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diff --git a/27925-h/27925-h.htm b/27925-h/27925-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..cba5dec --- /dev/null +++ b/27925-h/27925-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,17847 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Art of Disappearing, by John Talbot Smith. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; +} + +hr { + width: 15%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + color: #BDBDBD; +} + +hr.hr2 { + width: 10%; + margin-top: 2.5em; + margin-bottom: 2.5em; + clear: both; + color: #BDBDBD; +} + +.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 95%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + color: #C0C0C0; +} + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps; text-align: center;} + +.image {text-align: center;} + +.block {margin: auto; text-align: center; width: 30%;} + +.poem { + margin: 1.5em; + text-align: left; + font-size: 96% +} + +.poem span.i0 {margin-left: 0em;} + +.poem span.i2 {margin-left: 1em;} + +h2.chapter {font-size: 145%; padding-bottom: 0.75em;} + +h2.chapter3 {font-size: 165%; padding-bottom: 1em; padding-top: 1em;} + +h3.chapter2 {font-size: 125%; font-variant: small-caps; padding-bottom: 1em;} + +table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + +.minispace {margin-bottom: 1em;} + +.microspace {margin-bottom: .5em;} + +.nanospace {padding-bottom: .25em;} + +.border2 { + border-style: solid; + border-width: 3px; + background: #FFFFFF; + border-color: #000000; + margin-left: 6em; + margin-right: 6.5em; + padding: 1em; +} + +.blockquote {margin-left: 3em; font-size: 95%; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;} + +.gesperrt {letter-spacing: .2em; font-weight: bold; padding-left: .2em;} +// --> +/* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Art of Disappearing, by John Talbot Smith + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Art of Disappearing + +Author: John Talbot Smith + +Release Date: January 29, 2009 [EBook #27925] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ART OF DISAPPEARING *** + + + + +Produced by David Clarke, Meredith Bach, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries) + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class="minispace"> </div> +<div class="image"><img src="images/ititle.jpg" width="339" height="575" alt="Title Page" title="" /></div> + +<div class="minispace"> </div> +<div class="minispace"> </div> +<div class="border2"> +<h1 class="gesperrt" style="color: #FF0000;">THE ART OF<br /> +DISAPPEARING</h1> + +<h2><i>By</i> John Talbot Smith</h2> + +<div class="minispace"> </div> +<div class="microspace"> </div> +<h3 class="gesperrt"><i>AUTHOR:</i></h3> + +<div class="center"><span class="smcap">"Saranac" "His Honor the Mayor," "A Woman Of +Culture," "Solitary Island," "Training of a Priest," +Etc., Etc.</span></div> + +<div class="minispace"> </div> +<div class="microspace"> </div> +<h3>NEW YORK, CINCINNATI, CHICAGO:<br /> +<span class="gesperrt" style="color: #FF0000; font-size: 150%;">BENZIGER BROTHERS</span><br /> +<small>PRINTERS TO THE HOLY APOSTOLIC SEE.</small></h3> +</div> + + +<div class="minispace"> </div> +<hr /> +<h4><span class="smcap">COPYRIGHT, 1902,</span><br /> +<br /> +BY<br /> +<br /> +JOHN TALBOT SMITH</h4> +<hr style="width: 4%; margin-top: -.5em; margin-bottom: -.5em;" /> + +<h4><i>All Rights Reserved</i></h4> + + +<hr /> +<div class="minispace"> </div> + +<h2>CONTENTS.</h2> +<hr style="width: 7%; margin-top: -.5em; margin-bottom: 1em;" /> + + +<div class="microspace"> </div> +<div class="center"> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="4" summary="table of contents" width="45%"> +<tr><td align="center" colspan="3">DISAPPEARANCE.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left" style="font-size: 88%; width: 10%;">CHAPTER</td><td></td><td align="right" style="font-size: 88%;">PAGE</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">I.</td> <td align="left">The Holy Oils</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_I">1</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">II.</td> <td align="left">The Night at the Tavern</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_II">7</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">III.</td> <td align="left">The Abysses of Pain</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_III">16</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">IV.</td> <td align="left">The Road to Nothingness</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">25</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">V.</td> <td align="left">The Door is Closed</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_V">33</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="center" colspan="3">AMONG THE EXILES.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">VI.</td> <td align="left">Another Man's Shoes</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">40</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">VII.</td> <td align="left">The Dillon Clan</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">55</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">VIII.</td> <td align="left">The Wearin' o' the Green</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">68</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">IX.</td> <td align="left">The Villa at Coney Island</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">77</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">X.</td> <td align="left">The Humors of Election</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_X">87</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XI.</td> <td align="left">An Endicott Heir</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">100</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="center" colspan="3">THE GREEN AGAINST THE RED.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XII.</td> <td align="left">The Hate of Hannibal</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">107</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XIII.</td> <td align="left">Anne Dillon's Felicity</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">119</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XIV.</td> <td align="left">Aboard the "Arrow"</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">128</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XV.</td> <td align="left">The Invasion of Ireland</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XV">137</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XVI.</td> <td align="left">Castle Moyna</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">147</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XVII.</td> <td align="left">The Ambassador</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">158</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="center" colspan="3">AN ESCAPED NUN.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XVIII.</td> <td align="left">Judy Visits the Pope</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">170</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XIX.</td> <td align="left">La Belle Colette</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">177</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XX.</td> <td align="left">The Escaped Nun</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XX">190</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XXI.</td> <td align="left">An Anxious Night</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXI">199</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XXII.</td> <td align="left">The End of a Melodrama</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXII">208</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XXIII.</td> <td align="left">The First Blow</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII">218</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XXIV.</td> <td align="left">Anne Makes History</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV">227</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XXV.</td> <td align="left">The Cathedral</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXV">236</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XXVI.</td> <td align="left">The Fall of Livingstone</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVI">248</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="center" colspan="3">THE TEST OF DISAPPEARANCE.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XXVII.</td> <td align="left">A Problem of Disappearance</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVII">258</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XXVIII.</td> <td align="left">A First Test</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVIII">266</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XXIX.</td> <td align="left">The Nerve of Anne</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIX">274</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XXX.</td> <td align="left">Under the Eyes of Hate</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXX">283</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XXXI.</td> <td align="left">The Heart of Honora</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXI">296</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XXXII.</td> <td align="left">The Pauline Privilege</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXII">304</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XXXIII.</td> <td align="left">Love is Blind</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIII">312</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XXXIV.</td> <td align="left">A Harpy at the Feast</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIV">320</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XXXV.</td> <td align="left">Sonia Consults Livingstone</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXV">327</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XXXVI.</td> <td align="left">Arthur's Appeal</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVI">335</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XXXVII.</td> <td align="left">The End of Mischief</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVII">344</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XXXVIII.</td> <td align="left">A Tale Well Told</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVIII">351</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XXXIX.</td> <td align="left">Three Scenes</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIX">360</a></td></tr> +</table></div> + + + +<div class="minispace"> </div> +<div class="minispace"> </div> +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter3">DISAPPEARANCE.</h2> +<hr /> + +<div class="minispace"> </div> +<div class="minispace"> </div> +<h1 style="font-size: 175%;">THE ART OF DISAPPEARING.</h1> +<div class="minispace"> </div> + +<h2 class="chapter"><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I.</h2> + +<h3 class="chapter2">THE HOLY OILS.</h3> + + +<p>Horace Endicott once believed that life began for him<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span> +the day he married Sonia Westfield. The ten months +spent with the young wife were of a hue so roseate as to +render discussion of the point foolish. His youth had +been a happy one, of the roystering, innocent kind: noisy +with yachting, baseball, and a moderate quantity of college +beer, but clean, as if his mother had supervised it; yet he +had never really lived in his twenty-five years, until the +blessed experience of a long honeymoon and a little housekeeping +with Sonia had woven into his life the light of +sun and moon and stars together. However, as he admitted +long afterwards, his mistake was as terrible as +convincing. Life began for him that day he sat in the +railway carriage across the aisle from distinguished Monsignor +O'Donnell, prelate of the Pope's household, doctor +in theology, and vicar-general of the New York diocese. +The train being on its way to Boston, and the journey +dull, Horace whiled away a slow hour watching the Monsignor, +and wondering what motives govern the activity +of the priests of Rome. The priest was a handsome man of +fifty, dark-haired, of an ascetic pallor, but undoubtedly +practical, as his quick and business-like movements testified. +His dark eyes were of fine color and expression, +and his manners showed the gentleman.</p> + +<p>"Some years ago," thought Horace, "I would have +studied his person for indications of hoofs and horns<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span>—so +strangely was I brought up. He is just a poor fellow +like myself—it is as great a mistake to make these men +demi-gods as to make them demi-devils—and he denies +himself a wife as a Prohibitionist denies himself a drink. +He goes through his mummeries as honestly as a parson +through his sermons or a dervish through his dances—it's +all one, and we must allow for it in the make-up of +human nature. One man has his parson, another his +priest, a third his dervish—and I have Sonia."</p> + +<p>This satisfactory conclusion he dwelt upon lovingly, unconscious +that the Monsignor was now observing him in +turn.</p> + +<p>"A fine boy," the priest thought, "with <i>man</i> written all +over him. Honest face, virtuous expression, daring too, +loving-hearted, lovable, clever, I'm sure, and his life has +been too easy to develop any marked character. Too +young to have been in the war, but you may be sure he +wanted to go, and his mother had to exercise her authority +to keep him at home. He has been enjoying me for +an hour.... I'm as pleasant as a puzzle to him ... he +preferred to read me rather than Dickens, and I gather +from his expression that he has solved me. By this time +I am rated in his mind as an impostor. Oh, the children +of the Mayflower, how hard for them to see anything in +life except through the portholes of that ship."</p> + +<p>With a sigh the priest returned to his book, and the +two gentlemen, having had their fill of speculation, forgot +each other directly and forever. At this point the accident +occurred. The slow train ran into a train ahead, which +should have been farther on at that moment. All the +passengers rose up suddenly, without any ceremony, quite +speechless, and flew up the car like sparrows. Then the +car turned on its left side, and Horace rolled into the outstretched +arms and elevated legs of Monsignor O'Donnell. +He was kicked and embraced at the same moment, receiving +these attentions in speechless awe, as he could not recall +who was to blame for the introduction and the attitude. +For a moment he reasoned that they had become +the object of most outrageous ridicule from the other passengers; +for these latter had suddenly set up a shouting +and screeching very scandalous. Horace wondered if the +priest would help him to resent this storm of insult, and +he raised himself off the Monsignor's face, and removed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span> +the rest of his person from the Monsignor's body, in order +the more politely to invite him to the battle. Then he +discovered the state of things in general. The overthrown +car was at a stand-still. That no one was hurt seemed +happily clear from the vigorous yells of everybody, and the +fine scramble through the car-windows. The priest got +up leisurely and felt himself. Next he seized his satchel +eagerly.</p> + +<p>"Now it was more than an accident that I brought the +holy oils along," said he to Horace. "I was vexed to find +them where they shouldn't be, yet see how soon I find use +for them. Someone must be badly hurt in this disaster, +and of course it'll be one of my own."</p> + +<p>"I hope," said the other politely, "that I did you no +harm in falling on you. I could not very well help it."</p> + +<p>"Fortune was kinder to you than if the train rolled over +the other way. Don't mention it, my son. I'll forgive +you, if you will find me the way out, and learn if any have +been injured."</p> + +<p>The window was too small for a man of the Monsignor's +girth, but through the rear door the two crawled out comfortably, +Monsignor dragging the satchel and murmuring +cheerfully: "How lucky! the holy oils!" It was just +sundown, and the wrecked train lay in a meadow, with a +pretty stream running by, whose placid ripplings mocked +the tumult of the mortals examining their injuries in the +field. Yet no one had been seriously injured. Bruises +and cuts were plentiful, some fainted from shock, but each +was able to do for himself, not so much as a bone having +been broken. For a few minutes the Monsignor rejoiced +that he would have no use for what he called the holy oils. +Then a trainman came running, white and broken-tongued, +crying out: "There was a priest on the train—who +has seen him?" It turned out that the fireman +had been caught in the wrecked locomotive, and crushed +to death.</p> + +<p>"And it's a priest he's cryin' for, sir," groaned the +trainman, as he came up to the Monsignor. The dying +man lay in the shade of some trees beside the stream, and +a lovely woman had his head in her lap, and wept silently +while the poor boy gasped every now and then "mother" +and "the priest." She wiped the death-dew from his face, +from which the soot had been washed with water from the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span> +stream, and moistened his lips with a cordial. He was a +youth, of the kind that should not die too early, so vigorous +was his young body, so manly and true his dear face; +but it was only a matter of ten minutes stay beside the +little stream for Tim Hurley. The group about him made +way for Monsignor, who sank on his knees beside him, +and held up the boy's face to the fading light.</p> + +<p>"The priest is here, Tim," he said gently, and Endicott +saw the receding life rush back with joy into the agonized +features. With something like a laugh he raised his inert +hands, and seized the hands of the priest, which he covered +with kisses.</p> + +<p>"I shall die happy, thanks be to God," he said weakly; +"and, father, don't forget to tell my mother. It's her +last consolation, poor dear."</p> + +<p>"And I have the holy oils, Tim," said Monsignor softly.</p> + +<p>Another rush of light to the darkening face!</p> + +<p>"Tell her that, too, father dear," said Tim.</p> + +<p>"With my own lips," answered Monsignor.</p> + +<p>The bystanders moved away a little distance, and the +lady resigned her place, while Tim made his last confession. +Endicott stood and wondered at the sight; the priest +holding the boy's head with his left arm, close to his bosom +and Tim grasping lovingly the hand of his friend, while he +whispered in little gasps his sins and his repentance; +briefly, for time was pressing. Then Monsignor called +Horace and bade him support the lad's head; and also +the lovely lady and gave her directions "for his mother's +sake." She was woman and mother both, no doubt, by +the way she served another woman's son in his fatal distress. +The men brought her water from the stream. +With her own hands she bared his feet, bathed and wiped +them, washed his hands, and cried tenderly all the time. +Horace shuddered as he dried the boy's sweating forehead, +and felt the chill of that death which had never yet come +near him. He saw now what the priest meant by the holy +oils. Out of his satchel Monsignor took a golden cylinder, +unscrewed the top, dipped his thumb in what appeared to +be an oily substance, and applied it to Tim's eyes, to his +ears, his nose, his mouth, the palms of his hands, and the +soles of his feet, distinctly repeating certain Latin invocations +as he worked. Then he read for some time from a +little book, and finished by wiping his fingers in cotton<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span> +and returning all to the satchel again. There was a look +of supreme satisfaction on his face.</p> + +<p>"You are all right now, Tim," he said cheerfully.</p> + +<p>"All right, father," repeated the lad faintly, "and +don't forget to tell mother everything, and say I died +happy, praising God, and that she won't be long after me. +And let Harry Cutler"—the engineer came forward and +knelt by his side—"tell her everything. She knew how +he liked me and a word from him was more——"</p> + +<p>His voice faded away.</p> + +<p>"I'll tell her," murmured the engineer brokenly, and +slipped away in unbearable distress. The priest looked +closer into Tim's face.</p> + +<p>"He's going fast," he said, "and I'll ask you all to +kneel and say amen to the last prayers for the boy."</p> + +<p>The crowd knelt by the stream in profound silence, and +the voice of the priest rose like splendid music, touching, +sad, yet to Horace unutterably pathetic and grand.</p> + +<p>"Go forth, O Christian soul," the Monsignor read, +"in the name of God the Father Almighty, who created +thee; in the name of Jesus Christ, Son of the living God, +who suffered for thee; in the name of the Holy Ghost, +who was poured forth upon thee; in the name of the +Angels and Archangels; in the name of the Thrones and +Dominations; in the name of the Principalities and +Powers; in the name of the Cherubim and Seraphim; in +the name of the Patriarchs and Prophets; in the name of +the holy Apostles and Evangelists; in the name of the +holy Martyrs and Confessors; in the name of the holy +Monks and Hermits; in the name of the holy Virgins and +of all the Saints of God; may thy place be this day in +peace, and thy abode in holy Sion. Through Jesus +Christ our Lord. Amen."</p> + +<p>Then came a pause and the heavy sigh of the dying one +shook all hearts. Endicott did not dare to look down at +the mournful face of the fireman, for a terror of death had +come upon him, that he should be holding the head of +one condemned to the last penalty of nature; at the same +moment he could not help thinking that a king might not +have been more nobly sent forth on his journey to judgment +than humble Tim Hurley. Monsignor took another +look at the lad's face, then closed his book, and took off +the purple ribbon which had hung about his neck.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span></p> + +<p>"It's over. The man's dead," he announced to the +silent crowd. There was a general stir, and a movement +to get a closer look at the quiet body lying on the grass. +Endicott laid the head down and rose to his feet. The +woman who had ministered to the dying so sweetly tied +up his chin and covered his face, murmuring with tears, +"His poor mother."</p> + +<p>"Ah, there is the heart to be pitied," sighed the Monsignor. +"This heart aches no more, but the mother's +will ache and not die for many a year perhaps."</p> + +<p>Endicott heard his voice break, and looking saw that +the tears were falling from his eyes, he wiping them away +in the same matter-of-fact fashion which had marked his +ministrations to the unfortunate fireman.</p> + +<p>"Death is terrible only to those who love," he added, +and the words sent a pang into the heart of Horace. It +had never occurred to him that death was love's most +dreaded enemy,—that Sonia might die while love was +young.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter"><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II.</h2> + +<h3 class="chapter2">THE NIGHT AT THE TAVERN.</h3> + + +<p>The travelers of the wrecked train spent the night at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span> +the nearest village, whither all went on foot before darkness +came on. Monsignor took possession of Horace, also +of the affections of the tavern-keeper, and of the best +things which belonged to that yokel and his hostelry. It +was prosperity in the midst of disaster that he and Endicott +should have a room on the first floor, and find +themselves comfortable in ten minutes after their arrival. +By the time they had enjoyed a refreshing meal, and discussed +the accident to the roots, Horace Endicott felt +that his soul was at ease with the Monsignor, who at no +time had displayed any other feeling than might arise +from a long acquaintance with the young man. One +would have pronounced the two men, as they settled down +into the comfort of their room, two collegians who had +traveled much together.</p> + +<p>"It was an excellent thing that I brought the holy oils +along," Monsignor said, as if Endicott had no other interest +in life than this particular form of excellence. To a +polite inquiry he explained the history, nature, and use of +the mysterious oils.</p> + +<p>"I can understand how a ceremony of that kind would +soothe the last hours of Tim Hurley," said the pagan +Endicott, "but I am curious, if you will pardon me, to +know if the holy oils would have a similar effect on Monsignor +O'Donnell."</p> + +<p>"The same old supposition," chuckled the priest, "that +there is one law for the crowd, the mob, the diggers, and +another for the illuminati. Now, let me tell you, Mr. +Endicott, that with all his faith Tim Hurley could not +have welcomed priest and oils more than I shall when I +need them. The anguish of death is very bitter, which +you are too young to know, and it is a blessed thing to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span> +have a sovereign ready for that anguish in the Sacrament +of Extreme Unction. The Holy Oils are the thing which +Macbeth desired when he demanded so bitterly of the +physician.</p> + +<div class="block"> +<div class="poem"> +<span class="i0">Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow?</span><br /> +</div></div> + +<p>That is my conviction. So if you are near when I am +going to judgment, come in and see how emphatically I +shall demand the holy oils, even before a priest be willing +to bring them."</p> + +<p>"It seems strange," Horace commented, "very strange. +I cannot get at your point of view at all."</p> + +<p>Then he went on to ask questions rapidly, and Monsignor +had to explain the meaning of his title, a hundred +things connected with his priesthood, and to answer +many objections to his explanations; until the night had +worn on to bedtime, and the crowd of guests began to +depart from the verandahs. It was all so interesting to +Horace. In the priest and his conversation he had caught +a glimpse of a new world both strange and fascinating. +Curious too was the profound indifference of men like +himself—college men—to its existence. It did not seem +possible that the Roman idea could grow into proportions +under the bilious eyes of the omniscient Saxon, and not +a soul be aware of its growth! However, Monsignor was +a pleasant man, a true college lad, an interesting talker, +with music in his voice, and a sincere eye. He was not +a controversialist, but a critic, and he did not seem to +mind when Horace went off into a dream of Sonia, and +asked questions far from the subject.</p> + +<p>Long afterwards Endicott recalled a peculiarity of this +night, which escaped his notice at the time: his sensitiveness +to every detail of their surroundings, to the colors +of the room, to the shades of meaning in the words of +the Monsignor, to his tricks of speech and tone, quite +unusual in Horace's habit. Sonia complained that he +never could tell her anything clear or significant of places +he had seen. The room which had been secured from the +landlord was the parlor of the tavern; long and low, +colonial in the very smell of the tapestry carpet, with +doors and mantel that made one think of John Adams and +General Washington. The walls had a certain terror in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span> +them, a kind of suspense, as when a jury sits petrified +while their foreman announces a verdict of death. A long +line of portraits in oil produced this impression. The +faces of ancient neighbors, of the Adams, the Endicotts, +the Bradburys, severe Puritans, for whom the name of +priest meant a momentary stoppage of the heart, looked +coldly and precisely straight out from their frames on the +Monsignor. Horace fancied that they exchanged glances. +What fun it would have been to see the entire party move +out from their frames, and put the wearer of the Roman +purple to shameful flight.</p> + +<p>"I'll bet they don't let you sleep to-night," he said to +the priest, who laughed at the conceit.</p> + +<p>A cricket came out on the window-sill, chirped at +Horace's elbow, and fled at the sound of near voices. +Through the thick foliage of the chestnut trees outside +he could see stars at times that made him think of Sonia's +eyes. The wind shook the branches gently, and made +little moans and whispers in the corners, as if the ghosts +of the portraits were discussing the sacrilege of the Monsignor's +presence. Horace thought at the time his nerves +were strung tight by the incidents of the day, and his +interest deeply stirred by the conversation of the priest; +since hitherto he had always thought of wind as a thing +that blew disagreeably except at sea, noisy insects as public +nuisances to be caught and slain, and family portraits the +last praiseworthy attempt of ancestors to disturb the sleep +of their remote heirs. When he had somewhat tired of +asking his companion questions, it occurred to him that +the Monsignor had asked none in return, and might waive +his right to this privilege of good-fellowship. He mentioned +the matter.</p> + +<p>"Thank you," said Monsignor, "but I know all about +you. See now if I give you a good account of your life +and descent."</p> + +<p>He was promenading the room before the picture-jury +frowning on him. He looked at them a moment solemnly.</p> + +<p>"Indeed I know what I would have to expect from you," +he said to the portraits, "if you were to sit upon my case +to-night. Your descendant here is more merciful."</p> + +<p>They laughed together.</p> + +<p>"Well," to Horace, "you asked me many questions, +because you know nothing about me or mine,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span> +although we have been on the soil this half century. +The statesmen of your blood disdain me. This scorn +is in the air of New England, and is part of your +marrow. Here is an example of it. Once on a vacation +I spent a few weeks in the house of a Puritan lady, who +learned of my faith and blood only a week before my +leaving. She had been very kind, and when I bade her +good-by I assured her that I would remember her in my +prayers. 'You needn't mind,' she replied, 'my own prayers +are much better than any you can say.' This temper explains +why you have to ask questions about me, and I have +none to ask concerning you."</p> + +<p>Horace had to admit the contention.</p> + +<p>"Life began for you near the river that turned the +wheel of the old sawmill. Ah, that river! It was the +beginning of history, of time, of life! It came from +the beyond and it went over the rim of the wonderful +horizon, singing and laughing like a child. How often +you dreamed of following it to its end, where you were +certain a glory, felt only in your dreams, filled the land. +The fishes only could do that, for they had no feet to be +tired by walking. Your first mystery was that wheel which +the water turned: a monstrous thing, a giant, ugly and +deadly, whose first movement sent you off in terror. How +could it be that the gentle, smiling, yielding water, which +took any shape from a baby hand, had power to speed that +giant! The time came when you bathed in the stream, +mastered it, in spite of the terror which it gave you one +day when it swallowed the life of a comrade. Do you remember +this?"</p> + +<p>Monsignor held up his hand with two fingers stretched +out beyond the others, and gave a gentle war-whoop. +Horace laughed.</p> + +<p>"I suppose every boy in the country invited his chums +to a swim that way," he said.</p> + +<p>"Just so. The sign language was universal. The +old school on the village green succeeded the river +and the mill in your history. Miss Primby taught it, +dear old soul, gentler than a mother even, and you +laughed at her curls, and her funny ways, which hid +from child's eyes a noble heart. It was she who +bound up your black eye after the battle with Bouncer, +the bully, whose face and reputation you wrecked in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span> +same hour for his oppression of the most helpless boy in +school. That feat made you the leader of the secret +society which met at awful hours in the deserted shanty +just below the sawmill. What a creep went up and down +your spine as in the chill of the evening the boys came +stealing out of the undergrowth one by one, and greeted +their chief with the password, known by every parent in +town. The stars looked down upon you as they must +have looked upon all the great conspirators of time since +the world began. You felt that the life of the government +hung by a thread, when such desperate characters took +the risk of conspiring against it. What a day was July +the Fourth—what wretches were the British—what +a hero was General Washington! What land was like +this country of the West? Its form on the globe was a +promontory while all others lay very low on the plane."</p> + +<p>"In that spirit you went to Harvard and ran full +against some great questions of life. The war was on, +and your father was at the front. Only your age, your +father's orders, and your mother's need held you back +from the fight. You were your mother's son. It is +written all over you,—and me. And your father loved you +doubly that you were his son and owned her nature. He +fell in battle, and she was slain by a crueller foe, the grief +that, seizing us, will not let us live even for those we love. +God rest the faithful dead, give peace to their souls, and +complete their love and their labors! My father and +mother are living yet—the sweetest of blessings at my +time of life. You grieved as youth grieves, but life had +its compensations. You are a married man, and you love +as your parents loved, with the fire and tenderness of +both. Happy man! Fortunate woman!"</p> + +<p>He stopped before the nearest portrait, and stared +at it.</p> + +<p>"Well, what do you think of my acquaintance with +your history?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Very clever, Monsignor," answered Horace impressed. +"It is like necromancy, though I see how the trick is +done."</p> + +<p>"Precisely. It is my own story. It is the story of +thousands of boys whom your set will not regard as +American boys, unless when they are looking for fighting +material. Everything and anything that could carry a gun<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span> +in the recent war was American with a vengeance. The +Boston Coriolanus kissed such an one and swore that he +must have come over in the Mayflower. But enough—I am +not holding a brief for anybody. The description I have +just given you of your life and mine is also——"</p> + +<p>"One moment—pardon me," said Horace, "how +did you know I was married?"</p> + +<p>"And happy?" said Monsignor. "Well, that was easy. +When we were talking to-night at tea about the hanging +of Howard Tims, what disgust in your tone when you +cried out, there should be no pity for the wretch that kills +his wife."</p> + +<p>"And there should not."</p> + +<p>"Of course. But I knew Tims. I met him for an +hour, and I did not feel like hanging him."</p> + +<p>"You are a celibate."</p> + +<p>"Therefore unprejudiced. But he was condemned by +a jury of unmarried men. A clever fellow he is, and yet +he made some curious blunders in his attempt to escape +the other night. I would like to have helped him. I +have a theory of disappearing from the sight of men, +which would help the desperate much. This Tims was a +lad of your own appearance, disposition, history even. I +had a feeling that he ought not to die. What a pity we are +too wise to yield always to our feelings."</p> + +<p>"But about your theory, Monsignor?" said Horace. "A +theory of disappearing?"</p> + +<p>"A few nights ago some friends of mine were discussing +the possible methods by which such a man as Tims +might make his escape sure. You know that the influences +at his command were great, and tremendous efforts +were made to spare his family the disgrace of the gallows. +The officers of the law were quite determined that he +should not escape. If he had escaped, the pursuit would +have been relentless and able. He would have been +caught. And as I maintained, simply because he would +never think of using his slight acquaintance with me. +You smile at that. So did my friends. I have been +reading up the escapes of famous criminals—it is quite a +literature. I learned therein one thing: that they were +all caught again because they could not give up connection +with their past: with the people, the scenes, the +habits to which they had been accustomed. So they left<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span> +a little path from their hiding-place to the past, and the +clever detectives always found it. Thinking over this +matter I discovered that there is an art of disappearing, a +real art, which many have used to advantage. The principle +by which this art may be formulated is simple: the +person disappearing must cut himself off from his past +as completely as if he had been secretly drowned in mid-ocean."</p> + +<p>"They all seem to do that," said Horace, "and yet they +are caught as easily as rats with traps and cheese."</p> + +<p>"I see you think this art means running away to Brazil +in a wig and blue spectacles, as they do in a play. Let me +show some of the consequences a poor devil takes upon +himself who follows the art like an artist. He must escape, +not only from his pursuers—that's easy—but +from his friends—not so easy—and chiefly from himself—there's +the rub. He who flies from the relentless pursuit +of the law must practically die. He must change +his country, never meet friend or relative again, get a +new language, a new trade, a new place in society; in +fact a new past, peopled with parents and relatives, a new +habit of body and life, a new appearance; the color of hair, +eyes, skin must be changed; and he must eat and drink, +walk, sleep, think, and speak differently. He must become +another man almost as if he had changed his nature +for another's."</p> + +<p>"I understand," said Horace, interested; "but the +theory is impossible. No one could do that even if they +desired."</p> + +<p>"Tims would have desired it and accomplished it had +I thought of suggesting it to him. Here is what would +have happened. He escapes from the prison, which is +easy enough, and comes straight to me. We never met +but once. Therefore not a man in the world would have +thought of looking for him at my house. A week later +he is transferred to the house of Judy Trainor, who has +been expecting a sick son from California, a boy who disappeared +ten years previous and is probably dead. I arrange +her expectation, and the neighbors are invited to +rejoice with her over the finding of her son. He spends a +month or two in the house recovering from his illness, and +when he appears in public he knows as much about the past +of Tommy Trainor as Tommy ever knew. He is wel<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span>comed +by his old friends. They recognize him from his +resemblance to his father, old Micky Trainor. He slips +into his position comfortably, and in five years the whole +neighborhood would go to court and swear Tims into a +lunatic asylum if he ever tried to resume his own personality."</p> + +<p>The two men set up a shout at this sound conclusion.</p> + +<p>"After all, there are consequences as dark as the gallows," +said Horace.</p> + +<p>"For instance," said the priest with a wave of his +hand, "sleeping under the eyes of these painted ghosts."</p> + +<p>"Poor Tim Hurley," said Horace, "little he thought +he'd be a ghost to-night."</p> + +<p>"He's not to be regretted," replied the other, "except +for the heart that suffers by his absence. He is with +God. Death is the one moment of our career when we +throw ourselves absolutely into the arms of God."</p> + +<p>The two were getting ready to slip between the sheets +of the pompous colonial bed, when Horace began to laugh +softly to himself. He kept up the chuckling until they +were lying side by side in the darkened room.</p> + +<p>"I am sure, I have a share in that chuckle," said Monsignor.</p> + +<p>"Shades of my ancestors," murmured Horace, "forgive +this insult to your pious memory—that I should occupy +one bed with an idolatrous priest."</p> + +<p>"They have got over all that. In eternity there is no +bigotry. But what a pity that two fine boys like us +should be kept apart by that awful spirit which prompts +men to hate one another for the love of God, and to lie +like slaves for the pure love of truth."</p> + +<p>"I am cured," said Horace, placing his hand on the +Monsignor's arm. "I shall never again overlook the +human in a man. Let me thank you, Monsignor, for +this opening of my eyes. I shall never forget it. This +night has been Arabian in its enchantment. I don't like +the idea of to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"No more do I. Life is tiresome in a way. For me +it is an everlasting job of beating the air with truth, because +others beat it with lies. We can't help but rejoice +when the time comes to breathe the eternal airs, where +nothing but truth can live."</p> + +<p>Horace sighed, and fell asleep thinking of Sonia rather<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span> +than the delights of eternity. The priest slept as soundly. +No protest against this charming and manly companionship +stirred the silence of the room. The ghosts of the +portraits did not disturb the bold cricket of the window-sill. +He chirped proudly, pausing now and then to catch +the breathing of the sleepers, and to interpret their unconscious +movings. The trained and spiritual ear might +have caught the faint sighs and velvet footsteps of long-departed +souls, or interpreted them out of the sighing +and whispering of the leaves outside the window, and the +tread of nervous mice in the fireplace. The dawn came +and lighted up the faces of the men, faces rising out of +the heavy dark like a revelation of another world; the +veil of melancholy, which Sleep borrows from its brother +Death, resting on the head which Sonia loved, and deepening +the shadows on the serious countenance of the +priest. They lay there like brothers of the same womb, +and one might fancy the great mother Eve stealing in between +the two lights of dawn and day to kiss and bless +her just-united children.</p> + +<p>When they were parting after breakfast, Monsignor +said gayly.</p> + +<p>"If at any time you wish to disappear, command me."</p> + +<p>"Thanks, but I would rather you had to do the act, +that I might see you carry out your theory. Where do +you go now?"</p> + +<p>"To tell Tim Hurley's mother he's dead, and thus +break her heart," he replied sadly, "and then to mend it +by telling her how like a saint he died."</p> + +<p>"Add to that," said Horace, with a sudden rush of +tears, which for his life he could not explain, "the comfort +of a sure support from me for the rest of her life."</p> + +<p>They clasped hands with feeling, and their eyes expressed +the same thought and resolution to meet again.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter"><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III.</h2> + +<h3 class="chapter2">THE ABYSSES OF PAIN.</h3> + + +<p>Horace Endicott, though not a youth of deep sentiment,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span> +had capacities in that direction. Life so far +had been chiefly of the surface for him. Happiness had +hidden the deep and dangerous meanings of things. He +was a child yet in his unconcern for the future, and the +child, alone of mortals, enjoys a foretaste of immortality, +in his belief that happiness is everlasting. The shadow +of death clouding the pinched face of Tim Hurley was his +first glimpse of the real. He had not seen his father and +mother die. The thought that followed, Sonia's beloved +face lying under that shadow, had terrified him. It was +the uplifting of the veil of illusion that enwraps childhood. +The thought stayed his foot that night as he +turned into the avenue leading up to his own house, and +he paused to consider this new dread.</p> + +<p>The old colonial house greeted his eyes, solemn and +sweet in the moonlight, with a few lights of human comfort +in its windows. He had never thought so before, +but now it came straight to his heart that this was his +home, his old friend, steadfast and unchanging, which +had welcomed him into the world, and had never changed +its look to him, never closed its doors against him; all +that remained of the dear, but almost forgotten past; the +beautiful stage from which all the ancient actors had +made irrevocable exit. What beauty had graced it for a +century back! What honors its children had brought to +it from councils of state and of war! What true human +worth had sanctified it! Last and the least of the splendid +throng, he felt his own unworthiness sadly; but he +was young yet, only a boy, and he said to himself that +Sonia had crowned the glory of the old house with her +beauty, her innocence, her devoted love. In making her +its mistress he had not wronged its former rulers, nor<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span> +broken the traditions of beauty. He stood a long time +looking at the old place, wondering at the charm which +it had so suddenly flung upon him. Then he shook off +the new and weird feeling and flew to embrace his Sonia +of the starry eyes.</p> + +<p>Alas, poor boy! He stood for a moment on the threshold. +He could hear the faint voices of servants, the +shutting of distant doors, and a hundred sweet sounds +within; and around him lay the calmness of the night, +with a drowsy moon overhead lolling on lazy clouds. +Nothing warned him that he stood on the threshold of +pain. No instinct hinted at the horror within. The +house that sheltered his holy mother and received her last +breath, that covered for a few hours the body of his heroic +father, the house of so many honorable memories, had +become the habitation of sinners, whose shame was to be +everlasting. He stole in on tiptoe, with love stirring his +young pulses. For thirty minutes there was no break in +the silence. Then he came out as he entered, on tiptoe, +and no one knew that he had seen with his own eyes into +the deeps of hell. For thirty minutes, that seemed to +have the power of as many centuries, he had looked on +sin, shame, disgrace, with what seemed to be the eyes of +God; so did the horror shock eye and heart, yet leave +him sight and life to look again and again.</p> + +<p>In that time he tasted with his own lips the bitterness +which makes the most wretched death sweeter by comparison +than bread and honey to the hungry. At the end +of it, when he stole away a madman, he felt within his +own soul the cracking and upheaving of some immensity, +and saw or felt the opening of abysses from which rose +fearful exhalations of crime, shapes of corruption, things +without shape that provoked to rage, pain and madness. +He was not without cunning, since he closed the doors +softly, stole away in the shadows of the house and the +avenue, and escaped to a distant wood unseen. From his +withered face all feeling except horror had faded. Once +deep in the wood, he fell under the trees like an epileptic, +turned on his face, and dug the earth with hands and +feet and face in convulsions of pain.</p> + +<p>The frightened wood-life, sleeping or waking, fled from +the great creature in its agony. In the darkness he +seemed some monster, which in dreadful silence, writhed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span> +and fought down a slow road to death. He was hardly +conscious of his own behavior, poor innocent, crushed +by the sins of others. He lived, and every moment was a +dying. He gasped as with the last breath, yet each breath +came back with new torture. He shivered to the root of +nature, like one struck fatally, and the convulsion revived +life and thought and horror. After long hours a dreadful +sleep bound his senses, and he lay still, face downward, +arms outstretched, breathing like a child, a pitiful sight. +Death must indeed be a binding thing, that father and +mother did not leave the grave to soothe and strengthen +their wretched son. He lay there on his face till dawn. +The crowing of the cock, which once warned Peter of his +shame, waked him. He turned over, stared at the +branches above, sat up puzzled, and showed his face to +the dim light. His arms gathered in his knees, and he +made an effort to recollect himself. But no one would +have mistaken that sorrowful, questioning face; it was +Adam looking toward the lost Eden with his arms about +the dead body of his son. A desolate and unconscious +face, wretched and vacant as a lone shore strewn with +wreckage.</p> + +<p>He struggled to his feet after a time, wondering at his +weakness. The effort roused and steadied him, his mind +cleared as he walked to the edge of the wood and stared +at the old house, which now in the mist of morning had +the fixed, still, reproachful look of the dead. As if a +spirit had leaped upon him, memory brought back his +personality and his grief together. Men told afterwards, +early laborers in the fields, of a cry from the Endicott +woods, so strange and woful that their hearts beat fast +and their frightened ears strained for its repetition. +Sonia heard it in her adulterous dreams. It was not repeated. +The very horror of it terrified the man who +uttered it. He stood by a tree trembling, for a double +terror fell upon him, terror of her no less than of himself. +He staggered through the woods, and sought far-away +places in the hills, where none might see him. When +the sun drifted in through dark boughs he cursed it, the +emblem of joy. The singing of the birds sounded to his +ears like the shriek of madmen. When he could think +and reason somewhat, he called up the vision of Sonia to +wonder over it. The childlike eyes, the beautiful,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span> +lovable face, the modest glance, the innocent blushes—had +nature such masks for her vilest offspring? The +mere animal senses should have recognized at the first +this deadly thing, as animals recognize their foes; and he +had lived with the viper, believing her the peer of his +spotless mother. She was his wife! Even at that moment +the passionate love of yesterday stirred in his veins +and moved him to deeper horror.</p> + +<p>He doubted that he was Horace Endicott. Every one +knew that boy to be the sanest of young men, husband to +the loveliest of women, a happy, careless, wealthy fellow, +almost beside himself with the joy of life. The madman +who ran about the desolate wilds uttering strange and +terrible things, who was wrapped within and without in +torments of flame, who refrained from crime and death +only because vengeance would thus be cheaply satisfied, +could hardly be the boy of yesterday. Was sin such a +magician that in a day it could evolve out of merry Horace +and innocent Sonia two such wretches? The wretch +Sonia had proved her capacity for evil; the wretch +Horace felt his capabilities for crime and rejoiced in +them. He must live to punish. A sudden fear came +upon him that his grief and rage might bring death or +madness, and leave him incapable of vengeance. <i>They</i> +would wish nothing better. No, he must live, and think +rationally, and not give way. But the mind worked on +in spite of the will. It sat like Penelope over the loom, +weaving terrible fancies in blood and flame! the days that +had been, the days that were passing; the scenes of love +and marriage; the old house and its latest sinners; and +the days that were to come, crimson-dyed, shameful; the +dreadful loom worked as if by enchantment, scene following +scene, the web endless, and the woven stuff flying +into the sky like smoke from a flying engine, darkening +all the blue.</p> + +<p>The days and nights passed while he wandered about in +the open air. Hunger assailed him, distances wearied +him, he did not sleep; but these hardships rather cooled +the inward fire, and did not harm him. One day he +came to a pool, clear as a spring to its sandy bottom, +embowered in trees, except on one side where the sun +shone. He took off his clothes and plunged in. The +waters closed over him sweet and cool as the embrace of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span> +death. The loom ceased its working a while, and the +thought rose up, is vengeance worth the trouble? He +sank to the sandy bed, and oh, it was restful! A grip +on a root held him there, and a song of his boyhood +soothed his ears until it died away in heavenly music, far +off, enticing, welcoming him to happier shores. He had +found all at once forgetfulness and happiness, and he +would remain. Then his grip loosened, and he came to +the surface, swimming mechanically about, debating with +himself another descent into the enchanted region beneath.</p> + +<p>Some happy change had touched him. He felt the +velvety waters grasp his body and rejoiced in it; the little +waves which he sent to the reedy bank made him smile +with their huddling and back-rushing and laughing; he +held up his arm as he swam to see the sun flash through +the drops of water from his hand. What a sweet bed +of death! No hard-eyed nurses and physicians with their +array of bottles, no hypocrites snuffling sympathy while +dreaming of fat legacies, no pious mummeries, only the innocent +things direct from the hand of God, unstained by +human sin and training, trees and bushes and flowers, the +tender living things about, the voiceless and passionless +music of lonely nature, the hearty sun, and the maternal +embrace of the sweet waters. It was dying as the wild +animals die, without ceremony; as the flowers die, a +gentle weakening of the stem, a rush of perfume to the +soft earth, and the caressing winds to do the rest. Yes, +down to the bottom again! Who would have looked for +so pleasant a door to death in that lonely and lovely pool!</p> + +<p>He slipped his foot under the root so that it would hold +him if he struggled, put his arms under his head like one +about to sleep, and yielded his senses to that far-off, divine +music, enticing, welcoming.... It ceased, but not until +he had forgotten all his sorrows and was speeding toward +death. Sorrow rescued sorrow, and gave him back +to the torturers. The old woman who passed by the +pond that morning gathering flowers, and smiling as if +she felt the delight of a child—the smile of a child +on the mask of grief-worn age—saw his clothes and +then his body floating upward helpless from the bottom. +She seized his arm, and pulled him up on the low bank. +He gasped a little and was able to thank her.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span></p> + +<p>"If I hadn't come along just then," she said placidly, +as she covered him decently with his coat, "you'd have +been drownded. Took a cramp, I reckon?"</p> + +<p>"All I remember is taking a swim and sinking, mother. +I am very much obliged to you, and can get along very +well, I think."</p> + +<p>"If you want any help, just say so," she answered. +"When you get dressed my house is a mile up the road, +and the road is a mile from here. I can give you a cup +of tea or warm milk, and welcome."</p> + +<p>"I'll go after a while," said he, "and then I'll be able +to thank you still better for a very great service, mother."</p> + +<p>She smiled at the affectionate title, and went her way. +He became weak all at once, and for a while could not +dress. The long bath had soothed his mind, and now +distressed nature could make her wants known. Hunger, +soreness of body, drowsiness, attacked him together. He +found it pleasant to lie there and look at the sun, and +feel too happy to curse it as before. The loom had done +working, Penelope was asleep. The door seemed forever +shut on the woman known as Sonia, who had tormented +him long ago. The dead should trouble no one living. +He was utterly weary, sore in every spot, crushed by torment +as poor Tim Hurley had been broken by his engine. +This recollection, and his lying beside the pool as Tim +lay beside the running river, recalled the Monsignor and +the holy oils. As he fell asleep the fancy struck him that +his need at that moment was the holy oils; some balm for +sick eyes and ears, for tired hands and soiled feet, like +his mother's kisses long ago, that would soothe the aching, +and steal from the limbs into the heart afterwards; a +heavenly dew that would aid sleep in restoring the stiffened +sinews and distracted nerves. The old woman came back +to him later, and found him in his sleep of exhaustion. +Like a mother, she pillowed his head, covered him with +his clothes, and her own shawl, and made sure that his +rest would be safe and comfortable. She studied the +noble young head, and smoothed it tenderly. The pitiful +face, a terrible face for those who could read, so bitterly +had grief written age on the curved dimpled surface of +youth, stirred some convulsion in her, for she threw up +her arms in despair as she walked away homeward, and +wild sobs choked her for minutes.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span></p> + +<p>He sat on the kitchen porch of her poor home that +afternoon, quite free from pain. A wonderful relief had +come to him. He seemed lifted into an upper region of +peace like one just returned from infernal levels. The +golden air tasted like old wine. The scenes about him +were marvelous to his eyes. His own personality redeemed +from recent horror became a delightful thing.</p> + +<p>"It is terrible to suffer," he said to Martha Willis. +"In the last five days I have suffered."</p> + +<p>"As all men must suffer," said the woman resignedly.</p> + +<p>"Then you have suffered too? How did you ever get +over it, mother?"</p> + +<p>She did not tell him, after a look at his face, that some +sorrows are indelible.</p> + +<p>"We have to get over everything, son. And it is lucky +we can do it, without running into an insane asylum."</p> + +<p>"Were your troubles very great, mother?"</p> + +<p>"Lots of people about say I deserved them, so they +couldn't be very great," she answered, and he laughed at +her queer way of putting it, then checked himself.</p> + +<p>"Sorrow is sorrow to him who suffers," he said, "no +matter what people say about it. And I would not wish +a beast to endure what I did. I would help the poor +devil who suffered, no matter how much he deserved his +pain."</p> + +<p>"Only those who suffered feel that way. I am alone +now, but this house was crowded thirty years ago. There +was Lucy, and John, and Oliver, and Henry, and my +husband, and we were very happy."</p> + +<p>"And they are all gone?"</p> + +<p>"I shall never see them again here. Lucy died when +I needed her most, and Henry, such a fine boy, followed +her before he was twenty. They are safe in the churchyard, +and that makes me happy, for they are mine still, +they will always be mine. John was like his father, and +both were drunkards. They beat me in turn, and I was +glad when they took to tramping. They're tramping +yet, as I hear, but I haven't seen them in years. And +Oliver, the cleverest boy in the school, and very headstrong, +he went to Boston, and from there he went to jail +for cheating a bank, and in jail he died. It was best for +him and for me. I took him back to lie beside his brother +and sister, though some said it was a shame. But what<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span> +can a mother do? Her children are hers no matter if +they turn out wrong."</p> + +<p>"And you lived through it all, mother?" said the +listener with his face working.</p> + +<p>"Once I thought different, but now I know it was for +the best," she answered calmly, and chiefly for his benefit. +"I had my days and years even, when I thought +some other woman had taken Martha Willis' place, a poor +miserable creature, more like the dead than the live. +But I often thought, since my own self came back, how +lucky it was Lucy had her mother to close her eyes, and +the same for poor Henry. And Oliver, he was pretty +miserable dying in jail, but I never forgot what he said to +me. 'Mother,' he said, 'it's like dying at home to have you +with me here.' He was very proud, and it cut him that +the cleverest of the family should die in jail. And he +said, 'you'll put me beside the others, and take care of the +grave, and not be ashamed of me, mother.' It was the +money he left me, that kept this house and me ever since. +Now just think of the way he'd have died if I had not +been about to see to him. And I suppose the two +tramps'll come marching in some day to die, or to be +buried, and they'll be lucky to find me living. But anyway +I've arranged it with the minister to see to them, and +give them a place with their own, if I'm not here to look +after them."</p> + +<p>"And you lived through it all!" repeated Horace in +wonder.</p> + +<p>Her story gave him hope. He must put off thinking +until grief had loosened its grip on his nerves, and the +old self had come uppermost. He was determined that +the old self should return, as Martha had proved it could +return. He enjoyed its presence at that very moment, +though with a dread of its impending departure. The +old woman readily accepted him as a boarder for a few +days or longer, and treated him like a son. He slept +that night in a bed, the bed of Oliver and Henry,—their +portraits hanging over the bureau—and slept as +deeply as a wearied child. A blessed sleep was followed +by a bitter waking. Something gripped him the moment +he rose and looked out at the summer sun; a cruel hand +seized his breast, and weighted it with vague pain. Deep +sighs shook him, and the loom of Penelope began its<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span> +dreadful weaving of bloody visions, while the restful pool +in the woods tempted him to its cool rest. For a moment +he gave way to the thought that all had ended for him on +earth. Then he braced himself for his fight, went down +to chat cheerfully with Martha, and ate her tasty breakfast +with relish. He saw that his manner pleased the +simple heart, the strong, heroic mother, the guardian of +so many graves.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter"><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV.</h2> + +<h3 class="chapter2">THE ROAD TO NOTHINGNESS.</h3> + + +<p>"Whatever trouble you're a-sufferin' from," said<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span> +Martha, as he was going, "I can tell you one sure thing +about it. Time changes it so's you wouldn't think it was +the same trouble a year afterwards. Now, if you wait, +and have patience, and don't do anything one way or +another for a month, you'll be real glad you waited. Once +I would have been glad to die the minute after sorrow +came. Now I'm glad I didn't die, for I've learned to see +things different somehow."</p> + +<p>His heart was being gnawed at that moment by horrible +pain, but he caught the force of her words and took his +resolve against the seduction of the pool, that lay now in +his vision, as beautiful as a window of heaven.