before heard her one beautiful
+feature praised by masculine lips, was obliged to harden herself.
+
+'Accomplished wretch!' she cried, in accents worthy of an irate Pamela.
+
+'Do you suppose it was the last time I was serving my term in gaol that
+I read our favourite novels?' he asked.
+
+By this time Morin had passed out of the door to put on his snow-shoes,
+and Courthope, who had swallowed only as much food as was necessary to
+keep him from starvation, turned out to repeat the process of putting on
+his, this time more deftly.
+
+Morin had a toboggan upon which were piled such necessaries as Madge had
+collected. They began their march three abreast into the storm.
+
+They went a long way without conversation, and yet Courthope found in
+this march keen enjoyment. His heart was absurdly light. To have
+performed so considerable a service for Madge, now to be walking beside
+her on an errand of mercy, was as much joy as the present hour could
+hold.
+
+It was difficult for him to keep up with the others, yet in doing so
+there was the pleasure of the athlete in having acquired a new mastery
+over his muscles; and the fascination of being at home in the snow as a
+sea-bird is at home in the surf, which is the chief element of delight
+in all winter sports, was his for the first time. With the drunken
+wretch who was almost frozen he felt small sympathy, but he had the
+sense that all modern men have on such occasions, that he ought to be
+concerned, which kept him grave.
+
+The other two were not light-hearted. Morin, dragging the toboggan
+behind him and walking with his grey head bent forward to the gale, was
+sullen at being driven in the service of thieves; afraid lest some
+sinister design was still intended, he cast constant glances of cunning
+suspicion at Courthope. As for Madge, she appeared grave and
+pre-occupied beyond all that was natural to her, suffering, he feared,
+from the pain of her first disillusionment. This was a suffering that he
+was hardly in a position to take seriously, and yet his heart yearned
+over her. He thought also that she was pondering over the problem of
+her next responsibility, and the evidence of this came sooner than he
+had expected.
+
+When they got to the place where his first track diverged straight to
+the shed, she and Morin stopped to exchange remarks; they evidently
+perceived in this the clearest evidence of all against him. Had he not
+gone straight to the place where the accomplice had agreed to wait? Then
+Madge fell back a little to where he was now plodding in the rear. She
+accosted him in the soft tones that had from the first so charmed him,
+contrasting with her sister's voice as the tones of a reed-pipe contrast
+with those from metal, or as the full voice of the cuckoo with the
+shrill chirp of the sparrow. The soft voice was very serious, the manner
+more than sedate, the words studied.
+
+'I am afraid that nothing that I can say will persuade you to alter a
+way of life which you seem to have chosen, but it seems to me very sad
+that one of your ability should so degrade himself.'
+
+She stopped with a little gasp for breath, as if frightened at her own
+audacity. Her manner and phrases were an evident imitation of the way in
+which she had heard advice bestowed upon vagrant or criminal by the
+benevolent judge whose memory she so tenderly cherished. It was second
+nature to her to act as she fancied he would have acted. Courthope
+composed himself to receive the judicial admonition with becoming
+humility; his whole sympathy was with her, his mind was aglow with the
+quaint humour of it.
+
+'You must know,' rebuked Madge, 'how very wrong it is; and it is not
+possible that you could have difficulty in getting some honest
+employment.'
+
+'It is very kind of you to interest yourself in me.' He kept his eyes
+upon the ground.
+
+'I do not know, of course, what led you to begin a life of crime, or in
+what way you found out what houses in this country were worth robbing,
+but I fear you must have led a wicked life for a long time' (she was
+very severe now). 'You are young yet; why should you carry on your
+nefarious schemes in a new country, where, if you would, you could
+easily reform?' (Again a little gasp for breath.) 'I have promised to
+let you go without giving you into the hands of the law. I am afraid I
+did a selfish and weak thing, because others may suffer from your
+crimes, and I wish you could take this opportunity, which my leniency
+gives you, and try to reform before you have lost your reputation as
+well as your character.'
+
+'It is very kind of you,' he murmured again; and still as he walked he
+looked upon his feet. He had no thought now of again denying his guilt;
+having denied and, as she thought, confessed, he felt that to change
+once more would only evoke her greater scorn. 'Let be,' his heart said.
+'Let come what will, I will not confuse her further to-day.'