</p> + +<p>"I've come to the same thought," he answered. "I'll +not do anything for a month anyway, unless it's something +very wise and good. But I'm going now to think +the matter over by myself, and I know that you have done +me great service in helping me to look at my sorrows +rightly."</p> + +<p>She smiled her thanks and watched him as he struck +out for the hills two miles away. Often had her dear +sons left the door for the same walk, and she had watched +them with such love and pride. Oh, life, life!</p> + +<p>By the pool which tempted him so strongly Horace sat +down to study the problem of his future.</p> + +<p>"You are one solution of it," he thought, as he smiled +on its beautiful waters. "All others failing to please, you +are here, sure, definite, soft as a bed, tender as Martha, +lovely as a dream. There will be no vulgar outcry when +you untie the knot of woe. And because I am sure of you, +and have such confidence in you, I can sit here and defy +your present charm."</p> + +<p>He felt indeed that he was strong again in spite of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span> +pain. As one in darkness, longing for the light, might +see afar the faint glint of the dawn, he had caught a +glimpse of hope in the peace which came to him in Martha's +cottage. It could come again. In its light he knew that +he could look upon the past with calmness, and feel no +terror even at the name of Sonia. He would encourage +its return. It was necessary for him to fix the present +status of the woman whom he had once called his wife. He +could reason from that point logically. She had never +been his wife except by the forms of law. Her treason +had begun with his love, and her uncleanness was part of +her nature; so much had he learned on that fearful night +which revealed her to him. His wealth and his name were +the prizes which made her traitor to lover and husband. +What folly is there in man, or what enchantment in beauty, +or what madness in love, that he could have taken to his +arms the thing that hated him and hated goodness? +Should not love, the best of God's gifts, be wisdom too? +Or do men ever really love the object of passion?</p> + +<p>Oh, he had loved her! Not a doubt but that he loved +her still! Sonia, Sonia! The pool wrinkled at the sound +of her name, as he shrieked it in anguish across the +water. There was nothing in the world so beautiful as +she. Her figure rose before him more entrancing than +this fairy lake with its ever-changing loveliness. Its +shadows under the trees were in her eyes, its luster under +the sun was the luster of her body! Oh, there was nothing +of beauty in it, perfume, grace, color, its singing and +murmuring on the shore, that this perfect sinner had not +in her body!</p> + +<p>He steadied himself with the thought of old Martha. +A dread caught him that the image of this foul beauty +would haunt him thus forever, and be able at any time +to drive joy out of him and madness into him. Some +part of him clung to her, and wove a thousand fancies about +her beauty. When the pain of his desolation gripped him +the result was invariable: she rose out of the mist of pain, +not like a fury, or the harpy she was, but beautiful as the +morning, far above him, with glorious eyes fixed on the +heavens. He thought it rather the vision of his lost happiness +than of her. If she were present then, he would +have held her under the water with his hands squeezing +her throat, and so doubly killed her. But what a terror<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span> +if this vision were to become permanent, and he should +never know ease or the joy of living again! And for a +thing so worthless and so foul!</p> + +<p>He steadied himself again with the thought of old +Martha, and fixed his mind on the first fact, the starting-point +of his reasoning. She had never been his wife. +Her own lips had uttered that sentence. The law had +bound them, and the law protected her now. But she +enjoyed a stronger guard even: his name. It menaced him +in each solution of the problem of his future life. He +could do little without smirching that honored name. He +might take his own life. But that would be to punish +the innocent and to reward the guilty. His wealth would +become the gilding of adultery, and her joy would become +perfect in his death. Imagine him asleep in the grave, +while she laughed over his ashes, crying to herself: +always a fool. He might kill her, or him, or both; a short +punishment for a long treason, and then the trail of +viperous blood over the name of Endicott forever; not +blood but slime; not a tragedy, but the killing of rats in +a cellar; and perhaps a place for himself in a padded cell, +legally mad.</p> + +<p>He might desert her, go away without explanation, and +never see her again. That would be putting the burden +of shame on his own shoulders, in exile and a branded man +for her sake. She would still have his name, his income, +her lover, her place in society, her right to explain his +absence at her pleasure. He could ruin her ruined life +by exposing her. Then would come the divorce court, +the publicity, the leer of the mob, the pointed fingers of +scorn. Impossible! Why could he not leave the matter +untouched and keep up appearances before the world? +Least endurable of any scheme. He knew that he could +never meet her again without killing her, unless this +problem was settled. When he had determined on what +he should do, he might get courage to look on her face +once more.</p> + +<p>He wore the day out in vain thought, varying the dulness +by stamping about the pond, by swimming across it, +by studying its pleasant features. There was magic in it. +When he stripped off his clothes and flung them on the bank +part of his grief went with them. When he plunged into +the lovable water, not only did grief leave him, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span> +Horace Endicott returned; that Horace who once swam +a boy in such lakes, and went hilarious with the wild joy +of living. He dashed about the pool in a gay frenzy, +revelling in the sensation that tragedy had no part in his +life, that sorrow and shame had not yet once come nigh +him. The shore and the donning of his garments were +like clouds pouring themselves out on the sunlit earth. +He could hardly bear it, and hung about listlessly before +he could persuade himself to dress.</p> + +<p>"Surely you are my one friend," he said to the quiet +water. "Is it that you feel certain of giving me my last +sleep, my last kiss as you steal the breath from me? +None would do it gentlier. You give me release from +pain, you alone. And you promise everlasting release. +I will remember you if it comes to that."</p> + +<p>The pool looked up to him out of deep evening shadows +cast upon it by the woods. There was something human +in the variety of its expression. As if a chained soul, +silenced forever as to speech, condemned to a garment of +water, struggled to reach a human heart by infinite shades +of beauty, and endless variations of sound. The thought +woke his pity, and he looked down at the water as one looks +into the face of a suffering friend. Here were two castaways, +cut off from the highway of life, imprisoned in +circumstances as firmly as if behind prison grills. For +him there was hope, for the pool nothing. At this moment +its calm face pictured profound sadness. The black +shadow of the woods lay deep on the west bank, but its +remotest edge showed a brilliant green, where the sun +lingered on the top fringes of the foliage. Along the +east bank, among the reeds, the sun showed crimson, and +all the tender colors of the water plants faded in a glare +of blood. This savage brilliance would soon give way to +the gray mist of twilight, and then to the darkness of +night. Even this poor dumb beauty reflected in its +helplessly beautiful way the tragedies of mankind.</p> + +<p>As before with the evening came peace and release from +pain. Again he sat on Martha's porch after supper, and +thought nothing so beautiful as life; and as he listened to +further details of her life-story, imparted with the wise +intention of binding him to life more securely, he felt +that all was not yet lost for him. In his little room while +the night was still young, he opened an old volume at the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span> +play of Hamlet and read the story through. Surely he had +never read this play before? He recalled vaguely that it +had been studied in college, that some great actor had +played it for him, that he had believed it a wonderful +thing; memories now less real than dreams. For in +reading it this night he entered into the very soul of +Hamlet, lived his tortures over again, wept and raved in +dumb show with the wretched prince, and flung himself +and his book to the floor in grief at the pitiful ending. +He was the Hamlet; youth with a problem of the horrible; +called to solve that which shook the brains of statesmen; +dying in utter failure with that most pathetic dread of a +wounded name.</p> + +<div class="block" style="width: 34%"> +<div class="poem"> +Oh, good Horatio, what a wounded name.<br /> +Things standing thus unknown, shall live behind me.<br /> +If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart,<br /> +Absent thee from felicity awhile,<br /> +And in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain,<br /> +To tell my story.<br /> +</div></div> + +<p>For a little he had thought there could not be in +the world such suffering as his; how clear now that +his peculiar sorrow was strange to no hour of unfortunate +time; an old story, innocence and virtue—God +knew he had no pride in his own virtue—preyed upon +by cunning vice. He read Hamlet again. Oh, what +depth of anguish! What a portrayal of grief and +madness! Horace shook with the sobs that nearly choked +him. Like the sleek murderer and his plump queen, the +two creatures hatefulest to him lived their meanly prosperous +lives on his bounty. What conscience flamed so +dimly in the Danish prince that he could hesitate +before his opportunity? Long ago, had Horace been in +his place, the guilty pair would have paid in blood for +their lust and ambition. Hamlet would not kill himself +because the Almighty had "fixed his canon 'gainst self-slaughter;" +or because in the sleep of death might rise +strange dreams; he would not kill his uncle because he +caught him praying; and he was content with preaching +to his mother. Conscience! God! The two words +had not reached his heart or mind once since that awful +night. No scruples of the Lord Hamlet obscured his view +or delayed his action.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span></p> + +<p>He had been brought up to a vague respect of religious +things. He had even wondered where his father and +mother might now inhabit, as one might wonder of +the sea-drowned where their bodies might be floating; +but no nearer than this had heaven come to him. He had +never felt any special influence of religion in his life. In +what circumstances had Hamlet been brought up, that +religious feeling should have so serious an effect upon him? +Doubtless the prince had been a Catholic like his recent +acquaintance the Monsignor. Ah, he had forgotten that +interesting man, who had told him much worth remembrance. +In particular his last words ... what were those +last words? The effort to remember gave him mixed +dreams of Hamlet and the Monsignor that night.</p> + +<p>In the morning he went off to the pool with the book of +Hamlet and the echo of those important but forgotten +words. The lonely water seemed to welcome him when +he emerged from the path through the woods; the underbrush +rustled, living things scurried away into bush and +wave, the weeds on the far bank set up a rustling, and +little waves leaped on the shore. He smiled as if getting +a friend's morning salute, and began to talk aloud.</p> + +<p>"I have brought you another unfortunate," he said, +"and I am going to read his thoughts to you."</p> + +<p>He opened the book and very tenderly, as if reciting a +funeral service, murmured the words of the soliloquy on +suicide. How solemnly sounded in that solitude the +fateful phrase "but that the dread of something after +death!" That was indeed the rub! After death there +can be anything; and were it little and slender as a spider's +web, it might be too much for the sleep that is supposed +to know no waking and no dreams. After all, he thought, +how much are men alike; for the quandary of Hamlet +is mine; I know not what to do. He laid aside the book +and gave himself to idle watching of the pool. A bird +dipped his wing into it midway, and set a circle of +wavelets tripping to the shore. One by one they died +among the sedges, and there was no trace of them more.</p> + +<p>"That is the thing for which I am looking," he said; +"disappearance without consequences ... just to fade +away as if into water or air ... to separate on the spot +into original elements ... to be no more what I am, +either to myself or others ... then no inquest, no search,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span> +no funeral, no tears ... nothing. And after such a +death, perhaps, something might renew the personality in +conditions so far from these, so different, that <i>now</i> and +<i>then</i> would never come into contact."</p> + +<p>He sighed. What a disappearance that would be. And +at that moment the words of the Monsignor came back to +him:</p> + +<p>"<i>If at any time you wish to disappear, command me.</i>"</p> + +<p>A thrill leaped through his dead veins, as of one rising +from the dead, but he lay motionless observing the pool. +Before him passed the details of that night at the tavern; +the portraits, the chirping cricket, the vines at the window, +the strange theory of the priest about disappearing. He +reviewed that theory as a judge might review a case, so +he thought; but in fact his mind was swinging at headlong +speed over the possibilities, and his pulses were +bounding. It was possible, even in this world, to disappear +more thoroughly behind the veil of life than under +the veil of death. If one only had the will!</p> + +<p>He rose brimming with exultant joy. An intoxication +seized him that lifted him at once over all his sorrow, and +placed him almost in that very spot wherein he stood ten +days ago; gay, debonair, light of heart as a boy, untouched +by grief or the dread of grief. It was a divine madness. +He threw off his clothes, admired his shapely body for a +moment as he poised on the bank, and flung himself in +headlong with a shout. He felt as he slipped through the +water but he did not utter the thought, that if this intoxication +did not last he would never leave the pool. It +endured and increased. He swam about like a demented +fish. On that far shore where the reeds grew he paddled +through the mud and thrust his head among the sedges +kissing them with laughter. In another place he reached +up to the high bank and pulled out a bunch of ferns which +he carried about with him. He roamed about the sandy +bottom in one corner, and thrust his nose and his hands +into it, laying his cheek on the smooth surface. He +swallowed mouthfuls of the cool water, and felt that he +tasted joy for the first time. He tired his body with +divings, racings, leapings, and shouting.</p> + +<p>When he leaped ashore and flung himself in the shade +of the wood, the intoxication had increased. So, not for +nothing had he met the priest. That encounter, the delay<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span> +in the journey, the stay in the village, the peculiar character +of the man, his odd theory, were like elements of an +antidote, compounded to meet that venom which the +vicious had injected into his life. Wonderful! He +looked at the open book beside him, and then rose to his +knees, with the water dripping from his limbs. In a loud +voice he made a profession of faith.</p> + +<p>"I believe in God forever."</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter"><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V.</h2> + +<h3 class="chapter2">THE DOOR IS CLOSED.</h3> + + +<p>Even Martha was startled by the change in him. She<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span> +had hoped and prayed for it, but had not looked for it so +soon, and did not expect blithe spirits after such despair. +In deep joy he poured out his soul to her all the evening, +but never mentioned deeds or names in his tragedy. +Martha hardly thought of them. She knew from the first +that this man's soul had been nearly wrecked by some +shocking deviltry, and that the best medicine for him was +complete forgetfulness. Horace felt as a life-prisoner, +suddenly set free from the loathsomest dungeon in Turkestan, +might feel on greeting again the day and life's sweet +activities. The first thought which surged in upon him +was the glory of that life which had been his up to the +moment when sorrow engulfed him.</p> + +<p>"My God," he cried to Martha, "is it possible that men +can hold such a treasure, and prize it as lightly as I did +once."</p> + +<p>He had thought almost nothing of it, had been glad to +get rid of each period as it passed, and of many persons +and scenes connected with childhood, youth, and manhood. +Now they looked to him, these despised years, persons, +and scenes, like jewels set in fine gold, priceless +jewels of human love fixed forever in the adamant of God's +memory. They were his no more. Happily God would +not forget them, but would treasure them, and reward +time and place and human love according to their deserving. +He was full of scorn for himself, who could take and +enjoy so much of happiness with no thought of its value, +and no other acknowledgment than the formal and hasty +word of thanks, as each soul laid its offering of love and +service at his feet.</p> + +<p>"You're no worse than the rest of us," said Martha, +"I didn't know, and very few of my friends ever seemed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span> +to know, what good things they had till they lost 'em. It +may be that God would not have us put too high a price +on 'em at first, fearin' we'd get selfish about 'em. Then +when they're gone, it turns our thoughts more to heaven, +which is the only place where we have any chance to get +'em back."</p> + +<p>When he had got over his self-scorn, the abyss of pain +and horror out of which God had lifted him—this +was his belief—showed itself mighty and terrible to his +normal vision. Never would he have believed that a man +could fall so far and so awfully, had he not been in those +dark depths and mounted to the sun again. He had read +of such pits as exaggerations. He had seen sorrow and +always thought its expression too fantastic for reality. +Looking down now into the noisome tunnel of his own +tragedy, he could only wonder that its wretched walls and +exit did not carry the red current of blood mingled with +its own foul streaks. Nothing that he had done in his +grief expressed more than a syllable of the pain he had +endured. The only full voice to such grief would have +been the wrecking of the world. Strange that he could +now look calmly into this abyss, without the temptation to +go mad. But its very ghastliness turned his thought into +another channel. The woman who had led him into the +pit, what of her? Free from the tyranny of her beauty, +he saw her with all her loveliness, merely the witch of the +abyss, the flower and fruit of that loathsome depth, in +whose bosom filthy things took their natural shape of +horror, and put on beauty only to entrap the innocent of +the upper world. Yes, he was entirely freed from her. +Her name sounded to his ears like a name from hell, but +it brought no paleness to his cheeks, no shock to his nerves, +no stirring of his pulses. The loom of Penelope was +broken, and forever, he hoped.</p> + +<p>"I am free," he said to Martha the next morning, after +he had tested himself in various ways. "The one devil +that remained with me is gone, and I feel sure she will +never trouble me again."</p> + +<p>"It is good to be free," said Martha, "if the thing is +evil. I am free from all that worried me most. I am +free from the old fear of death. But sometimes I get sad +thinking how little we need those we thought we could +not do without."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span></p> + +<p>"How true that sounds, mother. There is a pity in +it. We are not necessary to one another, though we think +so. Every one we love dies, we lose all things as time goes +on, and when we come to old age nothing remains of +the past; but just the same we enjoy what we have, and +forget what we had. There is one thing necessary, and +that is true life."</p> + +<p>"And where can we get that?" said Martha.</p> + +<p>"Only from God, I think," he replied.</p> + +<p>She smiled her satisfaction with his thought, and he +went off to the pool for the last time, singing in his heart +with joy. He would have raised his voice too, but, feeling +himself in the presence of a stupendous thing, he refrained +out of reverence. If suffering Hamlet had only +encountered the idea of disappearing, his whole life would +have been set right in a twinkling of the eye. The Dane +had an inkling of the solution of his problem when in +anguish he cried out,</p> + +<div class="block"> +<div class="poem"> +<span class="i0">Oh, that this too, too solid flesh would melt,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Thaw and resolve itself into a dew!</span><br /> +</div></div> + +<p>But he had not followed his thought to its natural consequence, +seeing only death at the end of reasoning. +Horace saw disappearance, and he had now to consider +the idea of complete disappearance with all its effects upon +him and others. What would be the effect upon himself? +He would vanish into thin air as far as others were concerned. +Whatever of his past the present held would turn +into ashes. There would be no further connection with it. +An impassable void would be created across which neither +he nor those he loved could go. He went over in his +mind what he had to give up, and trembled before his +chum and his father's sister, two souls that loved him. +Death would not be more terrible. For him, no; but +for them? Death would leave them his last word, look, +sigh, his ashes, his resting-place; disappearance would +rob them of all knowledge, and clothe his exit with everlasting +sadness. There was no help for it. Many souls +more loving suffered a similar anguish, and survived it. +It astonished and even appalled him, if anything could +now appal him, that only two out of the group of his +close friends and near acquaintances seemed near enough<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span> +in affection and intimacy to mourn his loss. Not one of +twenty others would lose a dinner or a fraction of appetite +because he had vanished so pitifully. How rarer than +diamonds is that jewel of friendship!</p> + +<p>He had thought once that a hundred friends would +have wept bitter tears over his sorrow; of the number +there were left only two!</p> + +<p>It was easy for him to leave the old life, now become +so hateful; but there was terror in putting on the new, +to which he must ally himself as if born into it, like a +tree uprooted from its native soil and planted far from its +congenial elements in the secret, dark, sympathetic places +of the earth. He must cut himself off more thoroughly +than by death. The disappearance must be eternal, unless +death removed Sonia Westfield before circumstances +made return practically impossible; his experience of life +showed that disagreeable people rarely die while the +microbe of disagreeableness thrives in them.</p> + +<p>What would be the effect of his disappearance on +Sonia and her lover? The question brought a smile to his +wan face. She had married his name and his money, +and would lose both advantages. He would take his property +into exile to the last penny. His name without his +income would be a burden to her. His disappearance +would cast upon her a reproach, unspoken, unseen, a +mere mist enwrapping her fatally, but not to be dispelled. +Her mouth would be shut tight; no chance for innuendoes, +lest hint might add suspicion to mystery. She would be +forced to observe the proprieties to the letter, and the +law would not grant her a divorce for years. In time she +would learn that her only income was the modest revenue +from her own small estate; that he had taken all with +him into darkness; and still she would not dare to tell +the damaging fact to her friends. She would be forced +to keep up appearances, to spend money in a vain search +for him, or his wealth; suspecting much yet knowing +nothing, miserably certain that he was living somewhere +in luxury, and enjoying his vengeance.</p> + +<p>He no longer thought of vengeance. He did not desire +it. The mills of the gods grind out vengeance enough to +glut any appetite. By the mere exercise of his right to +disappear he gave the gods many lashes with which to +arm the furies against her. He was satisfied with being<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span> +beyond her reach forever. Now that he knew just what +to do, now that with his plan had come release from depression, +now that he was himself again almost, he felt +that he could meet Sonia Westfield and act the part of a +busy husband without being tempted to strangle her. In +her very presence he would put in motion the machinery +which would strip her of luxury and himself of his present +place in the world.</p> + +<p>The process took about two months. The first step was +a visit to Monsignor O'Donnell, a single visit, and the +first result was a single letter, promptly committed to the +flames. Then he went home with a story of illness, of a +business enterprise which had won his fancy, of necessary +visits to the far west; which were all true, but not in the +sense in which Sonia took these details. They not only +explained his absence, but also excused the oddity of his +present behavior. He hardly knew how he behaved with +her. He did not act, nor lose self-confidence. He had +no desire to harm her. He was simply indifferent, as if +from sickness. As the circumstances fell in with her inclinations, +though she could not help noticing his new +habits and peculiarities, she made no protest and very +little comment. He saw her rarely, and in time carried +himself with a sardonic good humor as surprising to him +as inexplicable to her. She seemed as far from him as if +she had suddenly turned Eskimo. Once or twice a sense +of loathing invaded him, a flame of hatred blazed up, soon +suppressed. He was complete master of himself, and his +reward was that he could be her judge, with the indifference +of a dignitary of the law. The disposal of his +property was accomplished with perfect secrecy, his wife +consenting on the plea of a better investment.</p> + +<p>So the two months came to an end in peace, and he +stood at last before that door which he himself had opened +into the new future. Once closed no other hand but his +could open it. A time might come when even to his hand +the hinge would not respond. Two persons knew his +secret in part, the Monsignor and a woman; but they +knew nothing more than that he did not belong to them +from the beginning, and more than that they would never +know, if he carried out his plan of disappearance perfectly. +Whatever the result, he felt now that the crisis of his life +had come.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span></p> + +<p>At the last moment, however, doubts worried him about +thus cutting himself off from his past so utterly, and +adopting another personality. Some deep-lying repugnance +stirred him against the double process. Would it +not be better to live under his own name in remote countries, +and thus be ready, if fate allowed, to return home +at the proper time? Perhaps. In that case he must be +prepared for her pursuit, her letters, her chicanery, which +he could not bear. Her safety and his own, if the stain +of blood was to be kept off the name of Endicott, demanded +the absolute cessation of all relationship between them. +Yet that did not contain the whole reason. Lurking +somewhere in those dark depths of the soul, where the +lead never penetrates, he found the thought of vengeance. +After all he did wish to punish her and to see her punishment. +He had thought to leave all to the gods, but +feared the gods would not do all their duty. If they +needed spurring, he would be near to provide new whips +and fresher scorpions. He shook off hesitation when the +last day of his old life came, and made his farewells with +decision. A letter to his aunt and to his friend, bidding +each find no wonder and no worry about him in the events +of the next month, and lose no time in searching for +him; a quiet talk with old Martha on her little verandah; +a visit to the pool on a soft August night; and an evening +spent alone in his father's house; these were his leave-takings.</p> + +<p>They would never find a place in his life again, and he +would never dare to return to them; since the return of +the criminal over the path by which he escaped into +secrecy gave him into the hands of his pursuers. The old +house had become the property of strangers. The offset +to this grief was the fact that Sonia would never dishonor +it again with her presence. Just now dabbling in her +sins down by the summer sea, she was probably reading +the letter which he had sent her about business in Wisconsin. +Later a second letter would bear her the sentence of +a living death. The upright judge had made her the +executioner. What a long tragedy that would be! He +thought of it as he wandered about the lovely rooms of +his old home; what long days of doubt before certainty +would come; what horror when bit by bit the scheme of +his vengeance unfolded: what vain, bitter, furious strug<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span>gling +to find and devour him; and then the miserable ending +when time had proved his disappearance absolute and +perfect!</p> + +<p>At midnight, after a pilgrimage to every loved spot in +the household shrine, he slipped away unseen and struck +out on foot over the fields for a distant railway station. +For two months he lived here and there in California, +while his beard grew and his thoughts devoured him. +Then one evening he stepped somewhat feebly from the +train in New York, crawled into a cab, and drove to +No. 127 Mulberry Street. The cabman helped him up +the steps and handed him in the door to a brisk old +woman, who must have been an actress in her day; for +she gave a screech at the sight of him, and threw her +arms about him crying out, so that the cabman heard, +"Artie, alanna, back from the dead, back from the dead, +acushla machree." Then the door closed, and Arthur +Dillon was alone with his mother; Arthur Dillon who had +run away to California ten years before, and died there, +it was supposed; but he had not died, for behold him +returned to his mother miraculously. She knew him in +spite of the changes, in spite of thin face, wild eyes, and +strong beard. The mother-love is not to be deceived by +the disguise of time. So Anne Dillon hugged her Arthur +with a fervor that surprised him, and wept copious tears; +thinking more of the boy that might have come back to +her than of this stranger. He lay in his lonely, unknown +grave, and the caresses meant for him had been bought +by another.</p> + + +<div class="minispace"> </div> +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter3">RESURRECTION.</h2> +<hr /> + +<div class="minispace"> </div> +<h2 class="chapter"><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI.</h2> + +<h3 class="chapter2">ANOTHER MAN'S SHOES.</h3> + + +<p>As he laid aside his outer garments, Horace felt the joy<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span> +of the exhausted sailor, entering port after a dangerous +voyage. He was in another man's shoes; would they fit +him? He accepted the new house and the new mother +with scarcely a comment. Mrs. Anne Dillon knew him +only as a respectable young man of wealth, whom misfortune +had driven into hiding. His name and his history +she might never learn. So Monsignor had arranged it. +In return for a mother's care and name she was to receive +a handsome income. A slim and well-fashioned woman, +dignified, severe of feature, her light hair and fair complexion +took away ten from her fifty years; a brisk manner +and a low voice matched her sharp blue eyes and calm +face; her speech had a slight brogue; fate had ordained +that an Endicott should be Irish in his new environment. +As she flew about getting ready a little supper, he dozed +in the rocker, thinking of that dear mother who had +illumined his youth like a vision, beautiful, refined, ever +delightful; then of old Martha, rough, plain, and sad, +but with the spirit and wit of the true mother, to cherish +the sorrowful. In love for the child these mothers were +all alike. He felt at home, and admired the quickness +and skill with which Anne Dillon took up her new office. +He noted everything, even his own shifting emotions. +This was one phase of the melancholy change in him: the +man he had cast off rarely saw more than pleased him, +but the new Arthur Dillon had an alert eye for trifles.</p> + +<p>"Son dear," said his mother, when they sat down to +tea, "we'll have the evenin' to ourselves, because I didn't +tell a soul what time you were comin', though of course +they all knew it, for I couldn't keep back such good news; +that after all of us thinkin' you dead, you should turn +out to be alive an' well, thank God. So we can spend the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span> +evenin' decidin' jist what to do an' say to-morrow. The +first thing in the mornin' Louis Everard will be over to +see you. Since he heard of your comin', he's been jist +wild, for he was your favorite; you taught him to swim, +an' to play ball, an' to skate, an' carried him around with +you, though he's six years younger than you. He's goin' +to be a priest in time with the blessin' o' God. Then his +mother an' sister, perhaps Sister Mary Magdalen, too; an' +your uncle Dan Dillon, on your father's side, he's the only +relative you have. My folks are all dead. He's a senator, +an' a leader in Tammany Hall, an' he'll be proud of +you. You were very fond of him, because he was a prize-fighter +in his day, though I never thought much of that, +an' was glad when he left the business for politics."</p> + +<p>"And how am I to know all these people, mother?"</p> + +<p>"You've come home sick," she said placidly, "an' you'll +stay in bed for the next week, or a month if you like. As +each one comes I'll let you know jist who they are. You +needn't talk any more than you like, an' any mistakes will +be excused, you've been away so long, an' come home +so sick."</p> + +<p>They smiled frankly at each other, and after tea she +showed him his room, a plain chamber with sacred pictures +on the walls and a photograph of Arthur Dillon over +the bureau.</p> + +<p>"Jist as you left it ten years ago," she said with a sob. +"An' your picture as you looked a month before you went +away."</p> + +<p>The portrait showed a good-looking and pugnacious boy +of sixteen, dark-haired and large-eyed like himself; but +the likeness between the new and the old Arthur was not +striking; yet any one who wished or thought to find a resemblance +might have succeeded. As to disposition, +Horace Endicott would not have deserted his mother +under any temptation.</p> + +<p>"What sort of a boy was—was I at that age, mother?"</p> + +<p>"The best in the world," she answered mildly but +promptly, feeling the doubt in the question. "An' no one +was able to understan' why you ran away as you did. +I wonder now my heart didn't break over it. The neighbors +jist adored you: the best dancer an' singer, the +gayest boy in the parish, an' the Monsignor thought there +was no other like you."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I have forgotten how to sing an' dance, mother. I +think these accomplishments can be easily learned again. +Does the Monsignor still hold his interest in me?"</p> + +<p>"More than ever, I think, but he's a quiet man that +says little when he means a good deal."</p> + +<p>At nine o'clock an old woman came in with an evening +paper, and gave a cry of joy at sight of him. Having +been instructed between the opening of the outer door +and the woman's appearance, Arthur took the old lady in +his arms and kissed her. She was the servant of the +house, more companion than servant, wrinkled like an +autumn leaf that has felt the heat, but blithe and active.</p> + +<p>"So you knew me, Judy, in spite of the whiskers and +the long absence?"</p> + +<p>"Knew you, is it?" cried Judy, laughing, and crying, +and talking at once, in a way quite wonderful to one +who had never witnessed this feat. "An' why shouldn't +I know you? Didn't I hould ye in me own two arrums +the night you were born? An' was there a day afther +that I didn't have something to do wid ye? Oh, ye little +spalpeen, to give us all the fright ye did, runnin' away to +Californy. Now if ye had run away to Ireland, there'd +be some sinse in it. Musha thin, but it was fond o' goold +ye wor, an' ye hardly sixteen. I hope ye brought a pile +of it back wid ye."</p> + +<p>She rattled on in her joy until weariness took them all +at the same moment, and they withdrew to bed. He +was awakened in the morning by a cautious whispering in +the room outside his door.</p> + +<p>"Pon me sowl," Judy was saying angrily, "ye take it +like anny ould Yankee. Ye're as dull as if 'twas his +body on'y, an' not body an' sowl together, that kem home +to ye. Jist like ould Mrs. Wilcox the night her son died, +sittin' in her room, an' crowshayin' away, whin a dacint +woman 'ud be howlin' wid sorra like a banshee."</p> + +<p>"To tell the truth," Anne replied, "I can't quite forgive +him for the way he left me, an' it's so long since I saw +him, Judy, an' he's so thin an' miserable lookin', that I +feel as if he was only a fairy child."</p> + +<p>"Mother, you're talking too loud to your neighbors," +he cried out then in a cheery and familiar voice, for he +saw at once the necessity of removing the very natural +constraint indicated by his mother's words; and there was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span> +a sudden cry from the women, Judy flying to the kitchen +while Anne came to his door.</p> + +<p>"It's true the walls have ears," she said with a kindly +smile. "But you and I, son, will have to make many's +the explanation of that kind before you are well settled in +your old home."</p> + +<p>He arose for breakfast with the satisfaction of having +enjoyed a perfect sleep, and with a delightful interest in +what the day had in store for him. Judy bantered and +petted him. His mother carried him over difficult allusions +in her speech. The sun looked in on him pleasantly, +he took a sniff of air from a brickish garden, saw +the brown walls of the cathedral not far away, and then +went back to bed. A sudden and overpowering weakness +came upon him which made the bed agreeable. Here he +was to receive such friends as would call upon him that +day. Anne Dillon looked somewhat anxious over the +ordeal, and his own interest grew sharper each moment, +until the street-door at last opened with decision, and his +mother whispered quickly:</p> + +<p>"Louis Everard! Make much of him."</p> + +<p>She went out to check the brisk and excited student +who wished to enter with a shout, warning him that the +returned wanderer was a sick man. There was silence +for a moment, and then the young fellow appeared in the +doorway.</p> + +<p>"Will you have a fit if I come any nearer?" he said +roguishly.</p> + +<p>In the soft, clear light from the window Arthur saw a +slim, manly figure, a lovable face lighted by keen blue +eyes, a white and frank forehead crowned by light hair, +and an expression of face that won him on the instant. +This was his chum, whom he had loved, and trained, and +tyrannized over long ago. For the first time since his +sorrow he felt the inrushing need of love's sympathy, and +with tear-dimmed eyes he mutely held out his arms. +Louis flew into the proffered embrace, and kissed him +twice with the ardor of a boy. The affectionate touch of +his lips quite unmanned Arthur, who was silent while the +young fellow sat on the side of the bed with one arm about +him, and began to ply him with questions.</p> + +<p>"Tell me first of all," he said, "how you had the heart +to do it, to run away from so many that loved the ground<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span> +you walked on. I cried my eyes out night after night ... and +your poor mother ... and indeed all of us ... how could +you do it? What had we done?"</p> + +<p>"Drop it," said Arthur. "At that time I could have +done anything. It was pure thoughtlessness, regretted +many a time since. I did it, and there's the end of it, +except that I am suffering now and must suffer more for +the folly."</p> + +<p>"One thing, remember," said Louis, "you must let +them all see that your heart is in the right place. I'm not +going to tell you all that was said about you. But you +must let every one see that you are as good as when you +left us."</p> + +<p>"That would be too little, dear heart. Any man that +has been through my experiences and did not show himself +ten times better than ever he was before, ought to +stay in the desert."</p> + +<p>"That sounds like you," said Louis, gently pulling his +beard.</p> + +<p>"Tell me, partner," said Arthur lightly, "would you +recognize me with whiskers?"</p> + +<p>"Never. There is nothing about you that reminds me +of that boy who ran away. Just think, it's ten years, and +how we all change in ten years. But say, what adventures +you must have had! I've got to hear the whole story, +mind, from the first chapter to the last. You are to come +over to the house two nights in a week, to the old room, +you remember, and unfold the secrets of ten years. +Haven't you had a lot of them?"</p> + +<p>"A car-load, and of every kind. In the mines and +forests, on the desert, lost in the mountains, hunting and +fishing and prospecting; not to mention love adventures +of the tenderest sort. I feel pleasant to think of telling +you my latest adventures in the old room, where I used to +curl you up with fright——"</p> + +<p>"Over stories of witches and fairies," cried Louis, +"when I would crawl up your back as we lay in bed, and +shiver while I begged you to go on. And the room is just +the same, for all the new things have the old pattern. I +felt you would come back some day with a bag of real +stories to be told in the same dear old place."</p> + +<p>"Real enough surely," said Arthur with a deep sigh, +"and I hope they may not tire you in the telling. Mother<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span> +... tells me that you are going to be a priest. Is that +true?"</p> + +<p>"As far as I can see now, yes. But one is never certain."</p> + +<p>"Then I hope you will be one of the Monsignor's stamp. +That man is surely a man of God."</p> + +<p>"Not a doubt of it," said Louis, taking his hat to go.</p> + +<p>"One thing," said Arthur as he took his hand and detained +him. He was hungry for loving intimacy with this +fine lad, and stammered in his words. "We are to be the +same ... brothers ... that we were long ago!"</p> + +<p>"That's for you to say, old man," replied Louis, who +was pleased and even flattered, and petted Arthur's hands. +"I always had to do as you said, and was glad to be your +slave. I have been the faithful one all these years. It is +your turn now."</p> + +<p>After that Arthur cared little who came to see him. He +was no longer alone. This youth loved him with the love +of fidelity and gratitude, to which he had no claim except +by adoption from Mrs. Anne Dillon; but it warmed his +heart and cheered his spirit so much that he did not discuss +with himself the propriety of owning and enjoying +it. He looked with delight on Louis' mother when she +came later in the day, and welcomed him as a mother would +a dear son. A nun accompanied her, whose costume gave +him great surprise and some irritation. She was a frank-faced +but homely woman, who wore her religious habit +with distinction. Arthur felt as if he were in a chapel +while she sat by him and studied his face. His mother did +the talking for him, compared his features with the portrait +on the wall, and recalled the mischievous pranks of +his wild boyhood, indirectly giving him much information +as to his former relationships with the visitors. Mrs. +Everard had been fond of him, and Sister Mary Magdalen +had prepared him for his first communion. This fact the +nun emphasized by whispering to him as she was about to +leave:</p> + +<p>"I hope you have not neglected your religious duties?"</p> + +<p>"Monsignor will tell you," he said with an amused smile. +He found no great difficulty in dealing with the visitors +that came and went during the first week. Thanks to his +mother's tactful management no hitches occurred more +serious than the real Arthur Dillon might have encountered +after a long absence. The sick man learned very<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span> +speedily how high his uncle stood in the city, for the last +polite inquiry of each visitor was whether the Senator had +called to welcome his nephew. In the narrow world of the +Endicotts the average mind had not strength enough to +conceive of a personality which embraced in itself a prize-fighter +and a state senator. The terms were contradictory. +True, Nero had been actor and gladiator, and the inference +was just that an American might achieve equal distinction; +but the Endicott mind refused to consider such an inference. +Arthur Dillon no longer found anything absurd +or impossible. The surprises of his new position charmed +him. Three months earlier and the wildest libeller could +not have accused him of an uncle lower in rank than a +governor of the state. Sonorous names, senator and gladiator, +brimful of the ferocity and dignity of old Rome! +near as they had been in the days of Cæsar, one would +have thought the march of civilization might have widened +the interval. Here was a rogue's march indeed! Judy +gave the Senator a remarkable character.</p> + +<p>"The Senator, is it?" said she when asked for an opinion. +"Divil a finer man from here to himself! There +isn't a sowl in the city that doesn't bless his name. He's +a great man bekase he was born so. He began life with +his two fishts, thumpin' other boys wid the gloves, as they +call 'em. Thin he wint to the war, an' began fightin' wid +powdher an' guns, so they med him a colonel. Thin he +kem home an' wint fightin' the boss o' the town, so they +med him a senator. It was all fightin' wid him, an' they +say he's at it yet, though he luks so pleasant all the time, +he must find it healthy. I don't suppose thim he's fightin' +wid finds it as agreeable. Somewan must git the batin', +ye know. There's jist the differ betune men. I've been +usin' me fists all me life, beltin' the washboord, an' I'm +nowhere yet. An' Tommy Kilbride the baker, he's been +poundin' at the dough for thirty years, an' he's no better +off than I am. But me noble Dan Dillon that began wid +punchin' the heads of his neighbors, see where he is to-day. +But he's worthy of it, an' I'd be the last to begrudge +him his luck."</p> + +<p>In the Endicott circle the appearance of a senator as +great as Sumner had not been an event to flutter the +heart, though the honor was unquestioned; but never in +his life had the young man felt a keener interest than in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span> +the visit of his new uncle. He came at last, a splendid +figure, too ample in outline and too rich in color for the +simple room. The first impression he made was that of +the man. The powerful and subtle essence of the man +breathed from him. His face and figure had that boldness +of line and depth of color which rightly belong to +the well-bred peasant. He was well dressed, and handsome, +with eyes as soft and bright as a Spaniard's. +Arthur was overcome with delight. In Louis he had +found sympathy and love, and in the Senator he felt sure +that he would find ideal strength and ideal manhood, +things for the weak to lean upon. The young patrician +seized his uncle's hand and pressed it hard between his +own. At this affectionate greeting the Senator's voice +failed him, and he had difficulty in keeping back his +tears.</p> + +<p>"If your father were only here now, God rest his soul +this day," he said. "How he loved you. Often an' +often he said to me that his happiness would be complete +if he lived to see you a man. He died, but I live to see it, +an' to welcome you back to your own. The Dillons are +dying out. You're the only one of our family with the +family name. What's the use o' tellin' you how glad we +are that Californy didn't swallow you up forever."</p> + +<p>Arthur thanked him fervently, and complimented him +on his political honors. The Senator beamed with the +delight of a man who finds the value of honors in the joy +which they give his friends.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I've mounted, Artie, an' I came by everything +I have honest. You'll not be ashamed of me, boy, when +you see where I stand outside. But there's one thing +about politics very hard, the enemy don't spare you. If +you were to believe all that's said of me by opponents I'm +afraid you wouldn't shake hands with me in public."</p> + +<p>"I suppose they bring up the prize-fighting," said +Arthur. "You ought to have told them that no one need +be ashamed to do what many a Roman emperor did."</p> + +<p>"Ah," cried the Senator, "there's where a man feels +the loss of an education. I never knew the emperors did +any ring business. What a sockdologer it would have +been to compare myself with the Roman emperors."</p> + +<p>"Then you've done with fighting, uncle?"</p> + +<p>There was regret in his tone, for he felt the situation<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span> +would have been improved if the Senator were still before +the public as a gladiator.</p> + +<p>"I see you ain't lost none o' your old time deviltry, +Artie," he replied good-naturedly. "I gave that up long +ago, an' lots o' things with it. But givin' up has nothin' +to do with politics, an' regular all my sins are retailed in +the papers. But one thing they can never say: that I was +a liar or a thief. An' they can't say that I ever broke my +word, or broke faith with the people that elected me, or +did anything that was not becoming in a senator. I respect +that position an' the honor for all they're worth."</p> + +<p>"And they can never say," added Arthur, "that you +were afraid of any man on earth, or that you ever hurt +the helpless, or ever deserted a friend or a soul that was +in need."</p> + +<p>The Senator flushed at the unexpected praise and the +sincerity of the tone. He was anxious to justify himself +even before this sinner, because his dead brother and his +sister-in-law had been too severe on his former occupations +to recognize the virtues which Arthur complimented.</p> + +<p>"Whatever I have been," said the Senator, pressing the +hand which still held his, "I was never less than a square +man."</p> + +<p>"That's easy to believe, uncle, and I'll willingly punch +the head of the first man that denies it."</p> + +<p>"Same old spirit," said the delighted Senator. "Why, +you little rogue, d'ye remember when you used to go +round gettin' all the pictures o' me in me fightin' days, +an' makin' your dear mother mad by threatenin' to go +into the ring yourself? Why; you had your own fightin' +gear, gloves an' clubs an' all that, an' you trained young +Everard in the business, till his old ... his father put a +head ... put a stop to it."</p> + +<p>"Fine boy, that Louis, but I never thought he'd turn +to the Church."</p> + +<p>"He never had any thin' else in him," said the Senator +earnestly. "It was born in him as fightin' an' general +wildness was born in you an' me. Look into his face an' +you'll see it. Fine? The boy hasn't his like in the city +or the land. I'll back him for any sum—I'll stand to it +that he'll be archbishop some day."</p> + +<p>"Which I'll never be," said Arthur with a grin.</p> + +<p>"Every man in his place, Artie. I've brought you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span> +yours, if you want to take it. How would politics in +New York suit you?"</p> + +<p>"I'm ripe for anything with fun in it."</p> + +<p>"Then you won't find fault, Artie, if I ask how things +stood with you—you see it's this way, Artie——"</p> + +<p>"Now, hold on, old man," said Arthur. "If you are +going to get embarrassed in trying to do something for +me, then I withdraw. Speak right out what you have to +say, and leave me to make any reply that suits me."</p> + +<p>"Then, if you'll pardon me, did you leave things in +Californy straight an' square, so that nothin' could be +said about you in the papers as to your record?"</p> + +<p>"Straight as a die, uncle."</p> + +<p>"An' would you take the position of secretary to the +chief an' so get acquainted with everything an' everybody?"</p> + +<p>"On the spot, and thank you, if you can wait till I am +able to move about decently."</p> + +<p>"Then it's done, an' I'm the proudest man in the state +to see another Dillon enterin'——"</p> + +<p>"The ring," said Arthur.</p> + +<p>"No, the arena of politics," corrected the Senator. "An' +I can tell from your talk that you have education an' sand. +In time we'll make you mayor of the town."</p> + +<p>When he was going after a most affectionate conversation +with his nephew the Senator made a polite suggestion +to Mrs. Dillon.</p> + +<p>"His friends an' my friends an' the friends of his +father, an' the rank an' file generally want to see an' to hear +this young man, just as the matter stands. Still more +will they wish to give him the right hand of fellowship +when they learn that he is about to enter on a political +career. Now, why not save time and trouble by just +giving a reception some day about the end of the +month, invite the whole ga—the whole multitude, do the +thing handsome, an' wind it up forever?"</p> + +<p>The Senator had an evident dread of his sister-in-law, +and spoke to her with senatorial dignity. She meekly accepted +his suggestion, and humbly attended him to the +door. His good sense had cleared the situation. Preparation +for a reception would set a current going in the +quiet house, and relieve the awkwardness of the new +relationships; and it would save time in the business of renewing +old acquaintance. They took up the work eagerly.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span> +The old house had to be refitted for the occasion, his +mother had to replenish a scanty wardrobe, and he had +to dress himself in the fashion proper to Arthur Dillon. +Anne's taste was good, inclined to rich but simple coloring, +and he helped her in the selection of materials, insisting +on expenditures which awed and delighted her. Judy +Haskell came in for her share of raiment, and carried out +some dread designs on her own person with conviction. +It was pure pleasure to help these simple souls who loved +him.</p> + +<p>After a three weeks' stay in the house he went about +the city at his ease, and busied himself with the study and +practise of his new personality. In secret, even from +Louis who spent much of his leisure with him, he began +to acquire the well-known accomplishments of the real +Arthur Dillon, who had sung and danced his way into the +hearts of his friends, who had been a wit for a boy, +bubbling over with good spirits, an athlete, a manager of +amateur minstrels, a precocious gallant among the girls, a +fighter ever ready to defend the weak, a tireless leader in +any enterprise, and of a bright mind, but indifferent to +study. The part was difficult for him to play, since his +nature was staidness itself beside the spontaneity and +variety of Arthur Dillon: but his spirits rose in the effort, +some feeling within responded to the dash and daring of this +lost boy, so much loved and so deeply mourned.</p> + +<p>Louis helped him in preparing his wardrobe, very unlike +anything an Endicott had ever worn. Lacking the elegance +and correctness of earlier days, and of a different character, +it was in itself a disguise. He wore his hair long and +thick in the Byronic fashion, and a curly beard shadowed +his lower face. Standing at the glass on the afternoon of +the reception he felt confident that Horace Endicott had +fairly disappeared beneath the new man Dillon. His +figure had filled out slightly, and had lost its mournful +stoop; his face was no longer wolfish in its leanness, and +his color had returned, though melancholy eyes marked +by deep circles still betrayed the sick heart. Yet the +figure in the glass looked as unlike Horace Endicott as +Louis Everard. He compared it with the accurate portrait +sent out by his pursuers through the press. Only +the day before had the story of his mysterious disappearance +been made public. For months they had sought him<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span> +quietly but vainly. It was a sign of their despair that the +journals should have his story, his portrait, and a reward +for his discovery.</p> + +<p>No man sees his face as others see it, but the difference +between the printed portrait and the reflection of Arthur +Dillon in the mirror was so startling that he felt humbled +and pained, and had to remind himself that this was the +unlikeness he so desired. The plump and muscular figure +of Horace Endicott, dressed perfectly, posed affectively, +expressed the self-confidence of the aristocrat. His +smooth face was insolent with happiness and prosperity, +with that spirit called the pride of life. But for what he +knew of this man, he could have laughed at his self-sufficiency. +The mirror gave back a shrunken, sickly +figure, somewhat concealed by new garments, and the +eyes betrayed a poor soul, cracked and seamed by grief and +wrong; no longer Horace Endicott, broken by sickness +of mind and heart, and disguised by circumstance, but +another man entirely. What a mill is sorrow, thus to +grind up an Endicott and from the dust remold a +Dillon! The young aristocrat, plump, insolent, shallow, +and self-poised, looked commonplace in his pride beside +this broken man, who had walked through the abyss of +hell, and nevertheless saved his soul.</p> + +<p>He discovered as he gazed alternately on portrait and +mirror that a singular feeling had taken hold of him. +Horace Endicott all at once seemed remote, like a close +friend swallowed and obliterated years ago by the sea; +while within himself, whoever he might be, some one +seemed struggling for release, or expression, or dominion. +He interpreted it promptly. Outwardly, he was living +the life of Arthur Dillon, and inwardly that Arthur was +making war on Horace Endicott, taking possession as an +enemy seizes a stubborn land, reaching out for those remote +citadels wherein the essence of personality resides. +He did not object. He was rather pleased, though he +shivered with a not unwelcome dread.</p> + +<p>The reception turned out a marvelous affair for him who +had always been bored by such ceremonies. His mother, +resplendent in a silk dress of changeable hue, seemed to +walk on air. Mrs. Everard and her daughter Mona assisted +Anne in receiving the guests. The elder women +he knew were Irish peasants, who in childhood had run<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span> +barefoot to school on a breakfast of oatmeal porridge, and +had since done their own washing and baking for a time. +Only a practised eye could have distinguished them from +their sisters born in the purple. Mona was a beauty, who +earned her own living as a teacher, and had the little virtues +of the profession well marked; truly a daughter of +the gods, tall for a woman, with a mocking face all sparkle +and bloom, small eyes that flashed like gems, a sharp +tongue, and a head of silken hair, now known as the Titian +red, but at that time despised by all except artists and +herself. She was a witch, an enchantress, who thought +no man as good as her brother, and showed other men +only the regard which irritates them. And Arthur loved +her and her mother because they belonged to Louis.</p> + +<p>"I don't know how you'll like the arrangements," +Louis said to him, when all things were ready. "This +is not a society affair. It's an affair of the clan. The +Dillons and their friends have a right to attend. So you +must be prepared for hodcarriers as well as aristocrats."</p> + +<p>At three o'clock the house and the garden were thrown +open to the stream of guests. Arthur gazed in wonder. +First came old men and women of all conditions, laborers, +servants, small shopkeepers, who had known his father +and been neighbors and clients for years. Dressed in +their best, and joyful over his return to life and home +and friends, they wrung his hands, wept over him, and +blessed him until their warm delight and sincerity nearly +overcame him, who had never known the deep love of the +humble for the head of the clan. The Senator was their +benefactor, their bulwark and their glory; but Arthur +was the heir, the hope of the promising future. They +went through the ceremony of felicitation and congratulation, +chatted for a while, and then took their leave as +calmly and properly as the dames and gallants of a court; +and one and all bowed to the earth with moist and delighted +eyes before the Everards.</p> + +<p>"How like a queen she looks," they said of the mother.</p> + +<p>"The blessin' o' God on him," they said of Louis, "for +priest is written all over him, an' how could he help it +wid such a mother."</p> + +<p>"She's fit for a king," they said of Mona. "Wirra, an' +to think she'd look at a plain man like Doyle Grahame."</p> + +<p>But of Anne Dillon and her son they said nothing, so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span> +much were they overcome by surprise at the splendor of +the mother and the son, and the beauty of the old house +made over new. After dark the Senator arrived, which +was the signal for a change in the character of the guests.</p> + +<p>"You'll get the aristocracy now, the high Irish," said +Louis.</p> + +<p>Arthur recognized it by its airs, its superciliousness, +and several other bad qualities. It was a budding aristocracy +at the ugliest moment of its development; city +officials and their families, lawyers, merchants, physicians, +journalists, clever and green and bibulous, who ran in +with a grin and ran out with a witticism, out of respect +for the chief, and who were abashed and surprised at the +superior insolence of the returned Dillon. Reminded +of the story that he had returned a wealthy man, many +of them lingered. With these visitors however came the +pillars of Irish society, solid men and dignified women, +whom the Senator introduced as they passed. There +were three emphatic moments which impressed Arthur +Dillon. A hush fell upon the chattering crowd one +instant, and people made way for Monsignor O'Donnell, +who looked very gorgeous to Arthur in his purple-trimmed +soutane, and purple cloak falling over his broad shoulders. +The politicians bent low, the flippant grew serious, the +faithful few became reverent. A successful leader was +passing, and they struggled to touch his garments. +Arthur's heart swelled at the silent tribute, for he loved +this man.</p> + +<p>"His little finger," said the Senator in a whisper, "is +worth more to them than my whole body."</p> + +<p>A second time this wave of feeling invaded the crowd, +when a strong-faced, quiet-mannered man entered the +room, and paid his respects to the Dillons. Again the +lane was made, and hearts fluttered and many hands were +outstretched in greeting to the political leader, Hon. John +Sullivan, the head of Tammany, the passing idol of the +hour, to whom Arthur was soon to be private secretary. +He would have left at once but that the Senator whispered +something in his ear; and presently the two went into +the hall to receive the third personage of the evening, and +came back with him, deeply impressed by the honor of +his presence. He was a short, stocky man, of a military +bearing, with a face so strongly marked as to indicate a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span> +certain ferocity of temperament; his deep and sparkling +eyes had eyebrows aslant after the fashion of Mephisto; +the expression a little cynical, all determination, but at +that moment good-natured. The assembly fell into an +ecstasy at the sight and the touch of their hero, for no +one failed to recognize the dashing General Sheridan. +They needed only a slight excuse to fall at his feet and +adore him.</p> + +<p>Arthur was impressed indeed, but his mother had +fallen into a state of heavenly trance over the greatness +which had honored their festival. She recovered only +when the celebrities had departed and the stream of guests +had come to an end. Then came a dance in the garden +for the young people, and the school-friends of Arthur +Dillon made demands upon him for the entertainment of +which his boyhood had given such promise; so he sang +his songs with nerve and success, and danced strange +dances with graceful foot, until the common voice declared +that he had changed only in appearance, which was natural, +and had kept the promise of his boyhood for gayety of +spirits, sweet singing, and fine dancing.</p> + +<p>"I feel more than ever to-night," said Louis at parting, +"that all of you has come home."</p> + +<p>Reviewing the events of the day in his own room after +midnight, he felt like an actor whose first appearance has +been a success. None of the guests seemed to have any +doubt of his personality, or to feel any surprise at his +appearance. For them Arthur Dillon had come home +again after an adventurous life, and changes were accepted +as the natural result of growth. They took him to their +heart without question. He was loved. What Horace +Endicott could not command with all his wealth, the love +of his own kin, a poor, broken adventurer, Arthur Dillon, +enjoyed in plenty. Well, thank God for the good fortune +which followed so unexpectedly his exit from the past. +He had a secure place in tender hearts for the first time +since father and mother died. What is life without love +and loving? What are love and loving without God? +He could say again, as on the shore of the little pool, I +believe in God forever.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter"><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII.</h2> + +<h3 class="chapter2">THE DILLON CLAN.</h3> + + +<p>After the reception Arthur Dillon fell easily into the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span> +good graces of the clan, and found his place quite naturally; +but like the suspicious intruder his ears and eyes +remained wide open to catch the general sentiment about +himself, and the varying opinions as to his manners and +character. He began to perceive by degrees the magnitude +of the task which he had imposed upon himself; +the act of disappearing was but a trifle compared with +the relationships crowding upon him in his new environment. +He would be forced to maintain them all with +some likeness to the method which would have come +naturally to the real Dillon. The clan made it easy for +him. Since allowance had to be conceded to his sickly +condition, they formed no decisive opinions about him, +accepting pleasantly, until health and humor would urge +him to speak of his own accord, Anne's cloudy story of +his adventures, of luck in the mines, and of excuses for +his long silence. All observed the new element in his disposition; +the boy who had been too heedless and headlong +to notice anything but what pleased him, now saw +everything; and kept at the same time a careful reserve +about his past and present experiences, which impressed +his friends and filled Judy Haskell with dread.</p> + +<p>"Tommy Higgins," she said, to Anne in an interval of +housework, "kem home from Texas pritty much the same, +with a face an him as long as yer arm, an' his mouth shut +up like an old door. Even himself cudn't open it. He +spint money free, an' av coorse that talked for him. But +wan day, whin his mother was thryin' an a velvet sack he +bought for her, an' fightin' him bekase there was no fur +collar to id, in walked his wife an' three childher to him +an' her, an' shtayed wid her ever afther. Begob, she +never said another word about fur collars, an' she never<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span> +got another velvet sack till she died. Tommy had money, +enough to kape them all decent, bud not enough for velvet +and silk an' joolry. From that minnit he got back his +tongue, an' he talked himself almost to death about what he +didn't do, an' what he did do in Californy. So they med +him a tax-collecthor an' a shtump-speaker right away, an' +that saved his neighbors from dyin' o' fatague lishtenin' +to his lies. Take care, Anne Dillon, that this b'y o' yours +hastn't a wife somewhere."</p> + +<p>Anne was in the precise attitude of old Mrs. Higgins +when her son's wife arrived, fitting a winter cloak to her +trim figure. At the sudden suggestion she sat down +overcome.</p> + +<p>"Oh, God forgive you, Judy," said she, "even to mention +such a thing. I forbid you ever to speak of it again. +I don't care what woman came in the door, I'd turn her +out like a thramp. He's mine, I've been widout him ten +years, and I'm going to hold him now against every +schemin' woman in the world."</p> + +<p>"Faith," said Judy, "I don't want to see another +woman in the house anny more than yerself. I'm on'y +warnin' yez. It 'ud jist break my heart to lose the grandher +he's afther puttin' on yez."</p> + +<p>The two women looked about them with mournful +admiration. The house, perfect in its furnishings, delighted +the womanly taste. In Anne's wardrobe hung +such a collection of millinery, dresses, ornaments, that +the mere thought of losing it saddened their hearts. +And the loss of that future which Anne Dillon had seen +in her own day-dreams ... she turned savagely on +Judy.</p> + +<p>"You were born wid an evil eye, Judy Haskell," cried +she, "to see things no wan but you would ever think of. +Never mention them again."</p> + +<p>"Lemme tell ye thin that there's others who have somethin' +to say besides meself. If they're in a wondher over +Artie, they're in a greater wondher over Artie's mother, +buyin' silks, an' satins, an' jools like an acthress, an' +dhressin' as gay as a greenhorn jist over from Ireland."</p> + +<p>"They're jealous, an' I'm goin' to make them more so," +said Anne with a gleeful laugh, as she flung away care and +turned to the mirror. For the first time since her youth +she had become a scandal to her friends.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span></p> + +<p>Judy kept Arthur well informed of the general feeling +and the common opinion, and he took pains not only to +soothe his mother's fright but also to explain the little +matters which irritated her friends. Mrs. Everard did +not regard the change in Anne with complacency.</p> + +<p>"Arthur is changed for the better, but his mother for +the worse," she said to Judy, certain that the old lady +would retail it to her mistress. "A woman of fifty, that +always dressed in dark colors, sensibly, to take all at once +to red, and yellow, and blue, and to order bonnets like +the Empress Eugenie's ... well, one can't call her +crazy, but she's on the way."</p> + +<p>"She has the money," sighed Mona, who had none.</p> + +<p>"Sure she always had that kind of taste," said Judy in +defence, "an' whin her eyes was blue an' her hair yalla, +I dunno but high colors wint well enough. Her father +always dhressed her well. Anyhow she's goin' to make +up for all the years she had to dhress like an undertaker. +Yistherday it was a gran' opery-cloak, as soon as Artie +tould her he had taken four opery sates for the season."</p> + +<p>The ladies gasped, and Mona clapped her hands at the +prospect of unlimited opera, for Anne had always been +kind to her in such matters.</p> + +<p>"But all that's nawthin'," Judy went on demurely, +"to what's comin' next week. It's a secret o' coorse, an' +I wudn't have yez mintion it for the world, though yez'll +hear it soon enough. Micksheen has a new cage all silver +an' goold, an' Artie says he has a piddygree, which manes +that they kep' thrack of him as far back as Adam an' +Eve, as they do for lords an' ladies; though how anny of +'em can get beyant Noah an' the ark bates me. Now +they're puttin' Micksheen in condition, which manes all +sorts of nonsense, an' plenty o' throuble for the poor cat, +that does be bawlin' all over the house night an' day wid the +dhread of it, an' lukkin' up at me pitiful to save him from +what's comin'. Artie has enthered his name at the polis +headquarthers somewhere, that he's a prize cat, an' he's +to be sint in the cage to the cat show to win a prize over +fifty thousand other cats wid piddygrees. They wanted +me to attind on Micksheen, but I sed no, an' so they've +hired a darky in a uniform to luk after him. An' wanst +a day Anne is goin' to march up to the show in a different +dhress, an' luk in at Micksheen."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span></p> + +<p>At this point Judy's demureness gave way and she +laughed till the tears came. The others could not but +join.</p> + +<p>"Well, that's the top of the hill," said Mrs. Everard. +"Surely Arthur ought to know enough to stop that tomfoolery. +If he doesn't I will, I declare."</p> + +<p>Arthur however gave the affair a very different complexion +when she mentioned it.</p> + +<p>"Micksheen is a blooded cat," said he, "for Vandervelt +presented it to the Senator, who gave it to mother. +And I suggested the cat-show for two reasons: mother's +life has not been any too bright, and I had a big share in +darkening it; so I'm going to crowd as much fun into it +as she is willing to stand. Then I want to see how Micksheen +stands in the community. His looks are finer than +his pedigree, which is very good. And I want every one +to know that there's nothing too good in New York for +mother, and that she's going to have a share in all the +fun that's going."</p> + +<p>"That's just like you, and I wish you luck," said Mary +Everard.</p> + +<p>Not only did he go about explaining, and mollifying +public sentiment himself, he also secured the services of +Sister Mary Magdalen for the same useful end. The nun +was a puzzle to him. Encased in her religious habit like +a knight in armor, her face framed in the white gamp +and black veil, her hands hidden in her long sleeves, she +seemed to him a fine automaton, with a sweet voice and +some surprising movements; for he could not measure +her, nor form any impression of her, nor see a line of her +natural disposition. Her human side appeared very +clearly in her influence with the clan, her sincere and +affectionate interest in himself, and her appetite for news +in detail. Had she not made him live over again the late +reception by her questions as to what was done, what +everybody said, and what the ladies wore? Unwearied +in aiding the needy, she brought him people of all sorts +and conditions, in whom he took not the slightest interest, +and besought his charity for them. He gave it in exchange +for her good will, making her clearly understand +that the change in his mother's habits must not lead to +anything like annoyance from her old friends and +neighbors.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh, dear, no," she exclaimed, "for annoyance would +only remove you from our midst, and deprive us of a great +benefactor, for I am sure you will prove to be that. May +I introduce to you my friend, Miss Edith Conyngham?"</p> + +<p>He bowed to the apparition which came forward, seized +his hands, held them and patted them affectionately, +despite his efforts to release them.</p> + +<p>"We all seem to have known you since childhood," +was her apology.</p> + +<p>The small, dark woman, pale as a dying nun, irritated +him. Blue glasses concealed her eyes, and an ugly costume +concealed her figure; she came out of an obscure +corner behind the nun, and fell back into it noiselessly, +but her voice and manner had the smoothness of velvet. +He looked at her hands patting his own, and found them +very soft, white, untouched by age, and a curious contrast +to her gray hair. Interest touching him faintly he +responded to her warmth, and looked closely into the blue +glasses with a smile. Immediately the little woman sank +back into her corner. Long after he settled the doubt +which assailed him at that moment, if there were not significance +in her look and words and manner. Sister Magdalen +bored him ten minutes with her history. He must +surely take an interest in her ... great friend of his father's +... and indeed of his friends ... her whole life devoted to religion +and the poor ... the recklessness of others had driven +her from a convent where she had been highly esteemed +... she had to be vindicated ... her case was well on the way +to trial ... nothing should be left undone to make it a +triumph. Rather dryly he promised his aid, wondering +if he had really caught the true meaning of the little +woman's behavior. He gave up suspicion when Judy provided +Miss Conyngham with a character.</p> + +<p>"This is the way of it," said Judy, "an' it's aisy +to undhershtan' ... thin agin I dinno as it's so aisy ... but +annyway she was a sisther in a convent out west, an' +widout lave or license they put her out, bekase she wudn't +do what the head wan ordhered her to do. So now she's +in New York, an' Sisther Mary Mag Dillon is lukkin +afther her, an' says she must be righted if the Pope himself +has to do it. We all have pity an her, knowin' +her people as we did. A smarter girl never opened a +book in Ameriky. An' I'm her godmother."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Then we must do something for her," said the master +kindly in compliment to Judy. After his mother and Judy +none appealed to him like the women of the Everard home. +The motherly grace of Mary and the youthful charm of +beautiful Mona attracted him naturally; from them he +picked up stray features of Arthur Dillon's character; +but that which drew him to them utterly was his love +for Louis. Never had any boy, he believed, so profoundly +the love of mother and sister. The sun rose and set with +him for the Everards, and beautiful eyes deepened in +beauty and flashed with joy when they rested on him. +Arthur found no difficulty in learning from them the +simple story of the lad's childhood and youth.</p> + +<p>"How did it happen," he inquired of Mary, "that he +took up the idea of being a priest? It was not in his +mind ten years back?"</p> + +<p>"He was the priest from his birth," she answered +proudly. "Just seven months old he was when a first +cousin of mine paid us a visit. He was a young man, +ordained about a week, ... we had waited and prayed +for that sight ten years ... he sang the Mass for us and +blessed us all. It was beautiful to see, the boy we had +known all his life, to come among us a priest, and to say +Mass in front of Father O'Donnell—I never can call him +Monsignor—with the sweetest voice you ever heard. Well, +the first thing he did when he came to my house and Louis +was a fat, hearty baby in the cradle, was to take him in +his arms, look into his face a little while, and then kiss +him. And I'll never forget the words he said."</p> + +<p>Her dark eyes were moist, but a smile lighted up her +calm face.</p> + +<p>"Mary," he said to me, "this boy should be the first +priest of the next generation. I'll bless him to that end, +and do you offer him to God. And I did. He was the +roughest child of all mine, and showed very little of the +spirit of piety as he grew up. But he was always the best +boy to his own. He had the heart for us all, and never +took his play till he was sure the house was well served. +Nothing was said to him about being a priest. That was +left to God. One winter he began to keep a little diary, +and I saw in it that he was going often to Mass on week +days, and often to confession. He was working then with +his father in the office, since he did not care much for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span> +school. Then the next thing I knew he came to me +one night and put his arms about me to say that he +wished to be a priest, to go to college, and that this very +cousin who had blessed him in the cradle had urged him +to make known the wish that was in him, for it seems he +discovered what we only hoped for. And so he has been +coming and going ever since, a blessing to the house, and +sure I don't know how I shall get along without him when +he goes to the seminary next year."</p> + +<p>"Nor I," said Arthur with a start. "How can you +ever think of giving him up?"</p> + +<p>"That's the first thing we have to learn," she replied +with a smile at his passion. "The children all leave the +house in time one way or another. It's only a question +of giving him to God's service or to the service of another +woman. I could never be jealous of God."</p> + +<p>He laughed at this suggestion of jealousy in a mother. +Of course she must hate the woman who robs her of her +son, and secures a greater love than a mother ever knew. +The ways of nature, or God, are indeed hard to the flesh. +He thought of this as he sat in the attic room with his +light-hearted chum. He envied him the love and reverence +of these good women, envied him that he had been +offered to God in his infancy; and in his envy felt a satisfaction +that very soon these affectionate souls would soon +have to give Louis up to Another. To him this small +room was like a shrine, sacred, undefiled, the enclosure +of a young creature specially called to the service of man, +perfumed by innocence, cared for by angels, let down +from heaven into a house on Cherry Street. Louis had +no such fancies, but flung aside his books, shoved his chum +into a chair, placed his feet on a stool, put a cigar in his +mouth and lighted it for him, pulled his whiskers, and +ordered the latest instalment of Dillon's Dark Doings in +Dugout. Then the legends of life in California began. +Sometimes, after supper, a knock was heard at the door, +and there entered two little sisters, who must hear a bear-story +from Arthur, and kiss the big brother good-night; +two delicate flowers on the rough stem of life, that filled +Horace Endicott with bitterness and joy when he gathered +them into his embrace; the bitterness of hate, the joy of +escape from paternity. What softness, what beauty, +what fragrance in the cherubs! <i>Trumps</i>, their big brother<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span> +called them, but the world knew them as Marguerite and +Constance, and they shared the human repugnance to an +early bed.</p> + +<p>"You ought to be glad to go to bed," Arthur said, +"when you go to sleep so fast, and dream beautiful dreams +about angels."</p> + +<p>"But I don't dream of angels," said Marguerite sadly. +"Night before last I dreamed a big black man came out +of a cellar, and took baby away," casting a look of love +at Constance in her brother's arms.</p> + +<p>"And I dreamed," said Constance, with a queer little +pucker of her mouth, "that she was all on fire, in her +dress, and——"</p> + +<p>This was the limit of her language, for the thought of +her sister on fire overwhelmed the words at her command.</p> + +<p>"And baby woke up," the elder continued—for she +was a second mother to Constance, and pieced out all her +deficiencies and did penance for her sins—"and she said +to mother, 'throw water on Marguerite to put her out.'"</p> + +<p>"What sad dreams," Arthur said. "Tell Father +O'Donnell about them."</p> + +<p>"She has other things to tell him," Louis said with a +grin. "I have no doubt you could help her, Artie. She +must go to confession sometime, and she has no sins to +tell. The other day when I was setting out for confession +she asked me not to tell all my sins to the priest, but to +hold back a few and give them to her for her confession. +Now you have enough to spare for that honest use, I think."</p> + +<p>"Oh, please, dear cousin Artie," said the child, thrilling +his heart with the touch of her tender lips on his cheek.</p> + +<p>"There's no doubt I have enough," he cried with a +secret groan. "When you are ready to go, Marguerite, +I will give you all you want."</p> + +<p>The history of Arthur's stay in California was drawn +entirely from his travels on the Pacific slope, tedious to +the narrator, but interesting because of the lad's interest, +and because of the picture which the rapt listener made. +His study-desk near by, strewn with papers and books, +the white bed and bookcase farther off, pictures and +mottoes of his own selection on the white walls, a little +altar in the depths of the dormer-window; and the lord +of the little domain in the foreground, hands on knees, +lips parted, cheeks flushed, eyes fixed and dreamy, seeing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span> +the rich colors and varied action as soon as words conveyed +the story to the ear; a perfect picture of the listening boy, +to whom experience like a wandering minstrel sings the +glory of the future in the happenings of the past.</p> + +<p>Arthur invariably closed his story with a fit of sighing. +That happy past made his present fate heavy indeed. +Horace Endicott rose strong in him then and protested +bitterly against Arthur Dillon as a usurper; but sure +there never was a gentler usurper, for he surrendered so +willingly and promptly that Endicott fled again into his +voluntary obscurity. Louis comforted those heavy moments +with soft word and gentle touch, pulling his beard +lovingly, smoothing his hair, lighting for him a fresh +cigar, asking no questions, and, when the dark humor deepened, +exorcising the evil spirit with a sprinkling of holy +water. Prayers were said together—an overpowering +moment for the man who rarely prayed to see this faith +and its devotion in the boy—and then to bed, where +Louis invariably woke to the incidents of the day and retailed +them for an hour to his amused ear; and with the +last word fell into instant and balmy sleep. Oh, this +wonder of unconscious boyhood! Had this sad-hearted +man ever known that blissful state? He lay there listening +to the soft and regular breathing of the child, who +knew so little of life and evil. At last he fell asleep +moaning. It was Louis who woke with a sense of fright, +felt that his bedfellow was gone, and heard his voice at +the other side of the room, an agonized voice that chilled +him.</p> + +<p>"To go back would be to kill her ... but I must go back +... and then the trail of blood over all...."</p> + +<p>Louis leaped out of bed, and lit the night-candle. +Arthur stood beside the altar in the dormer-window, +motionless, with pallid face and open eyes that saw nothing.</p> + +<p>"Why should such a wretch live and I be suffering?—she +suffers too ... but not enough ... the child ... oh, that +was the worst ... the child ... my child...."</p> + +<p>The low voice gave out the words distinctly and without +passion, as of one repeating what was told to him. +Rid of fear Louis slapped him on the shoulder and shook +him, laughing into his astonished face when sense came +back to him.</p> + +<p>"It's like a scene, or a skene from Macbeth," he said.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span> +"Say, Artie, you had better make open confession of +your sins. Why should you want to kill her, and put the +trail of blood over it all?"</p> + +<p>"I said that, did I?" He thought a moment, then +put his arms about Louis. They were sitting on the side +of the bed.</p> + +<p>"You must know it sometime, Louis. It is only for +your ear now. I had a wife ... she was worthless ... she +lives ... that is all."</p> + +<p>"And your child? you spoke of a child?"</p> + +<p>Arthur shook with a chill and wiped the sweat from his +forehead.</p> + +<p>"No," he groaned, "no ... thank God for that ... I +had no child."</p> + +<p>After a little they went back to bed, and Louis made +light of everything with stories of his own sleep-walking +until he fell asleep again. The candle was left burning. +Misfortune rose and sat looking at the boy curiously. +With the luck of the average man, he might have been +father to a boy like this, a girl like Mona with beautiful +hair and a golden heart, soft sweet babies like the Trumps. +He leaned over and studied the sleeping face, so sweetly +mournful, so like death, yet more spiritual, for the soul +was there still. In this face the senses had lost their daylight +influence, had withdrawn into the shadows; and +now the light of innocence, the light of a beautiful soul, +the light that never was on land or sea, shone out of the +still features. A feeling which had never touched his +nature before took fierce possession of him, and shook him +as a tiger shakes his prey. He had to writhe in silence, +to beat his head with his hands, to stifle words of rage +and hate and despair. At last exhausted he resigned himself, +he took the boy's hand in his, remembering that this +innocent heart loved him, and fell into a dreamless sleep.</p> + +<p>The charm and the pain of mystery hung about the new +life, attracting him, yet baffling him at every step. He +could not fathom or grasp the people with whom he lived +intimately, they seemed beyond him, and yet he dared +ask no questions, dared not go even to Monsignor for explanations. +With the prelate his relations had to take +that character which suited their individual standing. +When etiquette allowed him to visit the rector, Monsignor +provided him with the philosophy of the environ<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span>ment, +explained the difficulties, and soothed him with +the sympathy of a generous heart acquainted with his +calamities.</p> + +<p>"It would have been better to have launched you elsewhere," +he said, "but I knew no other place well enough +to get the right people. And then I have the hope that +the necessity for this episode will not continue."</p> + +<p>"Death only will end it, Monsignor. Death for one +or the other. It should come soon, for the charm of this +life is overpowering me. I shall never wish to go back +if the charm holds me. My uncle, the Senator, is about +to place me in politics."</p> + +<p>"I knew he would launch you on that stormy sea," Monsignor +answered reflectively, "but you are not bound to +accept the enterprise."</p> + +<p>"It will give me distraction, and I need distraction from +this intolerable pain," tapping his breast with a gesture +of anguish.</p> + +<p>"It will surely counter-irritate. It has entranced men +like the Senator, and your chief; even men like Birmingham. +They have the ambition which runs with great +ability. It's a pity that the great prizes are beyond them."</p> + +<p>"Why beyond them?"</p> + +<p>"High office is closed to Catholics in this country."</p> + +<p>"Here I run up against the mysterious again," he +complained.</p> + +<p>"Go down into your memory," Monsignor said after a +little reflection, "and recall the first feeling which obscurely +stirred your heart when the ideas of <i>Irish</i> and +<i>Catholic</i> were presented to you. See if it was not distrust, +dislike, irritation, or even hate; something different +from the feeling aroused by such ideas as <i>Turk</i> and +<i>atheist</i>."</p> + +<p>"Dislike, irritation, perhaps contempt, with a hint of +amusement," Arthur replied thoughtfully.</p> + +<p>"How came that feeling there touching people of whom +you knew next to nothing?"</p> + +<p>"Another mystery."</p> + +<p>"Let me tell you. Hatred and contempt of the Irish +Catholic has been the mark of English history for four +centuries, and the same feelings have become a part of +English character. It is in the English blood, and therefore +it is in yours. It keeps such men as Sullivan and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span> +Birmingham out of high office, and now it will act against +you, strangely enough."</p> + +<p>"I understand. Queer things, rum things in this world. +I am such a mystery to myself, however, that I ought not +be surprised at outside mysteries."</p> + +<p>"I often regret that I helped you to your present enterprise," +said the priest, "on that very account. Life is +harsh enough without adding to its harshness."</p> + +<p>"Never regret that you saved a poor fellow's life, reason, +fortune, family name from shame and blood," Arthur +answered hotly. "I told you the consequences that were +coming—you averted them—there's no use to talk of +gratitude—and through you I came to believe in God +again, as my mother taught me. No regret, for God's +sake."</p> + +<p>His voice broke for a moment, and he walked to the +window. Outside he saw the gray-white walls which +would some day be the grand cathedral. The space about +it looked like the studio of a giant artist; piles of marble +scattered here and there gave the half-formed temple the +air of a frowsy, ill-dressed child; and the mass rising to +the sky resembled a cloud that might suddenly melt into +the ether. He had seen the great temples of the world, +yet found in this humbler, but still magnificent structure +an element of wonder. From the old world, ancient, rich +in tradition, one expected all things; centaurs might +spring from its soil unnoticed. That the prosaic rocks of +Manhattan should heave for this sublimity stirred the +sense of admiring wonder.</p> + +<p>"This is your child?" said Arthur abruptly.</p> + +<p>"I saw the foundation laid when I was a youth, great +boulders of half-hewn rock, imbedded in cement, to endure +with the ages, able to support whatever man may +pile upon them. This building is part of my life—you +may call it my child—for it seems to have sprung from +me, although a greater planned it."</p> + +<p>"What a people to attempt this miracle," said Arthur.</p> + +<p>"Now you have said it," cried the priest proudly. +"The poor people to whom you now belong, moved by the +spirit which raised the great shrines of Europe, are building +out of their poverty and their faith the first really +great temple on this continent. The country waited for +them. This temple will express more than a desire to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span> +have protection from bad weather, and to cover the +preacher's pulpit. Here you will have in stone faith, +hope, love, sacrifice. What blessings it will pour out +upon the city, and upon the people who built it. For +them it will be a great glory many centuries perhaps."</p> + +<p>"I shall have my share in the work," Arthur said with +feeling. "I feel that I am here to stay, and I shall be a +stranger to no work in which my friends are engaged. +I'll not let the mysteries trouble me. I begin to see +what you are, and a little of what you mean. Command +me, for no other in this world to-day has any right to command +me—none with a right like yours, father and friend."</p> + +<p>"Thanks and amen, Arthur. Having no claim upon +you we shall be all the more grateful. But in good time. +For the present look to yourself, closely, mind; and draw +upon me, upon Louis, upon your mother, they have the +warmest hearts, for sympathy and consolation."</p> + +<p>Not long before and Arthur Dillon would have received +with the polite indifference of proud and prosperous youth +this generous offer of sympathy and love; but now it shook +him to the center, for he had learned, at what a fearful +price! how precious, how necessary, how rare is the jewel +of human love.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter"><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII.</h2> + +<h3 class="chapter2">THE WEARIN' O' THE GREEN.</h3> + + +<p>By degrees the effervescence of little Ireland, in which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span> +strange land his fortune had been cast, began to steal into +his blood. Mirth ruled the East side, working in each +soul according to his limitations. It was a wink, a smile, +a drink, a passing gossoon, a sly girl, a light trick, among +the unspoken things; or a biting epigram, the phrase +felicitous, a story gilt with humor, a witticism swift and +fatal as lightning; in addition varied activity, a dance informal, +a ceremonious ball, a party, a wake, a political +meeting, the visit of the district leader; and with all, as +Judy expressed it, "lashins an' lavins, an' divil a thought +of to-morrow." Indeed this gay clan kept Yesterday so +deeply and tenderly in mind that To-day's house had no +room for the uncertain morrow. He abandoned himself to +the spirit of the place. The demon of reckless fun +caught him by the heels and sharpened his tongue, so +that his wit and his dancing became tonics for eyes and +ears dusty with commonplace. His mother and his chum +had to admonish him, and it was very sweet to get this +sign of their love for him. Reproof from our beloved is +sweeter than praise from an enemy.</p> + +<p>They all watched over him as if he were heir to a throne. +The Senator, busy with his approaching entrance into +local politics, had already introduced him to the leaders, +who formed a rather mixed circle of intelligence and +power. He had met its kind before on the frontier, where +the common denominator in politics was manhood, not +blue blood, previous good character, wealth, nor the +stamp of Harvard. A member held his place by virtue +of courage, popularity, and ability. Arthur made no inquiries, +but took everything as it came. All was novelty, +all surprise, and to his decorous and orderly disposition, +all ferment. The clan seemed to him to be rushing on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span>ward +like a torrent night and day, from the dance to the +ward-meeting, from business to church, interested and +yet careless. The Senator informed him with pride that +his début would take place at the banquet on St. Patrick's +Day, when he should make a speech.</p> + +<p>"Do you think you can do it, me boy?" said the +Senator. "If you think you can, why you can."</p> + +<p>"I know I can," said the reckless Dillon, who had +never made a speech in his life.</p> + +<p>"An' lemme give you a subject," said Judy. They +were all together in the sitting-room, where the Senator +had surprised them in a game of cards.</p> + +<p>"Give a bastin' to Mare Livingstone," said Judy +seriously. "I read in the <i>Sun</i> how he won't inspect the +parade on St. Patrick's Day, nor let the green flag fly on +the city hall. There must be an Orange dhrop in his +blood, for no dacint Yankee 'ud have anny hathred for +the blessed green. Sure two years ago Mare Jones dressed +himself up in a lovely green uniform, like an Irish prince, +an' lukked at the parade from a platform. It brought the +tears to me eyes, he lukked so lovely. They ought to +have kep' him Mare for the rest of his life. An' for +Mare Livingstone, may never a blade o' grass or a green +leaf grow on his grave."</p> + +<p>The Senator beamed with secret pleasure, while the +others began to talk together with a bitterness beyond +Arthur's comprehension.</p> + +<p>"He ought to have kept his feelings to himself," said +quiet Anne. "If he didn't like the green, there was no +need of insultin' us."</p> + +<p>"And that wasn't the worst," Louis hotly added. "He +gave a talk to the papers the next day, and told how +many Irish paupers were in the poorhouse, and said how +there must be an end to favoring the Irish."</p> + +<p>"I saw that too," said Judy, "an' I sez to meself, sez +I, he's wan o' the snakes St. Pathrick dhruv out of Ireland."</p> + +<p>"No need for surprise," Mona remarked, studying her +cards, "for the man has only one thought: to keep the +Irish in the gutter. Do you suppose I would have been a +teacher to-day if he could have kept me out of it, with all +his pretended friendship for papa."</p> + +<p>"If you baste the Mayor like this now, there won't be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span> +much left for me to do at the banquet," said Arthur with +a laugh for their fierceness.</p> + +<p>"Ay, there it is," said Judy. "Yez young Americans +have no love for the green, except for the fun yez get out +of it; barrin' dacint Louis here, who read the history of +Ireland whin he was tin years old, an' niver got over it. +Oh, yez may laugh away! Ye are all for the red, white, +an' blue, till the Mare belts yez wid the red, white, an' blue, +for he says he does everythin' in honor o' thim colors, +though I don't see how it honors thim to insult the +green. He may be a Livingshtone in name, but he's a dead +wan for me."</p> + +<p>The Senator grew more cheerful as this talk grew +warmer, and then, seeing Arthur's wonderment, he made +an explanation.</p> + +<p>"Livingstone is a good fellow, but he's not a politician, +Artie. He thinks he can ru—manage the affairs of this +vil—metropolis without the Irish and especially without +the Catholics. Oh, he's death on them, except as boot-blacks, +cooks, and ditch-diggers. He'd let them ru—manage +all the saloons. He's as mad—as indignant as a +hornet that he could not boo—get rid of them entirely +during his term of office, and he had to speak out his +feelings or bu—die. And he has put his foot in it +artistically. He has challenged the Irish and their +friends, and he goes out of office forever next fall. No party +wants a man that lets go of his mouth at critical moments. +It might be a neat thing for you to touch him up in your +speech at the banquet."</p> + +<p>The Senator spoke with unctuousness and delight, and +Arthur saw that the politicians rejoiced at the loquacity +and bad temper of the Honorable Quincy Livingstone, +whom the Endicotts included among their distant relatives.</p> + +<p>"I'll take your subject, Judy," said he.</p> + +<p>"Then rade up the histhory of Ireland," replied the +old lady flattered.</p> + +<p>Close observation of the present proved more interesting +and amusing than the study of the past. Quincy Livingstone's +strictures on the exiles of Erin stirred them to the +depths, and his refusal to float the green flag from the +city hall brought a blossoming of green ribbon on St. +Patrick's Day which only Spring could surpass in her +decorations of the hills. The merchants blessed the sour<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span> +spirit which had provoked this display to the benefit of +their treasuries. The hard streets seemed to be sprouting +as the crowds moved about, and even the steps and corridors +of the mayor's office glistened with the proscribed +color. The cathedral on Mott Street was the center of +attraction, and a regiment which had done duty in the +late war the center of interest. Arthur wondered at the +enthusiasm of the crowd as the veterans carrying their +torn battle-flags marched down the street and under the +arched entrance of the church to take their places for the +solemn Mass. All eyes grew moist, and sobs burst forth +at sight of them.</p> + +<p>"If they were only marching for Ireland!" one man +cried hoarsely.</p> + +<p>"They'll do it yet," said another more hopeful.</p> + +<p>Within the cathedral a multitude sat in order, reverently +quiet, but charged with emotion. With burning eyes +they watched the soldiers in front and the priests in the +sanctuary, and some beat their breasts in pain, or writhed +with sudden stress of feeling. Arthur felt thrilled by +the power of an emotion but vaguely understood. +These exiles were living over in this moment the scenes +which had attended their expulsion from home and country, +as he often repeated the horrid scenes of his own tragedy. +Under the reverence and decorum due to the temple +hearts were bursting with passion and grief. In a little +while resignation would bring them relief and peace.</p> + +<p>It was like enchantment for Arthur Dillon. He knew +the vested priest for his faithful friend; but on the altar, +in his mystic robes, uplifted, holding the reverent gaze of +these thousands, in an atmosphere clouded by incense and +vocal with pathetic harmonies, the priest seemed as far +away as heaven; he knew in his strength and his weakness +the boy beside him, but this enwrapped attitude, this +eloquent, still, unconscious face, which spoke of thoughts +and feelings familiar only to the eye of God, seemed to +lift Louis into another sphere; he knew the people kneeling +about, the headlong, improvident, roystering crowd, +but knew them not in this outpouring of deeper emotions +than spring from the daily chase for bread and pleasure.</p> + +<p>A single incident fixed this scene in his mind and heart +forever. Just in front of him sat a young woman with +her father, whom she covertly watched with some anxiety.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span> +He was a man of big frame and wasted body, too nervous +to remain quiet a moment, and deeply moved by the +pageant, for he twisted his hands and beat his breast as if +in anguish. Once she touched his arm caressingly. And +the face which he turned towards her was stained with the +unwiped tears; but when he stood up at the close of the +Mass to see the regiment march down the grand aisle, his +pale face showed so bitter an agony that Arthur recalled +with horror his own sufferings. The young woman clung +to her father until the last soldier had passed, and the +man had sunk into his seat with a half-uttered groan. +No one noticed them, and Arthur as he left with the +ladies saw her patting the father's hand and whispering to +him softly.</p> + +<p>Outside the cathedral a joyous uproar attended the +beginning of that parade which the Mayor had declined to +review. As his party was to enjoy it at some point of Fifth +Avenue he did not tarry to witness the surprising scenes +about the church, but with Louis took a car uptown. +Everywhere they heard hearty denunciations of the Mayor. +At one street, their car being detained by the passing of a +single division of the parade, the passengers crowded +about the front door and the driver, and an anxious +traveler asked the cause of the delay, and the probable +length of it. The driver looked at him curiously.</p> + +<p>"About five minutes," he said. "Don't you know who's +paradin' to-day?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"See the green plumes an' ribbons?"</p> + +<p>"I do," vacantly.</p> + +<p>"Know what day o' the month it is?"</p> + +<p>"March seventeenth, of course."</p> + +<p>"Live near New York?"</p> + +<p>"About twenty miles out."</p> + +<p>"Gee whiz!" exclaimed the driver with a gasp. "I've +bin a-drivin' o' this car for twenty years, an' I never met +anythin' quite so innercent. Well, it's St. Patrick's Day, +an' them's the wild Irish."</p> + +<p>The traveler seemed but little enlightened. An emphatic +man in black, with a mouth so wide that its opening +suggested the wonderful, seized the hand of the innocent +and shook it cordially.</p> + +<p>"I'm glad to meet one uncontaminated American<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span> +citizen in this city," he said. "I hope there are millions +like you in the land."</p> + +<p>The uncontaminated looked puzzled, and might have +spoken but for a violent interruption. A man had entered +the car with an orange ribbon in his buttonhole.</p> + +<p>"You'll have to take that off," said the conductor in +alarm, pointing to the ribbon, "or leave the car."</p> + +<p>"I won't do either," said the man.</p> + +<p>"And I stand by you in that refusal," said the emphatic +gentleman. "It's an outrage that we must submit to the +domination of foreigners."</p> + +<p>"It's the order of the company," said the conductor. +"First thing we know a wild Irishman comes along, he +goes for that orange ribbon, there's a fight, the women are +frightened, and perhaps the car is smashed."</p> + +<p>"An' besides," said the deliberate driver as he tied up +his reins and took off his gloves, "it's a darn sight easier +an' cheaper for us to put you off than to keep an Irishman +from tryin' to murder you."</p> + +<p>The uncontaminated citizen and two ladies fled to the +street, while the driver and the conductor stood over the +offending passenger.</p> + +<p>"Goin' to take off the ribbon?" asked the conductor.</p> + +<p>"You will be guilty of a cowardly surrender of principle +if you do," said the emphatic gentleman.</p> + +<p>"May I suggest," said Arthur blandly, "that you wear +it in his stead?"</p> + +<p>"I am not interested either way," returned the emphatic +one, with a snap of the terrible jaws, "but maintain that +for the sake of principle——"</p> + +<p>A long speech was cut off at that moment by a war-cry +from a simple lad who had just entered the car, spied the +ribbon, and launched himself like a catapult upon the +Orange champion. A lively scramble followed, but the +scene speedily resolved itself into its proper elements. +The procession had passed, the car moved on its way, and +the passengers through the rear door saw the simple lad +grinding the ribbon in the dust with triumphant heel, +while its late wearer flew toward the horizon pursued by +an imaginary mob. Louis sat down and glared at the +emphatic man.</p> + +<p>"Who is he?" said Arthur with interest, drawing his +breath with joy over the delights of this day.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span></p> + +<p>"He's a child-stealer," said Louis with distinctness. +"He kidnaps Catholic children and finds them Protestant +homes where their faith is stolen from them. He's the +most hated man in the city."</p> + +<p>The man accepted this scornful description of himself +in silence. Except for the emphasis which nature had +given to his features, he was a presentable person. Flying +side-whiskers made his mouth appear grotesquely +wide, and the play of strong feelings had produced vicious +wrinkles on his spare face. He appeared to be a man of +energy, vivacity and vulgarity, reminding one of a dinner of +pork and cabbage. He was soon forgotten in the excitement +of a delightful day, whose glories came to a brilliant +end in that banquet which introduced the nephew of Senator +Dillon into political life.</p> + +<p>Standing before the guests, he found himself no longer +that silent and disdainful Horace Endicott, who on such +an occasion would have cooly stuttered and stammered +through fifty sentences of dull congratulation and platitude. +Feeling aroused him, illumined him, on the instant, +almost without wish of his own, at the contrast between +two pictures which traced themselves on his imagination +as he rose in his place: the wrecked man who had fled from +Sonia Westfield, what would he have been to-night but for +the friendly hands outstretched to save him? Behold +him in honor, in health, in hope, sure of love and some +kind of happiness, standing before the people who had +rescued him. The thousand impressions of the past six +months sparkled into life; the sublime, pathetic, and +amusing scenes of that day rose up like stars in his fancy; +and against his lips, like water against a dam, rushed +vigorous sentences from the great deeps opened in his soul +by grief and change, and then leaped over in a beautiful, +glittering flood. He wondered vaguely at his vehemence +and fluency, at the silence in the hall, that these great +people should listen to him at all. They heard him with +astonishment, the leaders with interest, the Senator with +tears; and Monsignor looked once towards the gallery +where Anne Dillon sat literally frozen with terror and +pride.</p> + +<p>The long and sincere applause which followed the +speech warned him that he had impressed a rather callous +crowd of notables, and an exaltation seized him. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span> +guests lost no time in congratulating him, and every +tongue wagged in his favor.</p> + +<p>"You have the gift of eloquence," said Sullivan.</p> + +<p>"It will be a pleasure to hear you again," said Vandervelt, +the literary and social light of the Tammany circle.</p> + +<p>"You have cleared your own road," Birmingham the +financier remarked, and he stayed long to praise the young +orator.</p> + +<p>"There's nothin' too good for you after to-night," +cried the Senator brokenly. "I simply can't—cannot talk +about it."</p> + +<p>"Your uncle," said Doyle Grahame, the young journalist +who was bent on marrying Mona Everard, "as usual +closes the delicate sparring of his peers with a knockdown +blow; there's nothing too good for you."</p> + +<p>"It's embarrassing."</p> + +<p>"I wish I had your embarrassment. Shall I translate +the praises of these great men for you? Sullivan meant, +I must have the use of your eloquence; the lion Vandervelt, +when you speak in my favor; Birmingham, please +stump for me when I run for office; and the Senator, I +will make you governor. You may use your uncle; the +others hope to use you."</p> + +<p>"I am willing to be of service," said Arthur severely.</p> + +<p>"A good-nature thrown away, unless you are asked to +serve. They have all congratulated you on your speech. +Let me congratulate you on your uncle. They marvel at +your eloquence; I, at your luck. Give me such an uncle +rather than the gift of poesy. Do not neglect oratory, +but cultivate thy uncle, boy."</p> + +<p>Arthur laughed, Monsignor came up then, and heaped +him with praise.</p> + +<p>"Were you blessed with fluency in—your earlier years?" +he said.</p> + +<p>"Therein lies the surprise, and the joke. I never had +an accomplishment except for making an uproar in a crowd. +It seems ridiculous to show signs of the orator now, without +desire, ambition, study, or preparation."</p> + +<p>"Your California experiences," said the priest casually, +"may have something to do with it. But let me warn you," +and he looked about to make sure no one heard, "that +early distinction in your case may attract the attention you +wish to escape."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I feel that it will help me," Arthur answered. "Who +that knew Horace Endicott would look for him in a +popular Tammany orator? The mantle of an Irish +Cicero would disguise even a Livingstone."</p> + +<p>The surprise and pleasure of the leaders were cold beside +the wild delight of the Dillon clan when the news went +around that Arthur had overshadowed the great speakers +of the banquet. His speech was read in every gathering, +its sarcastic description of the offensive Livingstone filled +the Celts with joy, and threw Anne and Judy into an +ecstasy.</p> + +<p>"Faith, Mare Livingstone'll see green on St. Patrick's +Day for the rest of his life," said Judy. "It' ud be a proper +punishment if the bread he ate, an' everythin' he touched +on that day, shud turn greener than ould Ireland, the land +he insulted."</p> + +<p>"There's curse enough on him," Anne replied sharply, +ever careful to take Arthur's side, as she thought, "and +I won't have you spoiling Arthur's luck be cursing any wan. +I'm too glad to have an orator in the family. I can now +put my orator against Mary Everard's priest, and be as +proud as she is."</p> + +<p>"The pride was born in ye," said Judy. "You won't +have to earn it. Indade, ye'll have a new flirt to yer tail, +an' a new toss to yer head, every day from now to his next +speech."</p> + +<p>"Why shouldn't I? I'm his mother," with emphasis.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter"><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX.</h2> + +<h3 class="chapter2">THE VILLA AT CONEY ISLAND.</h3> + + +<p>The awkwardness of his relations with Anne Dillon wore<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span> +away speedily, until he began to think as well as speak of +her as his mother; for she proved with time to be a +humorous and delightful mother. Her love for rich +colors and gay scenes, her ability to play gracefully the +awkward part which he had chosen for her, her affectionate +and discreet reserve, her delicate tact and fine wit, and +her half-humorous determination to invade society, showed +her as a woman of parts. He indulged her fancies, in +particular her dream of entering the charmed circle of +New York society. How this success should be won, and +what was the circle, he did not know, nor care. The +pleasure for him lay in her bliss as she exhausted one +pleasure after another, and ever sought for higher things: +Micksheen at the cat show attended by the liveried +mulatto; the opera and the dog show, with bonnets and +costumes to match the occasion; then her own carriage, +used so discreetly as not to lose the respect of the parish; +and finally the renting of the third pew from the front in +the middle aisle of the cathedral, a step forward in the +social world. How he had enjoyed these events in her +upward progress! As a closing event for the first year of +his new life, he suggested a villa by the sea for the summer, +with Mona and Louis as guests for the season, with as +many others as pleased her convenience. The light which +broke over her face at this suggestion came not from +within, but direct from heaven!</p> + +<p>She sent him modestly to a country of the Philistines +known as Coney Island, where he found the common herd +enjoying a dish called chowder amid much spontaneity +and dirt, and mingling their uproarious bathing with +foaming beer; a picture framed in white sand and sounding +sea, more than pleasant to the jaded taste of an Endicott.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span> +The roar of the surf drowned the mean uproar of discordant +man. The details of life there were too cheap to be +looked at closely; but at a distance the surface had +sufficient color and movement. He found an exception +to this judgment. La Belle Colette danced with artistic +power, though in surroundings unsuited to her skill. He +called it genius. In an open pavilion, whose roughness +the white sand and the white-green surf helped to condone, +on a tawdry stage, she appeared, a slight, pale, +winsome beauty, clad in green and white gauze, looking +like a sprite of the near-by sea. The witchery of her +dancing showed rare art, which was lost altogether on the +simple crowd. She danced carelessly, as if mocking the +rustics, and made her exit without applause.</p> + +<p>"Where did you get your artiste, August?" he said to +a waiter.</p> + +<p>"You saw how well she dances, hey? Poor Colette! +The best creature in the world ... opens more wine than +five, and gives too much away. But for the drink she +might dance at the opera."</p> + +<p>Arthur went often to see her dance, with pity for the +talent thrown away, and brought his mother under protest +from that cautious lady, who would have nothing to do with +so common a place. The villa stood in respectable, even +aristocratic, quiet at the far end of the island, and Anne +regarded it almost with reverence, moving about as if in +a temple. He found, however, that she had made it a +stage for a continuous drama, in which she played the +leading part, and the Dillon clan with all its ramifications +played minor characters and the audience. Her motives +and her methods he could not fathom and did not try; the +house filled rapidly, that was enough; the round of +dinners, suppers, receptions, dances, and whatnots had +the regularity of the tides. Everybody came down from +Judy's remotest cousin up to His Grace the archbishop. +Even Edith Conyngham, apparently too timid to leave the +shadow of Sister Magdalen, stole into a back room with +Judy, and haunted the beach for a few days. For Judy's +sake he turned aside to entertain her, and with the perversity +which seems to follow certain actions he told her the +pathetic incident of the dancer. Why he should have +chosen this poor nun to hear this tale, embellished as if to +torture her, he could never make out. Often in after<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span> +years, when events had given the story significance, he +sought for his own motives in vain. It might have been +the gray hair, the rusty dress, the depressed manner, so +painful a contrast to the sea-green sprite, all youth, and +grace, and beauty, which provoked him.</p> + +<p>"I shall pray for the poor thing," said rusty Edith, +fingering her beads, and then she made to grasp his hand, +which he thrust into his pockets.</p> + +<p>"Not a second time," he told Louis. "I'd rather get +the claw of a boiled lobster."</p> + +<p>The young men did not like Miss Conyngham, but Louis +pitied her sad state.</p> + +<p>The leading characters on Anne's stage, at least the +persons whom she permitted occasionally to fill its center, +were the anxious lovers Mona and Doyle Grahame. He was +a poet to his finger-tips, dark-haired, ruddy, manly, with +clear wit, and the tenderest and bravest of dark eyes; and +she, red-tressed, lovely, candid, simple, loved him with her +whole heart while submitting to the decree of a sour father +who forbade the banns. Friends like Anne gave them the +opportunity to woo, and the Dillon clan stood as one to +blind the father as to what was going on. The sight of +this beauty and faith and love feeding on mutual confidence +beside the sunlit surf and the moonlight waters gave +Arthur profound sadness, steeped his heart in bitterness. +Such scenes had been the prelude to his tragedy. Despair +looked out of his eyes and frightened Louis.</p> + +<p>"Why should you mind it so, after a year?" the lad +pleaded.</p> + +<p>"Time was when I minded nothing. I thought love +and friendship, goodness and happiness, grew on every +bush, and that</p> + +<div class="block" style="width: 33%;"> +<div class="poem"> +When we were far from the lips that we loved,<br /> +We had but to make love to the lips that were near.<br /> +</div></div> + +<p>I am wiser now."</p> + +<p>"Away with that look," Louis protested. "You have +love in plenty with us, and you must not let yourself go +like that. It's frightful."</p> + +<p>"It's gone," Arthur answered rousing himself. "The +feeling will never go farther than a look. She was not +worth it—but the sight of these two—I suppose Adam +must have grieved looking back at paradise."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span></p> + +<p>"They have their troubles also," Louis said to distract +his mind. "Father is unkind and harsh with Irish +patriots, and because Grahame went through the mill, +conspiracy, arrest, jail, prison, escape, and all the rest of +it, he won't hear of marriage for Mona with him. Of +course he'll have to come down in time. Grahame is the +best fellow, and clever too."</p> + +<p>One day seemed much the same as another to Arthur, +but his mother's calendar had the dates marked in various +colors, according to the rank of her visitors. The visit of +the archbishop shone in figures of gold, but the day and +hour which saw Lord Constantine cross her threshold and +sit at her table stood out on the calendar in letters of flame. +The Ledwiths who brought him were of little account, except +as the friends of His Lordship. Anne informed the +household the day before of the honor which heaven was +sending them, and gave minute instructions as to the etiquette +to be observed; and if Arthur wished to laugh the +blissful light in her face forbade. The rules of etiquette +did not include the Ledwiths, who could put up with ordinary +politeness and be grateful.</p> + +<p>"I can see from the expression of Mona," Arthur observed +to the other gentlemen, "that the etiquette of to-morrow +puts us out of her sight. And who is Lord Constantine? +I ought to know, so I did not dare ask."</p> + +<p>"A young English noble, son and heir of a Marquis," +said Grahame with mock solemnity, "who is devoted to +the cause of bringing London and Washington closer together +in brotherly love and financial, that is rogues' +sympathy—no, roguish sympathy—that's better. He +would like an alliance between England and us. Therefore +he cultivates the Irish. And he'd marry Honora +Ledwith to-morrow if she'd have him. That's part of the +scheme."</p> + +<p>"And who are the Ledwiths?" said Arthur incautiously, +but no one noticed the slip at the moment.</p> + +<p>"People with ideas, strange weird ideas," Louis made +answer. "Oh, perfectly sane, of course, but so devoted +to each other, and the cause of Ireland, that they can get +along with none, and few can get along with them. That's +why Pop thinks so much of 'em. They are forever running +about the world, deep in conspiracies for freedom, +and so on, but they never get anywhere to stay. Outside<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span> +of that they're the loveliest souls the sun ever shone on, +and I adore Honora."</p> + +<p>"And if Mona takes to His Lordship," said Grahame, +"I'll worship Miss Ledwith."</p> + +<p>"Very confusing," Arthur muttered. "English noble,—alliance +between two countries—cultivates Irish—wants +to marry Irish girl—conspirators and all that—why, there's +no head or tail to the thing."</p> + +<p>"Well, you keep your eye on Honora Ledwith and me, +and you'll get the key. She's the sun of the system. And, +by the way, don't you remember old Ledwith, the red-hot +lecturer on the woes of Ireland? Didn't you play on her +doorstep in Madison street, and treat her to Washington +pie?"</p> + +<p>When the party arrived next day Arthur saw a handsome, +vigorous, blond young man, hearty in his manner, +and hesitating in his speech, whom he forgot directly in +his surprise over the Ledwiths; for he recognized in them +the father and daughter whom he had observed in so passionate +a scene in the cathedral on St. Patrick's Day. He +had their history by heart, the father being a journalist +and the daughter a singer; they had traveled half the +world; and while every one loved them none favored their +roseate schemes for the freedom of Ireland. Perhaps this +had made them peculiar. At the first glance one would +have detected oddity as well as distinction in them. Tall, +lean, vivacious, Owen Ledwith moved about restlessly, +talked much, and with considerable temper. The daughter +sat placid and watchful, quite used to playing audience +to his entertainments; though her eyes never seemed to +look at him, Arthur saw that she missed none of his movements, +never failed to catch his words and to smile her +approval. The whiteness of her face was like cream, and +her dark blue eyes were pencilled by lashes so black that +at the first glance they seemed of a lighter shade. Impressed +to a degree by what at that instant could not be +put into words, he named her in his own mind the White +Lady. No trace of disdain spoiled her lofty manner, yet +he thought she looked at people as if they were minor instruments +in her own scheme. She made herself at home +like one accustomed to quick changes of scene. A woman +of that sort travels round the globe with a satchel, and +dresses for the play with a ribbon and a comb, never find<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span>ing +the horizon too large for personal comfort. Clearly +she was beloved in the Dillon circle, for they made much +of her; but of course that day not even the master of the +house was a good second to Lord Constantine. Anne +moved about like herself in a dream. She was heavenly, +and Arthur enjoyed it, offering incense to His Lordship, +and provoking him into very English utterances. The +young man's fault was that he rode his hobby too +hard.