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+
+They passed the shed, making a straight march, as swift as might be, for
+the fallen man; but before they reached him they saw some one coming, a
+black, increasing form in the snowy distance. Morin hesitated. If the
+thief had arisen, strong and able-bodied, it was clear that they had
+again been tricked for an evil purpose. Even Madge looked alarmed, and
+they both raised a halloo in the _patois_ of the region. The answer that
+came across the reach of the storm cheered them.
+
+The new-comer, a messenger from the nearest village, became voluble as
+soon as he was within speaking distance. He addressed Madge in broken
+English, but so quickly and with so strong a French accent that
+Courthope only gathered part of his errand. He had come, it seemed, from
+the stepmother to tell something concerning a certain Xavier, who had
+been sent to them the evening before. Before he had finished calling,
+Madge and Morin had come to the place where the thief lay, and, looking
+down upon him, Madge gave a little cry.
+
+The new-comer came up. He looked as if he might be of the grade of a
+notary's clerk or a country chemist. He did not seem surprised to see
+who the man was. He began at once with great activity to chafe his hands
+and face with handfuls of the snow. Madge and Morin were also active
+with the restoratives. The thief was lifted and laid upon the toboggan.
+They trod the snow all about to know that nothing remained, and found
+only a corkless flask containing a few drops of rum. They were all so
+busy that Courthope had little to do; he stood aside, wondering above
+all at the way they rubbed the man with the snow, and at the
+astonishment that Madge expressed. The stranger was very nimble and very
+talkative; pouring out words now in French to Madge, he walked with her
+in all haste to the shed from which the horse again whinnied. Morin,
+awakening to a sense of urgency, started at a trot, dragging the
+toboggan behind him; it sank heavily in snow so light. Courthope lent a
+hand to the loop of rope by which it was drawn. He too essayed the trot
+of the Canadian. He was growing proficient, and if he did not succeed in
+keeping up the running pace, he managed to go more quickly than before.
+They made fair progress. Looking back, Courthope saw Madge and the
+stranger emerge upon the road with the little horse. He had not time to
+look back often to see how they helped it to make its way. They were
+still some distance behind when he and Morin reached the house.
+
+The man called Xavier was carried into the kitchen amid wild
+exclamations from the Morin women. As they all continued the work of
+restoring him with a hearty goodwill and an experience of which
+Courthope could not boast, he was glad to betake himself to his own
+room, wondering whether he was now a thief or a gentleman in the eyes of
+this small snow-bound world. There was, in any case, no one at leisure
+to prohibit him from making free with his own possessions.
+
+When he was dressed a certain shyness prohibited him from entering the
+dining-room in which he heard Madge, Eliz, and the stranger talking
+French together. He betook himself to the library, to the _Letters of
+the Portuguese Nun_ and an easy-chair. They might oust him with
+severity, but it was as well to enjoy a short interval of luxury. The
+room was warmed with a stove; the book was in the old-fashioned type; an
+almost sleepless night was behind him; soon he slept.
+
+It was almost midday when he slept; the afternoon was advancing when he
+awakened. Madam Morin was standing beside him arranging a tray of food
+upon the table.
+
+'Eh!' she said, and smiled upon him.
+
+Then she pointed to the food, and demanded in pantomime if it suited
+him. Courthope concluded that he had ceased to be in disgrace. He would
+rather, much rather, have been summoned to a family meal, but that was
+not his lot. He had taken many things philosophically in the course of
+recent hours, and he took this also. What right had he to intrude
+himself? He ate his meal alone. His roving glance soon brought him
+pleasure, for he found that some one had tip-toed into the room while he
+slept and laid the choicest volumes of romance near his chair.
+
+The wind had dropped, the snow had ceased falling. Before Courthope had
+finished his luncheon the young man who looked like a notary's clerk
+came in, using his broken English. He remarked that the storm was over
+and that they were now going to get out a double team to plough through
+the road. He suggested that Courthope should help him to drive it, and
+to transport the prisoner to the gaol in the village. One man must be
+left to protect the young ladies and the house; one man must help him
+with the team and its burden. The speaker shrugged his shoulders,
+suggesting that it would be more suitable for Morin to remain, and said
+that for his part he would be much obliged and honoured if Courthope
+would accompany him. Here some plain and easy compliments were thrown in
+about Courthope's strength and the generous activity he had displayed,
+but not a word concerning his temporary disgrace; if this man knew of it
+he did not regard it as of any importance.