</p> + +<p>"It's a shame, doncheknow," he cried as soon as he +could decently get at his favorite theme, "that the English-speaking +peoples should be so hopelessly divided just +now——"</p> + +<p>"Hold on, Lord Conny," interrupted Grahame, "you're +talking Greek to Dillon. Arthur, m'lud has a theory that +the English-speaking peoples should do something together, +doncheknow, and the devil of it is to get 'em together, +doncheknow."</p> + +<p>They all laughed save Anne, who looked awful at this +scandalous mimicry of a personage, until His Lordship +laughed too.</p> + +<p>"You are only a journalist," said he gayly, "and talk +like your journal. As I was saying, we are divided at +home, and here it is much worse. The Irish here hate +us worse than their brethren at home hate us, doncheknow—thank +you, Miss Ledwith, I really will not use that +word again—and all the races settled with you seem to +dislike one another extremely. In Canada it's no better, +and sometimes I would despair altogether, only a beginning +must be made sometime; and I am really doing very +well among the Irish."</p> + +<p>He looked towards Honora who smiled and turned +again to Arthur with those gracious eyes.</p> + +<p>"I knew you would not forget it," she said. "The +Washington pie in itself would keep it in your mind. +How I loved that pie, and every one who gave me some. +Your coming home must have been very wonderful to +your dear mother."</p> + +<p>"More wonderful than I could make you understand," +murmured Arthur. "Do you know the old house is still +in Madison street, where we played and ate the pie?"</p> + +<p>Louis put his head between them slyly and whispered:</p> + +<p>"I can run over to the baker's if you wish and get a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span> +chunk of that identical pie, if you're so in love with it, +and we'll have the whole scene over again."</p> + +<p>No persuasion could induce the party to remain over +night at the villa, because of important engagements in +the city touching the alliance and the freedom of Erin; +and the same tremendous interests would take them far +away the next morning to be absent for months; but the +winter would find them in the city and, when they would +be fairly settled, Arthur was bid to come and dine with +them often. On the last boat the White Lady sailed away +with her lord and father, and Anne watched the boat +out of sight, sighing like one who has been ravished to +the third heaven, and finds it a distressing job to get a +grip on earth again.</p> + +<p>Arthur noticed that his mother dressed particularly +well for the visits of the politicians, and entertained +them sumptuously. Was she planning for his career? +Delicious thought! But no, the web was weaving for +the Senator. When the last knot was tied, she threw it +over his head in perfect style. He complimented her +on her latest costume. She swung about the room with +mock airs and graces to display it more perfectly, and +the men applauded. Good fortune had brought her +back a likeness of her former beauty, angles and wrinkles +had vanished, there was luster in her hair, and her melting +eyes shone clear blue, a trifle faded. In her old age +the coquette of twenty years back was returning with a +charm which caught brother and son.</p> + +<p>"I shall wear one like it at your inauguration, Senator," +said she brightly.</p> + +<p>"For President? Thank you. But the dress reminds +me, Anne," the Senator added with feeling, "of what +you were twenty years ago: the sweetest and prettiest +girl in the city."</p> + +<p>"Oh, you always have the golden word," said she, +"and thank you. But you'll not be elected president, +only mayor of our own city."</p> + +<p>"It might come—in time," the Senator thought.</p> + +<p>"And now is the time," cried she so emphatically that +he jumped. "Vandervelt told me that no man could be +elected unless you said the word. Why shouldn't you +say it for yourself? He told me in the same breath he'd +like to see you in the place afore any friend he had, be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span>cause +you were a man o' your word, and no wan could +lose be your election."</p> + +<p>"Did he say all that?"</p> + +<p>"Every word, and twice as much," she declared with +eagerness. "Now think it over with all your clever +brains, Senator dear, and lift up the Dillon name to the +first place in the city. Oh, I'd give me life to see that +glory."</p> + +<p>"And to win it," Arthur added under his breath.</p> + +<p>The Senator was impressed, and Arthur had a feeling akin +to awe. Who can follow the way of the world? The +thread of destiny for the great city up the bay lay between +the fingers of this sweet, ambitious house-mother, and of +the popular gladiator. Even though she should lead the +Senator by the nose to humiliation, the scene was wonderfully +picturesque, and her thought daring. He did not +know enough history to be aware that this same scene +had happened several hundred times in past centuries; +but he went out to take another look at the house which +sheltered a woman of pluck and genius. The secret of +the villa was known. Anne had used it to help in the +selection of the next Mayor. He laughed from the depths +of his being as he walked along the shore.</p> + +<p>The Everard children returned home early in September +to enjoy the preparations for the entrance of Louis into +the seminary. The time had arrived for him to take up +the special studies of the priesthood, and this meant his +separation from the home circle forever. He would come +and go for years perhaps, but alas! only as a visitor. +The soul of Arthur was knit with the lad's as Jonathan +with David. He had never known a youth so gracious +and so strange, whose heart was like a sanctuary where</p> + +<div class="block"> +<div class="poem"> +<span class="i0">Fair gleams the snowy altar-cloth,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">The silver vessels sparkle clean,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The shrill bell rings, the censer swings,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">And solemn chants resound between.</span><br /> +</div></div> + +<p>It was with him as with Sir Galahad.</p> + +<div class="block"> +<div class="poem"> +<span class="i0">But all my heart is drawn above.</span><br /> +<span class="i2">My knees are bowed in crypt and shrine</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I never felt the kiss of love,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Nor maiden's hand in mine.</span><br /> +</div></div> + +<p style="margin-top: 2em;">Parting with him was a calamity.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span></p> + +<p>"How can you let him go?" he said to Mary Everard, +busy with the preparations.</p> + +<p>"I am a happy woman that God calls my boy to His +service," she answered cheerfully. "The children go anyway +... it's nature. I left father and mother for my own +home. How good it is to think he is going to the sanctuary. +I know that he is going forever ... he is mine no +more ... he will come back often, but he is mine no more. +I am heart-broken ... I am keeping a gay face while he is +here, for the child must not be worried with our grief ... +time enough for that when he is gone ... and he is so +happy. My heart is leaving me to go with him. Twenty +years since he was born, and in all that time not a moment's +pain on his account ... all his life has been ours +... as if he were the father of the family. What shall +I be for the rest of my life, listening for his step and his +voice, and never a sight or sound of him for months at a +time. God give me strength to bear it. If I live to see +him on the altar, I shall thank God and die...."</p> + +<p>Twenty years she had served him, yet here came the inevitable +end, as if such love had never been.</p> + +<p>"Oh, you people of faith! I believe you never suffer, +nor know what suffering is!"</p> + +<p>"Not your kind of suffering, surely, or we would die. +Our hope is always with us, and fortunately does not depend +on our moods for its power."</p> + +<p>Mona teased him into good humor. That was a great +moment when in presence of the family the lad put on the +dress of the seminary, Arthur's gift. Feeling like a prince +who clothes his favorite knight in his new armor, Arthur +helped him to don the black cassock, tied the ribbons of +the surplice, and fixed the three-cornered cap properly on +the brown, curly head. A pallor spread over the mother's +face. Mona talked much to keep back her tears, and the +father declared it a shame to make a priest of so fine a +fellow, since there were too many priests in the world for +its good. The boy walked about as proud as a young soldier +dressed for his first parade. The Trumps, enraptured at +the sight, clapped their hands with joy.</p> + +<p>"Why, he's a priest," cried Constance, with a twist of +her pretty mouth. "Louis is a priest."</p> + +<p>"No, Baby," corrected Marguerite, the little mother, +"but he is going to be one sometime."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span></p> + +<p>The wonderful garments enchanted them, they feared to +touch him, and protested when he swung them high and +kissed them on the return flight. The boy's departure for +the seminary stirred the region of Cherry Hill. The old +neighbors came and went in a steady procession for two +days to take their leave of him, to bless his parents, and to +wish them the joy of seeing him one day at the altar as a +priest of God. They bowed to him with that reverence which +belonged to Monsignor, only more familiar and loquacious, +and each brought his gift of respect or affection. Even +the Senator and the Boss appeared to say a parting word.</p> + +<p>"I wish you luck, Louis," the Senator said in his resonant +voice, and with the speaker's chair before his eyes, +"and I know you'll get it, because you have deserved it, +sir. I've seen you grow up, and I've always been proud to +know you, and I want to know you as long as I live. If +ever you should need a hand like mine in the ga ... I +mean, if ever my assistance is of any use to you, you know +where to call."</p> + +<p>"You have a hard road to travel," the genial Sullivan +said at the close of his visit, "but your training has +prepared you for it, and we all hope you will walk it honorably +to the end. Remember we all take an interest in you, +and what happens to you for good or ill will be felt in this +parish."</p> + +<p>Then the moment of parting came, and Arthur thought +less of his own grief than of the revelation it contained for +him. Was this the feeling which prompted the tears of +his mother, and the tender, speechless embrace of his dear +father in the far-off days when he set out for school? Was +this the grief which made the parting moment terrible? +Then he had thought it nothing that for months of the +year they should be without his beloved presence! He +shivered at the last embraces of Mary and Mona, at the +tears of the children; he saw behind the father's mask of +calmness; he wondered no more at himself as he stood +looking after the train which bore the boy away. The city +seemed as vacant all at once as if turned into a desert. The +room in the attic, with its bed, its desk, and its altar, suddenly +became a terrible place, like a body from which the +soul has fled. Every feature of it gave him pain, and he +hurried back with Mona to the frivolity of Anne in her +villa by the sea.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter"><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X.</h2> + +<h3 class="chapter2">THE HUMORS OF ELECTION.</h3> + + +<p>When the villa closed the Senator was hopelessly enmeshed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span> +in the golden net which had been so skilfully and +genially woven by Anne during the summer. He believed +himself to be the coming man, all his natural +shrewdness and rich experience going for naught before +the witchery of his sister's imagination. In her mind the +climax of the drama was a Dillon at the top of the heap +in the City Hall. Alas, the very first orders of the chief +to his secretary swept away the fine-spun dreams of the +Dillons, as the broom brushes into obscure dirt the wondrous +cobweb. The Hon. John Sullivan spoke in short +sentences, used each man according to that man's nature, +stood above and ahead of his cleverest lieutenants, had few +prejudices, and these noble, and was truly a hero on the +battle-ground of social forces, where no artillery roars, no +uniforms glare, and no trumpets sound for the poets. The +time having come for action he gave Arthur his orders on +the supposition that he understood the political situation, +which he did in some degree, but not seriously. The +Endicotts looked upon elections as the concern of the +rabble, and this Endicott thought it perhaps an occasion +for uproarious fun. His orders partly sobered him.</p> + +<p>"Go to your uncle," said Sullivan, "and tell him he's +not in the race. I don't know where he got that bee in +his bonnet. Then arrange with Everard to call on Livingstone. +Do what you can to straighten the Mayor out. +He ought to be the candidate."</p> + +<p>This dealing with men inspired him. Hitherto +he had been playing with children in the garden of +life; now he stood with the fighters in the terrible arena. +And his first task was to extinguish the roseate dreams of +Anne and her gladiator, to destroy that exquisite fabric +woven of moonlit seas, enchanting dinners, and Parisian<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span> +millinery. Never! Let the chief commit that sacrilege! +He would not say the word whose utterance might wound +the hearts that loved him. The Senator and Anne should +have a clear field. High time for the very respectable +citizens of the metropolis to secure a novelty for mayor, to +get a taste of Roman liberty, when a distinguished member +of the arena could wear the purple if he had the mind.</p> + +<p>Birmingham forced him to change his attitude. The +man of money was both good-hearted and large-minded, +and had departed from the ways of commerce to seek distinction +in politics. Stolid, without enthusiasm or dash, +he could be stubbornly great in defence of principle. +Success and a few millions had not changed his early +theories of life. Pride in his race, delight in his religion, +devotion to his party, increased in him as he rose to honor +and fame. Arthur Dillon felt still more the seriousness of +the position when this man came to ask his aid in securing +the nomination.</p> + +<p>"There never was a time in the history of the city," +said Birmingham, "when a Catholic had such a chance +to become mayor as now. Protestants would not have +him, if he were a saint. But prejudice has abated, and +confidence in us has increased since the war. Sullivan +can have the position if he wants it. So can many others. +All of them can afford to wait, while I cannot. I am not +a politician, only a candidate. At any moment, by the +merest accident, I may become one of the impossibles. I +am anxious, therefore, to secure the nomination this +year. I would like to get your influence. Where the +balance is often turned by the weight of a hair one cannot +be too alert."</p> + +<p>"Do you think I have influence?" said Arthur +humbly.</p> + +<p>"You are the secretary," Birmingham answered, surprised.</p> + +<p>"I shall have to use it in behalf of my uncle then."</p> + +<p>"And if your uncle should not run?"</p> + +<p>"I should be happy to give you my support."</p> + +<p>Birmingham looked as blank as one before whom a door +opens unexpectedly.</p> + +<p>"You understand," continued Arthur, "that I have +been absent too long to grasp the situation clearly. I +think my uncle aspires...."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span></p> + +<p>"A very worthy man," murmured Birmingham.</p> + +<p>"You seem to think he has not much of a chance...."</p> + +<p>"I know something of Sullivan's mind," Birmingham +ventured, "and you know it still better. The exploits of +the Senator in his youth—really it would be well for him +not to expose himself to public ridicule...."</p> + +<p>"I had not thought of that," said Arthur, when the +other paused delicately. "You are quite right. He +should not expose himself. As no other has done me the +honor to ask my help, I am free to help you."</p> + +<p>"You are more than kind. This nomination means +election, and election means the opening of a fine career +for me. Beyond lie the governorship, the senate, and +perhaps higher things. To us these high offices have been +closed as firmly as if they were in Sweden. I want the +honor of breaking down the barriers."</p> + +<p>"It is time. I hope you will get the honor," said +Arthur gravely. He felt sadly about the Senator, and the +shining ambition of his mother. How could he shatter +their dreams? Yet in very pity the task had to be done, +and when next he heard them vaporing on the glory of the +future, he said casually:</p> + +<p>"I know what your enemies will say if you come into +contrast with Livingstone."</p> + +<p>"I've heard it often enough," answered the Senator +gayly. "If I'd listened to them I'd be still in the ring."</p> + +<p>Then a suspicion overcame him, and he cried out +bitterly:</p> + +<p>"Do you say the same, Artie?"</p> + +<p>"Rot. There isn't another like you in the whole world, +uncle. If my vote could do it you'd go into the White +House to-morrow. If you're in earnest in this business of +the nomination, then I'm with you to the last ditch. Now +when you become mayor of the first city in the land"—Oh, +the smile which flashed on the faces of Anne and +the Senator at this phrase!—"you become also the target +of every journal in the country, of every comic paper, of +every cartoonist. All your little faults, your blunders, +past and present, are magnified. They sing of you in the +music-halls. Oh, there would be no end to it! Ridicule +is worse than abuse. It would hurt your friends more +than you. You could not escape it, and no one could +answer it. Is the prize worth the pain?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span></p> + +<p>Then he looked out of the window to escape seeing +the pain in his mother's face, and the bitterness in the +Senator's. He did not illustrate his contention with examples, +for with these the Senator and his friends were +familiar. A light arose on the poor man's horizon. +Looking timidly at Anne, after a moment's pause, he +said:</p> + +<p>"I never thought of all that. You've put me on the +right track, Artie. I thank you."</p> + +<p>"What can I do," he whispered to Anne, "since it's +plain he wants me to give in—no, to avoid the comic +papers?"</p> + +<p>"Whatever he wishes must be done," she replied with a +gesture of despair.</p> + +<p>"The boy is a wonder," thought the Senator. "He +has us all under that little California thumb."</p> + +<p>"I was a fool to think of the nomination," he said aloud +as Arthur turned from the window. "Of course there'd +be no end to the ridicule. Didn't the chap on Harper's, +when I was elected for the Senate, rig me out as a gladiator, +without a stitch on me, actually, Artie, not a stitch—most +indecent thing—and show old Cicero in the same +picture looking at me like John Everard, with a sneer, +and singing to himself: a senator! No, I couldn't stand +it. I give up. I've got as high as my kind can go. But +there's one thing, if I can't be mayor myself, I can say +who's goin' to be."</p> + +<p>"Then make it Birmingham, uncle," Arthur suggested. +"I would like to see him in that place next to you."</p> + +<p>"And Birmingham it is, unless"—he looked at Anne +limp with disappointment—"unless I take it into my +head to name you for the place."</p> + +<p>She gave a little cry of joy and sat up straight.</p> + +<p>"Now God bless you for that word, Senator. It'll be a +Dillon anyway."</p> + +<p>"In that case I make Birmingham second choice," +Arthur said seriously, accepting the hint as a happy ending +to a rather painful scene.</p> + +<p>The second part of the Chief's order proved more entertaining. +To visit the Mayor and sound him on the question +of his own renomination appeared to Arthur amusing +rather than important; because of his own rawness for +such a mission, and also because of their relationship.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span> +Livingstone was his kinsman. Of course John Everard +gave the embassy character, but his reputation reflected +on its usefulness. Nature had not yet provided a +key to the character of Louis' father. Arthur endured +him because Louis loved him, quoted him admiringly, and +seemed to understand him most of the time; but he could +not understand an Irishman who maintained, as a principle +of history, the inferiority of his race to the English, +traced its miseries to its silly pride, opposed all schemes of +progress until his principle was accepted, and placed the +salvation of his people in that moment when they should +have admitted the inferiority imposed by nature, and laid +aside their wretched conceit. This perverse nature had a +sociable, even humorous side, and in a sardonic way loved +its own.</p> + +<p>"I have often wondered," Arthur said, when they were +discussing the details of the mission to Livingstone, "how +your tough fiber ever generated beings so tender and beautiful +as Mona, and Louis, and the Trumps. And now I'm +wondering why Sullivan associates you and me in this +business. Is it his plan to sink the Mayor deeper in his +own mud?"</p> + +<p>"Whatever his plan I'd like to know what he means in +sending with me to the noblest official in the city and the +land, for that matter, the notorious orator of a cheap +banquet."</p> + +<p>"I think it means that Quincy must apologize to the +Irish, or nominate himself," said Arthur slowly.</p> + +<p>A lively emotion touched him when he first entered the +room where the Mayor sat stately and gracious. In him +the Endicott features were emphatic and beautiful. Tall, +ruddy, perfectly dressed, with white hair and moustache +shining like silver, and dark blue eyes full of fire, the +aristocrat breathed from him like a perfume. His greeting +both for Everard and Dillon had a graciousness tinged +with contempt; a contempt never yet perceived by +Everard, but perceived and promptly answered on Arthur's +part with equal scorn.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Dillon comes from Sullivan," said Everard, "to +ask you, as a condition of renomination, that you take +back your remarks on the Irish last winter. You did +them good. They are so soaked in flattery, the flattery of +budding orators, that your talk wakes them to the truth."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I take nothing back," said the Mayor in a calm, sweet +voice to which feeling gave an edge.</p> + +<p>"Then you do not desire the nomination of Tammany +Hall?" Arthur said with a placid drawl, which usually +exasperated Everard and other people.</p> + +<p>"But I do," the Mayor answered quickly, comprehending +on the instant the quality of this antagonist, feeling +his own insolence in the tone. "I merely decline the +conditions."</p> + +<p>"Then you must nominate yourself, for the Irish won't +vote for you," cried Everard.</p> + +<p>"The leaders would like to give you the nomination, +Mr. Livingstone. You may have it, if you can find the +means to placate offended voters for your behavior and +your utterances on St. Patrick's Day."</p> + +<p>"Go down on your knees at once, Mayor," sneered +Everard.</p> + +<p>"I hope Your Honor does not pay too much attention +to the opinions of this gentleman," said Arthur with a +gesture for his companion. "He's a Crusoe in politics. +There's no one else on his island. You have a history, +sir, which is often told in the Irish colony here. I have +heard it often since my return home——"</p> + +<p>"This is the gentleman who spoke of your policy at the +Donnybrook banquet," Everard interrupted.</p> + +<p>Livingstone made a sign for silence, and took a closer +look at Arthur.</p> + +<p>"The Irish do not like you, they have no faith in you +as a fair man, they say that you are always planning +against them, that you are responsible for the deviltries +practised upon them through gospel missions, soup +kitchens, kidnapping industries, and political intrigues. +Whether these things be true, it seems to me that a candidate +ought to go far out of his way to destroy such +fancies."</p> + +<p>"A very good word, fancies! Are you going to make +your famous speech over again?" said Everard with the +ready sneer.</p> + +<p>"Can you deny that what I have spoken is the +truth?"</p> + +<p>"It is not necessary that he should," Livingstone +answered quietly. "I am not interested in what some +people say of me. Tell Mr. Sullivan I am ready to ac<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span>cept +the nomination, but that I never retract, never desert +a position."</p> + +<p>This young man nettled and irritated the Mayor. His +insolence, the insolence of his own class, was so subtly and +politely expressed, that no fault could be found; and, +though his inexperience was evident, he handled a ready +blade and made no secret of his disdain. Arthur did not +know to what point of the compass the short conversation +had carried them, but he took a boy's foolish delight in +teasing the irritated men.</p> + +<p>"It all comes to this: you must nominate yourself," +said Everard.</p> + +<p>"And divide the party?"</p> + +<p>"I am not sure it would divide the party," Livingstone +condescended to say, for he was amused at the simple +horror of Dillon. "It might unite it under different circumstances."</p> + +<p>"That's the remark of a statesman. And it would rid +us, Arthur Dillon, of Sullivan and his kind, who should +be running a gin-mill in Hester street."</p> + +<p>"If he didn't have a finer experience in politics, and a +bigger brain for managing men than any three in the city," +retorted Arthur icily. "He is too wise to bring the prejudices +of race and creed into city politics. If Your Honor +runs on an independent ticket, the Irish will vote against +you to a man. One would think that far-seeing men, interested +in the city and careful of the future, would hesitate +to make dangerous rivalries of this sort. Is there not +enough bigotry now?"</p> + +<p>"Not that I know," said the Mayor with a pretence of +indifference. "We are all eager to keep the races in good +humor, but at the same time to prevent the ascendancy of +a particular race, except the native. It is the Irish to-day. +It will be the Germans to-morrow. Once checked +thoroughly, there will be no trouble in the future."</p> + +<p>The interview ended with these words. By that time +Arthur had gone beyond his political depth, and was glad +to make his adieu to the great man. He retained one +honest conclusion from the interview.</p> + +<p>"Birmingham can thank this pig-headed gentleman," +said he to Everard, "for making him mayor of New +York."</p> + +<p>John snorted his contempt of the statement and its<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span> +abettors. The report of Arthur disquieted the Chief and +his counselors, who assembled to hear and discuss it.</p> + +<p>"It's regrettable," was Sullivan's opinion. "Livingstone +makes a fine figure in a campaign. He has an attractive +name. His independence is popular, and does no +harm. He hasn't the interests of the party at heart though. +The question now is, can we persuade the Irish to overlook +his peculiarities about the green and St. Patrick's +Day?"</p> + +<p>"A more pertinent question," Vandervelt said after a +respectful silence, "would be as to the next available man. +I favor Birmingham."</p> + +<p>"And I," echoed the Senator.</p> + +<p>Arthur listened to the amicable discussion that followed +with thoughts not for the candidate, but for the three men +who thus determined the history of the city for the next +two years. The triumvirs! Cloudy scenes of half-forgotten +history rose before him, strange names uttered +themselves. Mark Antony and young Octavius and weak +Lepidus! He felt suddenly the seriousness of life, and +wonder at the ways of men; for he had never stood so near +the little gods that harness society to their policies, never +till now had he seen with his own eyes how the world is +steered. The upshot of endless talk and trickery was the +nomination of Birmingham, and the placing of an independent +ticket in the field with the Mayor at its head.</p> + +<p>"Now for the fun," said Grahame. "It's going to be +a big fight. If you want to see the working out of principles +keep close to me while the fight is on, and I'll explain +things."</p> + +<p>The explanation was intricate and long. What did not +matter he forgot, but the picturesque things, which touched +his own life afterwards very closely, he kept in mind. +Trotting about with the journalist they encountered one +day a cleric of distinguished appearance.</p> + +<p>"Take a good look at him. He's the man that steers +Livingstone."</p> + +<p>"I thought it was John Everard."</p> + +<p>"John doesn't even steer himself," said Grahame savagely. +"But take a view of the bishop."</p> + +<p>Arthur saw a face whose fine features were shaded by +melancholy, tinged with jaundice, gloomy in expression; +the mouth drooped at the corners, and the eyes were<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span> +heavy; one could hardly picture that face lighted by +humor or fancy.</p> + +<p>"We refuse to discuss certain things in political circles +here," Grahame continued. "One of them is the muddle +made of politics every little while by dragging in religion. +The bishop, Bishop Bradford is his name, never loses a +chance to make a mud pie. The independent ticket is +his pie this year. He secured Livingstone to bake it, for +he's no baker himself. He believes in God, but still more +does he believe that the Catholics of this city should be +kept in the backyard of society. If they eat his pie, their +only ambition will be to live in an American backyard. +No word of this ever finds its way into the journals, but +it is the secret element in New York politics."</p> + +<p>"I thought everything got into the newspapers," Arthur +complained. "Blamed if I can get hold of the thing."</p> + +<p>"You're right, everything goes into the sewers, but not +in a formal way. What's the reason for the independent +ticket? Printed: revolt against a domineering boss. +Private: to shake the Irish in politics. Do you see? +Now, here is a campaign going on. It began last week. +It ends in November. But the other campaign has neither +beginning nor end. I'll give you object-lessons. There's +where the fun comes in."</p> + +<p>The first object-lesson brought Arthur to the gospel-hall +managed by a gentleman whom he had not seen or +thought of since the pleasant celebration of St. Patrick's +day. Rev. Mr. McMeeter, evangelist of the expansive +countenance, was warming up his gathering of sinners +that night with a twofold theme: hell for sinners, and +the same, embroidered intensely, for Rome.</p> + +<p>"He handles it as Laocoon did the serpents," whispered +Grahame.</p> + +<p>In a very clerical costume, on a small platform, the +earnest man writhed, twisted, and sweated, with every +muscle in strain, his face working in convulsions, his lungs +beating heaven with sound. He outdid the Trojan hero +in the leaps across the platform, the sinuous gestures, +the rendings of the enemy; until that moment when he +drew the bars of hell for the unrepentant, and flung +Rome into the abyss. This effective performance, inartistic +and almost grotesque, never fell to the level of the +ridiculous, for native power was strong in the man. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span> +peroration raised Livingstone to the skies, chained Sullivan +in the lowest depths of the Inferno, and introduced +as a terrible example a brand just rescued from the burning.</p> + +<p>"Study her, observe her," said Grahame. "These +brands have had curious burnings."</p> + +<p>She spoke with ease, a little woman in widow's weeds, +coquettishly displaying silken brown hair under the +ruching of a demure bonnet. Taking her own account—"Which +some reporter wrote for her no doubt," Grahame +commented—she had been a sinner, a slave of Rome, a +castaway bound hand and foot to degrading superstition, +until rescued by the noblest of men and led by spirit into +the great work of rescuing others from the grinding +slavery of the Church of Rome. Very tenderly she appealed +to the audience to help her. The prayers of the +saints were about to be answered. God had raised up a +leader who would strike the shackles off the limbs of the +children. The leader, of course, was Mayor Livingstone.</p> + +<p>"You see how the spirit works," said Grahame.</p> + +<p>Then came an interruption. The Brand introduced a +girl of twelve as an illustration of her work of rescue +among the dreadful hirelings of Rome. A feeble and +ragged woman in the audience rose and cried out that the +child was her lost Ellen. The little girl made a leap from +the platform but was caught dexterously by the Brand +and flung behind the scenes. A stout woman shook her +fist in the Brand's face and called her out of her name; +and also gave the evangelist a slap in the stomach which +taught him a new kind of convulsion. His aids fell upon +the stout woman, the tough men of the audience fell upon +the aids, the mother of Ellen began shrieking, and some +respectable people ran to the door to call the police. A +single policeman entered cooly, and laid about him with +his stick so as to hit the evangelists with frequency. For +a few minutes all things turned to dust, confusion, and +bad language. The policeman restored order, dismissed +Ellen with her mother, calmed the stout woman, and cautioned +the host. The Brand had watched the scene +calmly and probably enjoyed it. When Arthur left with +Grahame Mr. McMeeter had just begun an address which +described the policeman as a satellite, a janizary, and +a pretorian of Rome.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span></p> + +<p>"They're doing a very neat job for Livingstone," said +Grahame. "Maybe there are fifty such places about the +town. Little Ellen was lucky to see her mother again. +Most of these stolen children are shipped off to the west, +and turned into very good Protestants, while their mothers +grieve to death."</p> + +<p>"Livingstone ought to be above such work."</p> + +<p>"He is. He has nothing in common with a kidnapper +like McMeeter. He just accepts what is thrown at him. +McMeeter throws his support at him. Only high-class +methods attract a man like Livingstone. Sister Claire, +the Escaped Nun, is one of his methods. We'll go and +see her too. She lectures at Chickering Hall to-night ... comes +on about half after nine—tells all about her escape +from a prison in a convent ... how she was enslaved ... How +sin thrives in convents ... and appeals for help for +other nuns not yet escaped ... with reference to the coming +election and the great deliverer, Livingstone ... makes a +pile of money."</p> + +<p>"You seem envious," Arthur hinted.</p> + +<p>"Who wouldn't? I can't make a superfluous cent being +virtuous, and Sister Claire clears thousands by lying about +her neighbors."</p> + +<p>They took a seat among the reporters, in front of a decorous, +severe, even godly audience, who awaited the coming +of the Escaped Nun with religious interest. Amid a +profound stillness, she came upon the stage from a rear +door, ushered in by an impressive clergyman; and walked +forward, a startling figure, to the speaker's place, where +she stood with the dignity and modesty of her profession, +and a self-possession all her own.</p> + +<p>"Stunning," Grahame whispered. "Costume incorrect, +but dramatic."</p> + +<p>Her dress and veil were of pale yellow, some woolen +stuff, the coif and gamp were of white linen, and a red +cross marked the entire front of her dress, the arms of the +cross resting on her bosom. Arthur stared. Her face of +a sickly pallor had deep circles under the eyes, but seemed +plump enough for her years. For a moment she stood +quietly, with drooping head and uplifted eyes, her hands +clasped, a picture of beauty. After a gasp and a pause the +audience broke into warm applause long continued. In a +sweet and sonorous voice she made her speech, and told her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span> +story. It sounded like the <i>Lady of the Lake</i> at times. +Grahame yawned—he had heard it so often. Arthur +gathered that she had somewhere suffered the tortures of +the Inquisition, that innocent girls were enjoying the +same experience in the convents of the country, that they +were deserted both of God and man, and that she alone +had taken up their cause. She was a devoted Catholic, +and could never change her faith; if she appealed to her +audience, it was only to interest them in behalf of her suffering +sisters.</p> + +<p>"That's the artistic touch," Grahame whispered again. +"But it won't pay. Her revelations must get more +salaciousness after election."</p> + +<p>Arthur hardly heard him. Where had he seen and +heard this woman before? Though he could not recall +a feature of her face, form, dress, manner, yet he had the +puzzling sense of having met her long ago, that her personality +was not unfamiliar. Still her features baffled the +sense. He studied her in vain. When her lecture ended, +with drooping head and clasped hands, she modestly withdrew +amid fervid acclamations.</p> + +<p>Strange and bewildering were the currents of intrigue +that made up a campaign in the great city; not to mention +the hidden forces whose current no human could discern. +Arthur went about exercising his talent for oratory in +behalf of Birmingham, and found consolation in the +sincere applause of humble men, and of boys subdued by +the charm of his manner. He learned that the true +orator expresses not only his own convictions and emotions, +but also the unspoken thoughts, the mute feelings, the +cloudy convictions of the simple multitude. He is their +interpreter to themselves. The thought gave him reverence +for that power which had lain long dormant in him +until sorrow waked its noble harmonies. The ferment in +the city astonished him. The very boys fought in the +vacant lots, and reveled in the strategy of crooked +streets and blind alleys. Kindly women, suddenly reminded +that the Irish were a race of slaves, banged their +doors, and flirted their skirts in scorn. Workmen lost their +job here and there, mates fought at the workbench, the +bully found his excuse to beat the weak, all in the name of +Livingstone. The small business men, whose profits came +from both sides, did severe penance for their sins of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span> +sanded sugar and deficient weight. The police found their +nerves overstrained.</p> + +<p>To him the entire drama of the campaign had the interest +of an impossible romance. It was a struggle between +a poor people, cast out by one nation, fighting for +a footing on new soil, and a successful few, who had forgotten +the sufferings, the similar struggle of their fathers. +He rejoiced when Birmingham won. He had not a single +regret for the defeat of Livingstone, though it hurt him +that a bad cause should have found its leader in his kinsman.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter"><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI.</h2> + +<h3 class="chapter2">AN ENDICOTT HEIR.</h3> + + +<p>Meanwhile what of the world and the woman he had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span> +left behind? A year had passed, his new personality had +begun to fit, and no word or sign direct from the Endicott +circle had reached him. Time seemed to have created a +profound silence between him and them. Indirectly, however, +through the journals, he caught fleeting glimpses of +that rage which had filled Sonia with hatred and despair. +A description of his person appeared as an advertisement, +with a reward of five thousand dollars for information that +would lead to the discovery of his whereabouts, or to a +certainty of his death. At another time the journals which +printed both reward and notice, had a carefully worded +plea from his Aunt Lois for letter or visit to soothe the +anxieties of her last days. He shook over this reminder +of her faithful love until he analyzed the circumstances +which had probably led to this burst of publicity. Early in +July a letter had informed Sonia of his visit to Wisconsin; +two months later a second letter described, in one word, +her character, and in six her sentence: adulteress, you shall +never see me again. A week's work by her lawyers would +have laid bare the fact that the Endicott estate had vanished, +and that her own small income was her sole possession.</p> + +<p>A careful study of his motives would have revealed in +part his plans, and a detective had probably spent a month +in a vain pursuit. The detective's report must have +startled even the lawyers. All clues led to nothing. Sonia +had no money to throw away, nor would she dare to appeal +too strongly to Aunt Lois and Horace Endicott's friends, +who might learn too much, if she were too candid. The +two who loved him were not yet really worried by his disappearance, +since they had his significant letter. In time +their confidence would give place to anxiety, and heaven<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span> +and earth would be moved to uncover his hiding-place. +This loving notice was a trap set by Sonia. On the +road which led from Mulberry Street to Cambridge, +from the home of Anne Dillon to the home of Lois Endicott, +Sonia's detective lay in wait for the returning steps +of the lost husband, and Sonia's eyes devoured the shadows, +her ears drank in every sound. He laughed, he grew +warm with the feeling of triumph. She would watch and +listen in vain. The judgment-seat of God was the appointment +he had made for her.</p> + +<p>He began now to wonder at the completeness of his own +disappearance. His former self seemed utterly beyond the +reach of men. The detectives had not only failed to find +him, they had not even fallen upon his track by accident. +How singular that an Irish colony in the metropolis should +be so far in fact and sympathy from the aristocracy. +Sonia and her detectives would have thought of Greenland +and the Eskimos, Ashanti, Alaska, the court of China, as +possible refuges, but never of Cherry Street and the children +of Erin, who were farther off from the Endicotts and +the Livingstones than the head-hunters of Borneo. Had +her detectives by any chance met him on the road, prepared +for any disguise, how dumb and deaf and sightless would +they become when his position as the nephew of Senator +Dillon, the secretary of Sullivan, the orator of Tammany +Hall, and the pride of Cherry Hill, shone upon them.</p> + +<p>This triumph he would have enjoyed the more could he +have seen the effect which the gradual change in his personality +had produced on Monsignor O'Donnell, for whom +the Endicott episode proved the most curious experience of +his career. Its interest was discounted by the responsibility +imposed upon him. His only comfort lay in the thought +that at any moment he could wash his hands of the affair, +before annoying or dangerous consequences began to +threaten. He suffered from constant misgivings. The +drama of a change in personality went on daily under his +eyes, and almost frightened him by its climaxes, which +were more distinct to him than to Endicott. First, the +pale, worn, savage, and blood-haunted boy who came to +him in his first agony; then the melancholy, bearded, yet +serene invalid who lay in Anne Dillon's house and was +welcomed as her son; next, the young citizen of the Irish +colony, known as a wealthy and lucky Californian, bid<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span>ding +for honors as the nephew of Senator Dillon; and +last the surprising orator, the idol of the Irish people, +their devoted friend, who spared neither labor nor money +in serving them.</p> + +<p>The awesome things in this process were the fading +away of the Endicott and the growing distinctness of +the Dillon. At first the old personality lay concealed +under the new as under a mask; but something like absorption +by degrees obliterated the outlines of Endicott and +developed the Dillon. Daily he noticed the new features +which sprang into sight between sunrise and sunrise. It +was not only the fashion of dress, of body, and of speech, +which mimics may adopt; but also a change of countenance, +a turn of mind which remained permanent, change +of gesture, a deeper color of skin, greater decision in +movement; in fact, so many and so minute mutations that +he could not recall one-tenth the number. Endicott for instance +had possessed an eloquent, lustrous, round eye, +with an expression delightfully indolent; in Dillon the +roundness and indolence gave way to a malicious wrinkle +at the outside corners, which gave his glance a touch of +bitterness. Endicott had been gracefully slow in his +movement; Dillon was nervous and alert. A fascination +of terror held Monsignor as Arthur Dillon grew like +his namesake more and more. Out of what depths had +this new personality been conjured up? What would be +the end of it? He said to himself that a single incident, +the death of Sonia, would be enough to destroy +on the instant this Dillon and resurrect the Endicott. +Still he was not sure, and the longer this terrible process +continued the less likely a change back to the normal.</p> + +<p>Morbid introspection had become a part of the young +man's pain. The study of the changes in himself proved +more pleasant than painful. His mind swung between bitter +depression, and warm, natural joy. His moments of deepest +joy were coincident with an interesting condition of mind. +On certain days he completely forgot the Endicott and became +the Dillon almost perfectly. Then he no longer +acted a part, but was absorbed in it. Most of the time +he was Endicott playing the rôle of Dillon, without effort +and with much pleasure, indeed, but still an actor. When +memory and grief fled from him together, as on St. +Patrick's Day, his new personality dominated each instant<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span> +of consciousness, and banished thought of the old. Then +a new spirit rose in him; not merely a feeling of relief +from pain, but a positive influence which led him to do +surprising and audacious things, like the speech at the +banquet. It was a divine forgetfulness, which he prayed +might be continuous. He loved to think that some years +of his life would see the new personality in full possession +of him, while the old would be but a feeble memory, a +mere dream of an impossible past. Wonderful, if the +little things of the day, small but innumerable, should +wipe out in the end an entire youth that took twenty +years in building. What is the past after all but a vague +horizon made emphatic by the peaks of memory? What +is the future but a bare plain with no emphasis at all? +Man lives only in the present, like the God whose spirit +breathes in him.</p> + +<p>Sonia was bent on his not forgetting, however. His +heart died within him when he read in the journals the +prominent announcement of the birth of a son to the lost +Horace Endicott, whose woful fate still troubled the short +memory of editors. A son! He crushed the paper in his +anguish and fell again into the old depression. Oh, how +thoroughly had God punished the hidden crimes of this +lost woman! A child would have saved her, and in her +hatred of him she had ... he always refused to utter to +himself the thought which here rose before his mind. His +head bent in agony. This child was not his, perhaps not +even hers. She had invented it as a trap for him. Were +it really his little one, his flesh and blood, how eagerly he +would have thrown off his present life and flown to its +rescue from such a mother!</p> + +<p>Sonia did not hope for such a result. It was her +fraudulent mortgage on the future and its possibilities. +The child would be heir to his property; would have the +sympathy and inherit the possessions of his Aunt Lois; +would lull the suspicions concerning its mother, and +conciliate the gossips; and might win him back from +hiding, if only to expose the fraud and take shame from +the Endicotts. What a clever and daring criminal was this +woman! With a cleverness always at fault because of her +rare unscrupulousness. Even wickedness has its delicacy, +its modesty, its propriety, which a criminal respects in +proportion to his genius for crime. Sonia offended all in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span> +her daring, and lost at every turn. This trap would catch +her own feet. A child! A son! He shuddered at the +thought, and thanked God that he had escaped a new +dishonor. His blood would never mingle with the puddle +in Sonia's veins.</p> + +<p>He would not permit her to work this iniquity, and to +check her he must risk final success in his plan of +disappearance by violating the first principle of the art: +that there be no further connection with the past. The +detectives were watching the path by which he would +return, counting perhaps upon his rage over this fraudulent +heir. He must give them their opportunity, if he would +destroy Sonia's schemes against Aunt Lois, but felt sure +that they would be unprepared to seize it, even if they +dreamed it at hand. He had a plan which might accomplish +his object without endangering his position; and +one night he slipped away from the city on a train for +Boston, got off at a lonely station, and plunged into the +darkness without a word for a sleepy station-master.</p> + +<p>At dawn after two hours' walk he passed the pond which +had once seemed to him the door of escape. Poor old +friend! Its gray face lay under the morning sky like the +face of a dead saint, luminous in its outlines, as if the glory +of heaven shone through; still, oh, so still, and deep as +if it mirrored immensity. Little complaining murmurs, +like the whimperings of a sleepy child, rose up from the +reeds, sweeter than any songs. He paused an instant to +compare the <i>then</i> and <i>now</i>, but fled with a groan as the +old sorrow, the old madness, suddenly seized him with +the powerful grip of that horrid time. In fact, every step +of the way to Martha's house was torture. He saw that +for him there were other dangers than Sonia and her +detectives, in leaving the refuge which God had provided +for him. Oh, never could he be too grateful for the +blessing, never could he love enough the holy man who +had suggested it, never could he repay the dear souls +whose love had made it beautiful. They rose up before +him as he hurried down the road, the lovable, humorous, +rollicking, faulty clan; and he would not have exchanged +them for the glories of a court, for the joys of Arcady.</p> + +<p>The sun and he found Martha busy with household +duties. She did not know him and he said not a word to +enlighten her; he was a messenger from a friend who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span> +asked of her a service, the carrying of a letter to a certain +woman in Boston; and no one should see her deliver the +letter, or learn her name, or know her coming and going; +for her friend, in hiding, and pursued, must not be discovered. +Then she knew that he came from Horace, and +shed tears that he lived well and happy, but could not +believe, when he had made himself known, that this was +the same man of a year before. They spent a happy day +together in perfecting the details of her visit to Aunt +Lois, which had to be accomplished with great care and +secrecy. There was to be no correspondence between +them. In two weeks he would come again to hear a report +of her success or failure. If she were not at home, +he would come two weeks later. She could tell Aunt +Lois whatever the old lady desired to hear about him, and +assure her that nothing would induce him ever to return +to his former life. The letter said as much. When night +came they went off over the hills together to the nearest railway +station, where he left her to find her way to the city, +while he went on to a different station and took a late train +to New York. By these methods he felt hopeful that his +violation of the rules of disappearing would have no evil +results for him, beyond that momentary return of the old +anguish which had frightened him more than Sonia's detectives.</p> + +<p>In four weeks old Martha returned from her mission, +and told this story as they sat in the pleasant kitchen near +a cheery fire.</p> + +<p>"I rented a room in the neighborhood of your Aunt +Lois' house, and settled myself to wait for the most +natural opportunity to meet her. It was long in coming, +for she had been sick; but when she got better I saw +her going out to ride, and a little later she took to +walking in the park with her maid. There she often sat, +and chatted with passing children, or with old women like +herself, poor old things trying to get life from the air. +The maid is a spy. She noted every soul about, and had +an extra glance for me when your aunt spoke to me, after I +had waited three weeks for a word. I told her my story, +as I told it to you. She was interested, and I must go to her +house to take lunch with her. I refused. I was not used +to such invitations, but I would call on her at other times. +And the maid listened the more. She was never out of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span> +hearing, nor out of sight, until Aunt Lois would get into +a rage, and bid her take a walk. It was then I handed +her the letter under my shawl. The maid's eyes could +not see through the shawl. I told her what you bid me: +that you would never return again, no more than if you +were dead, that she must burn the letter so that none +would know a letter had been received and burned, and +that she would understand many things when she had +read it; most particular that she was surrounded by spies, +and that she must go right on as if nothing had happened, +and deceive as she had been deceived.</p> + +<p>"I met her only twice after that. I told her my plan +to deceive the maid. I was a shrewd beggar studying to +get money out of her, with a story about going to my son in +Washington. She bid the maid secretly find out if I was +worthy, and I saw the maid in private, and begged her to +report of me favorably, and she might have half the +money, and then I would go away. And the maid was +deceived, for she brought me fifty dollars from your aunt, +and kept thirty. She would not give even the twenty +until I had promised to go away without complaint. So +I went away, and stayed with a friend in Worcester. +Since I came home I have not seen or heard of any stranger +in this neighborhood. So that it is likely I have not been +suspected or followed. And the letter was burned. And +at the first fair chance your Aunt will go to Europe, taking +with her her two dearest relatives. She called them +Sonia Endicott and her child Horace, and she would keep +them with her while she lived. At the last she sent you +her love, though she could not understand some of the +things you were doing, but that was your own business. +And she never shed a tear, but kept smiling, and her smile +was terrible."</p> + +<p>He could believe that. Sonia might as well have lived +in the glare of Vesuvius as in the enlightened smile of +Aunt Lois. The schemer was now in her own toils, and +only at the death of the brave old woman would she know +her failure. Oh, how sweet and great is even human +justice!</p> + +<p>"If I do not see you again, Martha," said Arthur as he +kissed the dear old mother farewell, "remember that I +am happy, and that you made me so."</p> + + +<div class="minispace"> </div> +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter3">THE GREEN AGAINST THE RED.</h2> +<hr /> +<div class="minispace"> </div> + +<h2 class="chapter"><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII.</h2> + +<h3 class="chapter2">THE HATE OF HANNIBAL.</h3> + + +<p>Owen Ledwith had a theory concerning the invasion<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span> +of Ireland, which he began to expound that winter. Since +few know much more about the military art than the firing +of a shotgun, he won the scorn of all except his daughter +and Arthur Dillon. In order to demonstrate his theory +Ledwith was willing to desert journalism, to fit out a +small ship, and to sail into an Irish harbor from New +York and back, without asking leave from any government; +if only the money were supplied by the patriots to +buy the ship and pay the sailors. His theory held that +a fleet of many ships might sail unquestioned from the +unused harbors of the American coast, and land one hundred +thousand armed men in Ireland, where a blow might +be struck such as never had been yet in the good cause. +Military critics denied the possibility of such an invasion. +He would have liked to perform the feat with a single +ship, to convince them.</p> + +<p>"I have a suspicion," he said one night to his daughter, +"that this young Dillon would give me five thousand dollars +for the asking. He is a Fenian now."</p> + +<p>"Is it possible?" Honora cried in astonishment.</p> + +<p>"Well, I don't see any reason for wonder, Nora. He +has been listening to me for three months, vaporing over +the wrongs of Ireland; he's of Celtic blood; he has been +an adventurer in California; he has the money, it would +seem. Why, the wonder would be if he did not do what +all the young fellows are doing."</p> + +<p>"I have not quite made up my mind about him yet, +father," the young woman said thoughtfully.</p> + +<p>"He's all man," said the father.</p> + +<p>"True, but a man who is playing a part."</p> + +<p>He laid down his pipe in his surprise, but she smiled +assuringly.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well, it's fine acting, if you call it so, my love. In +a little over a year he has made himself the pride of +Cherry Hill. Your great friend,"—this with a sniff—"Monsignor +O'Donnell, is his sponsor. He speaks like +the orator born and with sincerity, though he knows little +of politics. But he has ideas. Then did you ever meet +a merrier lad? Such a singer and dancer, such a favorite +among boys and girls! He seems to be as lovable as his +uncle the Senator, and the proof of it is that all confide +in him. However, I have faith in your instincts, Nora. +What do they say?"</p> + +<p>"He looks at us all like a spectator sitting in front of +a stage. Of course I have heard the people talk about +him. He is a popular idol, except to his mother who +seems to be afraid of him. He has moods of sadness, +gloom, and Miss Conyngham told me she would wager he +left a wife in California. While all like him, each one +has a curious thing to tell about him. They all say it is +the sickness which he had on coming home, and that the +queer things are leaving him. The impression he gives +me is that of one acting a part. I must say it is fading +every day, but it hinders me from feeling quite satisfied +about him."</p> + +<p>"Well, one thing is in his favor: he listens to me," +said Ledwith. "He is one of the few men to whom I am +not a crazy dreamer, crazy with love of Erin and hate of +her shameless foe."</p> + +<p>"And I love him for that, father," she said tenderly. +"There is no acting in his regard and esteem for you, +nothing insincere in his liking for us, even if we cannot +quite understand it. For we <i>are</i> queer, Daddy," putting +her arms about him. "Much love for our old home and +much thinking how to help it, and more despair and +worry, have shut us off from the normal life, until we +have forgotten the qualities which make people liked. +Poor Daddy!"</p> + +<p>"Better that than doing nothing," he said sadly. +"To struggle and fight once in a while mean living; to +sit still would be to die."</p> + +<p>Arthur was ushered in just then by the servant, and +took his place comfortably before the fire. One could +see the regard which they felt for him; on the part of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span> +Ledwith it was almost affection. Deeply and sincerely +he returned their kindly feeling.</p> + +<p>He had a host of reasons for his regard. Their position +seemed as strange to the humdrum world as his own. +They were looked on as queer people, who lived outside +the ruts for the sake of an enslaved nation. The idea +of losing three meals a day and a fixed home for a hopeless +cause tickled the humor of the practical. Their devotion +to an idea hardly surpassed their devotion to each other. +He mourned for her isolation, she mourned over his failures +to free his native land.</p> + +<p>"I have almost given the cause up," he said once to +Arthur, "because I feel my helplessness. I cannot agree +with the leaders nor they with me. But if I gave up she +would worry herself to death over my loss of hope. I +keep on, half on her account, half in the hope of striking +the real thing at the end."</p> + +<p>"It seems to be also the breath of her life," said Arthur.</p> + +<p>"No, it is not," the father replied. "Have you not +heard her talk of your friend, Louis Everard? How she +dwells on his calling, and the happiness of it! My poor +child, her whole heart yearns for the cloister. She loves +all such things. I have urged her to follow her inclinations, +though I know it would be the stroke of death for +me, but she will not leave me until I die."</p> + +<p>"You must not take us too seriously," she had once said, +"in this matter of Irish liberties. My father is hopelessly +out of the current, for his health is only fair, and he has +quarreled with his leaders. I have given up hope of +achieving anything. But if he gives up he dies. So, I +encourage him and keep marching on, in spite of the bitterest +disappointments. Perhaps something may come of +it in the end."</p> + +<p>"Not a doubt of it," said Arthur, uttering a great +thought. "Every tear, every thought, every heart-throb, +every drop of sweat and blood, expended for human liberty, +must be gathered up by God and laid away in the treasury +of heaven. The despots of time shall pay the interest of +that fund here or there."</p> + +<p>A woman whose ideals embraced the freedom of an oppressed +people, devotion to her father, and love for the +things of God, would naturally have a strong title to the +respect of Arthur Dillon; and she was, besides, a beautiful<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span> +woman, who spoke great things in a voice so sweetly responsive +to her emotions that father and friend listened +as to music. The Ledwiths had a comfortable income, +when they set to work, earned by his clever pen and her +exquisite voice. The young man missed none of her +public appearances, though he kept the fact to himself. +She was on those occasions the White Lady in earnest. +Her art had warmth indeed, but the coldness and aloofness +of exalted purity put her beyond the zone of desire; +a snowy peak, distinct to the eye, but inaccessible. When +they were done with greetings Arthur brought up a specific +subject.</p> + +<p>"It has gone about that I have become a Fenian," he +said, "and I have been called on to explain to many what +chance the movement has of succeeding. There was +nothing in the initiation which gave me that information."</p> + +<p>"You can say: none," Ledwith answered bitterly. +"And if you quote me as your authority there will be +many new members in the brotherhood."</p> + +<p>"Then why keep up the movement, if nothing is to +come of it?"</p> + +<p>"The fighting must go on," Ledwith replied, "from +generation to generation in spite of failure. The Fenian +movement will fail like all its predecessors. The only +reason for its continuance is that its successor may succeed. +Step by step! Few nations are as lucky as this +to win in the first fight. Our country is the unluckiest of +all. Her battle has been on seven hundred years."</p> + +<p>"But I think there must be more consolation in the +fight than your words imply;" Arthur declared. "There +must be a chance, a hope of winning."</p> + +<p>"The hope has never died but the chance does not yet +exist, and there is no chance for the Fenians," Ledwith +answered with emphasis. "The consolation lies for +most of us in keeping up the fight. It is a joy to +let our enemy, England, know, and to make her feel, +that we hate her still, and that our hate keeps pace with +her advancing greatness. It is pleasant to prove to her, +even by an abortive rising, that all her crimes, rogueries, +and diplomacies against us have been vain to quench +our hate. We have been scattered over the world, but +our hate has been intensified. It is joy to see her foam at +the mouth like a wild beast, then whine to the world over<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span> +the ingratitude of the Irish; to hear the representatives of +her tax-payers howl in Parliament at the expense of putting +down regular rebellions; to see the landlords flying +out of the country they have ravaged, and the Orangemen +white with the fear of slaughter. Then these movements +are an education. The children are trained to a knowledge +of the position, to hatred of the English power, and +their generation takes up the fight where the preceding +left it."</p> + +<p>"Hate is a terrible thing," said the young man. "Is +England so hateful then?"</p> + +<p>Honora urged him by looks to change the subject, for +her father knew no bounds in speaking of his country's +enemy, but he would not lift his eyes to her face. He +wished to hear Owen Ledwith express his feelings with +full vent on the dearest question to his heart. The man +warmed up as he spoke, fire in his eyes, his cheeks, his +words, and gestures.</p> + +<p>"She is a fiend from hell," he replied, hissing the words +quietly. Deep emotion brought exterior calm to Ledwith. +"But that is only a feeling of mine. Let us deal +with the facts. Like the fabled vampire England hangs +upon the throat of Ireland, battening on her blood. +Populous England, vanishing Ireland! What is the meaning +of it? One people remains at home by the millions, +the other flies to other lands by the millions. Because +the hell-witch is good to her own. For them the trade of +the world, the opening of mines, the building of factories, +the use of every natural power, the coddling of every +artificial power. They go abroad only to conquer and tax +the foreigner for the benefit of those at home. Their harbors +are filled with ships, and their treasury with the gold +of the world. For our people, there is only permission to +work the soil, for the benefit of absentee landlords, or +encouragement to depart to America. No mines, no +factories, no commerce, no harbors, no ships, in a word +no future. So the Irish do not stay at home. The laws +of England accomplished this destruction of trade, of art, +of education, oh, say it at once, of life. Damnable laws, +fashioned by the horrid greed of a rich people, that could +not bear to see a poor people grow comfortable. They +called over to their departments of trade, of war, of art, +to court, camp, and studio, our geniuses, gave them<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span> +fame, and dubbed them Englishmen; the castaways, the +Irish in America and elsewhere are known as 'the mere +Irish.'"</p> + +<p>"It is very bitter," said Arthur, seeing the unshed +tears in Honora's eyes.</p> + +<p>"I wonder how we bear it," Ledwith continued. "We +have not the American spirit, you may be sure. I can +fancy the colonists of a hundred years back meeting an +Irish situation; the men who faced the Indian risings, +and, worse, the subduing of the wilderness. For them it +would have been equal rights and privileges and chances, +or the bottom of the sea for one of the countries. But we +are poetic and religious, and murderous only when a +Cromwell or a Castlereagh opens hell for us. However, +the past is nothing; it is the present which galls us. The +gilding of the gold and the painting of the lily are symbols +of our present sufferings. After stripping and roasting +us at home, this England, this hell-witch sends +abroad into all countries her lies and slanders about us. +Her spies, her professors, her gospellers, her agents, her +sympathizers everywhere, can tell you by the yard of our +natural inferiority to the Chinese. Was it not an American +bishop who protested in behalf of the Chinese of San +Francisco that they were more desirable immigrants than +the sodden Irish? God! this clean, patient, laborious +race, whose chastity is notorious, whose Christianity has +withstood the desertion of Christ——"</p> + +<p>Honora gave a half scream at the blasphemy, but at +once controlled herself.</p> + +<p>"I take that back, child—it was only madness," Ledwith +said. "You see, Dillon, how scarred my soul is with +this sorrow. But the bishop and the Chinese! Not a +word against that unfortunate people, whose miseries are +greater even than ours, and spring from the same sources. +At least <i>they</i> are not lied about, and a bishop, forsooth! +can compare them, pagans in thought and act and habit +though they be, with the most moral and religious people +in the world, to his own shame. It is the English lie +working. The Irish are inferior, and of a low, groveling, +filthy nature; they are buried both in ignorance and +superstition; their ignorance can be seen in their hatred +of British rule, and their refusal to accept the British +religion; wherever they go in the wide world, they reduce<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span> +the average of decency and intelligence and virtue; for +twenty years these lies have been sung in the ears of the +nations, until only the enemies of England have a welcome +for us. Behold our position in this country. Just +tolerated. No place open to us except that of cleaning +the sewers. Every soul of us compelled to fight, as Birmingham +did the other day, for a career, and to fight against +men like Livingstone, who should be our friends. And +in the hearts of the common people a hatred for us, a disgust, +even a horror, not inspired by the leprous Chinese. +We have earned all this hatred and scorn and opposition +from England, because in fighting with her we have observed +the laws of humanity, when we should have wiped +her people off the face of the earth as Saul smote Agag +and his corrupt people, as Cromwell treated us. Do you +wonder that I hate this England far more than I hate sin, +or the devil, or any monstrous creature which feeds upon +man."</p> + +<p>"I do not wonder," said Arthur. "With you there +is always an increasing hatred of England?"</p> + +<p>"Until death," cried Ledwith, leaping from his seat, as +if the fire of hate tortured him, and striding about the +room. "To fight every minute against this monster, to +fight in every fashion, to irritate her, to destroy a grain of +her influence, in a single mind, in a little community, to +expose her pretense, her sham virtues, her splendid hypocrisy, +these are the breath of my life. That hate will +never perish until——"</p> + +<p>He paused as if in painful thought, and passed his hand +over his forehead.</p> + +<p>"Until the wrongs of centuries have been avenged," +said Arthur. Ledwith sat down with a scornful laugh.</p> + +<p>"That's a sentence from the orations of our patriotic +orators," he sneered. "What have we to do with the +past? It is dead. The oppressed and injured are dead. +God has settled their cause long ago. It would be a pretty +and consoling sight to look at the present difference between +the English Dives and the Irish Lazarus! The +vengeance of God is a terrible thing. No! my hate is of +the present. It will not die until we have shaken the +hold of this vampire, until we have humiliated and disgraced +it, and finally destroyed it. I don't speak of retaliation. +The sufferings of the innocent and oppressed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span> +are not atoned for by the sufferings of other innocents and +other oppressed. The people are blameless. The leaders, +the accursed aristocracy of blood, of place, of money, +these make the corporate vampire, which battens upon +the weak and ignorant poor; only in England they give +them a trifle more, flatter them with skill, while the Irish +are kicked out like beggars."</p> + +<p>He looked at Dillon with haggard eyes. Honora sat +like a statue, as if waiting for the storm to pass.</p> + +<p>"I have not sworn an oath like Hannibal," he said, +"because God cannot be called as a witness to hate. But +the great foe of Rome never observed his oath more faithfully +than I shall that compact which I have made with +myself and the powers of my nature: to turn all my +strength and time and capacity into the channel of hate +against England. Oh, how poor are words and looks and +acts to express that fire which rages in the weakest and +saddest of men."</p> + +<p>He sank back with a gesture of weariness, and found +Honora's hand resting on his tenderly.</p> + +<p>"The other fire you have not mentioned, Daddy," she +said wistfully, "the fire of a love which has done more +for Erin than the fire of hate. For love is more than +hate, Daddy."</p> + +<p>"Ay, indeed," he admitted. "Much as I hate England, +what is it to my love for her victim? Love is more +than hate. One destroys, the other builds."</p> + +<p>Ledwith, quite exhausted by emotion, became silent. +The maid entered with a letter, which Honora opened, +read silently, and handed to her father without comment. +His face flushed with pleasure.</p> + +<p>"Doyle Grahame writes me," he explained to Arthur, +"that a friend, who wishes to remain unknown, has contributed +five thousand dollars to testing my theory of an +invasion of Ireland. That makes the expedition a certainty—for +May."</p> + +<p>"Then let me volunteer the first for this enterprise," +said Arthur blithely.</p> + +<p>"And me the second," cried Honora with enthusiasm.</p> + +<p>"Accepted both," said Ledwith, with a proud smile, new +life stealing into his veins.</p> + +<p>Not for a moment did he suspect the identity of his +benefactor, until Monsignor, worried over the risk for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span> +Arthur came to protest some days later. The priest had +no faith in the military enterprise of the Fenians, and, if +he smiled at Arthur's interest in conspiracy, saw no good +reasons why he should waste his money and expose his +life and liberty in a feeble and useless undertaking. His +protest both to Arthur and others was vigorous.</p> + +<p>"If you have had anything to do with making young +Dillon a Fenian," he said, "and bringing him into this +scheme of invasion, Owen, I would like you to undo the +business, and persuade him to stay at home."</p> + +<p>"Which I shall not do, you may be sure, Monsignor," +replied the patriot politely. "I want such men. The +enemy we fight sacrifices the flower of English youth to +maintain its despotism; why should we shrink from +sacrifice?"</p> + +<p>"I do not speak of sacrifice," said Monsignor. "One +man is the same as another. But there are grave reasons +which demand the presence of this young man in America, +and graver reasons why he should not spend his money +incautiously."</p> + +<p>"Well, he has not spent any money yet, so far as I +know," Ledwith said.</p> + +<p>The priest hesitated a moment, while the other looked +at him curiously.</p> + +<p>"You are not aware, then, that he has provided the +money for your enterprise?" Honora uttered a cry, and +Ledwith sprang from his chair in delighted surprise.</p> + +<p>"Do you tell me that?" he shouted. "Honora, +Honora, we have found the right man at last! Oh, I felt +a hundred times that this young fellow was destined to +work immense good for me and mine. God bless him +forever and ever."</p> + +<p>"Amen," said Honora, rejoicing in her father's joy.</p> + +<p>"You know my opinion on these matters, Owen," said +Monsignor.</p> + +<p>"Ay, indeed, and of all the priests for that matter. +Had we no religion the question of Irish freedom would +have been settled long ago. Better for us had we been +pagans or savages. Religion teaches us only how to +suffer and be slaves."</p> + +<p>"And what has patriotism done for you?" Monsignor +replied without irritation.</p> + +<p>"Little enough, to be sure."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Now, since I have told you how necessary it is that +Dillon should remain in America, and that his money +should not be expended——"</p> + +<p>"Monsignor," Ledwith broke in impatiently, "let me +say at once you are asking what you shall not get. I swear +to you that if the faith which you preach depended on +getting this young fellow to take back his money and to +desert this enterprise, that faith would die. I want men, +and I shall take the widow's only son, the father of the +family, the last hope of a broken heart. I want money, +and I shall take the crust from the mouth of the starving, +the pennies from the poor-box, the last cent of the poor, +the vessels of the altar, anything and everything, for my +cause. How many times has our struggle gone down in +blood and shame because we let our foolish hearts, with +their humanity, their faith, their sense of honor, their +ridiculous pride, rule us. I want this man and his money. +I did not seek them, and I shall not play tricks to keep +them. But now that they are mine, no man shall take +them from me."</p> + +<p>Honora made peace between them, for these were stubborn +men, unwilling to make compromises. Monsignor +could give only general reasons. Ledwith thought God +had answered his prayers at last. They parted with equal +determination.</p> + +<p>What a welcome Arthur Dillon received from the Ledwiths +on his next visit! The two innocents had been +explaining their ideas for years, and traveling the earth +to put them into action; and in all that time had not +met a single soul with confidence enough to invest a dollar +in them. They had spent their spare ducats in attempting +what required a bank to maintain. They had endured +the ridicule of the hard-hearted and the silent pity of the +friends who believed them foolish dreamers. And behold +a man of money appears to endow their enterprise, and +to show his faith in it by shipping as a common member +of the expedition. Was there ever such luck? They +thanked him brokenly, and looked at him with eyes so +full of tenderness and admiration and confidence, that +Arthur swore to himself he would hereafter go about the +earth, hunting up just such tender creatures, and providing +the money to make their beautiful, heroic, and foolish +dreams come true. He began to feel the truth of a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span> +philosopher's saying: the dreams of the innocent are the +last reasoning of sages.</p> + +<p>"And to this joy is added another," said Ledwith, +when he could speak steadily. "General Sheridan has +promised to lead a Fenian army the moment the Irish +government can show it in the field."</p> + +<p>"What does that mean?" said Arthur.</p> + +<p>"What does it mean that an Irish army on Irish soil +should have for its leader a brilliant general like Sheridan?" +cried Ledwith. A new emotion overpowered him. +His eyes filled with tears. "It means victory for a forlorn +cause. Napoleon himself never led more devoted +troops than will follow that hero to battle. Washington +never received such love and veneration as he will from +the poor Irish, sick with longing for a true leader. Oh, +God grant the day may come, and that we may see it, +when that man will lead us to victory."</p> + +<p>His eyes flashed fire. He saw that far-off future, the +war with its glories, the final triumph, the crowning of +Sheridan with everlasting fame. And then without warning +he suddenly fell over into a chair. Arthur lifted up +his head in a fright, and saw a pallid face and lusterless +eyes. Honora bathed his temples, with the coolness and +patience of habit.</p> + +<p>"It is nothing, nothing," he said feebly after a moment. +"Only the foolishness of it all ... I can forget like a boy +... the thing will never come to pass ... never, never, +never! There stands the hero, splendid with success, rich +in experience, eager, willing, a demigod whom the Irish +could worship ... his word would destroy faction, wipe out +treason, weed out fools, hold the clans in solid union ... if +we could give him an army, back him with a government, +provide him with money! We shall never have the army +... nothing. Treason breeding faction, faction inviting +treason ... there's our story. O, God, ruling in heaven, +but not on earth, why do you torture us so? To give us +such a man, and leave us without the opportunity or the +means of using him!"</p> + +<p>He burst into violent, silent weeping. Dillon felt the +stab of that hopeless grief, which for the moment revived +his own, although he could not quite understand it. +Ledwith dashed away the tears after a little and spoke +calmly.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You see how I can yield to dreams like a foolish child. +I felt for a little as if the thing had come to pass, and +gave in to the fascination. This is the awaking. All +the joy and sorrow of my life have come mostly from +dreams."</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter"><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII.</h2> + +<h3 class="chapter2">ANNE DILLON'S FELICITY.</h3> + + +<p>Monsignor was not discouraged by his failure to detach<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span> +Arthur from the romantic expedition to the Irish +coast. With a view to save him from an adventure so +hurtful to his welfare, he went to see Anne Dillon. Her +home, no longer on Mulberry Street, but on the confines of +Washington Square, in a modest enough dwelling, enjoyed +that exclusiveness which is like the atmosphere of a great +painting. One feels by instinct that the master hand +has been here. Although aware that good fortune had +wrought a marked change in Anne, Monsignor was utterly +taken aback by a transformation as remarkable in its way +as the metamorphosis of Horace Endicott.</p> + +<p>Judy Haskell admitted him, and with a reverence +showed him into the parlor; the same Judy Haskell as of +yore, ornamented with a lace cap, a collar, deep cuffs, +and an apron; through which her homeliness shone as +defiantly as the face of a rough mountain through the fog. +She had been instructed in the delicate art of receiving +visitors with whom her intimacy had formerly been marked; +but for Monsignor she made an exception, and the glint +in her eye, the smile just born in the corner of her emphatic +mouth, warned him that she knew of the astonishment +which his good breeding concealed.</p> + +<p>"We're mountin' the laddher o' glory," she said, after +the usual questions. "Luk at me in me ould age, dhressed +out like a Frinch sportin' maid. If there was a baby in +the house ye'd see me, Father Phil, galivantin' behind a +baby-carriage up an' down the Square. Faith, she does it +well, the climbin', if we don't get dizzy whin we're halfway +up, an' come to earth afore all the neighbors, flatter +nor pancakes."</p> + +<p>"Tut, tut," said Monsignor, "are you not as good as +the best, with the blood of the Montgomerys and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span> +Haskells in your veins? Are you to make strange with +all this magnificence, as if you were Indians seeing it for +the first time?"</p> + +<p>"That's what I've been sayin' to meself since it began," +she replied.</p> + +<p>"Since what began?"</p> + +<p>"Why, the changin' from Mulberry Sthreet Irish to +Washington Square Yankees," Judy said with a shade of +asperity. "It began wid the dog-show an' the opera. +Oh, but I thought I'd die wid laughin', whin I had to +shtan' at the doors o' wan place or the other, waitin' on +Micksheen, or listenin' to the craziest music that ever was +played or sung. After that kem politics, an' nothin' wud +do her but she'd bate ould Livingstone for Mare all by herself. +Thin it was Vandervelt for imbassador to England, +an' she gev the Senator an' the Boss no pace till they tuk +it up. An' now it's the Countess o' Skibbereen mornin', +noon, an' night. I'm sick o' that ould woman. But she +owns the soul of Anne Dillon."</p> + +<p>"Well, her son can afford it," said Monsignor affably. +"Why shouldn't she enjoy herself in her own way?"</p> + +<p>"Thrue for you, Father Phil; I ought to call you +Morrisania, but the ould names are always the shweetest. +He has the money, and he knows how to spind it, an' if +he didn't she'd show him. Oh, but he's the fine b'y! +Did ye ever see annywan grow more an' more like his +father, pace to his ashes. Whin he first kem it wasn't so +plain, but now it seems to me he's the very spit o' Pat +Dillon. The turn of his head is very like him."</p> + +<p>At this point in a chat, which interested Monsignor +deeply, a soft voice floated down from the upper distance, +calling, "Judy! Judy!" in a delicate and perfect French +accent.</p> + +<p>"D'ye hear that, Father Phil?" whispered Judy with +a grin. "It's nothin' now but Frinch an' a Frinch masther. +Wait till yez hear me at it."</p> + +<p>She hastened to the hall and cried out, "Oui, oui, +Madame," with a murmured aside to the priest, "It's all +I know."</p> + +<p>"Venez en haut, Judy," said the voice.</p> + +<p>"Oui, oui, Madame," answered Judy. "That manes +come up, Father Phil," and Judy walked off upright, +with folded arms, swinging her garments, actions belied<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span> +by the broad grin on her face, and the sarcastic motion of +her lips, which kept forming the French words with great +scorn.</p> + +<p>A few minutes afterward Anne glided into the room. +The Montgomery girls had all been famous for their +beauty in the earlier history of Cherry Hill, and Anne +had been the belle of her time. He remembered her +thirty years back, on the day of her marriage, when he +served as altar-boy at her wedding; and recalled a sweet-faced +girl, with light brown silken hair, languorous blue +eyes, rose-pink skin, the loveliest mouth, the most provoking +chin. Time and sorrow had dealt harshly with her, +and changed her, as the fairies might, into a thin-faced, +gray-haired, severe woman, whose dim eyes were hidden +by glasses. She had retained only her grace and dignity +of manner. He recalled all this, and drew his breath; +for before him stood Anne Montgomery, as she had stood +before him at the altar; allowing that thirty years had +artistically removed the youthful brilliance of youth, but +left all else untouched. The brown hair waved above her +forehead, from her plump face most of the wrinkles had +disappeared, her eyes gleamed with the old time radiance, +spectacles had been banished, a subdued color tinted her +smiling face.</p> + +<p>"Your son is not the only one to astound me," said +Monsignor. "Anne, you have brought back your youth +again. What a magician is prosperity."</p> + +<p>"It's the light-heartedness, Monsignor. To have as +much money as one can use wisely and well, to be done +with scrimpin' forever, gives wan a new heart, or a new +soul. I feel as I felt the day I was married."</p> + +<p>She might have added some information as to the share +which modiste and beautifier might claim in her rejuvenation, +but Monsignor, very strict and happily ignorant of +the details of the toilet, as an ecclesiastic should be, was +lost in admiration of her. It took him ten minutes to +come to the object of his visit.</p> + +<p>"He has long been ahead of you," she said, referring +to Arthur. "I asked him for leave to visit Ireland, and +he gave it on two conditions: that I would take Louis and +Mona wid me, and refuse to interfere with this Fenian +business, no matter who asked me. I was so pleased that +I promised, and of course I can't go back on me word."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span></p> + +<p>"This is a very clever young man," said Monsignor, +admiring Anne's skill in extinguishing her beautiful +brogue, which, however, broke out sweetly at times.</p> + +<p>"Did you ever see the like of him?" she exclaimed. +"I'm afraid of him. He begins to look like himself and +like his father ... glory be to God ... just from looking at +the pictures of the two and thinkin' about them. He's +good and generous, but I have never got over being afeared +of him. It was only when he went back on his uncle ... +on Senator Dillon ... that I plucked up courage to face +him. I had the Senator all ready to take the place which +Mr. Birmingham has to-day, when Arthur called him off."</p> + +<p>"He never could have been elected, Anne."</p> + +<p>"I never could see why. The people that said that +didn't think Mr. Vandervelt could be made ambassador +to England, at least this time. But he kem so near it that +Quincy Livingstone complimented me on my interest for +Mr. Vandervelt. And just the same, Dan Dillon would +have won had he run for the office. It was with him a +case of not wantin' to be de trop."</p> + +<p>"Your French is três propos, Anne," said Monsignor +with a laugh.</p> + +<p>"If you want to hear an opinion of it," said the clever +woman, laughing, too, "go and hear the complaints of +Mary and Sister Magdalen. Mais je suis capable de parler +Français tout de même."</p> + +<p>"And are you still afraid of Arthur? Wouldn't you +venture on a little protest against his exposing himself to +needless danger?"</p> + +<p>"I can do that, certainement, but no more. I love him, +he's so fine a boy, and I wish I could make free wid him; +but he terrifies me when I think of everything and look +at him. More than wanst have I seen Arthur Dillon looking +out at me from his eyes; and sometimes I feel that +Pat is in the room with me when he is around. As I +said, I got courage to face him, and he was grieved that I +had to. For he went right into the contest over Vandervelt, +and worked beautifully for the Countess of Skibbereen. +I'm to dine with her at the Vandervelts' next +week, the farewell dinner."</p> + +<p>Her tones had a velvet tenderness in uttering this last +sentence. She had touched one of the peaks of her ambition.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I shall meet you there," said Monsignor, taking a +pinch of snuff. "Anne, you're a wonderful woman. +How have all these wonders come about?"</p> + +<p>"It would take a head like your own to tell," she answered, +with a meaning look at her handsome afternoon +costume. "But I know some of the points of the game. +I met Mr. Vandervelt at a reception, and told him he +should not miss his chance to be ambassador, even if +Livingstone lost the election and wanted to go to England +himself. Then he whispered to me the loveliest whisper. +Says he, 'Mrs. Dillon, they think it will be a good way to +get rid of Mr. Livingstone if he's defeated,' says he; 'but +if he wins I'll never get the high place, says he, 'for Tammany +will be of no account for years.'"</p> + +<p>Anne smiled to herself with simple delight over that +whispered confidence of a Vandervelt, and Monsignor sat +admiring this dawning cleverness. He noticed for the +first time that her taste in dress was striking and perfect, +as far as he could judge.</p> + +<p>"'Then' says I, 'Mr. Vandervelt,' says I, 'there's only +wan thing to be done, wan thing to be done,' says I. +'Arthur and the Senator and Doyle Grahame and Monsignor +must tell Mr. Sullivan along wid Mr. Birmingham +that you should go to England this year. 'Oh,' said he, 'if +you can get such influence to work, nothing will stop me +but the ill-will of the President.' 'And even there,' said I, +'it will be paving the way for the next time, if you make a +good showing this time.' 'You see very far and well,' said +he. That settled it. I've been dinin' and lunching with +the Vandervelts ever since. You know yourself, Monsignor, +how I started every notable man in town to tell +Mr. Sullivan that Vandervelt must go to England. We +failed, but it was the President did it; but he gave Mr. +Vandervelt his choice of any other first-class mission. +Then next, along came the old Countess of Skibbereen, +and she was on the hands of the Vandervelts with her +scheme of getting knitting-machines for the poor people of +Galway. She wasn't getting on a bit, for she was old and +queer in her ways, and the Vandervelts were worried over it. +Then I said: 'why not get up a concert, and have Honora +sing and let Tammany take up one end and society the +other, and send home the Countess with ten thousand +dollars?' My dear, they jumped at it, and the Countess<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span> +jumped at me. Will you ever forget it, Monsignor dear, +the night that Honora sang as the Genius of Erin? If +that girl could only get over her craziness for Ireland and +her father—but that's not what I was talking about. Well, +the Countess has her ten thousand dollars, and says I'm +the best-dressed woman in New York. So, that's the way +I come to dine with the Vandervelts at the farewell dinner +to the Countess, and when it comes off New York will be +ringing with the name of Mrs. Montgomery Dillon."</p> + +<p>"Is that the present name?" said Monsignor. "Anne, +if you go to Ireland you'll return with a title. Your son +should be proud of you."</p> + +<p>"I'll give him better reason before I'm done, Monsignor."</p> + +<p>The prelate rose to go, then hesitated a moment.</p> + +<p>"Do you think there is anything?—do you think there +could be anything with regard to Honora Ledwith?"</p> + +<p>She stopped him with a gesture.</p> + +<p>"I have watched all that. Not a thing could happen. +Her thoughts are in heaven, poor child, and his are busy +with some woman that bothered him long ago, and may +have a claim on him. No wan told me, but my seein' and +hearing are sharp as ever."</p> + +<p>"Good-by, Mrs. Montgomery Dillon," he said, bowing +at the door.</p> + +<p>"Au plaisir, Monseigneur," she replied with a curtsey, +and Judy opened the outer door, face and mien like an +Egyptian statue of the twelfth dynasty.</p> + +<p>Anne Dillon watched him go with a sigh of deep contentment. +How often she had dreamed of men as distinguished +leaving her presence and her house in this fashion; and the +dream had come true. All her life she had dreamed of the +elegance and importance, which had come to her through +her strange son, partly through her own ambition and ability. +She now believed that if one only dreams hard enough +fortune will bring dreams true. As the life which is past +fades, for all its reality, into the mist-substance of dreams, +why should not the reverse action occur? Had she been +without the rich-colored visions which illuminated her +idle hours, opportunity might have found her a spiritless +creature, content to take a salary from her son and to lay +it by for the miserable days of old age. Out upon such +tameness! She had found life in her dreams, and the two<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span> +highest expressions of that life were Mrs. Montgomery +Dillon and the Dowager Countess of Skibbereen.</p> + +<p>As a pagan priestess might have arrayed herself for appearance +in the sanctuary, she clothed herself in purple +and gold on the evening of the farewell dinner.</p> + +<p>Arthur escorted his mother and Honora to the Vandervelt +residence.</p> + +<p>As the trio made their bows, the aspirant for diplomatic +honors rejoiced that his gratitude for real favors reflected +itself in objects so distinguished. He was a grateful man, +this Vandervelt, and broad-minded, willing to gild the +steps by which he mounted, and to honor the humblest +who honored him: an aristocrat in the American sense +of the term, believing that those who wished should be +encouraged to climb as high as natural capacity and opportunity +permitted. The party sat down slightly bored, +they had gone through it so often; but for Anne Dillon +each moment and each circumstance shone with celestial +beauty. She floated in the ether. The mellow lights, the +glitter of silver and glass, the perfume of flowers, the soft +voices, all sights and sounds, made up a harmony which +lifted her body from the ground as on wings, more like a +dream than her richest dreams. For conversation, some +one started Lord Constantine on his hobby, and said +Arthur was a Fenian, bent on destroying the hobby forever. +In the discussion the Countess appealed to +Anne.</p> + +<p>"We are a fighting race," said she, with admirable +caution picking her steps through a long paragraph. +"There's—there are times when no one can hold us. This +is such a time. A few months back the Fenian trouble +could have been settled in one week. Now it will take a +year."</p> + +<p>"But how?" said Vandervelt. "If you had the making +of the scheme, I'm sure it would be a success."</p> + +<p>"In this way," she answered, bowing and smiling to his +sincere compliment, "by making all the Irish Fenians, +that is, those in Ireland, policemen."</p> + +<p>The gentlemen laughed with one accord.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Sullivan manages his troublesome people that +way," she observed triumphantly.</p> + +<p>"You are a student of the leader," said Vandervelt.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Everybody should study him, if they want to win," +said Anne.</p> + +<p>"And that's wisdom," cried Lord Constantine.</p> + +<p>The conversation turned on opera, and the hostess +wondered why Honora did not study for the operatic stage. +Then they all urged her to think of the scheme.</p> + +<p>"I hope," said Anne gently, "that she will never try +to spoil her voice with opera. The great singers give me +the chills, and the creeps, and the shivers, the most terrible +feeling, which I never had since the day Monsignor +preached his first sermon, and broke down."</p> + +<p>"Oh, you dear creature," cried the Countess, "what a +long memory you have."</p> + +<p>Monsignor had to explain his first sermon. So it went +on throughout the dinner. The haze of perfect happiness +gathered about Anne, and her speech became inspired. +A crown of glory descended upon her head when the +Dowager, hearing of her summer visit to Ireland with +Mona and Louis in her care, exacted a solemn promise from +her that the party should spend one month with her at +Castle Moyna, her dower home.</p> + +<p>"That lovely boy and girl," said the Countess, "will +find the place pleasant, and will make it pleasant for me; +where usually I can induce not even my son's children to +come, they find it so dull."</p> + +<p>It did not matter much to Anne what happened thereafter. +The farewells, the compliments, the joy of walking +down to the coach on the arm of Vandervelt, were as +dust to this invitation of the Dowager Countess of Skibbereen. +The glory of the dinner faded away. She looked +down on the Vandervelts from the heights of Castle Moyna. +She lost all at once her fear of her son. From that moment +the earth became as a rose-colored flame. She almost +ignored the adulation of Cherry Hill, and the astonished +reverence of her friends over her success. Her +success was told in awesome whispers in the church as she +walked to the third pew of the middle aisle. A series of +legends grew about it, over which the experienced gossips +disputed in vain; her own description of the dinner was +carried to the four quarters of the world by Sister Magdalen, +Miss Conyngham, Senator Dillon, and Judy; the +skeptical and envious pretended to doubt even the paragraph +in the journals. At last they were struck dumb<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span> +with the rest when it was announced that on Saturday +last Mrs. Montgomery Dillon, Miss Mona Everard, and +Mr. Louis Everard had sailed on the City of London for +a tour of Europe, the first month of which would be +spent at Castle Moyna, Ireland, as guests of the Dowager +Countess of Skibbereen!</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter"><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV.</h2> + +<h3 class="chapter2">ABOARD THE "ARROW."</h3> + + +<p>One month later sailed another ship. In the depth of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span> +night the <i>Arrow</i> slipped her anchor, and stole away from +the suspicious eyes of harbor officials into the Atlantic; +a stout vessel, sailed with discretion, her trick being to +avoid no encounters on the high seas and to seek none. +Love and hope steered her course. Her bowsprit pointed, +like the lance of a knight, at the power of England. Her +north star was the freedom of a nation. War had nothing +to do with her, however, though her mission was warlike: +to prove that one hundred similar vessels might sail from +various parts to the Irish coast, and land an army and its +supplies without serious interference from the enemy. The +crew was a select body of men, whose souls ever sought +the danger of hopeless missions, as others seek a holiday. +In spite of fine weather and bracing seas, the cloud of a +lonely fate hung over the ship. Arthur alone was enthusiastic. +Ledwith, feverish over slight success, because it +roused the dormant appetite for complete success, and +Honora, fed upon disappointment, feared that this expedition +would prove ashen bread as usual; but the improvement +in her father's health kept her cheerful. Doyle +Grahame, always in high spirits, devoted his leisure to +writing the book which was to bring him fame and much +money. He described its motive and aim to his companions.</p> + +<p>"It calls a halt," he said "on the senseless haste of +Christians to take up such pagans as Matthew Arnold, and +raises a warning cry against surrender to the pagan spirit +which is abroad."</p> + +<p>"And do you think that the critics will read it and be +overcome?" asked Arthur.</p> + +<p>"It will convince the critics, not that they are pagans,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span> +but that I am. They will review it, therefore, just to +annoy me."</p> + +<p>"You reason just like a critic, from anywhere to nowhere."</p> + +<p>"The book will make a stir, nevertheless," and Doyle +showed his confidence.</p> + +<p>"It's to be a loud protest, and will tangle the supple +legs of Henry Ward Beecher and other semi-pagans like +a lasso."</p> + +<p>"How about the legs of the publishers?"</p> + +<p>"That's their lookout. I have nothing against them, +and I hope at the close of the sale they will have nothing +against me."</p> + +<p>"When, where, with what title, binding and so +forth?"</p> + +<p>"Speak not overmuch to thy dentist," said Grahame +slyly. "Already he knoweth too many of thy mouth's +secrets."</p> + +<p>The young men kept the little company alive with their +pranks and their badinage. Grahame discovered in the +Captain a rare personality, who had seen the globe in its +entirety, particularly the underside, as a detective and +secret service agent for various governments. He was a +tall, slender man, rather like a New England deacon than a +daring adventurer, with a refined face, a handsome beard, +and a speaking, languid gray eye. He spent the first +week in strict devotion to his duties, and in close observation +of his passengers. In the second week Grahame had +him telling stories after dinner for the sole purpose of +diverting the sad and anxious thoughts of Honora, although +Arthur hardly gave her time to think by the +multiplied services which he rendered her. There came +an afternoon of storm, followed by a nasty night, which +kept all the passengers in the cabin; and after tea there, +a demand was made upon Captain Richard Curran for the +best and longest story in his repertory. The men lit pipes +and cigars, and Honora brought her crotcheting. The +rolling and tossing of the ship, the beating of the rain, +and the roar of the wind, gave them a sense of comfort. +The ship, in her element, proudly and smoothly rode the +rough waves, showing her strength like a racer.</p> + +<p>"Let us have a choice, Captain," said Grahame, as +the officer settled himself in his chair. "You detectives<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span> +always set forth your successes. Give us now a story of +complete failure, something that remains a mystery till +now."</p> + +<p>"Mystery is the word," said Honora. "This is a night +of mystery. But a story without an end to it——"</p> + +<p>"Like the history of Ireland," said Ledwith dryly.</p> + +<p>"Is the very one to keep us thinking and talking for a +month," said Grahame. "Captain, if you will oblige us, +a story of failure and of mystery."</p> + +<p>"Such a one is fresh in my mind, for I fled from my +ill-success to take charge of this expedition," said the +Captain, whose voice was singularly pleasant. "The detective +grows stale sometimes, as singers and musicians +do, makes a failure of his simplest work, and has to go +off and sharpen his wits at another trade. I am in that +condition. For twenty months I sought the track of +a man, who disappeared as if the air absorbed him where +he last breathed. I did not find him. The search gave +me a touch of monomania. For two months I have not +been able to rest upon meeting a new face until satisfied +its owner was not—let us say, Tom Jones."</p> + +<p>"Are you satisfied, then," said Arthur, "that we are +all right?"</p> + +<p>"He was not an Irishman, but a Puritan," replied the +Captain, "and would not be found in a place like this. I +admit I studied your faces an hour or so, and asked about +you among the men, but under protest. I have given up +the pursuit of Tom Jones, and I wish he would give up +the pursuit of me. I had to quiet my mind with some +inquiries."</p> + +<p>"Was there any money awaiting Tom? If so, I might +be induced to be discovered," Grahame said anxiously.</p> + +<p>"You are all hopeless, Mr. Grahame. I have known +you and Mr. Ledwith long enough, and Mr. Dillon has +his place secure in New York——"</p> + +<p>"With a weak spot in my history," said Arthur. "I +was off in California, playing bad boy for ten years."</p> + +<p>The Captain waved his hand as admitting Dillon's right +to his personality.</p> + +<p>"In October nearly two years ago the case of Tom +Jones was placed in my care with orders to report at once +to Mrs. Tom. The problem of finding a lost man is in +itself very simple, if he is simply lost or in hiding. You<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span> +follow his track from the place where he was last seen to +his new abode. But around this simple fact of disappearance +are often grouped the interests of many persons, +which make a tangle worse than a poor fisherman's line. +A proper detective will make no start in his search until +the line is as straight and taut as if a black bass were +sporting at the other end of it."</p> + +<p>All the men exchanged delighted glances at this simile.</p> + +<p>"I could spin this story for three hours straight talking +of the characters who tangled me at the start. But I did +not budge until I had unraveled them every one. Mrs. +Jones declared there was no reason for the disappearance +of Tom; his aunt Quincy said her flightiness had driven +him to it; and Cousin Jack, Mrs. Tom's adviser, thought +it just a freak after much dissipation, for Tom had been +acting queerly for months before he did the vanishing act. +The three were talking either from spleen or the wish to +hide the truth. When there was no trace of Tom after a +month of ordinary searching much of the truth came out, +and I discovered the rest. Plain speech with Mrs. Tom +brought her to the half-truth. She was told that her +husband would never be found if the detective had to work +in the dark. She was a clever woman, and very much +worried, for reasons, over her husband's disappearance. +It was something to have her declare that he had suspected +her fidelity, but chiefly out of spleen, because she had +discovered his infidelity. A little sifting of many statements, +which took a long time, for I was on the case +nearly two years, as I said, revealed Mrs. Tom as a remarkable +woman. In viciousness she must have been something +of a monster, though she was beautiful enough to +have posed for an angel. Her corruption was of the +marrow. She breathed crime and bred it. But her blade +was too keen. She wounded herself too often. Grit and +ferocity were her strong points. We meet such women +occasionally. When she learned that I knew as much +about her as need be, she threw off hypocrisy, and made +me an offer of ten thousand dollars to find her husband."</p> + +<p>"I felt sure then of the money. Disappearance, for a +living man, if clever people are looking for him, is impossible +nowadays. I can admit the case of a man being +secretly killed or self-buried, say, for instance, his wandering +into a swamp and there perishing: these cases of dis<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span>appearance +are common. But if he is alive he can be +found."</p> + +<p>"Why are you so sure of that?" said Arthur.</p> + +<p>"Because no man can escape from his past, which is +more a part of him than his heart or his liver," said +Curran. "That past is the pathway which leads to him. +If you have it, it's only a matter of time when you will +have him."</p> + +<p>"Yet you failed to find Tom Jones."</p> + +<p>"For the time, yes," said the Captain with an eloquent +smile. "Then, I had an antagonist of the noblest quality. +Tom Jones was a bud of the Mayflower stock. All his +set agreed that he was an exceptional man: a clean, honest, +upright chap, the son of a soldier and a peerless mother, +apparently an every-day lad, but really as fine a piece of +manhood as the world turns out. Anyhow, I came to that +conclusion about him when I had studied him through +the documents. What luck threw him between the foul +jaws of his wife I can't say. She was a——"</p> + +<p>The detective coughed before uttering the word, +and looked at the men as he changed the form of his +sentence.</p> + +<p>"She was a cruel creature. He adored her, and she +hated him, and when he was gone slandered him with a +laugh, and defiled his honest name."</p> + +<p>"Oh," cried Honora with a gasp of pain, "can there be +such women now? I have read of them in history, but I +always felt they were far off——"</p> + +<p>"I hope they are not many," said the Captain politely, +"but in my profession I have met them. Here was a case +where the best of men was the victim of an Agrippina."</p> + +<p>"Poor, dear lad," sighed she, "and of course he fled +from her in horror."</p> + +<p>"He was a wonder, Miss Ledwith. Think what he did. +Such a man is more than a match for such a woman. He +discovered her unfaithfulness months before he disappeared. +Then he sold all his property, turning all he +owned into money, and transferred it beyond any reach but +his own, leaving his wife just what she brought him—an +income from her parents of fifteen hundred a year: a mere +drop to a woman whom he had dowered with a share in +one hundred thousand. Though I could not follow the +tracks of his feet, I saw the traces of his thoughts as he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span> +executed his scheme of vengeance. He discovered her +villainy, he would have no scandal, he was disgusted with +life, so he dropped out of it with the prize for which she +had married him, and left her like a famished wolf in the +desert. It would have satisfied him to have seen her rage +and dismay, but he was not one of the kind that enjoys +torture."</p> + +<p>"I watched Mrs. Tom for months, and felt she was the +nearest thing to a demon I had ever met. Well, I worked +hard to find Tom. We tried many tricks to lure him from +his hiding-place, if it were near by, and we followed many +a false trail into foreign lands. The result was dreadful +to me. We found nothing. When a child was born to +him, and the fact advertised, and still he did not appear, +or give the faintest sign, I surrendered. It would be +tedious to describe for you how I followed the sales of his +property, how I examined his last traces, how I pursued +all clues, how I wore myself out with study. At the last +I gave out altogether and cut the whole business. I was +beginning to have Tom on the brain. He came to live on +my nerves, and to haunt my dreams, and to raise ghosts +for me. He is gone two years, and Mrs. Tom is in +Europe with her baby and Tom's aunt Quincy. When I +get over my present trouble, and get back a clear brain, +I shall take up the search. I shall find him yet. I'd like +to show some of the documents, but the matter is still +confidential, and I must keep quiet, though I don't suppose +you know any of the parties. When I find him I shall +finish the story for you."</p> + +<p>"You will never find him," said Honora with emphasis. +"That fearful woman shattered his very soul. I know +the sort of a man he was. He will never go back. If he +can bear to live, it will be because in his obscurity God +gave him new faith and hope in human nature, and in the +woman's part of it."</p> + +<p>"I shall find him," said the detective.</p> + +<p>"You won't," said Grahame. "I'll wager he has been +so close to you all this time, that you cannot recognize +him. That man is living within your horizon, if he's living +at all. Probably he has aided you in your search. You +wouldn't be the first detective fooled in that game."</p> + +<p>The Captain made no reply, but went off to see how his +ship was bearing the storm. The little company fell silent,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span> +perhaps depressed by the sounds of tempest without and +the thought of the poor soul whose departure from life had +been so strange. Arthur sat thinking of many things. +He remembered the teaching that to God the past, present, +and future are as one living present. Here was an illustration: +the old past and the new present side by side to-night +in the person of this detective. What a giant hand +was that which could touch him, and fail to seize only +because the fingers did not know their natural prey. No +doubt that the past is more a part of a man than his heart, +for here was every nerve of his body tingling to turn +traitor to his will. Horace Endicott, so long stilled that +he thought him dead, rose from his sleep at the bidding of +the detective, and fought to betray Arthur Dillon. The +blush, the trembling of the hands, the tension of the +muscles, the misty eye, the pallor of the cheek, the tremulous +lip, the writhing tongue, seemed to put themselves +at the service of Endicott, and to fight for the chance to +betray the secret to Curran. He sat motionless, fighting, +fighting; until after a little he felt a delightful consciousness +of the strength of Dillon, as of a rampart which the +Endicott could not overclimb. Then his spirits rose, and he +listened without dread to the story. How pitiful! What a +fate for that splendid boy, the son of a brave soldier and a +peerless mother! A human being allied with a beast! +Oh, tender heart of Honora that sighed for him so pitifully! +Oh, true spirit that recognized how impossible for +Horace Endicott ever to return! Down, out of sight forever, +husband of Agrippina! The furies lie in wait for +thee, wretched husband of their daughter! Have shame +enough to keep in thy grave until thou goest to meet +Sonia at the judgment seat!</p> + +<p>Captain Curran was not at all flattered by the deep interest +which Arthur took for the next two days in the case +of Tom Jones; but the young man nettled him by his +emphatic assertions that the detective had adopted a wrong +theory as to the mysterious disappearance. They went +over the question of motives and of methods. The shrewd +objections of Dillon gave him favor in Curran's eyes. +Before long the secret documents in the Captain's possession +were laid before him under obligations of secrecy. +He saw various photographs of Endicott, and wondered at +the blindness of man; for here side by side were the man<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span> +sought and his portrait, yet the detective could not see the +truth. Was it possible that the exterior man had changed +so thoroughly to match the inner personality which had +grown up in him? He was conscious of such a change. +The mirror which reflected Arthur Dillon displayed a +figure in no way related to the portrait.</p> + +<p>"It seems to me," said Arthur, after a study of the +photograph, "that I would be able to reach that man, no +matter what his disguise."</p> + +<p>"Disguises are mere veils," said Curran, "which the +trained eye of the detective can pierce easily. But the +great difficulty lies in a natural disguise, in the case where +the man's appearance changes without artificial aids. Here +are two photographs which will illustrate my meaning. +Look at this."</p> + +<p>Arthur saw a young and well-dressed fellow who might +have been a student of good birth and training.</p> + +<p>"Now look at this," said the Captain, "and discover +that they picture one and the same individual, with a +difference in age of two years."</p> + +<p>The second portrait was a vigorous, rudely-dressed, +bearded adventurer, as much like the first as Dillon was +like Grahame. Knowing that the portraits stood for the +same youth, Arthur could trace a resemblance in the +separate features, but in the ensemble there was no likeness.</p> + +<p>"The young fellow went from college to Africa," said +Curran, "where he explored the wilderness for two years. +This photograph was taken on his return from an expedition. +His father and mother, his relatives and friends, +saw that picture without recognizing him. When told +who it was, they were wholly astonished, and after a second +study still failed to recognize their friend. What are you +going to do in a case of that kind? You or Grahame or Ledwith +might be Tom Jones, and how could I pierce such +perfect and natural disguises."</p> + +<p>"Let me see," said Arthur, as he stood with Endicott's +photograph in his hand and studied the detective, "if I +can see this young man in you."</p> + +<p>Having compared the features of the portrait and of the +detective, he had to admit the absence of a likeness. +Handing the photograph to the Captain he said,</p> + +<p>"You do the same for me."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span></p> + +<p>"There is more likelihood in your case," said Curran, +"for your age is nearer that of Tom Jones, and youth has +resemblances of color and feature."</p> + +<p>He studied the photograph and compared it with the +grave face before him.</p> + +<p>"I have done this before," said Curran, "with the same +result. You are ten years older than Tom Jones, and you +are as clearly Arthur Dillon as he was Tom Jones."</p> + +<p>The young man and the Captain sighed together.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I brought in others, clever and experienced," +said Curran, "to try what a fresh mind could do to help +me, but in vain."</p> + +<p>"There must have been something hard about Tom +Jones," said Arthur, "when he was able to stay away and +make no sign after his child was born."</p> + +<p>The Captain burst into a mocking laugh, which escaped +him before he could repress the inclination.</p> + +<p>"He may never have heard of it, and if he did his wife's +reputation——"</p> + +<p>"I see," said Arthur Dillon smiling, convinced that +Captain Curran knew more of Sonia Westfield than he +cared to tell. At the detective's request the matter was +dropped as one that did him harm; but he complimented +Arthur on the shrewdness of his suggestions, which indeed +had given him new views without changing his former +opinions.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter"><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV.</h2> + +<h3 class="chapter2">THE INVASION OF IRELAND.</h3> + + +<p>One lovely morning the good ship sailed into the harbor<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span> +of Foreskillen, an obscure fishing port on the lonely coast +of Donegal. The <i>Arrow</i> had been in sight of land all the +day before. A hush had fallen on the spirits of the adventurers. +The two innocents, Honora and her father, +had sat on deck with eyes fixed on the land of their love, +scarcely able to speak, and unwilling to eat, in spite of +Arthur's coaxing. Half the night they sat there, mostly +silent, talking reverently, every one touched and afraid +to disturb them; after a short sleep they were on deck +again to see the ship enter the harbor in the gray dawn. +The sun was still behind the brown hills. Arthur saw a +silver bay, a mournful shore with a few houses huddled +miserably in the distance, and bare hills without verdure +or life. It was an indifferent part of the earth to him; +but revealed in the hearts of Owen Ledwith and his +daughter, no jewel of the mines could have shone more +resplendent. He did not understand the love called patriotism, +any more than the love of a parent for his child. +These affections have to be experienced to be known. He +loved his country and was ready to die for it; but to have +bled for it, to have writhed under tortures for it, to have +groaned in unison with its mortal anguish, to have passed +through the fire of death and yet lived for it, these were not +his glories.</p> + +<p>In the cool, sad morning the father and daughter stood +glorified in his eyes, for if they loved each other much, +they loved this strange land more. The white lady, whiter +now than lilies, stood with her arm about her father, her +eyes shining; and he, poor man, trembled in an ague of +love and pity and despair and triumph, with a rapt, grief-stricken +face, his shoulders heaving to the repressed sob, +as if nature would there make an end of him under this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span> +torrent of delight and pain. Arthur writhed in secret +humiliation. To love like this was of the gods, and he +had never loved anything so but Agrippina. As the ship +glided to her anchorage the crew stood about the deck in +absolute silence, every man's heart in his face, the watch +at its post, the others leaning on the bulwarks. Like +statues they gazed on the shore. It seemed a phantom +ship, blown from ghostly shores by the strength of hatred +against the enemy, and love for the land of Eire; for no +hope shone in their eyes, or in the eyes of Ledwith and +his daughter, only triumph at their own light success. +What a pity, thought Dillon, that at this hour of time +men should have reason to look so at the power of England. +He knew there were millions of them scattered over the +earth, studying in just hate to shake the English grip on +stolen lands, to pay back the robberies of years in English +blood.</p> + +<p>The ship came to anchor amid profound silence, save for +the orders of the Captain and the movements of the men. +Ledwith was speaking to himself more than to Honora, +a lament in the Irish fashion over the loved and lost, in a +way to break the heart. The tears rolled down Honora's +cheek, for the agony was beginning.</p> + +<p>"Land of love ... land of despair ... without a friend +except among thy own children ... here am I back again +with just a grain of hope ... I love thee, I love thee, I +love thee! Let them neglect thee ... die every moment +under the knife ... live in rags ... in scorn ... and +hatred too ... they have spared thee nothing ... I love +thee ... I am faithful ... God strike me that day when +I forget thee! Here is the first gift I have ever given thee +besides my heart and my daughter ... a ship ... no +freight but hope ... no guns alas! for thy torturers ... +they are still free to tear thee, these wolves, and to lie about +thee to the whole world ... blood and lies are their feast +... and how sweet are thy shores ... after all ... because +thou art everlasting! Thy children are gone, but they +shall come back ... the dead are dead, but the living +are in many lands, and they will return ... perhaps soon +... I am the messenger ... helpless as ever, but I bring +thee news ... good news ... my beautiful Ireland! +Poorer than ever I return ... I shall never see thee +free——"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span></p> + +<p>He was working himself into a fever of grief when +Honora spoke to him.</p> + +<p>"You are forgetting, father, that this is the moment to +thank Mr. Dillon in the name of our country——"</p> + +<p>"I forget everything when I am here," said Ledwith, +breaking into cheerful smiles, and seizing Arthur's hand. +"I would be ashamed to say 'thank you,' Arthur, for +what you have done. Let this dear land herself welcome +you to her shores. Never a foot stepped on them worthier +of respect and love than you."</p> + +<p>They went ashore in silence, having determined on +their course the night previous. They must learn first what +had happened since their departure from New York, where +there had been rumors of a rising, which Ledwith distrusted. +It was too soon for the Fenians to rise; but as +the movement had gotten partly beyond the control of the +leaders, anything might have happened. If the country was +still undisturbed, they might enjoy a ride through wild +Donegal; if otherwise, it was safer, having accomplished the +purpose of the trip, to sail back to the West. The miserable +village at the head of the bay showed a few dwellers +when they landed on the beach, but little could be learned +from them, save directions to a distant cotter who owned +an ass and a cart, and always kept information and mountain +dew for travelers and the gentry. The young men +visited the cotter, and returned with the cart and the news. +The rising was said to have begun, but farther east and +south, and the cotter had seen soldiers and police and squads +of men hurrying over the country; but so remote was the +storm that the whole party agreed a ride over the bare +hills threatened no danger.