+
+He was a matter-of-fact young man, not much interested in Courthope as a
+stranger, immensely interested in the fact of the theft and all that
+concerned it. At the slightest question he poured out excited
+information. Xavier had been a servant in the house. Mrs. King, who was
+religious and zealous, had found in him a convert. He had become a
+Protestant to please her. (At this point the narrator shrugged his
+shoulders again.) Then Xavier had asked higher wages; upon that there
+was a quarrel, and he had left.
+
+The speaker's scanty English was of the simplest. He said, 'Xavier is a
+very bad man, much worse than our people usually are. This winter he
+went to the city and got his wits sharpened, and when he came back he
+made a scheme. He sent word to Mrs. King that his old father was dying
+and would like to be converted too. Mrs. King travels at once with a
+horse and the strongest servant-man. The old father takes a long time to
+die, so Xavier comes here yesterday to say she will stay all night; but
+when he did not come back, his wife she got frightened, and she told
+that the old man was not going to die, that she was afraid there was a
+scheme. Now we have Xavier very safe. He may get five years.'
+
+Upon Courthope's inquiring after the health of the thief, he was told
+that beyond being severely frost-bitten he was little the worse. He was
+again drunk with the stimulants that the Morins had poured down his
+throat. The visitor ended the interview by saying that if Courthope
+would be good enough to drive the team through the drifts his own horse
+and sleigh would be sent after him the next day. Courthope inquired what
+was the wish of the young mistress of the house. The other replied that
+mademoiselle approved of his plan. It was evident that poor Madge was no
+longer the mistress; the clerk was an emissary of Mrs. King's, and as
+such he had taken the control. Still, as he was an amiable and capable
+person, Courthope fell in with his suggestion, inwardly vowing that soon
+of some domain, if not of this one, Madge should again be queen.
+
+Courthope received a message to the effect that the young ladies wished
+to see him. There was something in the formal wording of this message,
+coming after his solitary meal, which made him know that they were ill
+at ease, that they had taken their mistake more deeply to heart than he
+would have wished. He had no sooner entered the room where Madge stood
+than he wished he were well out of it again, so far did his sympathy
+with her discomfort transcend his own pleasure at being in her
+presence.
+
+Madge stood, as upon the first night, behind her sister's chair. Eliz
+looked frightened and excited, yet as half enjoying the novel
+excitement. Madge, pale-faced and distressed, showed only too plainly
+that she had need of all the courage she possessed to lift her eyes to
+his. Yet she was not going to shirk her duty; she was going to make her
+apology, and the apology of the household, just as the judge, her
+father, would have wished to have it made.
+
+It was a little speech, conned beforehand, which she spoke--a quaint
+mixture of her own girlish wording and the formal phrases which she felt
+the occasion demanded. Courthope never knew precisely what she said. His
+feelings were up and in tumult, like the winds on a gusty day, and he
+was embarrassed for her embarrassment, while he smiled for the very joy
+of it all.
+
+Madge confessed with grief that Eliz had mistaken Xavier for Courthope.
+She said the man from the village had shown them what folly it was to
+suppose that the gentleman could be Xavier's accomplice. She begged that
+same gentleman's pardon very humbly. At the end he heard some words
+faltered: she wished it was in their power 'to make any amends.'
+
+Almost before she ceased speaking he took up the word, and his own voice
+sounded to him merry and bold in comparison with her soft distressful
+speech; but he could not help that, he must speak with such powers as
+nature gave him.
+
+'There are two ways by which you can make amends, and first I would beg
+that none of our friends who were here last night should be told of it.
+I should not like to think that Emma and Elizabeth, and Evelina or
+Marianna Alcoforado should ever hear that I was taken for a thief.'
+
+'You are laughing at us,' said Eliz sharply. 'We know that you will go
+away and make fun of us to all your friends.'
+
+'If I do you will have one way of punishing me that would give me more
+pain than I could well endure, you can shut me out next time I come to
+ask for shelter.'
+
+'Oh, but you can't come again,' said Eliz, with vibrating note of fierce
+discontent; 'our stepmother will be here.'
+
+He looked at Madge.
+
+'I was going to say that the other way in which you could make amends
+would be to give me leave to come back; and if _you_ give me leave I
+will come, even if it be necessary, to that end, to get an introduction
+from all the clergy in Great Britain, or from the Royal Family.'