</p> + +<p>They mounted the cart in high spirits, now that emotion +had subsided. All matters had been arranged with Captain +Curran, who was not to expect them earlier than the +next day at evening, and had his instructions for all contingencies. +They set out for a village to the north, +expressly to avoid encounters possible southward. The +morning was glorious. Arthur wondered at the miles of +uninhabited land stretching away on either side of the road, +at the lack of population in a territory so small. He had +heard of these things before, but the sight of them +proved stranger than the hearing. Perhaps they had gone +five miles on the road to Cruarig, when Grahame, driv<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span>ing, +pulled up the donkey with suddenness, and cried out +in horror. Eight men had suddenly come in sight on +the road, armed with muskets, and as suddenly fled up the +nearest timbered hill and disappeared.</p> + +<p>"I'll wager something," said Grahame, "that these men +are being pursued by the police, or—which would be worse +for us—by soldiers. There is nothing to do but retreat +in good order, and send out a scout to make sure of the +ground. We ought to have done that the very first thing."</p> + +<p>No one gainsaid him, but Arthur thought that they +might go on a bit further cautiously, and if nothing +suspicious occurred reach the town. Dubiously Grahame +whipped up the donkey, and drove with eyes alert past the +wooded hill, which on its north side dropped into a little +glen watered by the sweetest singing brook. They paused +to look at the brook and the glen. The road stretched +away above and below like a ribbon. A body of soldiers +suddenly brightened the north end of the ribbon two +miles off.</p> + +<p>"Now by all the evil gods," said Grahame, "but we +have dropped into the very midst of the insurrection."</p> + +<p>He was about to turn the donkey, when Honora cried +out in alarm and pointed back over the road which they +had just traveled. Another scarlet troop was moving +upon them from that direction. Without a word Grahame +turned the cart into the glen, and drove as far as the limits +would permit within the shade. They alighted.</p> + +<p>"This is our only chance," he said. "The eight men +with muskets are rebels whom the troops have cornered. +There may be a large force in the vicinity, ready to give the +soldiers of Her Majesty a stiff battle. The soldiers will be +looking for rebels and not for harmless tourists, and we may +escape comfortably by keeping quiet until the two divisions +marching towards each other have met and had an +explanation. If we are discovered, I shall do the talking, +and explain our embarrassment at meeting so many armed +men first, and then so many soldiers. We are in for it, I +know."</p> + +<p>No one seemed to mind particularly. Honora stole an +anxious glance at her father, while she pulled a little +bunch of shamrock and handed it to Arthur. He felt +like saying it would yet be stained by his blood in defense +of her country, but knew at the same moment how foolish<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span> +and weak the words would sound in her ears. He offered +himself as a scout to examine the top of the hill, and discover +if the rebels were there, and was permitted to go +under cautions from Grahame, to return within fifteen minutes. +He returned promptly full of enthusiasm. The eight +men were holding the top of the hill, almost over their heads, +and would have it out with the two hundred soldiers from +the town. They had expected a body of one hundred insurgents +at this point, but the party had not turned up. Eager +to have a brush with the enemy, they intended to hold +the hill as long as possible, and then scatter in different +directions, sure that pursuit could not catch them.</p> + +<p>"The thing for them to do is to save us," said Grahame. +"Let them move on to another hill northward, and while +they fight the soldiers we may be able to slip back to the +ship."</p> + +<p>The suggestion came too late. The troops were in +full sight. Their scouts had met in front of the glen, +evidently acting upon information received earlier, and +seemed disappointed at finding no trace of a body of +insurgents large enough to match their own battalion. The +boys on the top of the hill put an end to speculations as +to the next move by firing a volley into them. A great +scattering followed, and the bid for a fight was cheerfully +answered by the officer in command of the troops. Having +joined his companies, examined the position and made +sure that its defenders were few and badly armed, he +ordered a charge. In five minutes the troops were in +possession of the hilltop, and the insurgents had fled; but +on the hillside lay a score of men wounded and dead. +The rebels were good marksmen, and fleet-footed. The +scouts beat the bushes and scoured the wood in vain. +The report to the commanding officer was the wounding of +two men, who were just then dying in a little glen close by, +and the discovery of a party of tourists in the glen, who had +evidently turned aside to escape the trouble, and were now +ministering to the dying rebels.</p> + +<p>Captain Sydenham went up to investigate. Before he +arrived the little drama of death had passed, and the two +insurgents lay side by side at the margin of the brook +like brothers asleep. When the insurgents fled from +their position, the two wounded ones dropped into the +glen in the hope of escaping notice for the time; but they<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span> +were far spent when they fell headlong among the party in +hiding below. Grahame and Ledwith picked them up +and laid them near the brook, Honora pillowed their +heads with coats, Arthur brought water to bathe their +hands and faces, grimy with dust of travel and sweat of +death; for an examination of the wounds showed Ledwith +that they were speedily mortal. He dipped his handkerchief +in the flowing blood of each, and placed it reverently +in his breast. There was nothing to do but bathe the +faces and moisten the lips of the dying and unconscious +men. They were young, one rugged and hard, the other +delicate in shape and color; the same grace of youth belonged +to both, and showed all the more beautifully at +this moment through the heavy veil of death.</p> + +<p>Arthur gazed at them with eager curiosity, and at the +red blood bubbling from their wounds. For their country +they were dying, as his father had died, on the field of +battle. This blood, of which he had so often read, was the +price which man pays for liberty, which redeems the +slave; richer than molten gold, than sun and stars, priceless. +Oh, sweet and glorious, unutterably sweet to die like +this for men!</p> + +<p>"Do you recognize him?" said Ledwith to Grahame, +pointing to the elder of the two. Grahame bent forward, +startled that he should know either unfortunate.</p> + +<p>"It is young Devin, the poet," cried Ledwith with a +burst of tears. Honora moaned, and Grahame threw up +his hands in despair.</p> + +<p>"We must give the best to our mother," said Ledwith, +"but I would prefer blood so rich to be scattered over a +larger soil."</p> + +<p>He took the poet's hand in his own, and stroked it +gently; Honora wiped the face of the other; Grahame on +his knees said the prayers he remembered for sinners and +passing souls; secretly Arthur put in his pocket a +rag stained with death-sweat and life-blood. Almost in +silence, without painful struggle, the boys died. Devin +opened his eyes one moment on the clear blue sky and +made an effort to sing. He chanted a single phrase, which +summed up his life and its ideals: "Mother, always the +best for Ireland." Then his eyes closed and his heart +stopped. The little party remained silent, until Honora, +looking at the still faces, so young and tender, thought of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span> +the mothers sitting in her place, and began to weep aloud. +At this moment Captain Sydenham marched up the +glen with clinking spur. He stopped at a distance and +took off his hat with the courtesy of a gentleman and the +sympathy of a soldier. Grahame went forward to meet +him, and made his explanations.</p> + +<p>"It is perfectly clear," said the Captain, "that you are +tourists and free from all suspicion. However, it will be +necessary for you to accompany me to the town and make +your declarations to the magistrate as well. As you were +going there anyhow it will be no hardship, and I shall be +glad to make matters as pleasant as possible for the young +lady."</p> + +<p>Grahame thanked him, and introduced him to the party. +He bowed very low over the hand which Honora gave him.</p> + +<p>"A rather unfortunate scene for you to witness," he said.</p> + +<p>Yet she had borne it like one accustomed to scenes of +horror. Her training in Ledwith's school bred calmness, +and above all silence, amid anxiety, disappointment and +calamity.</p> + +<p>"I was glad to be here," she replied, the tears still +coursing down her face, "to take their mother's place."</p> + +<p>"Two beautiful boys," said the Captain, looking into +the dead faces. "Killing men is a bad business anywhere, +but when we have to kill our own, and such as +these, it is so much worse."</p> + +<p>Ledwith flashed the officer a look of gratitude.</p> + +<p>"I shall have the bodies carried to the town along with +our own dead, and let the authorities take care of them. +And now if you will have the goodness to take your places, +I shall do myself the pleasure of riding with you as far as +the magistrate's."</p> + +<p>Honora knelt and kissed the pale cheeks of the dead +boys, and then accepted Captain Sydenham's arm in the +march out of the glen. The men followed sadly. Ledwith +looked wild for a while. The tears pressed against +Arthur's eyes. What honor gilded these dead heroes!</p> + +<p>The procession moved along the road splendidly, the +soldiers in front and the cart in the rear, while a detail +still farther off carried the wounded and dead. Captain +Sydenham devoted himself to Honora, which gave Grahame +the chance to talk matters over with Ledwith on the other +side of the car.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Did you ever dream in all your rainbow dreams," said +Grahame, "of marching thus into Cruarig with escort of +Her Majesty? It's damfunny. But the question now is, +what are we to do with the magistrate? Any sort of an +inquiry will prove that we are more than suspicious characters. +If they run across the ship we shall go to jail. If +they discover you and me, death or Botany Bay will be +our destination."</p> + +<p>"It is simply a case of luck," Ledwith replied. +"Scheming won't save us. If Lord Constantine were in +London now——"</p> + +<p>"Great God!" cried Grahame in a whisper, "there's +the luck. Say no more. I'll work that fine name as it +was never worked before."</p> + +<p>He called out to Captain Sydenham to come around to +his side of the car for a moment.</p> + +<p>"I am afraid," he said, "that we have fallen upon evil +conditions, and that, before we get through with the +magistrates, delays will be many and vexatious. I feel +that we shall need some of our English friends of last +winter in New York. Do you know Lord Constantine?"</p> + +<p>"Are you friends of Lord Leverett?" cried the Captain. +"Well, then, that settles it. A telegram from him will +smooth the magistrate to the silkiness of oil. But I do +not apprehend any annoyance. I shall be happy to explain +the circumstances, and you can get away to Dublin, +or any port where you hope to meet your ship."</p> + +<p>The Captain went back to Honora, and talked Lord +Constantine until they arrived in the town and proceeded +to the home of the magistrate. Unfortunately there was +little cordiality between Captain Sydenham and Folsom, +the civil ruler of the district; and because the gallant +Captain made little of the episode therefore Folsom must +make much of it.</p> + +<p>"I can easily believe in the circumstances which threw +tourists into so unpleasant a situation," said Folsom, "but +at the same time I am compelled to observe all the formalities. +Of course the young lady is free. Messrs. Dillon +and Grahame may settle themselves comfortably in the +town, on their word not to depart without permission. +Mr. Ledwith has a name which my memory connects with +treasonable doings and sayings. He must remain for a +few hours at least in the jail."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span></p> + +<p>"This is not at all pleasant," said Captain Sydenham +pugnaciously. "I could have let these friends of my +friends go without troubling you about them. I wished +to make it easier for them to travel to Dublin by bringing +them before you, and here is my reward."</p> + +<p>"I wish you had, Captain," said the magistrate. "But +now you've done it, neither is free to do more than follow +the routine. We have enough real work without annoying +honest travelers. However, it's only a matter of a +few hours."</p> + +<p>"Then you had better telegraph to Lord Constantine," +said Sydenham to Grahame.</p> + +<p>Folsom started at the name and looked at the party with +a puzzled frown. Grahame wrote on a sheet of paper the +legend: "A telegram from you to the authorities here +will get Honora and her party out of much trouble."</p> + +<p>"Is it as warm as that?" said the Captain with a smile, +as he read the lines and handed the paper to Folsom with +a broad grin.</p> + +<p>"I'm in for it now," groaned Folsom to himself as he +read. "Wish I'd let the Captain alone and tended to +strict business."</p> + +<p>While the wires were humming between Dublin and +Cruarig, Captain Sydenham spent his spare time in atoning +for his blunders against the comfort of the party. Ledwith +having been put in jail most honorably, the Captain +led the others to the inn and located them sumptuously. +He arranged for lunch, at which he was to join them, and +then left them to their ease while he transacted his own +affairs.</p> + +<p>"One of the men you read about," said Grahame, as +the three looked at one another dolorously. "Sorry I +didn't confide in him from the start. Now it's a dead +certainty that your father stays in jail, Honora, and I may +be with him."</p> + +<p>"I really can't see any reason for such despair," said +Arthur.</p> + +<p>"Of course not," replied Grahame. "But even Lord +Constantine could not save Owen Ledwith from prison in +times like these, if the authorities learn his identity."</p> + +<p>"What is to be done?" inquired Honora.</p> + +<p>"You will stay with your father of course?" Honora +nodded.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I'm going to make a run for it at the first opportunity," +said Grahame. "I can be of no use here, and +we must get back the ship safe and sound. Arthur, if +they hold Ledwith you will have the honor of working for +his freedom. Owen is an American citizen. He ought +to have all the rights and privileges of a British subject +in his trial, if it comes to that. He won't get them unless +the American minister to the court of St. James insists +upon it. Said minister, being a doughhead, will not insist. +He will even help to punish him. It will be your +business to go up to London and make Livingstone do his +duty if you have to choke him black in the face. If the +American minister interferes in this case Lord Constantine +will be a power. If the said minister hangs back, or +says, hang the idiot, my Lord will not amount to a hill of +beans."</p> + +<p>"If it comes to a trial," said Arthur, "won't Ledwith +get the same chance as any other lawbreaker?"</p> + +<p>Honora and Grahame looked at each other as much as +to say: "Poor innocent!"</p> + +<p>"When there's a rising on, my dear boy, there is no +trial for Irishmen. Arrest means condemnation, and all +that follows is only form. Go ahead now and do your +best."</p> + +<p>Before lunch the telegrams had done their best and +worst. The party was free to go as they came with the +exception of Ledwith. They had a merry lunch, enlivened +by a telegram from Lord Constantine, and by +Folsom's discomfiture. Then Grahame drove away to the +ship, Arthur set out for Dublin, and Honora was left +alone with her dread and her sorrows, which Captain +Sydenham swore would be the shortest of her life.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter"><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI.</h2> + +<h3 class="chapter2">CASTLE MOYNA.</h3> + + +<p>The Dillon party took possession of Castle Moyna, its<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span> +mistress, and Captain Sydenham, who had a fondness for +Americans. Mona Everard owned any human being who +looked at her the second time, as the oriole catches the +eye with its color and then the heart with its song; and +Louis had the same magnetism in a lesser degree. Life +at the castle was not of the liveliest, but with the Captain's +aid it became as rapid as the neighboring gentry could +have desired. Anne cared little, so that her children had +their triumph. Wrapped in her dreams of amethyst, the +exquisiteness of this new world kept her in ecstasy. Its +smallest details seemed priceless. She performed each +function as if it were the last of her life. While rebuffs +were not lacking, she parried them easily, and even the +refusal of the parish priest to accept her aid in his bazaar +did not diminish the delight of her happy situation. She +knew the meaning of his refusal: she, an upstart, having +got within the gates of Castle Moyna by some servility, +when her proper place was a <i>shebeen</i> in Cruarig, offered +him charity from a low motive. She felt a rebuke from a +priest as a courtier a blow from his king; but keeping her +temper, she made many excuses for him in her own mind, +without losing the firm will to teach him better manners +in her own reverent way. The Countess heard of it, and +made a sharp complaint to Captain Sydenham. The old +dowager had a short temper, and a deep gratitude for +Anne's remarkable services in New York. Nor did she care +to see her guests slighted.</p> + +<p>"Father Roslyn has treated her shabbily. She suggested +a booth at his bazaar, offered to fit it up herself and to +bring the gentry to buy. She was snubbed: 'neither your +money nor your company.' You must set that right, +Sydenham," said she.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span></p> + +<p>"He shall weep tears of brine for it," answered the +Captain cheerfully.</p> + +<p>"Tell him," said the Dowager, "the whole story, if your +priest can appreciate it, which I doubt. A Cavan peasant, +who can teach the fine ladies of Dublin how to dress and +how to behave; whose people are half the brains of New +York; the prize-fighter turned senator, the Boss of Tammany, +the son with a gold mine. Above all, don't forget +to tell how she may name the next ambassador to England."</p> + +<p>They laughed in sheer delight at her accomplishments +and her triumphs.</p> + +<p>"Gad, but she's the finest woman," the Captain declared. +"At first I thought it was acting, deuced fine +acting. But it's only her nature finding expression. +What d'ye think she's planning now? An audience with +the Pope, begad, special, to present an American flag and +a thousand pounds. And she laid out Lady Cruikshank +yesterday, stone cold. Said her ladyship: 'Quite a compliment +to Ireland, Mrs. Dillon, that you kept the Cavan +brogue so well.' Said Mrs. Dillon: 'It was all I ever got +from Ireland, and a brogue in New York is always a recommendation +to mercy from the court; then abroad it +marks one off from the common English and their common +Irish imitators.' Did she know of Lady Cruikshank's +effort to file off the Dublin brogue?"</p> + +<p>"Likely. She seems to know the right thing at the +right minute."</p> + +<p>Evidently Anne's footing among the nobility was fairly +secure in spite of difficulties. There were difficulties below +stairs also, and Judy Haskell had the task of solving them, +which she did with a success quite equal to Anne's. She +made no delay in seizing the position of arbiter in the +servants' hall, not only of questions touching the Dillons, +and their present relations with the Irish nobility, but +also on such vital topics as the rising, the Fenians, the +comparative rank of the Irish at home and those in +America, and the standing of the domestics in Castle +Moyna from the point of experience and travel. Inwardly +Judy had a profound respect for domestics in the service +of a countess, and looked to find them as far above herself +as a countess is above the rest of the world. She would +have behaved humbly among the servants of Castle Moyna, +had not their airs betrayed them for an inferior grade.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span></p> + +<p>"These Americans," said the butler with his nose in the +air.</p> + +<p>"As if ye knew anythin' about Americans," said Judy +promptly. "Have ye ever thraveled beyant Donegal, me +good little man?"</p> + +<p>"It wasn't necessary, me good woman."</p> + +<p>"Faith, it's yerself 'ud be blowin' about it if ye had. +An' d'ye think people that thraveled five thousan' miles +to spind a few dollars on yer miserable country wud luk at +the likes o' ye? Keep yer criticisms on these Americans in +yer own buzzum. It's not becomin' that an ould gossoon +shud make remarks on Mrs. Dillon, the finest lady in New +York, an' the best dhressed at this minnit in all Ireland. +Whin ye've thraveled as much as I have ye can have me +permission to talk on what ye have seen."</p> + +<p>"The impidence o' some people," said the cook with a +loud and scornful laugh.</p> + +<p>"If ye laughed that way in New York," said Judy, +"ye'd be sint to the Island for breaking the public peace. +A laugh like that manes no increase o' wages."</p> + +<p>"The Irish in New York are allowed to live there I belave," +said a pert housemaid with a simper.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, ma'am, an' they are also allowed to sind home +the rint o' their houses to kape the poor Irish from starvin', +an' to help the lords an' ladies of yer fine castles to kape +the likes o' yees in a job."</p> + +<p>"'Twas always a wondher to me," said the cook to the +housemaid, as if no other was present, "how these American +bigbugs wid their inilligant ways ever got as far as the +front door o' the Countess."</p> + +<p>"I can tell ye how Mrs. Dillon got in so far that her fut +is on the neck of all o' yez this minnit," said Judy. "If +she crooked her finger at ye this hour, ye'd take yer pack on +yer back an' fut it over to yer father's shanty, wid no more +chance for another place than if ye wor in Timbuctoo. +The Countess o' Skibbereen kem over to New York to +hould a concert, an' to raise money for the cooks an' +housemaids an' butlers that were out of places in Donegal. +Well, she cudn't get a singer, nor she couldn't get a hall, +nor she cudn't sell a ticket, till Mrs. Dillon gathered around +her the Boss of Tammany Hall, an' Senator Dillon, an' +Mayor Birmingham, an' Mayor Livingstone, an' says to +thim, 'let the Countess o' Skibbereen have a concert an' let<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span> +Tammany Hall buy every ticket she has for sale, an' do +yeez turn out the town to make the concert a success.' +An' thin she got the greatest singer in the world, Honora +Ledwith, that ye cudn't buy to sing in Ireland for all the +little money there's in it, to do the singin', an' so the +Countess med enough money to buy shirts for the whole of +Ireland. But not a door wud have opened to her if Mrs. +Dillon hadn't opened them all be wan word. That's why +Castle Moyna is open to her to the back door. For me I +wondher she shtays in the poor little place, whin the +palace o' the American ambassador in London expects her."</p> + +<p>The audience, awed at Judy's assurance, was urged by +pride to laugh haughtily at this last statement.</p> + +<p>"An' why wudn't his palace be open to her," Judy +continued with equal scorn. "He's afraid of her. She +kem widin an ace o' spoilin' his chances o' goin' to London +an' bowin' to the Queen. An, bedad, he's not sure of his +futtin' while she's in it, for she has her mind on the place +for Mr. Vandervelt, the finest man in New York wid a +family that goes back to the first Dutchman that ever +was, a little fellow that sat fishin' in the say the day St. +Pathrick sailed for Ireland. Now Mr. Livingstone sez to +Mrs. Dillon whin he was leavin' for London, 'Come over,' +sez he, 'an' shtay at me palace as long as I'm in it.' She's +goin' there whin she laves here, but I don't see why she +shtays in this miserable place, whin she cud be among her +aquils, runnin' in an out to visit the Queen like wan o' +thimselves."</p> + +<p>By degrees, as Judy's influence invaded the audience, +alarm spread among them for their own interests. They +had not been over polite to the Americans, since it was +not their habit to treat any but the nobility with more +than surface respect. New York most of them hoped to +visit and dwell within some day. What if they had +offended the most influential of the great ladies of the +western city! Judy saw their fear and guessed its +motive.</p> + +<p>"Me last word to the whole o' yez is, get down an yer +knees to Mrs. Dillon afore she l'aves, if she'll let yez. I +hear that some o' ye think of immigratin' to New York. +Are yez fit for that great city? What are yer wages here? +Mebbe a pound a month. In our city the girls get four +pounds for doin' next to nothin'. An' to see the dhress<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span> +an' the shtyle o' thim fine girls! Why, yez cudn't tell +them from their own misthresses. What wud yez be doin' +in New York, wid yer clothes thrun on yez be a pitchfork, +an' lukkin' as if they were made in the ark? But if ye +wor as smart as the lady that waits on the Queen, not wan +fut will ye set in New York if Mrs. Dillon says no. Yez +may go to Hartford or Newark, or some other little place, +an' yez'll be mighty lucky if ye're not sint sthraight on to +quarantine wid the smallpox patients an' the Turks."</p> + +<p>The cook gave a gasp, and Judy saw that she had won +the day. One more struggle, however, remained before her +triumph was complete. The housekeeper and the butler +formed an alliance against her, and refused to be awed by +the stories of Mrs. Dillon's power and greatness; but as +became their station their opposition was not expressed in +mere language. They did not condescend to bandy words +with inferiors. The butler fought his battle with Judy +by simply tilting his nose toward the sky on meeting her. +Judy thereupon tilted her nose in the same fashion, so +that the servants' hall was convulsed at the sight, and the +butler had to surrender or lose his dignity. The housekeeper +carried on the battle by an attempt to stare Judy +out of countenance with a formidable eye; and the greatest +staring-match on the part of rival servants in Castle +Moyna took place between the representative of the Skibbereens +and the maid of New York. The former may +have thought her eye as good as that of the basilisk, but +found the eye of Miss Haskell much harder.</p> + +<p>The housekeeper one day met Judy descending the back +stairs. She fixed her eyes upon her with the clear design of +transfixing and paralyzing this brazen American. Judy +folded her arms and turned her glance upon her foe. The +nearest onlookers held their breaths. Overcome by the +calm majesty of Judy's iron glance, which pressed against +her face like a spear, the housekeeper smiled scornfully and +began to ascend the stairs with scornful air. Judy stood +on the last step and turned her neck round and her eyes +upward until she resembled the Gorgon. She had the advantage +of the housekeeper, who in mounting the stairs had +to watch her steps; but in any event the latter was foredoomed +to defeat. The eyes that had not blinked before +Anne Dillon, or the Senator, or Mayor Livingstone, or +John Everard, or the Countess of Skibbereen, or the great<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span> +Sullivan, and had modestly held their own under the +charming glance of the Monsignor, were not to be dazzled +by the fiercest glance of a mere Donegal housekeeper. +The contempt in Judy's eyes proved too much for the poor +creature, and at the top of the stairs, with a hysterical +shriek, she burst into tears and fled humbled.</p> + +<p>"I knew you'd do it," said Jerry the third butler. +"It's not in thim wake craythurs to take the luk from +you, Miss Haskell."</p> + +<p>"Ye're the wan dacint boy in the place," said Judy, +remembering many attentions from the shrewd lad. "An' +as soon as iver ye come to New York, an' shtay long +enough to become an American, I'll get ye a place on the +polls."</p> + +<p>From that day the position of the Dillon party became +something celestial as far as the servants were concerned, +while Judy, as arbiter in the servants' hall, settled all +questions of history, science, politics, dress, and gossip, by +judgments from which there was no present appeal. All +these details floated to the ears of Captain Sydenham, who +was a favorite with Judy and shared her confidence; and +the Captain saw to it that the gossip of Castle Moyna also +floated into the parish residence daily. Some of it was so +alarming that Father Roslyn questioned his friend Captain +Sydenham, who dropped in for a quiet smoke now and +then.</p> + +<p>"Who are these people, these Americans, do you know, +Captain? I mean those just now stopping with the +Countess of Skibbereen?"</p> + +<p>"That reminds me," replied the Captain. "Didn't +you tell me Father William was going to America this +winter on a collecting tour? Well, if you get him the +interest of Mrs. Dillon his tour is assured of success before +he begins it."</p> + +<p>A horrible fear smote the heart of the priest, nor did he +see the peculiar smile on the Captain's face. Had he +made the dreadful mistake of losing a grand opportunity +for his brother, soon to undertake a laborious mission?</p> + +<p>"Why do you think so?" he inquired.</p> + +<p>"You would have to be in New York to understand it," +replied the Captain. "But the Countess of Skibbereen +is not a patch in this county compared to what Mrs. Dillon +is in New York!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh, dear me! Do you tell me!"</p> + +<p>"Her people are all in politics, and in the church, and +in business. Her son is a—well, he owns a gold mine, +I think, and he is in politics, too. In fact, it seems pretty +clear that if you want anything in New York Mrs. +Dillon is the woman to get it, as the Countess found +it. And if you are not wanted in New York by Mrs. +Dillon, then you must go west as far as Chicago."</p> + +<p>"Oh, how unfortunate! I am afraid, Captain, that I +have made a blunder. Mrs. Dillon came to me—most +kindly of course—and made an offer to take care of a booth +at the bazaar, and I refused her. You know my feeling +against giving these Americans any foothold amongst +us——"</p> + +<p>"Don't tell that to Father William, or he will never +forgive you," said the Captain. "But Mrs. Dillon is forgiving +as well as generous. Do the handsome thing by +her. Go up to the castle and explain matters, and she +will forget your——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, call it foolishness at once," said the priest. +"I'm afraid I'm too late, but for the sake of charity I'll +do what you say."</p> + +<p>A velvety welcome Anne gave him. Before all others +she loved the priest, and but that she had to teach Father +Roslyn a lesson he would have seen her falling at his feet +for his blessing. In some fashion he made explanation +and apology.</p> + +<p>"Father dear, don't mention it. Really, it is my place +to make explanations and not yours. I was hurt, of course, +that you refused the little I can give you, but I knew other +places would be the richer by it, and charity is good everywhere."</p> + +<p>"A very just thought, madam. It would give us all +great pleasure if you could renew your suggestion to take +a booth at the bazaar. We are all very fond of Americans +here—that is, when we understand them——"</p> + +<p>"Only that I'm going up to London, father dear, I'd +be only too happy. It was not the booth I was thinking +of, you see, but the bringing of all the nobility to spend a +few pounds with you."</p> + +<p>"Oh, my dear, you could never have done it," cried +he in astonishment; "they are all Protestants, and very +dark."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span></p> + +<p>"We do it in America, and why not here? I used to +get more money from Protestant friends than from me +own. When I told them of my scheme here they all +promised to come for the enjoyment of it. Now, I'm so +sorry I have to go to London. I must present my letters +to the ambassador before he leaves town, and then we are +in a hurry to get to Rome before the end of August. +Cardinal Simeoni has promised us already a private audience +with the Pope. Now, father dear, if there is anything +I can do for you in Rome—of course the booth must +go up at the bazaar just the same, only the nobility will +not be there—but at Rome, now, if you wanted anything."</p> + +<p>"My dear Mrs. Dillon you overwhelm me. There +is nothing I want for myself, but my brother, Father +William——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, to be sure, your brother," cried Anne, when the +priest paused in confusion; "let him call on us in Rome, +and I will take him to the private audience."</p> + +<p>"Oh, thank you, thank you, my dear madam, but my +brother is not going to Rome. It is to America I refer. +His bishop has selected him from among many eminent +priests of the diocese to make a collecting tour in America +this winter. And I feel sure that if a lady of your rank +took an interest in him, it would save him much labor, +and, what I fear is unavoidable, hardship."</p> + +<p>Anne rose up delighted and came toward Father Roslyn +with a smile. She placed her hand lightly on his shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Father dear, whisper."</p> + +<p>He bent forward. There was not a soul within hearing +distance, but Anne loved a dramatic effect.</p> + +<p>"He need never leave New York. I'll see that Father +William has the <i>entrée</i> into the diocese, and I'll take care +of him until he leaves for home."</p> + +<p>She tapped him on the shoulder with her jeweled finger, +and gave him a most expressive look of assurance.</p> + +<p>"Oh, how you overwhelm me," cried Father Roslyn. +"I thank you a hundred times, but I won't accept so kind +an offer unless you promise me that you will preside at a +booth in the bazaar."</p> + +<p>Of course she promised, much as the delay might embarrass +the American minister in London, and the Cardinal +who awaited with impatience her arrival in Rome.</p> + +<p>The bazaar became a splendid legend in the parish of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span> +Cruarig; how its glory was of heaven; how Mrs. Dillon +seemed to hover over it like an angel or a queen; how +Father Roslyn could hardly keep out of her booth long +enough to praise the others; how the nobility flocked +about it every night of three, and ate wonderful dishes at +fancy prices, and were dressed like princes; and how Judy +Haskell ruled the establishment with a rod of iron from +two to ten each day, devoting her leisure to the explanation +and description of the booths once presided over by +her mistress in the great city over seas. All these incidents +and others as great passed out of mind before the +happenings which shadowed the last days at Castle Moyna +with anxiety and dread.</p> + +<p>The Dowager gave a fête in honor of her guests one +afternoon, and all the county came. As a rule the gentry +sneered at the American guests of the Countess, and found +half their enjoyment at a garden fête in making fun of +the hostess and her friends in a harmless way. There +might not have been so much ridicule on this occasion +for two reasons: the children were liked, and their guardian +was dreaded. Anne had met and vanquished her +critics in the lists of wit and polite insolence. Then a few +other Americans, discovered by Captain Sydenham, were +present, and bore half the brunt of public attention. The +Dillons met their countrymen for a moment and forgot +them, even forgot the beautiful woman whose appearance +held the eyes of the guests a long time. Captain Sydenham +was interesting them in a pathetic story of battle +and death which had just happened only a few miles away. +When the two boys were dead beside the stream in the +glen, and the tourists had met their fate before the +magistrate in Cruarig, he closed the story by saying,</p> + +<p>"And now down in the hotel is the loveliest Irish girl +you ever saw, waiting with the most patient grief for the +help which will release her father from jail. Am I not +right, Mrs. Endicott?"</p> + +<p>The beautiful American looked up with a smile.</p> + +<p>"Yes, indeed," she replied in a clear, rich voice. "It +is long since I met a woman that impressed me more than +this lonely creature. The Captain was kind enough to +take me to see her, that I might comfort her a little. But +she seemed to need little comfort. Very self-possessed +you know. Used to that sort of thing."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span></p> + +<p>"The others got scot free, no thanks to old Folsom," +said the Captain, "and one went off to their yacht and +the other intended to start for Dublin to interest the +secretary. The Countess should interest herself in her. +Egad, don't you know, it's worth the trouble to take an +interest in such a girl as Honora Ledwith."</p> + +<p>"Honora Ledwith," said the Dowager at a little distance. +"What do you know of my lovely Honora?"</p> + +<p>Already in the course of the story a suspicion had been +shaping itself in Anne's mind. The ship must have arrived, +it was time to hear from Arthur and his party; the +story warned her that a similar fate might have overtaken +her friends. Then she braced herself for the shock which +came with Honora's name; and at the same moment, as +in a dream, she saw Arthur swinging up the lawn towards +her group; whereupon she gave a faint shriek, and rose +up with a face so pale that all stretched out hands to her +assistance; but Arthur was before them, as she tottered +to him, and caught her in his arms. After a moment of +silence, Mona and Louis ran to his side, Captain Sydenham +said some words, and then the little group marched off the +lawn to the house, leaving the Captain to explain matters, +and to wonder at the stupidity which had made him overlook +the similarity in names.</p> + +<p>"Why, don't you know," said he to Mrs. Endicott, +"her son was one of the party of tourists that Folsom +sent to jail, and I never once connected the names. Absurd +and stupid on my part."</p> + +<p>"Charming young man," said the lady, as she excused +herself and went off. Up in one of the rooms of Castle +Moyna, when the excitement was over and the explanations +briefly made, Mona at the window described to +Arthur the people of distinction, as they made their adieus +to their hostess and expressed sympathy with the sudden +and very proper indisposition of Mrs. Dillon. He could +not help thinking how small the world is, what a puzzle +is the human heart, how weird is the life of man.</p> + +<p>"There she is now," cried Mona, pointing to Mrs. +Endicott and an old lady, who were bidding adieu to the +Countess of Skibbereen. "A perfectly lovely face, a +striking figure—oh, why should Captain Sydenham say +our Honora was the loveliest girl he ever saw?—and he +saw them together you know——"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Saw whom together?" said Arthur.</p> + +<p>"Why, Mrs. Endicott called on Honora at the hotel, +you know."</p> + +<p>"Oh!"</p> + +<p>He leaned out of the window and took a long look at +her with scarcely an extra beat of the heart, except for +the triumph of having met her face to face and remained +unknown. His longest look was for Aunt Lois, who loved +him, and was now helping to avenge him. Strange, +strange, strange!</p> + +<p>"Well?" cried Mona eagerly.</p> + +<p>"The old lady is a very sweet-looking woman," he answered. +"On the whole I think Captain Sydenham was +right."</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter"><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII.</h2> + +<h3 class="chapter2">THE AMBASSADOR.</h3> + + +<p>After the happy reunion at Castle Moyna there followed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span> +a council of war. Captain Sydenham treasonably presided, +and Honora sat enthroned amid the silent homage of her +friends, who had but one thought, to lift the sorrow from +her heart, and banish the pallor of anxiety from her lovely +face. Her violet eyes burned with fever. The Captain +drew his breath when he looked at her.</p> + +<p>"And she sings as she looks," whispered the Countess +noting his gasp.</p> + +<p>"It's a bad time to do anything for Mr. Ledwith," the +Captain said to the little assembly. "The Fenian movement +has turned out a complete failure here in Ireland, +and abroad too. As its stronghold was the United States, +you can see that the power of the American Minister will +be much diminished. It is very important to approach +him in the right way, and count every inch of the road +that leads to him. We must not make any mistakes, ye +know, if only for Miss Ledwith's sake."</p> + +<p>His reward was a melting glance from the wonderful +eyes.</p> + +<p>"I know the Minister well, and I feel sure he will help +for the asking," said Anne.</p> + +<p>"Glad you're so hopeful, mother, but some of us are +not," Arthur interjected.</p> + +<p>"Then if you fail with His Excellency, Artie," she replied +composedly, "I shall go to see him myself."</p> + +<p>Captain and Dowager exchanged glances of admiration.</p> + +<p>"Now, there are peculiarities in our trials here, trials of +rebels I mean ... I haven't time to explain them ..." +Arthur grinned ... "but they make imperative a certain +way of acting, d'ye see? If I were in Mr. Dillon's place I +should try to get one of two things from the American Minister: +either that the Minister notify Her Majesty's govern<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span>ment +that he will have his representative at the trial of Ledwith; +or, if the trial is begun ... they are very summary +at times ... that the same gentleman inform the government +that he will insist on all the forms being observed."</p> + +<p>"What effect would these notifications have?" Arthur +asked.</p> + +<p>"Gad, most wonderful," replied the Captain. "If the +Minister got in his warning before the trial began, there +wouldn't be any trial; and if later, the trial would end +in acquittal."</p> + +<p>Every one looked impressed, so much so that the Captain +had to explain.</p> + +<p>"I don't know how to explain it to strangers—we all +know it here, doncheknow—but in these cases the different +governments always have some kind of an understanding. +Ledwith is an American citizen, for example; +he is arrested as an insurgent, no one is interested in him, +the government is in a hurry, a few witnesses heard him +talk against the government, and off he goes to jail. It's +a troublesome time, d'ye see? But suppose the other +case. A powerful friend interests the American Minister. +That official notifies the proper officials that he is going +to watch the trial. This means that the Minister is satisfied +of the man's innocence. Government isn't going to +waste time so, when there are hundreds to be tried and +deported. So he goes free. Same thing if the Minister +comes in while the trial is going on, and threatens to +review all the testimony, the procedure, the character of +the witnesses. He simply knocks the bottom out of the +case, and the prisoner goes free."</p> + +<p>"I see your points," said Arthur, smiling. "I appreciate +them. Just the same, we must have every one working +on the case, and if I should fail the others must be +ready to play their parts."</p> + +<p>"Command us all," said the Captain with spirit. +"You have Lord Constantine in London. He's a host. +But remember we are in the midst of the trouble, and +home influence won't be a snap of my finger compared +with the word of the Minister."</p> + +<p>"Then the Minister's our man," said Anne with decision. +"If Arthur fails with him, then every soul of us +must move on London like an Irish army, and win or die. +So, my dear Honora, take the puckers out of your face,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span> +and keep your heart light. I know a way to make Quincy +Livingstone dance to any music I play."</p> + +<p>The smiles came back to Honora's face, hearts grew +lighter, and Arthur started for London, with little confidence +in the good-will of Livingstone, but more in his +own ability to force the gentleman to do his duty. He ran +up against a dead wall in his mission, however, for the +question of interference on behalf of American citizens in +English jails had been settled months before in a conference +between Livingstone and the Premier, although +feeling was cold and almost hostile between the two +governments. Lord Constantine described the position +with the accuracy of a theorist in despair.</p> + +<p>"There's just a chance of doing something for Ledwith," +he said dolorously.</p> + +<p>"By your looks a pretty poor one, I think," Arthur +commented.</p> + +<p>"Oh, it's got to be done, doncheknow," he said irritably. +"But that da—that fool, Livingstone, is spoiling the stew +with his rot. And I've been watching this pot boil for +five years at least."</p> + +<p>"What's wrong with our representative?" affecting +innocence.</p> + +<p>"What's right with him would be the proper question," +growled his lordship.</p> + +<p>"In Ledwith's case the wrong is that he's gone and +given assurances to the government. He will not interfere +with their disposition of Fenian prisoners, when these +prisoners are American citizen. In other words, he has +given the government a free hand. He will not be inclined +to show Ledwith any favor."</p> + +<p>"A free hand," repeated Arthur, fishing for information. +"And what is a free hand?"</p> + +<p>"Well, he could hamper the government very much +when it is trying an American citizen for crimes committed +on British soil. Such a prisoner must get all the privileges +of a native. He must be tried fairly, as he would +be at home, say."</p> + +<p>"Well, surely that strong instinct of fair play, that +sense of justice so peculiarly British, of which we have all +heard in the school-books, would——"</p> + +<p>"Drop it," said Lord Constantine fiercely. "In war +there's nothing but the brute left. The Fenians—may<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span> +the plague take them ... will be hung, shipped to Botany +Bay, and left to rot in the home prisons, without respect to +law, privilege, decency. Rebels must be wiped out, doncheknow. +I don't mind that. They've done me enough +harm ... put back the alliance ten years at least ... and +left me howling in the wilderness. Livingstone will let +every Fenian of American citizenship be tried like his +British mates ... that is, they will get no trial at all, except +inform. They will not benefit by their American ties."</p> + +<p>"Why should he neglect them like that?"</p> + +<p>"He has theories, of course. I heard him spout them +at some beastly reception somewhere. Too many Irish in +America—too strong—too popish—must be kept down—alliance +between England and the United States to keep +them down——"</p> + +<p>"I remember he was one of your alliance men," provokingly.</p> + +<p>"Alas, yes," mourned his lordship. "The Fenians +threatened to make mince-meat of it, but they're done up +and knocked down. Now, this Livingstone proposes a +new form of mincing, worse than the Fenians a thousand +times, begad."</p> + +<p>"Begad," murmured Arthur. "Surely you're getting +excited."</p> + +<p>"The alliance is now to be argued on the plea of +defense against popish aggressions, Arthur. This is the +unkind cut. Before, we had to reunite the Irish and the +English. Now, we must soothe the prejudices of bigots +besides. Oh, but you should see the programme of His +Excellency for the alliance in his mind. You'll feel it +when you get back home. A regular programme, doncheknow. +The first number has the boards now: general +indignation of the hired press at the criminal recklessness +of the Irish in rebelling against our benign rule. When +that chorus is ended, there comes a solo by an escaped nun. +Did you ever hear of Sister Claire Thingamy——"</p> + +<p>"Saw her—know her—at a distance. What is she to +sing?"</p> + +<p>"A book—confessions and all that thing—revelations +of the horrors of papist life. It's to be printed by thousands +and scattered over the world. After that Fritters, +our home historian at Oxford, is to travel in your county +and lecture to the cream of society on the beauty of Brit<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span>ish +rule over the Irish. He is to affect the classes. +The nun and the press are to affect the masses. Between +them what becomes of the alliance? Am I not patient? +My pan demanded harmonious and brotherly feelings +among all parties. Isn't that what an alliance must +depend on? But Livingstone takes the other tack. To +bring about his scheme we shall all be at each other's +throats. Talk of the Kilkenny cats and Donnybrook fair, +begad!"</p> + +<p>"I don't wonder you feel so badly," Arthur said, laughing. +"But see here: we're not afraid of Livingstone. +We've knocked him out before, and we can do it again. It +will be interesting to go back home, and help to undo that +programme. If you can manage him here, rely on Grahame +and me and a few others in New York, to take the +starch out of him at home. What's all this to do with +Ledwith?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing," said his lordship with an apology. "But +my own trouble seems bigger than his. We'll get him +out, of course. Go and see Livingstone, and talk to him +on the uppish plan. Demand the rights and privileges +of the British subject for our man. You won't get any +satisfaction, but a stiff talk will pave the way for my +share in the scheme. You take the American ground, +and I come in on the British ground. We ought to make +him ashamed between us, doncheknow."</p> + +<p>Arthur had doubts of that, but no doubt at all that +Lord Constantine owned the finest heart that ever beat in +a man. He felt very cheerful at the thought of shaking +up the Minister. Half hopeful of success, curious to test +the strings which move an American Minister at the court +of St. James, anxious about Honora and Owen, he presented +himself at Livingstone's residence by appointment, +and received a gracious welcome. Unknown to themselves, +the two men had an attraction for each other. +Fate opposed them strangely. This hour Arthur Dillon +stood forth as the knight of a despised and desperate race, +in a bloody turmoil at home, fighting for a little space on +American soil, hopeful but spent with the labor of upholding +its ideals; and Livingstone represented a triumphant +faction in both countries, which, having long made +life bitter and bloody for the Irish, still kept before them +the choice of final destruction or the acceptance of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span> +Puritan gods. To Arthur the struggle so far seemed but +a clever game whose excitement kept sorrow from eating +out his heart. He saw the irony rather than the tragedy +of the contest. It tickled him immensely just now that +Puritan faced Puritan; the new striking at the old for +decency's sake; a Protestant fighting a Protestant in +behalf of the religious ideals of Papists. He had an advantage +over his kinsman beyond the latter's ken; since +to him the humor of the situation seemed more vital than +the tragedy, a mistake quite easy to youth. Arthur +stated Ledwith's case beautifully, and asked him to notify +the British officials that the American Minister would +send his representative to watch the trial.</p> + +<p>"Impossible," said Livingstone. "I am content with +the ordinary course for all these cases."</p> + +<p>"We are not," replied Arthur as decisively, "and we +call upon our government to protect its citizens against +the packed juries and other injustices of these Irish +trials."</p> + +<p>"And what good would my interference do?" said +Livingstone. Arthur grinned.</p> + +<p>"Your Excellency, such a notification would open the +doors of the jail to Ledwith to-morrow. There would be +no trial."</p> + +<p>"My instructions from the President are precise in +this matter. We are satisfied that American citizens will +get as fair a trial as Englishmen themselves. There will +be no interference until I am satisfied that things are not +going properly."</p> + +<p>"Can you tell me, then, how I am to satisfy you in +Ledwith's case?" said the young man good-naturedly.</p> + +<p>"I don't think you or any one else can, Mr. Dillon. I +know Ledwith, a conspirator from his youth. He is +found in Ireland in a time of insurrection. That's quite +enough."</p> + +<p>"You forget that I have given you my word he was not +concerned with the insurrection, and did not know it was +so imminent; that he went to Ireland with his daughter +on a business matter."</p> + +<p>"All which can be shown at the trial, and will secure +his acquittal."</p> + +<p>"Neither I nor his daughter will ever be called as +witnesses. Instead, a pack of ready informers will swear<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span> +to anything necessary to hurry him off to life imprisonment."</p> + +<p>"That is your opinion."</p> + +<p>"Do you know who sent me here, your Excellency, with +the request for your aid?"</p> + +<p>Livingstone stared his interrogation.</p> + +<p>"An English officer with whom you are acquainted, +friendly to Ledwith for some one else's sake. In plain +words, he gave me to understand that there is no hope +for Ledwith unless you interfere. If he goes to trial, he +hangs or goes to Botany Bay."</p> + +<p>"You are pessimistic," mocked Livingstone. "It is +the fault of the Irish that they have no faith in any government, +because they cannot establish one of their own."</p> + +<p>"Outside of New York," corrected Arthur, with +delightful malice.</p> + +<p>"Amendment accepted."</p> + +<p>"Would you be able to interfere in behalf of my friend +while the trial was on, say, just before the summing up, +when the informers had sworn to one thing, and the +witnesses for the defense to another, if they are not shut +out altogether?"</p> + +<p>"Impossible. I might as well interfere now."</p> + +<p>"Then on the score of sentiment. Ledwith is failing +into age. Even a brief term in prison may kill him."</p> + +<p>"He took the risk in returning to Ireland at this time. +I would be willing to aid him on that score, but it would +open the door to a thousand others, and we are unwilling +to embarrass the English government at a trying moment."</p> + +<p>"Were they so considerate when our moments were +trying and they could embarrass us?"</p> + +<p>"That is an Irish argument."</p> + +<p>"What they said of your Excellency in New York was +true, I am inclined to believe: that you accepted the +English mission to be of use to the English in the present +insurrection."</p> + +<p>"Well," said the Minister, laughing in spite of himself +at the audacity of Arthur, "you will admit that I have +a right to pay back the Irish for my defeat at the +polls."</p> + +<p>"You are our representative and defender," replied +Arthur gravely, "and yet you leave us no alternative but +to appeal to the English themselves."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span></p> + +<p>Livingstone began to look bored, because irritation +scorched him and had to be concealed. Arthur rose.</p> + +<p>"We are to understand, then, the friends of Ledwith, +that you will do nothing beyond what is absolutely required +by the law, and after all formalities are complied +with?" he said.</p> + +<p>"Precisely."</p> + +<p>"We shall have to depend on his English friends, then. +It will look queer to see Englishmen take up your duty +where you deserted it."</p> + +<p>The Minister waved his hand to signify that he had +enough of that topic, but the provoking quality of Arthur's +smile, for he did not seem chagrined, reminded him of a +question.</p> + +<p>"Who are the people interested in Ledwith, may I +ask?"</p> + +<p>"All your old friends of New York," said Arthur, +"Birmingham, Sullivan, and so on."</p> + +<p>"Of course. And the English friends who are to take +up my duties where I desert them?"</p> + +<p>"You must know some of them," and Arthur grinned +again, so that the Minister slightly winced. "Captain +Sydenham, commanding in Donegal——"</p> + +<p>"I met him in New York one winter—younger brother +to Lord Groton."</p> + +<p>"The Dowager Countess of Skibbereen."</p> + +<p>"Very fine woman. Ledwith is in luck."</p> + +<p>"And Lord Constantine of Essex."</p> + +<p>"I see you know the value of a climax, Mr. Dillon. +Well, good-night. I hope the friends of Mr. Ledwith will +be able to do everything for him."</p> + +<p>It irritated him that Arthur carried off the honors of +the occasion, for the young man's smiling face betrayed +his belief that the mention of these noble names, and the +fact that their owners were working for Ledwith, would +sorely trouble the pillow of Livingstone that night. The +contrast between the generosity of kindly Englishmen and +his own harshness was too violent. He foresaw that to +any determined attempt on the part of Ledwith's English +friends he must surrender as gracefully as might be; and +the problem was to make that surrender harmless. He +had solved it by the time Anne Dillon reached London, and +had composed that music sure to make the Minister<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span> +dance whether he would or no. In taking charge of the +case Anne briefly expressed her opinion of her son's +methods.</p> + +<p>"You did the best you could, Arthur," she said sweetly.</p> + +<p>He could not but laugh and admire. Her instincts for +the game were far surer than his own, and her methods +infallible. She made the road easy for Livingstone, but +he had to walk it briskly. How could the poor man help +himself? She hurled at him an army of nobles, headed by +the Countess and Lord Constantine; she brought him +letters from his friends at home; there was a dinner at +the hotel, the Dowager being the hostess; and he was +almost awed by the second generation of Anne's audacious +race: Mona, red-lipped, jewel-eyed, sweeter than wild +honey; Louis, whose lovely nature and high purpose shone +in his face; and Arthur, sad-eyed, impudent, cynical, who +seemed ready to shake dice with the devil, and had no +fear of mortals because he had no respect for them. +These outcasts of a few years back were able now to seize +the threads of intrigue, and shake up two governments +with a single pull! He mourned while he described +what he had done for them. There would be no trial for +Ledwith. He would be released at once and sent home at +government expense. It was a great favor, a very great +favor. Even Arthur thanked him, though he had difficulty +in suppressing the grin which stole to his face +whenever he looked at his kinsman. The Minister saw +the grin peeping from his eyes, but forgave him.</p> + +<p>Arthur had the joy of bringing the good news down to +Donegal. Anne bade him farewell with a sly smile of +triumph. Admirable woman! she floated above them all +in the celestial airs. But she was gracious to her son. +The poor boy had been so long in California that he did +not know how to go about things. She urged him to join +them in Rome for the visit to the Pope, and sent her love +to Honora and a bit of advice to Owen. When Arthur +arrived in Cruarig, whither a telegram had preceded him, +he was surprised to find Honora Ledwith in no way relieved +of anxiety.</p> + +<p>"You have nothing to do but pack your trunk and get +away," he said. "There is to be no trial, you know. +Your father will go straight to the steamer, and the govern<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span>ment +will pay his expenses. It ought to pay more for the +outrage."</p> + +<p>She thanked him, but did not seem to be comforted. +She made no comment, and he went off to get an explanation +from Captain Sydenham.</p> + +<p>"I meant to have written you about it," said the Captain, +"but hoped that it would have come out all right +without writing. Ledwith maintains, and I think he's +quite right, that he must be permitted to go free without +conditions, or be tried as a Fenian conspirator. The case +is simple: an American citizen traveling in Ireland is +arrested on a charge of complicity in the present rebellion; +the government must prove its case in a public trial, or, +unable to do that, must release him as an innocent man; +but it does neither, for it leads him from jail to the steamer +as a suspect, ordering him out of the country. Ledwith +demands either a trial or the freedom of an innocent man. +He will not help the government out of the hole in which +accident, his Excellency the Minister, and your admirable +mother have placed it. Of course it's hard on that +adorable Miss Ledwith, and it may kill Ledwith himself, +if not the two of them. Did you ever in your life see such +a daughter and such a father?"</p> + +<p>"Well, all we can do is to make the trial as warm as +possible for the government," said Arthur. "Counsel, +witnesses, publicity, telegrams to the Minister, cablegrams +to our Secretary of State, and all the rest of it."</p> + +<p>"Of no use," said the Captain moodily. "You have +no idea of an Irish court and an Irish judge in times of +revolt. I didn't till I came here. If Ledwith stands +trial, nothing can save him from some kind of a sentence."</p> + +<p>"Then for his daughter's sake I must persuade him to +get away."</p> + +<p>"Hope you can. All's fair in war, you know, but +Ledwith is the worst kind of patriot, a visionary one, +exalted, as the French say."</p> + +<p>Ledwith thanked Arthur warmly when he called upon +him in jail, and made his explanation as the Captain had +outlined it.</p> + +<p>"Don't think me a fool," he said. "I'm eager to get +away. I have no relish for English prison life. But I +am not going to promote Livingstone's trickery. I am an +American citizen. I have had no part, direct or indirect,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span> +in this futile insurrection. I can prove it in a fair trial. +It must be either trial or honorable release to do as any +American citizen would do under the circumstances. If +I go to prison I shall rely on my friends to expose Livingstone, +and to warm up the officials at home who connive +with him."</p> + +<p>Nor would he be moved from this position, and the +trial came off with a speed more than creditable when +justice deals with pirates, but otherwise scandalous.</p> + +<p>It ended in a morning, in spite of counsel, quibbles, and +other ornamental obstacles, with a sentence of twenty +years at hard labor in an English prison. To this prison +Ledwith went the next day at noon. There had not been +much time for work, but Arthur had played his part to +his own satisfaction; the Irish and American journals +buzzed with the items which he provided, and the denunciations +of the American Minister were vivid, biting, and +widespread; yet how puerile it all seemed before the brief, +half contemptuous sentence of the hired judge, who thus +roughly shoved another irritating patriot out of the way. +The farewell to Ledwith was not without hope. Arthur +had declared his purpose to go straight to New York and +set every influence to work that could reach the President. +Honora was to live near the prison, support herself by her +singing, and use her great friends to secure a mitigation +of his sentence, and access to him at intervals.