+
+A ray of hope shot into Madge's dark eyes, the first glimmer of a smile
+began to show through her distress.
+
+'It is an old adage that "where there is a will there is a way," and did
+I not walk on your most impossible snow-shoes and bring back your
+silver?'
+
+Madge looked down, a pretty red began to mantle her pale face, and, as
+if the angels who manage the winds and clouds did not wish that the
+blush of so dear a maiden should betray too much, a ray of scarlet light
+from the sinking sun just then came winging through the dispersing
+storm-clouds and caused all the white snow-world to redden, and dyed the
+frost-flowers on the window-pane, and, entering where the pane was bare,
+lit all the room with soft vermilion light. So, in the wondrous blush of
+the white world, the girl's cheeks glowed and yet did not confess too
+much.
+
+'You will allow me to send in your compliments and inquire after Mr.
+Woodhouse as I pass?' This was Courthope's farewell to Eliz, and she
+called joyfully in reply:--
+
+'You need not send back his message, for we shall know that they are
+"all very indifferent."'
+
+Into the scarlet shining of the western sun, an omen of fair weather and
+delight, Courthope set forth again from the square tin-roofed house,
+'leaving,' as the saying is, 'his heart behind him.' The large
+farm-horses, restive from long confinement and stimulated by the frost,
+shook their bells with energy. The Morin women displayed such goodwill
+and even tenderness in their attentions to the comfort of the second
+prisoner, in whom they had found an old friend, that, tied in a blanket
+and lying full length on the straw of a box-sleigh, he looked content
+with himself and the world, albeit he had not as yet returned from the
+happy roving-places of the drunken brain. The talkative clerk was glad
+enough to give Courthope the reins of the masterful horses; he sat on
+one edge of the blue-painted box and Courthope on the other; thus they
+started, bravely plunging into the drifts between the poplars. The
+drifts were all tinged with pink; the poplars, intercepting the red
+light upon their slender upright boughs, cast, each of them, a clear
+shadow that seemed to lie in endless length athwart the glowing sward.
+
+Courthope looked back at the house which had been so dim and
+phantom-like the night before; the red sun lit the icicles that hung
+from eaves and lintels, tinged the drifts, glowed upon the windows as if
+with light from within, and turned the steep tin roof into a gigantic
+rose; but all his glance was centred upon his lady-love, who stood,
+regardless of the cold, at the entrance of the drift-encircled porch and
+watched them as long as the sunlight lay upon the land. Was she looking
+at the plunging sleigh and at its driver, or at the chasms of light in
+the rent cloud beyond? His heart told him, as he drove on into the very
+midst of the sunset which had embraced the glistening land, that the
+maid, although not regardless of the outer glory, only rejoiced in its
+beauty because the vision of her heart was focused upon him. His heart,
+in telling him this, taught him no pride, for had he not learned in the
+same small space of time only to count himself rich in what she gave?
+
+Slow was the progress of the great horses; they passed the grove of high
+elms and birches that, dressed in the snowflakes that had lodged in
+boughs and branches when the wind dropped, stood up clear against the
+gulfs of blue that now opened above and beyond. Then the house was
+hidden, and after that, by degrees, the light of the sunset passed away.
+
+
+
+THE END.
+
+
+Printed by R. & R. CLARK, LIMITED, Edinburgh
+
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+ADVERTISEMENTS
+
+
+A MAN OF HONOUR.
+
+H. C. IRWIN.
+
+
+Crown 8vo, cloth, price 6s.
+
+'We have read many and many a story of the Indian Mutiny, but Mr.
+Irwin's tale has novelty all its own.'--_Glasgow Herald._
+
+'Much good and careful work marks "A Man of Honour." H. C. Irwin is a
+writer of thought and culture, who uses his experience of foreign travel
+to admirable purpose in an interesting book.'--_Black and White._
+
+'All the characters are clearly presented, and you have no difficulty in
+knowing whether you like them or not; and that is a commendation in
+itself.'--_National Observer._
+
+'The novel is well written, vigorous, and interesting, and will well
+repay reading, especially to those who like breezy, outdoor, active
+existence.'--_Scotsman._
+
+'The interest is well sustained throughout, and once fairly embarked on
+the story, it requires no slight moral effort to lay down the book
+before finishing it.'--_Literary World._
+
+'The description of Indian politics and events during the Mutiny years
+is well done, and the account of the battle of Chillianwallah and the
+time immediately preceding it is excellent'--_Standard._
+
+'The literary qualities of the book are high, and the story itself has
+great merit and power, and can be heartily recommended as a book very
+well worth reading.'--_Aberdeen Free Press._
+
+'Essentially interesting and well written.'--_British Review._
+
+'A cleaner book, and one more free, in spite of its _motif_, from the
+trail of the sex-serpent, we scarcely remember to have read.... We need
+more such idealists ... to show us some of the good that is left in the
+world.'--_Blackwood's Magazine._
+
+'The picture furnished of India, of its people and their ways, and of
+the terrible experiences of the Mutiny period, is an admirable bit of
+strong literary work.'--_Belfast News Letter._
+
+'It is a platitude that, to be worth reading, a Mutiny story must be
+unquestionably good. The standard is high, but Mr. Irwin's book comes up
+to it, and fully satisfies the most exacting test'--_The Pioneer,
+Allahabad._
+
+
+A. & C. BLACK, SOHO SQUARE, LONDON.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+THE LIFEGUARDSMAN.
+
+ADAPTED FROM SCHIMMEL'S 'DE KAPTEIN VAN DE LIJFGARDE.'
+
+
+Crown 8vo, cloth, price 6s.
+
+'It is a work of remarkable power and sustained interest. Right to the
+end the interest is maintained, and it is not over-estimating the work
+to say that few historical novels published within recent years are
+superior to this adaptation of the Dutchman's story.'--_Scotsman._
+
+'It is primarily a romance, a story of thrilling adventure, and moves
+forward with dramatic spirit from point to point.'--_Illustrated London
+News._
+
+'We have no other novel giving so intimate an account of how things fell
+out, and what obscure events and persons helped and hindered the
+overthrow of James II. But the chief interest of the book turns round
+the private person, the Lifeguardsman, not all a hero, mistaken, erring,
+unfortunate, yet a brave man, and of the kind that stirs our sympathies
+more than do immaculate heroes.'--_Bookman._
+
+'The work is characterised by great dash and vigour, and the principal
+characters in the story are strongly drawn, while the incidents are
+woven so skilfully together that the reader is carried with absorbing
+interest to the close.'--_Western Times._
+
+'English readers are under a considerable debt of gratitude to the
+anonymous translator who has given them a version in the vernacular of
+Schimmel's "De Kaptein van de Lijfgarde." "The Lifeguardsman" is a
+historical novel of very unusual power and fidelity. In detail and habit
+the scenes and people of that troublous period are "reconstituted" here
+with remarkable skill.'--_Belfast Northern Whig._
+
+'We do not often get the pleasure of handling such a lively and
+thrilling story, and can feel a due measure of gratitude for the
+anonymous "mere adapter" to whose discernment and enterprise we are
+indebted for having brought it to our notice.'--_Literary World._
+
+
+A. & C. BLACK, SOHO SQUARE, LONDON.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+A JAPANESE MARRIAGE
+
+BY DOUGLAS SLADEN.
+
+FIFTH THOUSAND.
+
+
+Crown 8vo, boards, price 2s.; or in cloth, price 2s. 6d.
+
+I. ZANGWILL, _Pall Mall Magazine_, says: 'Bryn, the
+heroine, is a charming creature, and some of the scenes with her
+half-crazed dying sister reveal strong imaginative power.'
+
+MRS LYNN LINTON, in the _Queen_, says: 'Another Little Dear
+has for her main quality unselfishness, penetrated through and through
+by love. Such a character is Mary Avon in Douglas Sladen's striking
+novel, "A Japanese Marriage."'
+
+SILAS K. HOCKING, in the _Family Circle_: 'The stupidity, not
+to say immorality, of the English law, which prevents marriage with the
+deceased wife's sister, has rarely been more strikingly illustrated than
+in Mr. Douglas Sladen's clever novel, "A Japanese Marriage." I could
+wish the whole bench of bishops would read, mark, learn, and inwardly
+digest this sparkling and entertaining story.'
+
+HELEN MATHERS, in the _Literary World_, writes: 'Philip and
+Bryn--these two are so interesting and so true to life, the Japanese
+background against which they move in such noble but intensely human
+fashion is so exquisite, that the dullest of us must feel keen pleasure
+when we mingle intimately with the little people who have quite recently
+asserted their right to be reckoned with the greatest upon earth.'