</p> + +<p>"I am going in joy," he said to her and Arthur. +"Death is the lightest suffering of the true patriot. +Nora and I long ago offered our lives for Ireland. Perhaps +they are the only useful things we could offer, for +we haven't done much. Poor old country! I wish our +record of service had some brighter spots in it."</p> + +<p>"At the expense of my modesty," said Arthur, "can't +I mention myself as one of the brighter spots? But for +you I would never have raised a finger for my mother's +land. Now, I am enlisted, not only in the cause of Erin, +but pledged to do what I can for any race that withers +like yours under the rule of the slave-master. And that +means my money, my time and thought and labor, and +my life."</p> + +<p>"It is the right spirit," said Ledwith, trembling. "I +knew it was in you. Not only for Ireland, but for the enslaved +and outraged everywhere. God be thanked, if we<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span> +poor creatures have stirred this spirit in you, lighted the +flame—it's enough."</p> + +<p>"I have sworn it," cried Arthur, betrayed by his secret +rage into eloquence. "I did not dream the world was so +full of injustice. I could not understand the divine sorrow +which tore your hearts for the wronged everywhere. +I saw you suffer. I saw later what caused your suffering, +and I felt ashamed that I had been so long idle and blind. +Now I have sworn to myself that my life and my wealth +shall be at the service of the enslaved forever."</p> + +<p>They went their different ways, the father to prison, +Honora to the prison village, and Arthur with all speed to +New York, burning with hatred of Livingstone. The +great man had simply tricked them, had studied the matter +over with his English friends, and had found a way to +satisfy the friends of Ledwith and the government at the +same time. Well, it was a long lane that had no turning, +and Arthur swore that he would find the turning which +would undo Quincy Livingstone.</p> + + +<div class="minispace"> </div> +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter3">AN ESCAPED NUN.</h2> +<hr /> + +<div class="minispace"> </div> +<h2 class="chapter"><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII"></a>CHAPTER XVIII.</h2> + +<h3 class="chapter2">JUDY VISITS THE POPE.</h3> + + +<p>He used the leisure of the voyage to review recent events,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span> +and to measure his own progress. For the first time since +his calamity he had lost sight of himself in this poetic +enterprise of Ledwith's, successful beyond all expectation. +In this life of intrigue against the injustice of power, this +endless struggle to shake the grip of the master on the +slave, he found an intoxication. Though many plans had +come to nothing, and the prison had swallowed a thousand +victims, the game was worth the danger and the failure. +In the Fenian uprising the proud rulers had lost sleep and +comfort, and the world had raised its languid eyes for a +moment to study events in Ireland. Even the slave can +stir the selfish to interest by a determined blow at his +masters. In his former existence very far had been from +him this glorious career, though honors lay in wait for +an Endicott who took to statecraft. Shallow Horace, +sprung from statesman, had found public life a bore. +This feeling had saved him perhaps from the fate of +Livingstone, who in his snail-shell could see no other +America than a monstrous reproduction of Plymouth +colony.</p> + +<p>He had learned at last that his dear country was made +for the human race. God had guided the little ones of the +nations, wretched but hardy, to the land, the only land +on earth, where dreams so often come true. Like the +waves they surged upon the American shore. With ax +and shovel and plow, with sweat of labor and pain, they +fought the wilderness and bought a foothold in the new +commonwealth. What great luck that his exit from the +old life should prove to be his entrance into the very heart +of a simple multitude flying from the greed and stupidity +of the decadent aristocracy of Europe! What fitness that +he, child of a race which had triumphantly fought injustice, +poverty, Indian, and wilderness, should now be leader<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span> +for a people who had fled from injustice at home only to +begin a new struggle with plotters like Livingstone, foolish +representative of the caste-system of the old world.</p> + +<p>Sonia Westfield, by strange fatality, was aboard with her +child and Aunt Lois. Her presence, when first they came +face to face, startled him; not the event, but the littleness +of the great earth; that his hatred and her crime +could not keep them farther apart. The Endicott in him +rose up for a moment at the sight of her, and to his horror +even sighed for her: this Endicott, who for a twelvemonth +had been so submerged under the new personality +that Dillon had hardly thought of him. He sighed for +her! Her beauty still pinched him, and the memory of +the first enchantment had not faded from the mind of the +poor ghost. It mouthed in anger at the master who had +destroyed it, who mocked at it now bitterly: you are the +husband of Sonia Westfield, and the father of her fraudulent +child; go to them as you desire. But the phantom +fled humiliated, while Dillon remained horror-shaken by +that passing fancy of the Endicott to take up the dream +of youth again. Could he by any fatality descend to this +shame? Her presence did not arouse his anger or his +dread, hardly his curiosity. He kept out of her way as +much as possible, yet more than once they met; but only +at the last did the vague inquiry in her face indicate that +memory had impressions of him.</p> + +<p>Often he studied her from afar, when she sat deep in +thought with her lovely eyes ... how he had loved them +... melting, damnable, false eyes fixed on the sea. He +wondered how she bore her misery, of which not a sign +showed on the velvet face. Did she rage at the depths of +that sea which in an instant had engulfed her fool-husband +and his fortune? The same sea now mocked her, +laughed at her rage, bearing on its bosom the mystery +which she struggled to steal from time. No one could +punish this creature like herself. She bore her executioner +about with her, Aunt Lois, evidently returning home to +die. That death would complete the ruin of Sonia, and +over the grave she would learn once for all how well her +iniquity had been known, how the lost husband had risen +from his darkness to accuse her, how little her latest crime +would avail her. What a dull fool Horace Endicott had +been over a woman suspected of her own world! Her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span> +beauty would have kept him a fool forever, had she been +less beastly in her pleasures. And this Endicott, down +in the depths, sighed for her still!</p> + +<p>But Arthur Dillon saw her in another light, as an unclean +beast from sin's wilderness, in the light that shone +from Honora Ledwith. Messalina cowered under the halo +of Beatrice! When that light shone full upon her, Sonia +looked to his eye like a painted Phryne surprised by the +daylight. Her corruption showed through her beauty. +Honora! Incomparable woman! dear lady of whiteness! +pure heart that shut out earthly love, while God was to +be served, or men suffered, or her country bled, or her +father lived! The thought of her purified him. He had +not truly known his dear mother till now; when he knew +her in Honora, in old Martha, in charming Mona, in Mary +Everard, in clever Anne Dillon. These women would bless +his life hereafter. They refreshed him in mind and heart. +It began to dawn upon him that his place in life was +fixed, that he would never go back even though he might +do so with honor, his shame remaining unknown. It was +mere justice that the wretched past should be in a grave, +doomed never to see the light of resurrection.</p> + +<p>His mother and her party shared the journey with him. +The delay of Ledwith's trial had enabled them to make +the short tour on the Continent, and catch his steamer. +Anne was utterly vexed with him that Ledwith had not +escaped the prison. Her plain irritation gave Judy deep +content.</p> + +<p>"She needs something to pull her down," was her comment +to Arthur, "or she'll fly off the earth with the lightness +of her head. My, my, but the airs of her since she +laid out the ambassador, an' talked to the Pope! She +can hardly spake at all now wid the grandher! Whin +Father Phil ... I never can call him Mounsinnyory ... +an', be the way, for years wasn't I callin' him Morrisania be +mistake, an' the dear man never corrected me wanst ... +but I learned the difference over in Rome ... where was +I?... whin Father Phil kem back from Rome he gev +us a grand lecther on what he saw, an' he talked for two +hours like an angel. But Anne Dillon can on'y shut her +eyes, an' dhrop her head whin ye ask her a single question +about it. Faith, I dinno if she'll ever get over it. Isn't +that quare now?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Very," Arthur answered, "but give her time. So you +saw the Pope?"</p> + +<p>"Faith, I did, an' it surprised me a gra'dale to find out +that he was a dago, God forgi' me for sayin' as much. I +was tould be wan o' the Mounsinnyory that he was pure +Italian. 'No,' sez I, 'the Pope may be Rooshin or German, +though I don't belave he's aither, but he's not Italian. If +he wor, he'd have the blessed sinse to hide it, for fear the +Irish 'ud lave the Church whin they found it out.'"</p> + +<p>"What blood do you think there's in him?" said +Arthur.</p> + +<p>"He looked so lovely sittin' there whin we wint in that +me sivin sinses left me, an' I cudn't rightly mek up me +mind afterwards. Thin I was so taken up wid Mrs. +Dillon," and Judy laughed softly, "that I was bothered. +But I know the Pope's not a dago, anny more than he's a +naygur. I put him down in me own mind as a Roman, no +more an' no less."</p> + +<p>"That's a safe guess," said Arthur; "and you still have +the choice of his being a Sicilian, a Venetian, or a Neapolitan."</p> + +<p>"Unless," said the old lady cautiously, "he comes of +the same stock as Our Lord Himself."</p> + +<p>"Which would make him a Jew," Arthur smoothly +remarked.</p> + +<p>"God forgive ye, Artie! G'long wid ye! If Our Lord +was a Jew he was the first an' last an' on'y wan of his kind."</p> + +<p>"And that's true too. And how did you come to see +the Pope so easy, and it in the summer time?"</p> + +<p>The expressive grin covered Judy's face as with comic +sunshine.</p> + +<p>"I dunno," she answered. "If Anne Dillon made up +her mind to be Impress of France, I dunno annythin' nor +anny wan that cud hould her back; an' perhaps the on'y +thing that kep' her from tryin' to be Impress was that the +Frinch had an Impress already. I know they had, because +I heard her ladyship lamentin', whin we wor in Paris, that +she didn't get a letther of introduction to the Impress +from Lady Skibbereen. She had anny number of letthers +to the Pope. I suppose that's how we all got in, for I +wint too, an' the three of us looked like sisters of mercy, +dhressed in black wid veils on our heads. Whin we dhruv +up to the palace, her ladyship gev a screech. 'Mother of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span> +heaven,' says she, 'but I forgot me permit, an' we can't get +in to see his Holiness.' We sarched all her pockets, but +found on'y the square bit o' paper, a milliner's bill, that +she tuk for the permit be mistake. 'Well, this'll have to do,' +says she. Says I, 'Wud ye insult the Pope be shakin' a +milliner's bill in his face as ye go in the dure?' She never +answered me, but walked in an' presented her bill to a +Mounsinnyory——"</p> + +<p>"What's that?" Arthur asked. "I was never in +Rome."</p> + +<p>"Somethin' like the man that takes the tickets at the +theayter, ou'y he's a priest, an' looks like a bishop, but he +cuts more capers than ten bishops in wan. He never +opened the paper—faith, if he had, there'd be the fine +surprise—so we wint in. I knew the Pope the minnit I set +eyes on him, the heavenly man. Oh, but I'd like to be as +sure o' savin' me soul as that darlin' saint. His eyes looked +as if they saw heaven every night an' mornin'. We +dhropped on our knees, while the talkin' was goin' on, an' +if I wasn't so frikened at bein' near heaven itself, I'd a +died listenin' to her ladyship tellin' the Pope in French—in +French, d'ye mind?—how much she thought of him an' how +much she was goin' to spind on him while she was in Rome. +'God forgive ye, Anne Dillon,' says I to meself, 'but +ye might betther spind yer money an' never let an.' She +med quite free wid him, an' he talked back like a father, +an' blessed us twinty times. I dinno how I wint in or how +I kem out. I was like a top, spinnin' an' spinnin'. Things +went round all the way home, so that I didn't dar say a +word for fear herself might think I had been drinkin'. +So that's how we saw the Pope. Ye can see now the +terrible determination of Anne Dillon, though she was the +weeniest wan o' the family."</p> + +<p>In the early morning the steamer entered the lower bay, +picking up Doyle Grahame from a tug which had wandered +about for hours, not in search of news, but on the scent +for beautiful Mona. He routed out the Dillon party in +short order.</p> + +<p>"What's up?" Arthur asked sleepily. "Are you here +as a reporter——"</p> + +<p>"As a lover," Grahame corrected, with heaving chest +and flashing eyes. "The crowd that will gather to receive +you on the dock may have many dignitaries, but I am the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span> +only lover. That's why I am here. If I stayed with the +crowd, Everard, who hates me almost, would have taken +pains to shut me out from even a plain how-de-do with my +goddess."</p> + +<p>"I see. It's rather early for a goddess, but no doubt she +will oblige. You mentioned a crowd on the dock to receive +us. What crowd?"</p> + +<p>"Your mother," said Doyle, "is a wonderful woman. +I have often speculated on the absence of a like ability in +her son."</p> + +<p>"Nature is kind. Wait till I'm as old as she is," said +the son.</p> + +<p>"The crowd awaits her to do her honor. The common +travelers <i>will land</i> this morning, glad to set foot on solid +ground again. Mrs. Montgomery Dillon and her party +are the only personages that <i>will arrive from Europe</i>. +The crowd gathers to meet, not the passengers who merely +land, but the personages who arrive from Europe."</p> + +<p>"Nice distinction. And who is the crowd?"</p> + +<p>"Monsignor O'Donnell——"</p> + +<p>"A very old and dear friend——"</p> + +<p>"Who hopes to build his cathedral with her help. The +Senator——"</p> + +<p>"Representing the Dillon clan."</p> + +<p>"Who did not dare absent himself, and hopes for more +inspiration like that which took him out of the ring and +made him a great man. Vandervelt."</p> + +<p>"Well, he, of course, is purely disinterested."</p> + +<p>"Didn't she inform him of her triumph over Livingstone +in London? And isn't he to be the next ambassador, +and more power to him?"</p> + +<p>"And John Everard of course."</p> + +<p>"To greet his daughter, and to prevent your humble +servant from kissing the same," and he sighed with pleasure +and triumph. "Where is she? Shall I have long to +wait? Is she changed?"</p> + +<p>"Ask her brother," with a nod for the upper berth +where Louis slept serenely.</p> + +<p>"And of course you have news?"</p> + +<p>"Loads of it. I have arranged for a breakfast and a +talk after the arrival is finished. There'll be more to eat +than the steak."</p> + +<p>The steamer swung to the pier some hours later, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span> +Arthur walked ashore to the music of a band which played +decorously the popular strains for a popular hero returning +crowned with glory. His mother arrived as became the +late guest of the Irish nobility. Grahame handed Mona +into her father's arms with an exasperating gesture, and +then plunged into his note-book, as if he did not care. +The surprised passengers wondered what hidden greatness +had traveled with them across the sea. On the deck Sonia +watched the scene with dull interest, for some one had +murmured something about a notorious Fenian getting +back home to his kind. Arthur saw her get into a cab +with her party a few minutes later and drive away. A +sadness fell upon him, the bitterness which follows the +fading of our human dreams before the strong light of +day.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter"><a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX"></a>CHAPTER XIX.</h2> + +<h3 class="chapter2">LA BELLE COLETTE.</h3> + + +<p>After the situation had been discussed over the breakfast<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span> +for ten minutes Arthur understood the mournful expression +of the Senator, whose gaiety lapsed at intervals +when bitterness got the better of him.</p> + +<p>"The boys—the whole town is raving about you, Artie," +said he with pride, "over the way you managed that +affair of Ledwith's. There'll be nothing too good for you +this year, if you work all the points of the game—if you +follow good advice, I mean. You've got Livingstone in a +corner. When this cruel war is over, and it is over for +the Fenians—they've had enough, God knows—it ought +to be commencing for the Honorable Quincy Livingstone."</p> + +<p>"You make too much of it, Senator," Grahame responded. +"We know what's back of these attacks on you +and others. It's this way, Arthur: the Senator and I +have been working hard for the American citizens in +English jails, Fenians of course, and the Livingstone +crowd have hit back at us hard. The Senator, as the +biggest man in sight, got hit hardest."</p> + +<p>"What they say of me is true, though. That's what +hurts."</p> + +<p>"Except that they leave out the man whom every one +admires for his good sense, generous heart, and great +success," Arthur said to console him.</p> + +<p>"Of course one doesn't like to have the sins of his +youth advertised for two civilizations," Grahame continued. +"One must consider the source of this abuse +however. They are clever men who write against us, but +to know them is not to admire them. Bitterkin of the +<i>Post</i> has his brain, stomach, and heart stowed away in a +single sack under his liver, which is very torpid, and his +stomach is always sour. His blood is three parts water +from the Boyne, his food is English, his clothes are a very<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span> +bad fit, and his whiskers are so hard they dull the scissors. +He loves America when he can forget that Irish +and other foreign vermin inhabit it, otherwise he detests +it. He loves England until he remembers that he can't +live in it. The other fellow, Smallish, writes beautiful +English, and lives on the old clothes of the nobility. Now +who would mourn over the diatribes of such cats?"</p> + +<p>The Senator had to laugh at the description despite his +sadness.</p> + +<p>"This is only one symptom of the trouble that's brewing. +There's no use in hiding the fact that things are +looking bad. Since the Fenian scheme went to pieces, +the rats have left their holes. The Irish are demoralized +everywhere, fighting themselves as usual after a collapse, +and their enemies are quoting them against one another. +Here in New York the hired bravos of the press are in +the pay of the Livingstone crowd, or of the British secret +service. What can you expect?"</p> + +<p>"How long will it last? What is doing against it?" +said Arthur.</p> + +<p>"Ask me easier questions. Anyway, I'm only consoling +the Senator for the hard knocks he's getting for the sake +of old Ireland. Cheer up, Senator."</p> + +<p>"Even when Fritters made his bow," said the mournful +Senator, "they made game of me," and the tears rose +to his eyes. Arthur felt a secret rage at this grief.</p> + +<p>"You heard of Fritters?" and Arthur nodded. "He +arrived, and the Columbia College crowd started him off +with a grand banquet. He's an Oxford historian with a +new recipe for cooking history. The Columbia professor +who stood sponsor for him at the banquet told the world +that Fritters would show how English government worked +among the Irish, and how impossible is the Anglo-Saxon +idea among peoples in whom barbarism does not die with +the appearance and advance of civilization. He touched +up the elegant parades and genial shindys of St. Patrick's +Day as 'inexplicable dumb shows and noise,'—see Hamlet's +address to the players—and hoped the banks of our +glorious Hudson would never witness the bloody rows peculiar +to the banks of the immortal Boyne. Then he +dragged in the Senator."</p> + +<p>"What's his little game?" Arthur asked.</p> + +<p>"Scientific ridicule ... the press plays to the galleries,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span> +and Fritters to the boxes ... it's a part of the general +scheme ... I tell you there's going to be fun galore this +winter ... and the man in London is at the root of the +deviltry."</p> + +<p>"What's to be done?"</p> + +<p>"If we only knew," the Senator groaned. "If we +could only get them under our fists, in a fair and square +tussle!"</p> + +<p>"I think the hinge of the Livingstone plan is Sister +Claire, the escaped nun," Grahame said thoughtfully. +"She's the star of the combination, appeals to the true +blue church-member with descriptions of the horrors +of convents. Her book is out, and you'll find a copy waiting +for you at home. Dime novels are prayer-books beside +it. French novels are virtuous compared with it. It +is raising an awful row. On the strength of it McMeeter +has begun an enterprise for the relief of imprisoned nuns—to +rescue them—house them for a time, and see them +safely married. Sister Claire is to be matron of the house +of escaped nuns. No one doubts her experience. Now +isn't that McMeeter all over? But see the book, the <i>Confessions +of an Escaped Nun</i>."</p> + +<p>"You think she's the hinge of the great scheme?"</p> + +<p>"She has the public eye and ear," said Grahame, thinking +out his own theory as he talked. "Her book is the +book of the hour ... reviewed by the press ... the +theme of pulpits ... the text of speeches galore ... +common workmen thump one another over it at the +bench. Now all the others, Bradford, Fritters, the Columbia +professors, Bitterkin and his followers, seem to play +second to her book. They keep away from her society, +yet her strongest backing is from them. You know what +I mean. It has occurred to me that if we got her history ... it +must be pretty savory ... and printed it ... traced +her connection with the Livingstone crowd ... it +would be quite a black eye for the Honorable +Quincy."</p> + +<p>"By George, but you've struck it," cried Arthur waking +up to the situation. "If she's the hinge, she's the +party to strike at. Tell me, what became of Curran?"</p> + +<p>"Lucky thought," shouted Grahame. "He's in town +yet. The very man for us."</p> + +<p>"I'm going to have it out with Livingstone," said<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span> +Arthur, with a clear vision of an English prison and the +patient woman who watched its walls from a window in +the town. "In fact, I <i>must</i> have it out with Livingstone. +He's good game, and I'd like to bring him back from +England in a bag. Perhaps Sister Claire may be able to +provide the bag."</p> + +<p>"Hands on it," said Grahame, and they touched palms +over the table, while the Senator broke into smiles. He +had unlimited faith in his nephew.</p> + +<p>"Lord Conny gave me an outline of Livingstone's program +before I left. He's worried over the effect it's +going to have on his alliance scheme, and he cursed the +Minister sincerely. He'll help us. Let's begin with Sister +Claire in the hope of bagging the whole crowd. Let +Curran hunt up her history. Above all let him get evidence +that Livingstone provides the money for her enterprise."</p> + +<p>Having come to a conclusion on this important matter, +they dropped into more personal topics.</p> + +<p>"Strangely enough," said Grahame cheerfully, "my +own destiny is mixed up with this whole business. The +bulwark of Livingstone in one quarter is John Everard. I +am wooing, in the hope of winning, my future father-in-law."</p> + +<p>"He's very dead," the Senator thought.</p> + +<p>"The art of wooing a father-in-law!—what an art!" +murmured Grahame. "The mother-in-law is easy. She +wishes her daughter married. Papa doesn't. At least in +this case, with a girl like Mona."</p> + +<p>"Has Everard anything against you?"</p> + +<p>"A whole litany of crimes."</p> + +<p>"What's wrong with Everard?"</p> + +<p>"He was born the night of the first big wind, and he +has had it in for the whole world ever since. He's perverse. +Nothing but another big wind will turn him +round."</p> + +<p>Seeing Arthur puzzled over these allusions, Grahame +explained.</p> + +<p>"Think of such a man having children like the twins, +little lumps of sweetness ... like Louis ... heavens! if +I live to be the father of such a boy, life will be complete +... like my Mona ... oh!"</p> + +<p>He stalked about the room throwing himself into poses<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span> +of ecstasy and adoration before an imaginary goddess to +the delight of the Senator.</p> + +<p>"I've been there myself," Arthur commented unmoved. +"To the question: how do you hope to woo and win +Everard?"</p> + +<p>"First, by my book. It's the story of just such a fool +as he: a chap who wears the American flag in bed and +waves it at his meals, as a nightgown and a napkin; then, +he is a religious man of the kind that finds no religion to +his liking, and would start one of his own if he thought +it would pay; finally, he is a purist in politics, believes in +blue glass, drinks ten glasses of filtered water a day, which +makes him as blue as the glass, wears paper collars, and +won't let his son be a monk because there are too many in +the world. Now, Everard will laugh himself weak over +this character. He's so perverse that he will never see +himself in the mirror which I have provided."</p> + +<p>"Rather risky, I should think."</p> + +<p>"But that's not all," Grahame went on, "since you are +kind enough to listen. I'm going to wave the American +flag, eat it, sing it, for the next year, myself. Attend: +the descendants of the Pilgrim Fathers are going to sit on +what is left of Plymouth Rock next spring, and make +speeches and read poems, and eat banquets. I am to be +invited to sing, to read the poem. Vandervelt is to see +to that. Think of it, a wild Irishman, an exile, a conspirator +against the British Crown, a subject of the Pope, +reading or singing the praises of the pilgrims, the grim +pilgrims. Turn in your grave, Cotton Mather, as my +melodious verses harrow your ears."</p> + +<p>"Will that impress John Everard?"</p> + +<p>"Or give him a fatal fit. The book and the poem ought +to do the business. He can't resist. 'Never was Everard +in this humor wooed, never was Everard in this humor +won.' Oh, that Shakespeare had known an Everard, and +embalmed him like a fly in the everlasting amber of his +verse. But should these things fail, I have another matter. +While Everard rips up Church and priest and doctrine +at his pleasure, he has one devotion which none +may take liberties with. He swears by the nuns. He +is foaming at the mouth over the injury and insult +offered them by the <i>Confessions</i> of Sister Claire. We expose +this clever woman. Picture me, then, the despised<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span> +suitor, after having pleased him by my book, and astounded +him with my poem, and mesmerized him with the exposure +of Claire, standing before him with silent lips but +eyes speaking: I want your daughter. Can even this perverse +man deny me? Don't you think I have a chance?"</p> + +<p>"Not with Everard," said the Senator solemnly. "He's +simply coke."</p> + +<p>"You should write a book, Doyle, on the art of wooing +a father-in-law, and explain what you have left out here: +how to get away with the dog."</p> + +<p>"Before marriage," said the ready wit, "the girl looks +after the dog; after marriage the dog can be trained to +bite the father-in-law."</p> + +<p>Arthur found the <i>Confessions of an Escaped Nun</i> interesting +reading from many points of view, and spent the +next three days analyzing the book of the hour. His +sympathy for convent life equaled his understanding of it. +He had come to understand and like Sister Mary Magdalene, +in spite of a prejudice against her costume; but +the motive and spirit of the life she led were as yet beyond +him. Nevertheless, he could see how earnestly the +<i>Confessions</i> lied about what it pretended to expose. The +smell of the indecent and venal informer exhaled from the +pages. The vital feature, however, lay in the revelation +of Sister Claire's character, between the lines. Beneath +the vulgarity and obscenity, poorly veiled in a mock-modest +verbiage, pulsated a burning sensuality reaching the +horror of mania. A well-set trap would have easy work +in catching the feet of a woman related to the nymphs. +Small wonder that the Livingstone party kept her afar off +from their perfumed and reputable society while she did +her nasty work. The book must have been oil to that +conflagration raging among the Irish. The abuse of the +press, the criticism of their friends, the reproaches of their +own, the hostility of the government, the rage and grief +at the failure of their hopes, the plans to annoy and cripple +them, scorched indeed their sensitive natures; but the book +of the Escaped Nun, defiling their holy ones so shamelessly, +ate like acid into their hearts. Louis came in, when he +had completed his analysis of the volume, and begun to +think up a plan of action. The lad fingered the book gingerly, +and said timidly:</p> + +<p>"I'm going to see ... I have an appointment with this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span> +terrible woman for to-morrow afternoon. In fact, I saw +her this morning. I went to her office with Sister Mary +Magdalen."</p> + +<p>"Of course the good Sister has a scheme to convert the +poor thing!" Arthur said lightly, concealing his delight +and surprise under a pretense of indifference.</p> + +<p>"Well, yes," and the lad laughed and blushed. "And +she may succeed too. The greater the sin the deeper the +repentance. The unfortunate woman——"</p> + +<p>"Who is making a fortune on her book by the +way——"</p> + +<p>"——received us very kindly. Sister Magdalen had +been corresponding with her. She wept in admitting that +her fall seemed beyond hope. She felt so tangled in her +own sins that she knew no way to get out of them. Really, +she <i>was</i> so sincere. When we were leaving she begged me +to call again, and as I have to return to the seminary +Monday I named to-morrow afternoon."</p> + +<p>"You may then have the honor of converting her."</p> + +<p>"It would be an honor," Louis replied stoutly.</p> + +<p>"Try it," said Arthur after thinking the matter over. +"I know what force <i>your</i> arguments will have with her. +And if you don't object I'll stay ... by the way, where is +her office?"</p> + +<p>"In a quiet business building on Bleecker Street, near +Broadway."</p> + +<p>"If you don't mind I'll stay outside in the hall, and +rush in to act as altar-boy, when she agrees to 'vert."</p> + +<p>"I'm going for all your ridicule, Arthur."</p> + +<p>"No objection, but keep a cool head, and bear in mind +that I am in the hall outside."</p> + +<p>He suspected the motive of Sister Claire, both in making +this appointment, and in playing at conversion with +Sister Magdalen. Perhaps it might prove the right sort +of trap for her cunning feet. He doubted the propriety +of exposing Louis to the fangs of the beast, and for a +moment he thought to warn him of the danger. But he +had no right to interfere in Sister Magdalen's affair, +and if a beginning had to be made this adventure could +be used effectively. He forgot the affair within the hour, +in the business of hunting up Curran.</p> + +<p>He had a double reason for seeking the detective. Besides +the task of ferreting out the record of Sister Claire, he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span> +wished to get news of the Endicotts. Aunt Lois had +slipped out of life two days after her return from Europe. +The one heart that loved him truly beat for him no more. +By this time her vengeance must have fallen, and Sonia, +learning the full extent of her punishment, must now be +writhing under a second humiliation and disappointment. +He did not care to see her anguish, but he did care to hear +of the new effort that would undoubtedly be made to find +the lost husband. Curran would know. He met him +that afternoon on the street near his own house.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I'm back in the old business," he said proudly; +"the trip home so freshened me that I feel like myself +again. Besides, I have my own home, here it is, and my +wife lives with me. Perhaps you have heard of her, La +Belle Colette."</p> + +<p>"And seen her too ... a beautiful and artistic +dancer."</p> + +<p>"You must come in now and meet her. She is a trifle +wild, you know, and once she took to drink; but she's a +fine girl, a real good fellow, and worth twenty like me. +Come right in, and we'll talk business later."</p> + +<p>La Belle Colette! The dancer at a cheap seaside resort! +The wild creature who drank and did things! +This shrewd, hard fellow, who faced death as others faced +a wind, was deeply in love and happy in her companionship. +What standard of womanhood and wifehood remained +to such men? However, his wonder ceased when +he had bowed to La Belle Colette in her own parlor, heard +her sweet voice, and looked into the most entrancing eyes +ever owned by a woman, soft, fiery, tender, glad, candid +eyes. He recalled the dancer, leaping like a flame about +the stage. In the plainer home garments he recognized +the grace, quickness, and gaiety of the artist. Her charm +won him at once, the spell which her rare kind have ever +been able to cast about the hearts of men. He understood +why the flinty detective should be in love with his wife at +times, but not why he should continue in that state. She +served them with wine and cigars, rolled a cigarette for +herself, chatted with the ease and chumminess of a good +fellow, and treated Arthur with tenderness.</p> + +<p>"Richard has told me so much of you," she explained.</p> + +<p>"I have so admired your exquisite art," he replied, +"that we are already friends."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Que vous êtes bien gentil," she murmured, and her +tone would have caressed the wrinkles out of the heart of +old age.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I'm back at the old game," said Curran, when +they got away from pleasantry. "I'm chasing after Tom +Jones. It's more desperate than ever. His old aunt died +some days back, and left Tom's wife a dollar, and Tom's +son another dollar."</p> + +<p>"I can fancy her," said Colette with a laugh, "repeating +to herself that magic phrase, two dollars, for hours and +hours. Hereafter she will get weak at sight of the figure +two, and things that go in twos, like married people, she +will hate."</p> + +<p>"How easy to see that you are French, Colette," said +Arthur, as a compliment. She threw him a kiss from her +pretty fingers, and gave a sidelong look at Curran.</p> + +<p>"There's a devil in her," Arthur thought.</p> + +<p>"The will was very correct and very sound," resumed +the detective. "No hope in a contest if they thought of +such a thing among the West ... the Jones'. The heirs +took pity on her, and gave her a lump for consolation. +She took it and cursed them for their kindness. Her +rage was something to see. She is going to use that lump, +somewhere about twenty-five thousand, I think, to find her +accursed Tom. How do I know? That's part of the +prize for me if I catch up with Tom Jones within three +years. And I draw a salary and expenses all the time. +You should have seen Mrs. Tom the day I went to see +her. Colette," with a smile for his wife, "your worst +trouble with a manager was a summer breeze to it. You're +a white-winged angel in your tempers compared with Mrs. +Tom Jones. Her language concerning the aunt and the +vanished nephew was wonderful. I tried to remember it, +and I couldn't."</p> + +<p>"I can see her, I can feel with her," cried La Belle +Colette, jumping to her feet, and rushing through a +pantomime of fiendish rage, which made the men laugh to +exhaustion. As she sat down she said with emphasis, "She +must find him, and through you. I shall help, and so +will our friend Dillon. It's an outrage for any man to +leave a woman in such a scrape ... for a mere trifle."</p> + +<p>"She has her consolations," said the detective; "but +the devil in her is not good-natured like the devil in you,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span> +Colette. She wants to get hold of Tom and cut him in +little bits for what he has made her suffer."</p> + +<p>"Did you get out any plans?" said Arthur.</p> + +<p>"One. Look for him between here and Boston. That's +my wife's idea. Tom Jones was not clever, but she +says ... Say it yourself, my dear."</p> + +<p>"Rage and disappointment, or any other strong feeling," +said the woman sharply, with strong puffs at her cigarette, +"turns a fool into a wise man for a minute. It would +be just like this fool to have a brilliant interval while he +dreamed of murdering his clever wife. Then he hit upon +a scheme to cheat the detectives. It's easy, if you know +how stupid they are, except Dick. Tom Jones is here, on +his own soil. He was not going to run away with a +million and try to spend it in the desert of Sahara. He's +here, or in Boston, enjoying the sight of his wife stewing +in poverty. It would be just like the sneak to do her that +turn."</p> + +<p>She looked wickedly at Arthur. What a face! Thin, +broad, yet finely proportioned, with short, flaxen locks +framing it, delicate eyebrows marking the brow and +emphasizing the beautiful eyes. A woman to be feared, +an evil spirit in some of her moods.</p> + +<p>"You tried the same plan," Arthur began——</p> + +<p>"But he had no partner to sharpen his wits," she +interrupted. Arthur bowed.</p> + +<p>"That makes all the difference in the world," he said +sincerely. "Let me hope that you will give your husband +some hints in a case which I am going to give him."</p> + +<p>He described the career of Sister Claire briefly, and +expressed the wish to learn as much as possible of her +earlier history. The Currans laughed.</p> + +<p>"I had that job before," said the detective. "If the +Jones case were only half a hundred times harder I might +be happy. Her past is unknown except that she has been +put out of many convents. I never looked up her birthplace +or her relatives. Her name is Kate Kerrigan along +with ten other names. She drinks a little, and just now +holds a fine stake in New York ... There's the whole +of it."</p> + +<p>"Not much to build upon, if one wished to worry +Claire, or other people."</p> + +<p>"Depend upon it," Colette broke in, "that Kate<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span> +Kerrigan has a pretty history behind her. I'll bet she was +an actress once. I've seen her stage poses ... then her +name, catchy ... and the way she rolls her eyes and +looks at that congregation of elders, and deacons and +female saints, when she sets them shivering over the +nastiness that's coming."</p> + +<p>Curran glanced at her with a look of inquiry. She sat +on the window-sill like a bird, watching the street without, +half listening to the men within. Arthur made a close +study of the weird creature, sure that a strain of madness +ran in her blood. Her looks and acts had the grace of a +wild nature, which purrs, and kills, and purrs again. +Quiet and dreamy this hour, in her dances she seemed +half mad with vitality.</p> + +<p>"Tell him what you learned about her," said Curran, +and then to Arthur, "She can do a little work herself, +and likes it."</p> + +<p>"To hunt a poor soul down, never!" she cried. "But +when a mean thing is hiding what every one has a right +to know, I like to tear the truth out of her ... like your +case of Tom Jones. Sister Claire is downright mean. +Maybe she can't help it. But I know the nuns, and +they're God's own children. She knows it too, but, just +for the sake of money, she's lying night and day against +them, and against her own conscience. There's a devil in +her. I could do a thing like that for deviltry, and I could +pull a load of money out of her backers, not for the money, +but for deviltry too, to skin a miser like McMeeter, and a +dandy like Bradford. And she's just skinning them, to +the last cent."</p> + +<p>She took a fit of laughing, then, over the embarrassment +of Sister Claire's chief supporters.</p> + +<p>"Here's what I know about her," she went on. "The +museum fakirs are worshiping her as a wonderful success. +They seem to feel by instinct that she's one of +themselves, but a genius. They have a lot of fairy stories +about her, but here's the truth: Bishop Bradford and +Erastus McMeeter are her backers. The Bishop plays +high society for her, and the bawler looks after the mob. +She gets fifty per cent. of everything, and they take all the +risks. Her book, I know you read it, chock-full of lies, +thrilling lies, for the brothers and the sisters who can't +read French novels in public—well, she owns the whole<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span> +thing and gets all the receipts except a beggar's ten per +cent., thrown to the publishers ... and they're the crack +publishers of the town, the Hoppertons ... but all the +same they dassent let their names go on the title-page ... +they had that much shame ... so old Johnson, whom +nobody knows, is printer and publisher. The book is +selling like peanuts. There's more than one way of selling +your soul to the devil."</p> + +<p>After this surprising remark, uttered without a smile, +she looked out of the window sadly, while Curran chuckled +with delight.</p> + +<p>"It takes the woman to measure the woman," he said. +Arthur was delighted at this information.</p> + +<p>"I wish you would learn some more about her, Mrs. +Curran."</p> + +<p>She mimicked the formal name in dumb show.</p> + +<p>"Well, La Belle Colette, then," he said laughing. +She came over to him and sat on the arm of his chair, her +beautiful eyes fixed on his with an expression well understood +by both the men.</p> + +<p>"You are going to hunt that dreadful creature down," +said she. "I won't help you. What do you know about +her motives? She may have good reason for playing the +part ... she may have suffered?"</p> + +<p>"One must protect his own," replied Arthur grimly.</p> + +<p>"What are we all but wolves that eat one another?—lambs +by day, wolves in the night. We all play our +part——"</p> + +<p>"All the world's a stage, of course——"</p> + +<p>"Even you are playing a part," with sudden violence. +"I have studied you, young man, since you came in. +Lemme read your palm, and tell you."</p> + +<p>She held his hand long, then tossed it aside with petulance, +parted his hair and peered into his face, passed her +hands lightly over his head for the prominences, dashed +unexpected tears from her eyes, and then said with decision:</p> + +<p>"There are two of you in there," tapping his chest. "I +can't tell why, but I can read, or feel one man, and outside +I see another."</p> + +<p>"Your instinct is correct," said Arthur seriously. "I +have long been aware of the same fact, peculiar and painful. +But for a long time the outside man has had the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span> +advantage. Now with regard to this Sister Claire, not to +change the subject too suddenly——"</p> + +<p>Colette deserted his chair, and went to her husband. +She had lost interest in the matter and would not open her +lips again. The men discussed the search for Endicott, +and the inquiry into the history of Sister Claire, while the +dancer grew drowsy after the fashion of a child, her +eyes became misty, her red lips pouted, her voice drawled +faint and complaining music in whispers, and Curran +looked often and long at her while he talked. Arthur +went away debating with himself. His mind had developed +the habit of reminiscence. Colette reminded him of a +face, which he had seen ... no, not a face but a voice ... +or was it a manner?... or was it her look, which seemed +intimate, as of earlier acquaintance?... what was it? +It eluded him however. He felt happy and satisfied, now +that he had set Curran on the track of the unclean beast.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter"><a name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX"></a>CHAPTER XX.</h2> + +<h3 class="chapter2">THE ESCAPED NUN.</h3> + + +<p>Sister Claire sat in her office the next afternoon awaiting<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span> +Louis as the gorged spider awaits the fly, with desire +indeed, but without anxiety. Her office consisted of three +rooms, opening into one another within, each connected +by doors with the hall without. A solemn youth kept +guard in the antechamber, a bilious lad whose feverish +imagination enshrined Sister Claire and McMeeter on the +same altar, and fed its fires on the promises of the worthy +pair some day to send him on a mission as glorious as their +own. The furnishings had the severe simplicity of the +convent. The brilliant costume of the woman riveted the +eye by the very dulness of her surroundings. At close +view her beauty seemed more spiritual than in her public +appearances. The heavy eyebrows were a blemish indeed, +but like a beauty-spot emphasized the melting eyes and +the peachy skin.</p> + +<p>The creamy habit of the nun and the white coif about +her head left only her oval face and her lovely hands +visible; but what a revelation were these of loveliness +and grace! One glance at her tender face and the +little hands would have scattered to the winds the slanders +of Colette. Success had thrilled but not coarsened the +escaped nun. As Grahame had surmised, she was now +the hinge of Livingstone's scheme. The success of her +book and the popularity of her lectures, together with +her discreet behavior, had given her immense influence +with her supporters and with the leaders. Their money +poured into her lap. She did not need it while her book +sold and her lectures were crowded.</p> + +<p>The office saw come and go the most distinguished +visitors. Even the English historian did not begin to compare +with her in glory, and so far his lectures had not +been well attended. Thinking of many things with deep<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span> +pride, she remembered that adversity had divided the +leisure of her table with prosperity. Hence, she could not +help wondering how long this fine success would last. +Her peculiar fate demanded an end to it sometime. As +if in answer to her question, the solemn youth in the +antechamber knocked at her door, and announced with +decorum Mr. Richard Curran.</p> + +<p>"I have made the inquiries you wanted," Curran said, +as he took a chair at her bidding. "Young Everard is a +special pet of Dillon. This boy is the apple of his eye. +And Everard, the father, is an ardent supporter of Livingstone. +I think you had better drop this affair, if you +would escape a tangle—a nasty tangle."</p> + +<p>"If the boy is willing, where's the tangle, Mr. Curran?" +she answered placidly.</p> + +<p>"Well, you know more about the thing than I can tell +you," he said, as if worried. "You know them all. But +I can't help warning you against this Dillon. If you lay +your hand on anything of his, I'm of opinion that this +country will not be big enough for you and him at the +same time."</p> + +<p>"I shall get him also, and that'll put an end to his enmity. +He's a fine fellow. He's on my track, but you'll +see how enchantment will put him off it. Now, don't +grumble. I'll be as tender and sweet with the boy as a +siren. You will come in only when I feel that the spell +doesn't work. Rely on me to do the prudent thing."</p> + +<p>That he did not rely on her his expression showed +clearly.</p> + +<p>"You have made a great hit in this city, Sister Claire," +he began——</p> + +<p>"And you think I am about to ruin my chances of a +fortune?" she interrupted. "Well, I am willing to take +the risk, and you have nothing to say about it. You know +your part. Go into the next room, and wait for your cue. +I'll bet any sum that you'll never get the cue. If you do, +be sure to make a quick entrance."</p> + +<p>He looked long at her and sighed, but made no pretense +to move. She rose, and pointed to the third room of the +suite. Sheepishly, moodily, in silent protest, he obeyed the +gesture and went out humbly. Before that look the brave +detective surrendered like a slave to his chains. The door +had hardly closed behind him, when the office-boy solemnly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span> +announced Louis, and at a sign from Sister Claire ushered +in the friend of Arthur Dillon. She received him with +downcast eyes, standing at a little distance. With a whispered +welcome and a drooping head, she pointed to a seat. +Louis sat down nervous and overawed, wishing that he had +never undertaken this impossible and depressing task. +Who was he to be dealing with such a character as this +dubious and disreputable woman?</p> + +<p>"I feared you would not come," she began in a very low +tone. "I feared you would misunderstand ... what can +one like you understand of sin and misery?... but +thank Heaven for your courage ... I may yet owe to +you my salvation!"</p> + +<p>"I was afraid," said the lad frankly, gladdened by her +cunning words. "I don't know of what ... but I suppose +it was distrust of myself. If I can be of any service to +you how glad I shall be!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, you can, you can," she murmured, turning her +beautiful eyes on him. Her voice failed her, and she had +to struggle with her sobs.</p> + +<p>"What do you think I can do for you?" he asked, to +relieve the suspense.</p> + +<p>"I shall tell you that later," she replied, and almost +burst out laughing. "It will be simple and easy for you, +but no one else can satisfy me. We are alone. I must tell +you my story, that you may be the better able to understand +the service which I shall ask of you. It is a short +story, but terrible ... especially to one like you ... +promise me that you will not shrink, that you will not +despise me——"</p> + +<p>"I have no right to despise you," said Louis, catching +his breath.</p> + +<p>She bowed her head to hide a smile, and appeared to be +irresolute for a moment. Then with sudden, and even +violent, resolve, she drew a chair to his side, and began +the history of her wretched career. Her position was such, +that to see her face he had to turn his head; but her delicate +hands rested on the arm of his chair, clasped now, +and again twisted with anguish, and then stretched out +with upward palms appealing for pity, or drooping in despair. +She could see his profile, and watch the growing +uneasiness, the shame of innocence brought face to face +with dirt unspeakable, the mortal terror of a pure boy in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span> +the presence of Phryne. With this sport Sister Claire had +been long familiar.</p> + +<p>Her caressing voice and deep sorrow stripped the tale +of half its vileness. At times her voice fell to a breath. +Then she bent towards him humbly, and a perfume swept +over him like a breeze from the tropics. The tale +turned him to stone. Sister Claire undoubtedly drew +upon her imagination and her reading for the facts, since +it rarely falls to the lot of one woman to sound all the +depths of depravity. Louis had little nonsense in his +character. At first his horror urged him to fly from the +place, but whenever the tale aroused this feeling in him, +the cunning creature broke forth into a strain of penitence +so sweet and touching that he had not the heart to desert +her. At the last she fell upon her knees and buried her +face in his lap, crying out:</p> + +<p>"If you do not hate me now ... after all this ... then +take pity on me."</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>Arthur sauntered into the hall outside the office of +Sister Claire about half-past four. He had forgotten the +momentous interview which bid so fair to end in the conversion +of the escaped nun; also his declaration to be +within hailing distance in case of necessity. In a lucky +moment, however, the thought of Sister Mary Magdalen and +her rainbow enterprise, so foolish, so incredible, came to +his mind, and sent him in haste to the rescue of his friend. +Had Louis kept his engagement and received the vows and +the confession of the audacious tool of Livingstone? No +sound came from the office. It would hardly do for him +to make inquiry.</p> + +<p>He observed that Sister Claire's office formed a suite +of three rooms. The door of the first looked like the main +entrance. It had the appearance of use, and within he +heard the cough of the solemn office-boy. A faint murmur +came from the second room. This must be the private +sanctum of the spider; this murmur might be the +spider's enchantment over the fly. What should the +third room be? The trap? He turned the knob and +entered swiftly and silently, much to the detective's surprise +and his own.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I had no idea that door was unlocked," said Curran +helplessly.</p> + +<p>"Nor I. Who's within? My friend, young Everard?"</p> + +<p>"Don't know. She shoved me in here to wait until +some visitor departed. Then we are to consider a proposition +I made her," said the calm detective.</p> + +<p>"So you have made a beginning? That's good. Don't +stir. Perhaps it is as well that you are here. Let me discover +who is in here with the good sister."</p> + +<p>"I can go to the first room, the front office, and inquire," +said Curran.</p> + +<p>"Never mind."</p> + +<p>He could hear no words, only the low tones of the +woman speaking; until of a sudden the strong, manly +voice of Louis, but subdued by emotion, husky and uncertain, +rose in answer to her passionate outburst.</p> + +<p>"He's inside ... my young man ... hopes to convert +her," Arthur whispered to Curran, and they laughed together +in silence. "Now I have my own suspicion as to +her motive in luring the boy here. If he goes as he came, +why I'm wrong perhaps. If there's a rumpus, I may have +her little feet in the right sort of a trap, and so save you +labor, and the rest of us money. If anything happens, +Curran, leave the situation to me. I'm anxious for a close +acquaintance with Sister Claire."</p> + +<p>Curran sat as comfortably, to the eye, as if in his own +house entertaining his friend Dillon. The latter occasionally +made the very natural reflection that this brave and +skilful man lay in the trap of just such a creature as Sister +Claire. Suddenly there came a burst of sound from the +next room, exclamations, the hurrying of feet, the crash +of a chair, and the trying of the doors. A frenzied hand +shook the knob of the door at which Arthur was looking +with a satisfied smile.</p> + +<p>"Locked in?" he said to Curran, who nodded in a dazed +way.</p> + +<p>Then some kind of a struggle began on the other side of +that door. Arthur stood there like a cat ready to pounce +on the foolish mouse, and the detective glared at him like +a surly dog eager to rend him, but afraid. They could +hear smothered calls for help in a woman's voice.</p> + +<p>"If she knew how near the cat is," Arthur remarked +patiently.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span></p> + +<p>At last the key clicked in the lock, the door half +opened, and as Arthur pushed it inwards Sister Claire +flung herself away from it, and gasped feebly for help. +She was hanging like a tiger to Louis, who in a gentle way +tried to shake her hands and arms from his neck. The +young fellow's face bore the frightful look of a terrified +child struggling for life against hopeless odds—mingled +despair and pain. Arthur remained quietly in the entrance, +and the detective glared over his shoulder warningly +at Claire. At sight of the man who stood there, she +would have shrieked in her horror and fright, but that +sound died away in her throat. She loosened her grip, +and stood staring a moment, then swiftly and meaningly +began to arrange her disordered clothing. Louis made a +dash for the door, seeing only a way of escape and not +recognizing his friend. Arthur shook him.</p> + +<p>"Ah, you will go converting before your time," he said +gayly.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Arthur, thank God——" the lad stammered.</p> + +<p>"Seize him," Claire began to shriek, very cautiously +however. "Hold him, gentlemen. Get the police. He +is an emissary of the papists——"</p> + +<p>"Let me go," Louis cried in anguish.</p> + +<p>"Steady all round," Arthur answered with a laugh. +"Sister Claire, if you want the police raise your voice. +One harlot more on the Island will not matter. Louis, +get your nerve, man. Did I not tell you I would be in +the hall? Go home, and leave me to deal with this perfect +lady. Look after him," he flung at Curran, and +closed the door on them, quite happy at the result of +Sister Magdalen's scheme of conversion.</p> + +<p>He did not see the gesture from Curran which warned +Sister Claire to make terms in a hurry with this dangerous +young man. The fury stood at the far end of the +office, burning with rage and uncertainty. Having fallen +into her own trap, she knew not what to do. The situation +had found its master. Arthur Dillon evidently took +great pleasure in this climax of her making. He looked +at her for a moment as one might at a wild animal of a +new species. The room had been darkened so that one +could not see distinctly. He knew that trick too. Her +beauty improved upon acquaintance. For the second time +her face reminded him that they had met before, and he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span> +considered the point for an instant. What did it matter +just then? She had fallen into his hands, and must be +disposed of. Pointing to a chair he sat down affably, his +manner making his thought quite plain. She remained +standing.</p> + +<p>"You may be very tired before our little talk is concluded——"</p> + +<p>"Am I to receive your insults as well as your agent's?" +she interrupted.</p> + +<p>"Now, now, Sister Claire, this will never do. You +have been acting" ... he looked at his watch ... "since +four o'clock. The play is over. We are in real life again. +Talk sense. Since Everard failed to convert you, and you +to convert Everard, try the arts of Cleopatra on me. Or, +let me convince you that you have made a blunder——"</p> + +<p>"I do not wish to listen you," she snapped. "I will +not be insulted a second time."</p> + +<p>"Who could insult the author of the <i>Confessions</i>? +You are beyond insult, Claire. I have read your book +with the deepest interest. I have read you between every +line, which cannot be said of most of your readers. I am +not going to waste any words on you. I am going to give +you an alternative, which will do duty until I find rope +enough to hang you as high as Jack Sheppard. You know +what you are, and so do I. The friends of this young man +who fell so nicely into your claws will be anxious to keep +his adventure with you very quiet."</p> + +<p>A light leaped into her eyes. She had feared that outside, +in the hall, this man might have his hirelings ready +to do her mischief, that some dreadful plot had come to a +head which meant her ruin. Light began to dawn upon +her. He laughed at her thoughts.</p> + +<p>"One does not care to make public an adventure with +such a woman as you," said he affably. "A young man +like that too. It would be fatal for him. Therefore, you +are to say nothing about it. You are not eager to talk +about your failure ... Cleopatra blushes for your failure ... but +a heedless tongue and a bitter feeling often get +the better of sense. If you remain silent, so shall I."</p> + +<p>"Very generous," she answered calmly, coming back to +her natural coolness and audacity. "As you have all to +lose, and I have all to gain by a description of the trap set +for me by your unclean emissary, your proposition won't<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span> +go. I shall place the matter before my friends, and before +the public, when I find it agreeable."</p> + +<p>"When!" he mocked. "You know by this time that +you are playing a losing game, Claire. If you don't know +it, then you are not smart enough for the game. Apart +from that, remember one thing: when you speak I shall +whisper the truth to the excitable people whom your dirty +book is harrying now."</p> + +<p>"I am not afraid of whispers, quite used to them in +fact," she drawled, as if mimicking him.</p> + +<p>"I see you are not smart enough for the game," and the +remark startled her. "You can see no possible results from +that whisper. Did you ever hear of Jezebel and her fate? +Oh, you recall how the dogs worried her bones, do you? +So far your evil work has been confined to glittering generalities. +To-day you took a new tack. Now you must +answer to me. Let it once become known that you tried +to defile the innocent, to work harm to one of mine, and +you may suffer the fate of the unclean things to which you +belong by nature. The mob kills without delicacy. It +will tear you as the dogs tore the painted Jezebel."</p> + +<p>"You are threatening me," she stammered with a show +of pride.</p> + +<p>"No. That would be a waste of time. I am warning +you. You have still the form of a woman, therefore I give +you a chance. You are at the end of your rope. Stretch +it further, and it may become the noose to hang you. You +have defiled with your touch one whom I love. He kept +his innocence, so I let it pass. But a rat like you must +be destroyed. Very soon too. We are not going to stand +your abominations, even if men like Livingstone and +Bradford encourage you. I am giving you a chance. +What do you say? Have I your promise to be silent?"</p> + +<p>"You have," she replied brokenly.