+
+G. A., in the _Westminster Gazette_, says: 'Mr. Douglas Sladen's first
+novel is a distinct success. To begin with, he has managed to capture a
+real live heroine, as charming and convincing a pretty girl as we have
+met with for years. Her flesh-and-blood reality is quite undeniable. She
+imposes herself upon one from the very first; she is winning and
+genuine, and as fresh as a daisy.'
+
+GILBERT BURGESS, in the _Illustrated London News_: 'This time
+it is the woes of the deceased wife's sister which are brought before us
+in a narrative that is invariably picturesque, and, especially as to the
+latter half of the volume, is of considerable humour and pathos.'
+
+NORMAN GALE, in the _Literary World_: 'Bryn, a girl beautiful
+exceedingly, only a little past twenty years of age--"sweet and twenty"
+indeed!--loving Philip purely, and purely loved by him in return, living
+alone with a young widower. The moment when Bryn proves her love is a
+most exciting one, and shows that Mr. Sladen is a master of vivid
+recital.'
+
+JAS. STANLEY LITTLE, in the _Academy_: 'He writes with
+knowledge and freshness of a country and a people as full of interest as
+Japan and the Japanese.'
+
+MARION HEPWORTH DIXON, in the _Englishwoman_: 'A story
+strikingly told and animated with the doings of English residents in
+Japan.'
+
+RICHARD LE GALLIENNE, in the _Star_: 'An exceedingly sprightly
+and readable novel.'
+
+A. & C. BLACK, SOHO SQUARE, LONDON.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+MERE STORIES.
+
+BY MRS. W. K. CLIFFORD.
+
+
+Crown 8vo, paper covers, in the style of a French novel, price 2s.
+
+'Mrs. W. K. Clifford's "Mere Stories" is not only notable for the
+excellence and uniform interest of the stories it contains, but also for
+the novelty of its shape--that of the yellow French novel pure and
+simple. The innovation deserves encouragement. You do not want, at this
+time of day, an introduction to Mrs. Clifford's many good qualities. She
+has become one of those few writers of English fiction no one of whose
+books one can afford to leave unread.'--_Review of Reviews._
+
+'They are neatly and incisively written, with an unfailing strain of
+humour running through them. Altogether, this is a volume to read, and
+we like its get-up--in paper covers on the French model, only neater and
+more substantial.'--_Daily Mail._
+
+'In type, make-up, and size, it is exactly the volume to buy at the
+book-stall and slip into such convenient receptacle as you may chance to
+carry with you in the railway carriage. It costs you no more than a few
+illustrated papers, and is more handy to bestow when you have read it.
+As for the contents, they are eight slight stories, in Mrs. Clifford's
+best manner. Yet, simple and unpretending as they are, they contain the
+real novelist's touch. There is nature, drama, character, in these short
+histories, and, above all, that command of simple pathos which Mrs.
+Clifford has more than most writers. We do not know many living writers
+who could have done either so well.'--_St. James's Gazette._
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+UNIFORM WITH 'MERE STORIES,'
+
+THE LAST TOUCHES.
+
+BY MRS. W. K. CLIFFORD.
+
+
+'Much skill is devoted to the narration of all these
+stories.'--_Saturday Review._
+
+'Many of them surpass even "Aunt Anne" and "Mrs. Keith's Crime" in
+terseness and brilliant originality.'--_Morning Post._
+
+'One reads them from beginning to end enchanted.'--_National Review._
+
+'There is some very pretty and delicate work in them, which the literary
+world would be the poorer for losing.'--_Daily Telegraph._
+
+'Indeed, in every story there are touches of wonderful cleverness, signs
+of clear insight, of fresh and just observation.'--_Speaker._
+
+'Two or three of the stories reach an uncommon level of thought and
+expression.'--_Standard._
+
+'But they are all good, all original, all distinctive, and we advise
+readers to take care not to miss them.'--_Guardian._
+
+
+A. & C. BLACK, SOHO SQUARE, LONDON.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+THE DREAM-CHARLOTTE.
+
+BY M. BETHAM-EDWARDS.
+
+
+Crown 8vo, cloth, price 6s.
+
+'Miss Betham-Edwards is on her own special ground in her new novel,
+which she calls "The Dream-Charlotte." Provincial France of the
+Revolution time she knows with a detailed knowledge few other English
+writers, if any, possess. It is a first-rate novel for youth, because of
+its irresistible, contagious youthfulness; and its wholesome
+enthusiasms.'--_The Sketch._
+
+'An historical novel of a thoroughly legitimate kind, for the picture
+and the character are brought before us with sufficient vividness, yet
+mainly through the words and thoughts of the fictitious heroine, and
+through her close sympathy with her friend.'--_Athenaeum._
+
+'A tale of rare imaginative beauty. Needless to say, the literary charm
+of the book is great, and the atmosphere of the story true to its
+historical setting.'--_Dundee Advertiser._
+
+'No living writer is so thoroughly at home in describing French life as
+Miss Edwards is, or better able to give a life-like picture of the
+social condition of France at the period of Charlotte Corday's daring
+deed.'--_Hastings Observer._
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+THE CURB OF HONOUR.
+
+BY M. BETHAM-EDWARDS.
+
+
+Crown 8vo, cloth, price 3s. 6d.
+
+'The descriptions of scenery in the Pyrenees are very attractive, and
+the author has been most skilful in her delineations of the characters
+of the leading actors.'--_Literary World._
+
+'The concluding chapter is a piece of masterly tragi-comedy. When I say
+that this scene is suggestive of Balzac, I mean a high
+compliment.'--_Academy._
+
+'Miss Betham-Edwards is a popular favourite of longstanding. She loves
+to take her readers into some quiet corner of France, and her gift of
+picturesque description is such that her tales seldom fail to yield
+interest and recreation.'--_Times._
+
+
+A. & C. BLACK, SOHO SQUARE, LONDON.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+AN ISLE IN THE WATER.
+
+BY KATHARINE TYNAN (MRS. HINKSON).
+
+AUTHOR OF 'OH, WHAT A PLAGUE IS LOVE!'
+
+
+Crown 8vo, cloth, price 3s. 6d.
+
+'Here, among the hosts of ladies who write with care and inelegance,
+comes a woman artist. "An Isle in the Water" is a collection of fifteen
+well-conceived and excellently-finished Irish stories, for which it
+would be hard to find anything to say but praise. They are all extremely
+short for the force of their effect, and every touch tells; they are
+gracefully phrased without an appearance of artifice, subtly expressed
+without a suspicion of affectation.'--_Saturday Review._
+
+'I venture to assert that in any one of its fifteen tales there is a
+finer rendering of the very essence of Irish life and character than in
+any half-dozen of the books which are responsible for the conception of
+the conventional Pat or Biddy which has had such a long and prosperous
+vogue on this side of the Channel. The book owes its momentum to its
+fascinating and powerful rendering of the pathos and the tragedy of the
+simple lives with which the writer deals. But this fascination and power
+are far too obvious to stand in need of celebration.'--_New Age._
+
+'Any faults the book may have are redeemed by a page torn from the
+authoress's own heart. "Changing the Nurseries" is a chapter no woman,
+mother, or maid could read without a lump in her throat. The strong
+maternal element, which is the chief virtue of the Irish, is rife in it,
+and the thousand and one little trivialities that our life is made up of
+are admirably commented upon.'--_St. James's Budget._
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+OH, WHAT A PLAGUE IS LOVE!
+
+BY KATHARINE TYNAN (MRS. HINKSON).
+
+
+Crown 8vo, cloth, price 3s. 6d.
+
+'This sparkling story has such freshness as suggests a draught new-drawn
+from Paphian wells. It is, in fact, a vivacious little comedy, agreeably
+diversified with threatenings of tragedy, and radiant with humour from
+first to last.'--_Daily Chronicle._
+
+'Mrs. Hinkson is lively and pleasant in her domestic story--purely
+English this time--which relates the misgivings and manoeuvrings of a
+family of young grown-up people who are ever on the watch for the
+amorous proclivities of a light-hearted father.'--_National Observer._
+
+'Leigh Hunt would have delighted in Mrs. Hinkson. He knew how to value
+high spirit in a writer, and the gaiety of this cheerful story would
+have charmed him immensely.'--_Saturday Review._
+
+
+A. & C. Black, Soho Square, London.
+
+
+
+***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A DOZEN WAYS OF LOVE***
+
+
+******* This file should be named 18086.txt or 18086.zip *******
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