</p> + +<p>He looked at her surprised. The mask of her brazen +audacity remained, but some feeling had overpowered her, +and she began to weep like any woman in silent humiliation. +He left her without a word, knowing enough +of her sex to respect this inexplicable grief, and to wait +for a more favorable time to improve his acquaintance. +"Sonia's mate," he said to himself as he reached the +street. The phrase never left him from that day, and +became a prophecy of woe afterwards. He writhed as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span> +he saw how nearly the honor and happiness of Louis +had fallen into the hands of this wretch. Protected by the +great, she could fling her dirt upon the clean, and go unpunished. +Sonia's mate! He had punished one creature +of her kind, and with God's help he would yet lash the +backs of Sister Claire and her supporters.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter"><a name="CHAPTER_XXI" id="CHAPTER_XXI"></a>CHAPTER XXI.</h2> + +<h3 class="chapter2">AN ANXIOUS NIGHT.</h3> + + +<p>Curran caught up with him as he turned into Broadway.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span> +He had waited to learn if Arthur had any instructions, +as he was now to return to Sister Claire's office and +explain as he might the astounding appearance of Dillon +at a critical moment.</p> + +<p>"She's a ripe one," Arthur said, smiling at thought of +her collapse, but the next moment he frowned. "She's +a devil, Curran, a handsome devil, and we must deal with +her accordingly—stamp her out like a snake. Did you +notice her?"</p> + +<p>"No doubt she's a bad one," Curran answered thickly, +but Arthur's bitter words gave him a shiver, and he seemed +to choke in his utterance.</p> + +<p>"Make any explanation you like, Curran. She will +accuse you of letting me in perhaps. It looks like a trap, +doesn't it? By the way, what became of the boy?"</p> + +<p>"He seemed pretty well broken up," the detective answered, +"and sent me off as soon as he learned that I had +him in charge. I told him that you had the whole +business nicely in hand, and not to worry. He muttered +something about going home. Anyway, he would have no +more of me, and he went off quite steady, but looking +rather queer, I thought."</p> + +<p>Arthur, with sudden anxiety, recalled that pitiful, hopeless +look of the terrified child in Louis' face. Perhaps he +had been too dazed to understand how completely Arthur +had rescued him in the nick of time. To the lad's inexperience +this cheap attempt of Claire to overcome his +innocence by a modified badger game might have the +aspect of a tragedy. Moreover, he remained ignorant of +the farce into which it had been turned.</p> + +<p>"I am sorry you left him," he said, thoughtfully weighing +the circumstances. "This creature threatened him,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span> +of course, with publicity, an attack on her honor by a +papist emissary. He doesn't know how little she would +dare such adventure now. He may run away in his fright, +thinking that his shame may be printed in the papers, and +that the police may be watching for him. Public disgrace +means ruin for him, for, as you know, he is studying to be +a priest."</p> + +<p>"I didn't know," Curran answered stupidly, a greenish +pallor spreading over his face. "That kind of work won't +bring her much luck."</p> + +<p>"It occurs to me now that he was too frightened to +understand what my appearance meant, and what your +words meant," Arthur resumed. "He may feel an added +shame that we know about it. I must find him. Do you +go at once to Sister Claire and settle your business with +her. Then ride over to the Everards, and tell the lad, if +he be there, that I wish to see him at once. If he has +not yet got back, leave word with his mother ... keep a +straight face while you talk with her ... to send him over +to me as soon as he gets home. And tell her that if I meet +him before he does get home, that I shall keep him with +me all night. Do you see the point? If he has gone off +in his fright, we have sixteen hours to find him. No one +must know of his trouble, in that house at least, until he +is safe. Do you think we can get on his trail right away, +Curran?"</p> + +<p>"We must," Curran said harshly, "we must. Has he +any money?"</p> + +<p>"Not enough to carry him far."</p> + +<p>"Then ten hours' search ought to capture him."</p> + +<p>"Report then to me at my residence within an hour. +I have hopes that this search will not be needed, that you +will find him at home. But be quicker than ever you +were in your life, Curran. I'd go over to Cherry Street +myself, but my inquiries would frighten the Everards. +There must be no scandal."</p> + +<p>Strange that he had not foreseen this possibility. For +him the escapade with the escaped nun would have been +a joke, and he had not thought how differently Louis must +have regarded it. If the lad had really fled, and his +friends must learn of it, Sister Claire's share in the matter +would have to remain a profound secret. With all their +great love for this boy, his clan would rather have seen him<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span> +borne to the grave than living under the shadow of scandal +in connection with this vicious woman. Her perfidy +would add disgrace to grief, and deepen their woe beyond +time's power to heal.</p> + +<p>For with this people the prejudice against impurity +was so nobly unreasonable that mere suspicion became +equal to crime. This feeling intensified itself in regard +to the priesthood. The innocence of Louis would not +save him from lifelong reproach should his recent adventure +finds its way into the sneering journals. Within +the hour Curran, more anxious than Arthur himself, +brought word that the lad had not yet reached home. +His people were not worried, and promised to send him +with speed to Arthur.</p> + +<p>"Begin your search then," said Arthur, "and report +here every hour. I have an idea he may have gone to +see an aunt of his, and I'll go there to find out. What is +your plan?"</p> + +<p>"He has no money, and he'll want to go as far as he +can, and where he won't be easily got at. He'll ship on +an Indiaman. I'll set a few men to look after the outgoing +ships as a beginning."</p> + +<p>"Secrecy above all things, understand," was the last +admonition.</p> + +<p>Darkness had come on, and the clocks struck the hour +of seven as Arthur set out for a visit to Sister Mary Magdalen. +Possibly Louis had sought her to tell the story of +failure and shame, the sad result of her foolish enterprise; +and she had kept him to console him, to put him in shape +before his return home, so that none might mark the +traces of his frightful emotion. Alas, the good nun had +not seen him since their visit to Claire's office in Bleecker +Street the day before. He concealed from her the situation.</p> + +<p>"How in the name of Heaven," said he, "did you conceive +this scheme of converting this woman?"</p> + +<p>"She has a soul to be saved, and it's quite saveable," +answered the nun tartly. "The more hopeless from +man's view, the more likely from God's. I have a taste +for hopeless enterprises."</p> + +<p>"I wish you had left Louis out of this one," Arthur +thought. "But to deal with a wretch like her, so notorious, +so fallen," he said aloud, "you must have risked<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span> +too much. Suppose, after you had entered her office, she +had sent for a reporter to see you there, to see you leaving +after kissing her, to hear a pretty story of an embassy from +the archbishop to coax her back to religion; and the next +morning a long account of this attempt on her resolution +should appear in the papers? What would your superiors +say?"</p> + +<p>"That could happen," she admitted with a shiver, "but +I had her word that my visit was to be kept a secret."</p> + +<p>"Her word!" and he raised his hands.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I assure you the affair was arranged beforehand +to the smallest detail," she declared. "Of course no one +can trust a woman like that absolutely. But, as you see, +in this case everything went off smoothly."</p> + +<p>"I see indeed," said Arthur too worried to smile.</p> + +<p>"I arranged the meeting through Miss Conyngham," +the nun continued, "a very clever person for such work. +I knew the danger of the enterprise, but the woman has +a soul, and I thought if some one had the courage to take +her by the hand and lead her out of her wicked life, she +might do penance, and even become a saint. She received +Miss Conyngham quite nicely indeed; and also my message +that a helping hand was ready for her at any moment. +She was afraid too of a trap; but at the last she begged +to see me, and I went, with the consent of my superior."</p> + +<p>"And how did you come to mix Louis up in the thing?"</p> + +<p>"He happened to drop in as I was going, and I took him +along. He was very much edified, we all were."</p> + +<p>"And he has been more edified since," observed Arthur, +but the good nun missed the sarcasm.</p> + +<p>"She made open confession before the three of us," +warming up at the memory of that scene. "With tears +in her eyes she described her fall, her present remorse, +her despair of the future, and her hope in us. Most remarkable +scene I ever witnessed. I arranged for her to +call at this convent whenever she could to plan for her +return. She may be here any time. Oh, yes, I forgot. +The most touching moment of all came at the last. When +we were leaving she took Louis' hand, pressed it to her +heart, kissed it with respect, and cried out: 'You happy +soul, oh, keep the grace of God in your heart, hold to your +high vocation through any torment: to lose it, to destroy +it, as I destroyed mine, is to open wide the soul to devils.'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span> +Wasn't that beautiful now? Then she asked him in the +name of God to call on her the next day, and he promised. +He may be here to-night to tell me about it."</p> + +<p>"You say three. Was Edith Conyngham the third?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, only a sister of our community."</p> + +<p>He burst out laughing at the thought of the fox acting +so cleverly before the three geese. Claire must have +laughed herself into a fit when they had gone. He had +now to put the Sister on her guard at the expense of her +self-esteem. He tried to do so gently and considerately, +fearing hysterics.</p> + +<p>"You put the boy in the grasp of the devil, I fear," +he said. "Convert Sister Claire! You would better have +turned your prayers on Satan! She got him alone this +afternoon in her office, as you permitted, and made him a +proposition, which she had in her mind from the minute +she first saw him. I arrived in time to give her a shock, +and to rescue him. Now we are looking for him to tell +him he need not fear Sister Claire's threats to publish how +he made an attack upon her virtue."</p> + +<p>"I do not quite understand," gasped Sister Magdalen +stupefied. What Arthur thought considerate others might +have named differently. Exasperation at the downright +folly of the scheme, and its threatened results, may have +actuated him. His explanation satisfied the nun, and her +fine nerve resisted hysterics and tears.</p> + +<p>"It is horrible," she said at the last word. "But we +acted honestly, and God will not desert us. You will find +Louis before morning, and I shall spend the night in +prayer until you have found him ... for him and you ... and +for that poor wretch, that dreadful woman, more to +be pitied than any one."</p> + +<p>His confidence did not encourage him. Hour by hour +the messengers of Curran appeared with the one hopeless +phrase: no news. He walked about the park until midnight, +and then posted himself in the basement with cigar +and journal to while away the long hours. Sinister +thoughts troubled him, and painful fancies. He could +see the poor lad hiding in the slums, or at the mercy of +wretches as vile as Claire; wandering about the city, perhaps, +in anguish over his ruined life, horrified at what his +friends must read in the morning papers, planning helplessly +to escape from a danger which did not exist, except<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span> +in his own mind. Oh, no doubt Curran would find him! +Why, he <i>must</i> find him!</p> + +<p>Across the sea in London, Minister Livingstone slept, +full fed with the flatteries of a day, dreaming of the pleasures +and honors sure to come with the morning. Down +in the prison town lived Honora, with her eyes dulled from +watching the jail and her heart sore with longing. For +Owen the prison, for Louis the pavement, for Honora and +himself the sleepless hours of the aching heart; but for +the responsible Minister and his responsible tool sweet +sleep, gilded comfort, overwhelming honors. Such things +could be only because men of his sort were craven idiots. +What a wretched twist in all things human! Why not, +if nothing else could be done, go and set fire to Claire's +office, the bishop's house, and the Livingstone mansion?</p> + +<p>However, joy came at the end of the night, for the +messenger brought word that the lad had been found, +sound as a bell, having just shipped as a common sailor on +an Indiaman. Since Curran could not persuade him to +leave his ship, the detective had remained on the vessel to +await Arthur's arrival. A cab took him down to the +wharf, and a man led him along the dock to the gang-plank, +thence across the deck to a space near the forecastle, +where Curran sat with Louis in the starlight.</p> + +<p>"Then it's all true ... what he has been telling me?" +Louis cried as he leaped to his feet and took the hearty +grasp of his friend.</p> + +<p>"As true as gospel," said Arthur, using Judy's phrase. +"Let's get out of this without delay. We can talk about +it at home. Curran, do you settle with the captain."</p> + +<p>They hurried away to the cab in silence. Before entering +Arthur wrung the hand of the detective warmly.</p> + +<p>"It would take more than I own to pay you for this +night's work, Curran. I want you to know how I feel +about it, and when the time comes ask your own reward."</p> + +<p>"What you have just said is half of it," the man answered +in a strange tone. "When the time comes I shall +not be bashful."</p> + +<p>"It would have been the greatest blunder of your +life," Arthur said, as they drove homeward, "if you had +succeeded in getting away. It cannot be denied, Louis, +that from five o'clock this afternoon till now you made a +fool of yourself. Don't reply. Don't worry about it.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span> +Just think of this gold-plate fact: no one knows anything +about it. You are supposed to be sleeping sweetly at my +house. I settled Claire beautifully. And Sister Magdalen, +too. By the way, I must send her word by the +cabby ... better let her do penance on her knees till +sunrise ... she's praying for you ... but the suspense might kill +her ... no, I'll send word. As I was saying, everything +is as it was at four o'clock this afternoon."</p> + +<p>He chattered for the lad's benefit, noting that at times +Louis shivered as with ague, and that his hands were cold. +He has tasted calamity, Arthur thought with resignation, +and life will never be quite the same thing again. In the +comfortable room the marks of suffering became painfully +evident. Even joy failed to rouse his old self. Pale, +wrinkled like age, shrunken, almost lean, he presented a +woful spectacle. Arthur mixed a warm punch for him, +and spread a substantial lunch.</p> + +<p>"The sauce for this feast," said he, "is not appetite, +but this fact: that your troubles are over. Now eat."</p> + +<p>Louis made a pretense of eating, and later, under the +influence of the punch, found a little appetite. By degrees +his mind became clearer as his body rested, the wrinkles +began to disappear, his body seemed to fill out while the +comfort of the situation invaded him. Arthur, puffing his +cigar and describing his interview with Claire, looked so +stanch and solid, so sure of himself, so at ease with his +neighbors, that one could scarcely fail to catch his happy +complaint.</p> + +<p>"She has begun her descent into hell," he said placidly, +"but since you are with us still, I shall give her plenty of +time to make it. What I am surprised at is that you did +not understand what my entrance meant. She understood +it. She thought Curran was due as her witness of the assault. +What surprises me still more is that you so completely +forgot my advice: no matter what the trouble and +the shame, come straight to me. Here was a grand chance +to try it."</p> + +<p>"I never thought of this kind of trouble," said Louis +dully. "Anyway, I got such a fright that I understood +nothing rightly up to midnight. The terrible feeling of +public disgrace eat into me. I saw and heard people crying +over me as at a funeral, you know that hopeless crying. +The road ahead looked to be full of black clouds. I wanted<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span> +to die. Then I wanted to get away. When I found a ship +they took me for a half-drunk sailor, and hustled me into +the forecastle in lively shape. When Curran found me +and hauled me out of the bunk, I had been asleep enjoying +the awfullest dreams. I took him for a trickster, who +wanted to get me ashore and jail me. I feel better. I +think I can sleep now."</p> + +<p>"Experience maybe has given you a better grip on the +meaning of that wise advice which I repeat now: no matter +what the trouble, come to me."</p> + +<p>"I shall come," said the lad with a show of spirit that +delighted Arthur. "Even if you should see me hanged +the next day."</p> + +<p>"That's a fine sentiment to sleep on, so we'll go to bed. +However, remind yourself that a little good sense when you +resume business ... by the way, it's morning ... no super-sensitiveness, +no grieving, for you were straight all through ... go +right on as if nothing had happened ... and in fact +nothing has happened yet ... I can see that you understand."</p> + +<p>They went to bed, and slept comfortably until noon. +After breakfast Louis looked passably well, yet miserable +enough to make explanations necessary for his alarmed +parents. Arthur undertook the disagreeable office, which +seemed to him delightful by comparison with that other +story of a runaway son <i>en route</i> in fancied disgrace for +India. All's well that ends well. Mary Everard wept +with grief, joy, and gratitude, and took her jewel to her +arms without complaint or question. The crotchety father +was disposed to have it out with either the knaves or the +fools in the game, did not Arthur reduce him to quiet by +his little indictment.</p> + +<p>"There is only one to quarrel with about this sad affair, +John Everard," said he smoothly, "and that only one is +your friend and well wisher, Quincy Livingstone. I want +you to remember that, when we set out to take his scalp. +It's a judgment on you that you are the first to suffer +directly by this man's plotting. You needn't talk back. +The boy is going to be ill, and you'll need all your epithets +for your chief and yourself before you see comfort again."</p> + +<p>Recalling his son's appearance the father remained silent. +Arthur's prevision came true. The physician ordered +Louis to bed for an indefinite time, having found him suf<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span>fering +from shock, and threatened with some form of fever. +The danger did not daunt his mother. Whatever of suffering +yet remained, her boy would endure it in the shelter +of her arms.</p> + +<p>"If he died this night," she said to Arthur, "I would +still thank God that sent him back to die among his own; +and after God, you, son dear, who have been more than a +brother to him."</p> + +<p>Thus the items in his account with kinsman Livingstone +kept mounting daily.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter"><a name="CHAPTER_XXII" id="CHAPTER_XXII"></a>CHAPTER XXII.</h2> + +<h3 class="chapter2">THE END OF A MELODRAMA.</h3> + + +<p>Louis kept his bed for some weeks, and suffered a slow<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span> +convalescence. Private grief must give way to public +necessity. In this case the private grief developed a public +necessity. Arthur took pains to tell his story to the +leaders. It gave point to the general onslaught now being +made on the Irish by the hired journals, the escaped nun, +and, as some named him, the escaped historian. A plan +was formulated to deal with all three. Grahame entered +the lists against Bitterkin and Smallish, Vandervelt denounced +the <i>Confessions</i> and its author at a banquet <i>vis-à-vis</i> +with Bradford, and Monsignor pursued the escaped historian +by lecturing in the same cities, and often on the same +platform. Arthur held to Sister Claire as his specialty, as +the hinge of the Livingstone scheme, a very rotten hinge +on which to depend. Nevertheless, she kept her footing +for months after her interview with him.</p> + +<p>Curran had laid bare her life and exposed her present +methods nicely; but neither afforded a grip which might +shake her, except inasmuch as it gave him an unexpected +clue to the Claire labyrinth. Her history showed that +she had often played two parts in the same drama. Without +doubt a similar trick served her now, not only to indulge +her riotous passions, but to glean advantages from +her enemies and useful criticism from her friends. He +cast about among his casual acquaintance for characters +that Claire might play. Edith Conyngham? Not impossible! +The Brand who held forth at the gospel hall? +Here was a find indeed! Comparing the impressions left +upon him by these women, as a result he gave Curran the +commission to watch and study the daily living of Edith +Conyngham. Even this man's nerve shook at a stroke so +luckily apt.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I don't know much about the ways of escaped nuns," +said Arthur, "but I am going to study them. I'll wager +you find Claire behind the rusty garments of this obscure, +muddy, slimy little woman. They have the same appetite +anyway."</p> + +<p>This choice bit of news, carried at once to the escaped +nun, sounded in Sister Claire's ear like the crack of doom, +and she stared at Curran, standing humbly in her office, +with distorted face.</p> + +<p>"Is this the result of your clever story-telling, Dick +Curran?" she gasped.</p> + +<p>"It's the result of your affair with young Everard," he +replied sadly. "That was a mistake altogether. It waked +up Arthur Dillon."</p> + +<p>"The mistake was to wake that man," she said sourly. +"I fear him. There's something hiding in him, something +terrible, that looks out of his eyes like a ghost in +hell. The dogs ... Jezebel ... that was his threat ... ugh!"</p> + +<p>"He has waked up the whole crowd against you and +frightened your friends. If ever he tells the Clan-na-Gael +about young Everard, your life won't be worth a pin."</p> + +<p>"With you to defend me?" ironically.</p> + +<p>"I could only die with you ... against that crowd."</p> + +<p>"And you would," she said with conviction, tears in +her eyes. "My one friend."</p> + +<p>His cheeks flushed and his eyes sparkled at the fervent +praise of his fidelity.</p> + +<p>"Well, it's all up with me," changing to a mood of gaiety. +"The Escaped Nun must escape once more. They will +all turn their coldest shoulders to me, absolutely frightened +by this Irish crowd, to which we belong after all, Dick. I'm +not sorry they can stand up for themselves, are you? So, +there's nothing to do but take up the play, and begin +work on it in dead earnest."</p> + +<p>"It's a bad time," Curran ventured, as she took a manuscript +from a desk. "But you know how to manage such +things, you are so clever," he hastened to add, catching a +fiery glance from her eye. "Only you must go with +caution."</p> + +<p>"It's a fine play," she said, turning the pages of the +manuscript. "Dick, you are little short of a genius. If +I had not liked the real play so well, playing to the big<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span> +world this rôle of escaped nun, I would have taken it up +long ago. The little stage of the theater is nothing to +the grand stage of the world, where a whole nation applauds; +and men like the Bishop take it for the real +thing, this impersonation of mine. But since I am +shut out ... and my curse on this Arthur Dillon ... no, +no, I take that back ... he's a fine fellow, working +according to his nature ... since he will shut me out I +must take to the imitation stage. Ah, but the part is fine! +First act: the convent garden, the novice reading her +love in the flowers, the hateful old mother superior choking +her to get her lover's note from her, the reading of the +note, and the dragging of the novice to her prison cell, +down in the depths of the earth. How that will draw the +tears from the old maids of Methodism all over the +country!"</p> + +<p>She burst into hearty laughter.</p> + +<p>"Second act: the dungeon, the tortures, old superior +again, and the hateful hag who is in love with the hero +and would like to wreak her jealousy on me, poor thing, +all tears and determination. I loathe the two women. I +denounce the creed which invents such tortures. I lie +down to die in the dungeon while the music moans and +the deacons and their families in the audience groan. +Don't you think, Dicky dear, I can do the dying act to +perfection?"</p> + +<p>"On the stage perfectly."</p> + +<p>"You're a wretch," she shrieked with sudden rage. +"You hint at the night I took a colic and howled for the +priest, when you know it was only the whisky and the delirium. +How dare you!"</p> + +<p>"It slipped on me," he said humbly.</p> + +<p>"The third act is simply beautiful: chapel of the convent, +a fat priest at the altar, all the nuns gathered about +to hear the charges against me, I am brought in bound, +pale, starved, but determined; the trial, the sentence, +the curse ... oh, that scene is sublime, I can see Booth in +it ... pity we can't have him ... then the inrush of my +lover, the terror, the shrieks, the confusion, as I am carried +off the stage with the curtain going down. At last the serene +fourth act: another garden, the villains all punished, +my lover's arms about me, and we two reading the flowers +as the curtain descends. Well," with a sigh of pleasure,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span> +"if that doesn't take among the Methodists and the general +public out West and down South, what will?"</p> + +<p>"I can see the fire with which you will act it," said +Curran eagerly. "You are a born actress. Who but +you could play so many parts at once?"</p> + +<p>"And yet," she answered dreamily, giving an expressive +kick with unconscious grace, "this is what I like best. +If it could be introduced into the last act ... but of course +the audiences wouldn't tolerate it, dancing. Well," waking +up suddenly to business, "are you all ready for the +<i>grand coup</i>—press, manager, all details?"</p> + +<p>"Ready long ago."</p> + +<p>"Here then is the program, Dicky dear. To-morrow +I seek the seclusion of the convent at Park Square—isn't +<i>seclusion</i> good? To-night letters go out to all my +friends, warning them of my utter loneliness, and dread +of impending abduction. In two or three days you get a +notice in the papers about these letters, and secure interviews +with the Bishop if possible, with McMeeter anyway ... oh, +he'll begin to howl as soon as he gets his letter. +Whenever you think the public interest, or excitement, is +at its height, then you bring your little ladder to the convent, +and wait outside for a racket which will wake the neighborhood. +In the midst of it, as the people are gathering, up +with the ladder, and down with me in your triumphant +arms. Pity we can't have a calcium light for that scene. +If there should be any failure ... of course there can't +be ... then a note of warning will reach me, with any +instructions you may wish to give me ... to the old +address of course."</p> + +<p>Both laughed heartily at this allusion.</p> + +<p>"It has been great fun," she said, "fooling them all right +and left. That Dillon is suspicious though ... fine fellow +... I like him. Dicky, ... you're not jealous. What +a wonder you are, dear old faithful Dicky, my playwright, +manager, lover, detective, everything to me. Well, run +along to your work. We strike for fortune this time—for +fortune and for fame. You will not see me again until +you carry me down the ladder from the convent window. +What a lark! And there's money in it for you and me."</p> + +<p>He dared not discourage her, being too completely her +slave, like wax in her hands; and he believed, too, that +her scheme of advertising the drama of <i>The Escaped Nun</i><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span> +would lead to splendid and profitable notoriety. A real +escape, from a city convent, before the very eyes of respectable +citizens, would ring through the country like an +alarm, and set the entire Protestant community in motion. +While he feared, he was also dazzled by the brilliancy of +the scheme.</p> + +<p>It began very well. The journals one morning announced +the disappearance of Sister Claire, and described +the alarm of her friends at her failure to return. Thereupon +McMeeter raised his wonderful voice over the letter +sent him on the eve of her flight, and printed the pathetic +epistle along with his denunciation of the cowardice which +had given her over to her enemies. Later Bishop Bradford, +expressing his sympathy in a speech to the Dorcas' +Society, referred to the walling up of escaped nuns during +the dark ages. A little tide of paragraphs flowed from +the papers, plaintively murmuring the one sad strain: the +dear sister could not be far distant; she might be in the +city, deep in a convent dungeon; she had belonged to +the community of the Good Shepherd, whose convent +stood in Morris Street, large enough, sufficiently barred +with iron to suggest dungeons; the escaped one had often +expressed her dread of abduction; the convents ought to be +examined suddenly and secretly; and so on without end.</p> + +<p>"What is the meaning of it?" said Monsignor. "I +thought you had extinguished her, Arthur."</p> + +<p>"Another scheme of course. I was too merciful with +her, I imagine. All this noise seems to have one aim: to +direct attention to these convents. Now if she were hidden +in any of them, and a committee should visit that +convent and find her forcibly detained, as she would call +it; or if she could sound a fire alarm and make a spectacular +escape at two in the morning, before the whole +world, what could be said about it?"</p> + +<p>"Isn't it rather late in history for such things?" said +Monsignor.</p> + +<p>"A good trick is as good to-day as a thousand years +ago. I can picture you explaining to the American citizen, +amid the howls of McMeeter and the purring speeches +of the Bishop, how Sister Claire came to be in the convent +from which her friends rescued her."</p> + +<p>"It would be awkward enough I admit. You think, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span>then, that she ... but what could be her motive?"</p> + +<p>"Notoriety, and the sympathy of the people. I would +like to trip her up in this scheme, and hurl her once for +all into the hell which she seems anxious to prepare for +other people. You Catholics are altogether too easy with +the Claires and the McMeeters. Hence the tears of the +Everards."</p> + +<p>"We are so used to it," said the priest in apology. +"It would be foolish, however, not to heed your warning. +Go to the convents of the city from me, and put them on +their guard. Let them dismiss all strangers and keep +out newcomers until the danger appears to be over."</p> + +<p>The most careful search failed to reveal a trace of +Sister Claire's hiding-place among the various communities, +who were thrown into a fever of dread by the warning. +The journals kept up their crescendo of inquiry and information. +One must look for that snake, Arthur thought, +not with the eyes, but through inspiration. She hid +neither in the clouds nor in Arizona, but in the grass at +their feet. Seeking for inspiration, he went over the +ground a second time with Sister Magdalen, who had lost +flesh over the shame of her dealings with Claire, the +Everard troubles, and the dread of what was still to come. +She burned to atone for her holy indiscretions. The Park +Square convent, however, held no strangers. In the home +attached to it were many poor women, but all of them +known. Edith Conyngham the obscure, the mute, the +humble, was just then occupying a room in the place, +making a retreat of ten days in charge of Sister Magdalen. +At this fact Arthur was seized by his inspiration.</p> + +<p>"She must give up her retreat and leave the place," he +said quietly, though his pulse was bounding. "Make no +objection. It's only a case of being too careful. Leave +the whole matter to me. Say nothing to her about it. +To-night the good creature will have slipped away without +noise, and she can finish her retreat later. It's absurd, +but better be absurd than sorry."</p> + +<p>And Sister Magdalen, thinking of the long penance +she must undergo for her folly, made only a polite objection. +He wrote out a note at once in a disguised +hand, giving it no signature:</p> + +<div class="blockquote">"The game is up. You cannot get out of the convent too quick +or too soon. At ten o'clock a cab will be at the southwest corner +of Park Square. Take it and drive to the office. Before +ten I shall be with you. Don't delay an instant. State prison is +in sight. Dillon is on your track."</div> + +<p>"At eight o'clock this evening where will Miss Conyngham<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span> +be, Sister?"</p> + +<p>"In her room," said the nun, unhappy over the treatment +intended for her client, "preparing her meditation +for the morning. She has a great love for meditation on +the profound mysteries of religion."</p> + +<p>"Glad to know it," he said dryly. "Well, slip this +note under her door, make no noise, let no one see you, +give her no hint of your presence. Then go to bed and +pray for us poor sinners out in the wicked world."</p> + +<p>One must do a crazy thing now and then, under cover +of the proprieties, if only to test one's sanity. Edith and +Claire, as he had suggested to Curran, might be the same +person. What if Claire appeared tall, portly, resonant, +youthful, abounding in life, while Edith seemed mute, +old, thin, feeble? The art of the actor can work miracles +in personal appearance. A dual life provided perfect security +in carrying out Claire's plans, and it matched the +daring of the Escaped Nun to live as Edith in the very +hearts of the people she sought to destroy. Good sense +opposed his theory of course, but he made out a satisfactory +argument for himself. How often had Sister +Claire puzzled him by her resemblance to some one whom +he could not force out of the shadows of memory! Even +now, with the key of the mystery in his hands, he could +see no likeness between them. Yet no doubt remained in +his mind that a dual life would explain and expose Sister +Claire.</p> + +<p>That night he sat on the seat of a cab in proper +costume, at the southwest corner of Park Square. The +convent, diagonally opposite, was dark and silent at nine +o'clock; and far in the rear, facing the side street, stood +the home of the indigent, whose door would open for the +exit of a clever actress at ten o'clock, or, well closed, reproach +him for his stupidity. The great front of the convent, +dominating the Square, would have been a fine +stage for the scene contemplated by Sister Claire, and he +laughed at the spectacle of the escaped one leaping from +a window into her lover's arms, or sliding down a rope +amid the cheers of the mob and the shrieks of the dis<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span>graced +poor souls within. Then he gritted his teeth at +the thought of Louis, and Mary his mother, and Mona his +sister. His breath came short. Claire was a woman, +but some women are not dishonored by the fate of +Jezebel.</p> + +<p>Shortly after ten o'clock a small, well-wrapped figure +turned the remote corner of the Home, came out to the +Square, saw the cab, and coming forward with confidence +opened the door and stepped in. As Arthur drove off the +blood surged to his head and his heart in a way that made +his ears sing. It seemed impossible that the absurd should +turn out wisdom at the first jump. As he drove along he +wondered over the capacities of art. No two individuals +could have been more unlike in essentials than Edith +Conyngham and Sister Claire. Now it would appear that +high-heeled shoes, padded clothes, heavy eyebrows, paint, +a loud and confident voice, a bold manner, and her beautiful +costume had made Sister Claire; while shoes without +heels, rusty clothes, a gray wig, a weak voice, and timid +manner, had given form to Edith Conyngham.</p> + +<p>A soul is betrayed by its sins. The common feature of the +two characters was the sensuality which, neither in the +nun nor in her double, would be repressed or disguised. +Looking back, Arthur could see some points of resemblance +which might have betrayed the wretch to a clever +detective. Well, he would settle all accounts with her +presently, and he debated only one point, the flinging of +her to the dogs. In twenty minutes they reached the +office of the Escaped Nun. He opened the door of the +cab and she stepped out nervously, but walked with decision +into the building, for which she had the keys.</p> + +<p>"Anything more, mum?" he said respectfully.</p> + +<p>"Come right in, and light up for me," she said ungraciously, +in a towering rage. He found his way to the gas +jets and flooded the office with the light from four. She +pulled down the curtains, and flung aside her rusty shawl. +At the same moment he flung an arm about her, and with +his free hand tore the gray wig from her head, and shook +free the mass of yellow hair which lay beneath it. Then +he flung her limp into the nearest chair, and stood gazing +at her, frozen with amaze. She cowered, pale with the +sudden fright of the attack. It was not Sister Claire who +stood revealed, but the charming and lovely La Belle<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span> +Colette. The next instant he laughed like a hysterical +woman.</p> + +<p>"By heavens, but that <i>was</i> an inspiration!" he exclaimed. +"Don't be frightened, beautiful Colette. I was +prepared for a tragedy, but this discovery reveals a farce."</p> + +<p>Her terror gave way to stupefaction when she recognized +him.</p> + +<p>"So it's three instead of two," he went on. "The +lovely dancer is also the Escaped Nun and the late Edith +Conyngham. And Curran knew it of course, who was our +detective. That's bad. But Judy Haskell claims you as +a goddaughter. You are Curran's wife. You are Sister +Magdalen's poor friend. You are Katharine Kerrigan. +You are Sister Claire. You are Messalina. La Belle +Colette, you are the very devil."</p> + +<p>She recovered from her fright at his laugh, in which +some amusement tinkled, and also something terrible. +They were in a lonely place, he had made the situation, +and she felt miserably helpless.</p> + +<p>"You need not blame Curran," she said decisively. +"He knew the game, but he has no control over me. I +want to go home, and I want to know right away your +terms. It's all up with me. I confess. But let me know +what you are going to do with me."</p> + +<p>"Take you home to your husband," said Arthur. +"Come."</p> + +<p>They drove to the little apartment where Curran lay +peacefully sleeping, and where he received his erratic wife +with stupor. The three sat down in the parlor to discuss +the situation, which was serious enough, though Arthur +now professed to take it lightly. Colette stared at him +like a fascinated bird and answered his questions humbly.</p> + +<p>"It's all very simple," said she. "I am truly Edith +Conyngham, and Judy Haskell is my godmother, and I +was in a convent out West. I was expelled for a love +caper, and came back to my friends much older in appearance +than I had need to be. The Escaped-Nun-racket was +a money-maker. What I really am, you see. I am the +dancer, La Belle Colette. All the rest is disguise."</p> + +<p>Curran asked no questions and accepted the situation +composedly.</p> + +<p>"She is in your hands," he said.</p> + +<p>"I place her in yours for the present," Arthur replied,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span> +glowering as he thought of Louis. "Detectives will +shadow you both until I come to a decision what to do +with you. Any move to escape and you will be nipped. +Then the law takes its course. As for you, La Belle +Colette, say your prayers. I am still tempted to send you +after Jezebel."</p> + +<p>"You are a terrible man," she whimpered, as he walked +out and left them to their sins.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter"><a name="CHAPTER_XXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXIII"></a>CHAPTER XXIII.</h2> + +<h3 class="chapter2">THE FIRST BLOW.</h3> + + +<p>Mayor Birmingham and Grahame, summoned by messengers,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span> +met him in the forever-deserted offices of Sister +Claire. He made ready for them by turning on all the +lights, setting forth a cheerful bottle and some soda from +Claire's hidden ice-box, and lighting a cigar. Delight ran +through his blood like fire. At last he had his man on +the hip, and the vision of that toss which he meant to give +him made his body tingle from the roots of his hair to the +points of his toes. However, the case was not for him to +deal with alone. Birmingham, the man of weight, prudence, +fairness, the true leader, really owned the situation. +Grahame, experienced journalist, had the right to manage +the publicity department of this delicious scandal. His +own task would be to hold Claire in the traces, and drive +her round the track, show the world her paces, past the +judge's stand. Ah, to see the face of the Minister as he +read the story of exposure—her exposure and his own +shame!</p> + +<p>The two men stared at his comfortable attitude in that +strange inn, and fairly gasped at the climax of his story.</p> + +<p>"The devil's in you. No one but you would have +thought out such a scheme," said Grahame, recalling the +audacity, the cleverness, the surprises of his friend's career +from the California episode to the invasion of Ireland. +"Great heavens! but you have the knack of seizing the +hinge of things."</p> + +<p>"I think we have Livingstone and his enterprise in the +proper sort of hole," Arthur answered. "The question +is how to use our advantage?"</p> + +<p>The young men turned to Birmingham with deference.</p> + +<p>"The most thorough way," said the Mayor, after complimenting +Arthur on his astonishing success, "would be to +hale Claire before the courts for fraud, and subpœna all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span> +our distinguished enemies. That course has some disagreeable +consequences, however."</p> + +<p>"I think we had better keep out of court," Arthur said +quickly.</p> + +<p>His companions looked surprised at his hesitation. He +did not understand it himself. For Edith Conyngham he +felt only disgust, and for Sister Claire an amused contempt; +but sparkling Colette, so clever, bright, and +amiable, so charmingly conscienceless, so gracefully +wicked, inspired him with pity almost. He could not +crush the pretty reptile, or thrust her into prison.</p> + +<p>"Of course I want publicity," he hastened to add, "the +very widest, to reach as far as London, and strike the +Minister. How can that be got, and keep away from the +courts?"</p> + +<p>"An investigating committee is what you are thinking +of," said the Mayor. "I can call such a body together at +the Fifth Avenue Hotel, our most distinguished citizens. +They could receive the confession of this woman, and report +to the public on her character."</p> + +<p>"That's the plan," Arthur interrupted with joy. +"That <i>must</i> be carried out. I'll see that Claire appears +before that committee and confesses her frauds. But mark +this: on that committee you should have the agents of +Livingstone: Bradford, Bitterkin ... I owe him one +for his meanness to the Senator ... Smallish in particular, +and McMeeter for the fun of the thing."</p> + +<p>"Wild horses wouldn't drag them to it," Grahame +thought.</p> + +<p>"I have something better than wild horses, the proofs +of their conspiracy, of their league with this woman," and +Arthur pointed to the locked drawers of the office. "How +will our minister to England like to have his name connected +with this scandal openly. Now, if these people refuse +to serve, by heavens, I'll take the whole case to court, +and give it an exposure as wide as the earth. If they're +agreeable, I'll keep away from the courts, and the rougher +part of the scandal."</p> + +<p>"There's your weapon," said the Mayor, "the alternative +of committee or court. I'll see to that part of the +business. Do you get the escaped nun ready for her confession, +and I'll guarantee the committee, let us say inside +of ten days. Your part, Grahame, will be to write up a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span> +story for the morning papers, covering dramatically the +details of this very remarkable episode."</p> + +<p>They sat long discussing the various features of the +scheme.</p> + +<p>Next morning Curran and Arthur sat down to talk over +the terms of surrender in the detective's house. Colette +still kept her bed, distracted with grief, and wild with +apprehension over the sensational articles in the morning +papers. Curran saw little hope for himself and his wife +in the stern face of Dillon.</p> + +<p>"At the start I would like to hear your explanation," +Arthur began coldly. "You were in my employ and in +hers."</p> + +<p>"In hers only to hinder what evil I could, and to protect +her from herself," the detective answered steadily and +frankly. "I make no excuse, because there isn't any to +make. But if I didn't live up to my contract with you, I +can say honestly that I never betrayed your interest. You +can guess the helplessness of a man in my fix. I have no +influence over Colette. She played her game against my +wish and prayer. Most particular did I warn her against +annoying you and yours. I was going to break up her +designs on young Everard, when you did it yourself. I +hope you——"</p> + +<p>In his nervous apprehension for Colette's fate the strong-willed +man broke down. He remained silent, struggling +for his vanishing self-control.</p> + +<p>"I understand, and I excuse you. The position was +nasty. I have always trusted you without knowing why +exactly," and he reflected a moment on that interesting +fact. "You did me unforgettable service in saving Louis +Everard."</p> + +<p>"How glad I am you remember that service," Curran +gasped, like one who grasping at a straw finds it a plank. +"I foresaw this moment when I said to you that night, +'I shall not be bashful about reminding you of it and +asking a reward at the right time.' I ask it now. For the +boy's sake be merciful with her. Don't hand her over +to the courts. Deal with her yourself, and I'll help +you."</p> + +<p>For the boy's sake, for that service so aptly rendered, +for the joy it brought and the grief it averted, he could +forget justice and crown Colette with diamonds! Curran<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span> +trembled with eagerness and suspense. He loved her,—this +wretch, witch, fiend of a woman!</p> + +<p>"The question is, can I deal with her myself? She is +intractable."</p> + +<p>"You ought to know by this time that she will do +anything for you ... and still more when she has to +choose between your wish and jail."</p> + +<p>"I shall require a good deal of her, not for my own +sake, but to undo the evil work——"</p> + +<p>"How I have tried to keep her out of that evil work," +Curran cried fiercely. "We are bad enough as it is +without playing traitors to our own, and throwing mud on +holy things. There can be no luck in it, and she knows +it. When one gets as low as she has, it's time for the +funeral. Hell is more respectable."</p> + +<p>Arthur did not understand this feeling in Curran. The +man's degradation seemed so complete to him that not +even sacrilege could intensify it; yet clearly the hardened +sinner saw some depths below his own which excited his +horror and loathing.</p> + +<p>"If you think I can deal with her, I shall not invoke +the aid of the law."</p> + +<p>The detective thanked him in a breaking voice. He had +enjoyed a very bad night speculating on the probable +course of events. Colette came in shortly, and greeted +Arthur as brazenly as usual, but with extreme sadness, +which became her well; so sweet, so delicate, so fragile, +that he felt pleased to have forgiven her so early in the +struggle. He had persecuted her, treated her with +violence, and printed her history for the scornful pleasure +of the world; he had come to offer her the alternative of +public shame or public trial and jail; yet she had a patient +smile for him, a dignified submission that touched him. +After all, he thought with emotion, she is of the same +nature with myself; a poor castaway from conventional +life playing one part or another by caprice, for gain or +sport or notoriety; only the devil has entered into her, +while I have been lucky enough to cast my lot with +the exorcists of the race. He almost regretted his +duty.</p> + +<p>"I have taken possession of your office and papers, +Colette," said he with the dignity of the master. "I +dismissed the office-boy with his wages, and notified the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span> +owner that you would need the rooms no more after the +end of the month."</p> + +<p>"Thanks," she murmured with downcast eyes.</p> + +<p>"I am ready now to lay before you the conditions——"</p> + +<p>"Are you going to send me to jail?"</p> + +<p>"I leave that to you," he answered softly. "You must +withdraw your book from circulation. You must get an +injunction from the courts to restrain the publishers, if +they won't stop printing at your request, and you must +bring suit against them for your share of the profits. I +want them to be exposed. My lawyer is at your service +for such work."</p> + +<p>"This for the beginning?" she said in despair.</p> + +<p>"You must write for me a confession next, describing +your career, and the parts which you played in this city; +also naming your accomplices, your supporters, and what +money they put up for your enterprise."</p> + +<p>"You will find all that in my papers."</p> + +<p>"Is Mr. Livingstone's name among your papers?"</p> + +<p>"He was the ringleader. Of course."</p> + +<p>"Finally you must appear before a committee of gentlemen +at the Fifth Avenue Hotel, and show how you +disguised yourself for the three parts of Edith Conyngham, +Sister Claire, and the Brand of the gospel-hall."</p> + +<p>She burst out crying then, looking from one man to the +other with the tears streaming down her lovely face. +Curran squirmed in anguish. Arthur studied her with +interest. Who could tell when she was not acting?</p> + +<p>"Ah, you wretch! I am bad. Sometimes I can't bear +myself. But you are worse, utterly without heart. You +think I don't feel my position."</p> + +<p>Her sobbing touched him by its pathos and its cleverness.</p> + +<p>"You are beyond feeling, but you <i>must</i> talk about +feeling," was his hard reply. "Probably I shall make +you feel before the end of this adventure."</p> + +<p>"As if you hadn't done it already," she fairly bawled +like a hurt child. "For months I have not left the house +without seeing everywhere the dogs that tore Jezebel."</p> + +<p>"You might also have seen that poor child whom you +nearly drove to death," he retorted, "and the mother +whose heart you might have broken."</p> + +<p>"Poor child!" she sneered, and burst out laughing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span> +while the tears still lingered on her cheek. "He was a +milksop, not a man. I thought he was a man, or I never +would have offered him pleasure. And you want me to +make a show of myself before...."</p> + +<p>"Your old friends and well-wishers, McMeeter, Bradford +and Co."</p> + +<p>"Never, never, never," she screamed, and fell to +weeping again. "I'll die first."</p> + +<p>"You won't be asked to die, madam. You'll go to jail +the minute I leave this house, and stand trial on fifty +different charges. I'll keep you in jail for the rest of +your life. If by any trick you escape me, I'll deliver you +to the dogs."</p> + +<p>"Can he do this?" she said scornfully to Curran, who +nodded.</p> + +<p>"And if I agree to it, what do I get?" turning again +to Dillon.</p> + +<p>"You can live in peace as La Belle Colette the +dancer, practise your profession, and enjoy the embraces +of your devoted husband. I let you off lightly. Your +private life, your stage name, will be kept from the public, +and, by consequence, from the dogs."</p> + +<p>She shivered at the phrase. Shame was not in her, but +fear could grip her heart vigorously. Her nerve did not +exclude cowardice. This man she had always feared, +perceiving in him not only a strength beyond the common, +but a mysterious power not to be analyzed and named. +Her flimsy rage would break hopelessly on this rock. +Still before surrendering, her crooked nature forced her +to the petty arts in which she excelled. Very clearly in +this acting appeared the various strokes of character +peculiar to Edith, Claire, and the Brand. She wheedled +and whined one moment in the husky tones of Sister +Magdalen's late favorite; when dignity was required she +became the escaped nun; and in her rage she would burst +into the melodramatic frenzy dear to the McMeeter +audiences; but Colette, the heedless, irresponsible, half-mad +butterfly, dominated these various parts, and to this +charming personality she returned. Through his own sad +experience this spectacle interested him. He subdued her +finally by a precise description of consequences.</p> + +<p>"You have done the Catholics of this city harm that +will last a long time, Colette," said he. "That vile book<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span> +of yours ... you ought to be hung for it. It will live to +do its miserable work when you are in hell howling. I +really don't know why I should be merciful to you. Did +you ever show mercy to any one? The court would do +this for you and for us: the facts, figures, and personages +of your career would be dragged into the light of day ... +what a background that would be ... not a bad company +either ... not a fact would escape ... you would be +painted as you are. I'll not tell you what you are, but I +know that you would die of your own colors ... you +would go to jail, and rot there ... every time you came +out I'd have a new charge on which to send you back. +Your infamy would be printed by columns in the +papers ... and the dogs would be put on your trail ... +ah, there's the rub ... if the law let you go free, what a +meal you'd make for the people who think you ought to +be torn limb from limb, and who would do it with joy. I +really do not understand why I offer you an alternative. +Perhaps it's for the sake of this man who loves you ... +for the great service he did me."</p> + +<p>He paused to decide this point, while she gazed like a +fascinated bird.</p> + +<p>"What I want is this really," he went on. "I want to +let the city see just what tools Livingstone, your employer, +is willing to do his dirty work with. I want this committee +to assemble with pomp and circumstance ... those are +the right words ... and to see you, in your very cleverest +way, act the parts through which you fooled the wise. I +want them to hear you say in that sweetest of voices, how +you lied to them to get their dollars ... how you lied +about us, your own people, threw mud on us, as Curran +says, to get their dollars ... how your life, and your +book, and your lectures, are all lies ... invented and +printed because the crowd that devoured them were eager +to believe us the horrible creatures you described. When +you have done that, you can go free. No one will know +your husband, or your name, or your profession. I don't +see why you hesitate. I don't know why I should offer +you this chance. When Birmingham hears your story he +will not approve of my action. But if you agree to follow +my directions to the letter I'll promise that the law will +not seize you."</p> + +<p>What could she do but accept his terms, protesting that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span> +death was preferable? The risk of losing her just as the +committee would be ready to meet, for her fickleness +verged on insanity, he had to accept. He trusted in his +own watchfulness, and in the fidelity of Curran to keep +her in humor. Even now she forgot her disasters in the +memory of her success as an impersonator, and entertained +the men with scenes from her masquerade as Edith, Claire, +and the Brand. From such a creature, so illy balanced, +one might expect anything.</p> + +<p>However, by judicious coddling and terrorizing, her +courage and spirit were kept alive to the very moment +when she stood before Birmingham and his committee, +heard her confession of imposture read, signed it with +perfect sang-froid, and illustrated for the scandalized +members her method of impersonation. So had Arthur +worked upon her conceit that she took a real pride in +displaying her costumes, and in explaining how skilfully +she had led three lives in that city. Grim, bitter, +sickened with disappointment, yet masked in smiles, part +of the committee watched her performance to the end. +They felt the completeness of Arthur's triumph. With +the little airs and graces peculiar to a stage artiste, Edith +put on the dusty costume of Edith Conyngham, and limped +feebly across the floor; then the decorous garments of +the Brand, and whispered tenderly in McMeeter's ear; +last, the brilliant habit of the escaped nun, the curious +eyebrows, the pallid face; curtseying at the close of the +performance with her bold eyes on her audience, as if +beseeching the merited applause. In the dead silence +afterwards, Arthur mercifully led her away.</p> + +<p>The journals naturally gave the affair large attention, +and the net results were surprisingly fine. The house of +cards so lovingly built up by Livingstone and his friends +tumbled in a morning never to rise again. All the little +plans failed like kites snipped of their tails. Fritters went +home, because the public lost interest in his lectures. The +book of the escaped nun fell flat and disappeared from the +market. McMeeter gave up his scheme of rescuing the +inmates of convents and housing them until married. The +hired press ignored the Paddies and their island for a +whole year. Best of all, suddenly, on the plea of dying +among his friends, Ledwith was set free, mainly through +the representations of Lord Constantine in London and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span> +Arthur in Washington. These rebuffs told upon the Minister +severely. He knew from whose strong hand they +came, and that the same hand would not soon tire of +striking.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter"><a name="CHAPTER_XXIV" id="CHAPTER_XXIV"></a>CHAPTER XXIV.</h2> + +<h3 class="chapter2">ANNE MAKES HISTORY.</h3> + + +<p>In the months that followed Anne Dillon lived as near<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span> +to perfect felicity as earthly conditions permit. A countess +and a lord breathed under her roof, ate at her table, +and talked prose and poetry with her as freely as Judy +Haskell. The Countess of Skibbereen and Lord Constantine +had accompanied the Ledwiths to America, after +Owen's liberation from jail, and fallen victims to the wiles +of this clever woman. Arthur might look after the insignificant +Ledwiths. Anne would have none of them. She +belonged henceforth to the nobility. His lordship was +bent on utilizing his popularity with the Irish to further +the cause of the Anglo-American Alliance. As the friend +who had stood by the Fenian prisoners, not only against +embittered England, but against indifferent Livingstone, +he was welcomed; and if he wanted an alliance, or an +heiress, or the freedom of the city, or anything which the +Irish could buy for him, he had only to ask in order to +receive. Anne sweetly took the responsibility off his +shoulders, after he had outlined his plans.</p> + +<p>"Leave it all to me," said she. "You shall win the +support of all these people without turning your hand over."</p> + +<p>"You may be sure she'll do it much better than you +will," was the opinion of the Countess, and the young man +was of the same mind.</p> + +<p>She relied chiefly on Doyle Grahame for one part of her +programme, but that effervescent youth had fallen into a +state of discouragement which threatened to leave him +quite useless. He shook his head to her demand for a +column in next morning's <i>Herald</i>.</p> + +<p>"Same old story ... the Countess and you ... +lovely costumes ... visits ... it won't go. The +editors are wondering why there's so much of you."</p> + +<p>"Hasn't it all been good?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Of course, or it would not have been printed. But +there must come an end sometime. What's your aim anyway?"</p> + +<p>"I want a share in making history," she said slyly.</p> + +<p>"Take a share in making mine," he answered morosely, +and thereupon she landed him.</p> + +<p>"Oh, run away with Mona, if you're thinking of marrying."</p> + +<p>"Thinking of it! Talking of it! That's as near as I +can get to it," he groaned. "John Everard is going to +drive a desperate bargain with me. I wrote a book, +I helped to expose Edith Conyngham, I drove Fritters +out of the country with my ridicule, I shocked Bradford, +and silenced McMeeter; and I have failed to move that +wretch. All I got out of my labors was permission +to sit beside Mona in her own house with her father +present."</p> + +<p>"You humor the man too much," Anne said with a +laugh. "I can twist John Everard about my finger, +only——"</p> + +<p>"There it is," cried Grahame. "Behold it in its naked +simplicity! Only! Well, if anything short of the divine +can get around, over, under, through, or by his sweet, +little 'only,' he's fit to be the next king of Ireland. What +have I not done to do away with it? Once I thought, I +hoped, that the invitation to read the poem on the landing +of the Pilgrim Fathers, coming as a climax to multitudinous +services, would surely have fetched him. Now, +with the invitation in my pocket, I'm afraid to mention it. +What if he should scorn it?"</p> + +<p>"He won't if I say the word. Give me the column to-morrow, +and any time I want it for a month or two, and +I'll guarantee that John Everard will do the right thing +by you."</p> + +<p>"You can have the column. What do you want it for?"</p> + +<p>"The alliance, of course. I'm in the business of making +history, as I told you. Don't open your mouth quite so +wide, please. There's to be a meeting of the wise in this +house, after a dinner, to express favorable opinions about +the alliance. Then in a month or two a distinguished +peer, member of the British Cabinet, is coming over to +sound the great men on the question.... What are you +whistling for?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You've got a fine thing, Mrs. Dillon," said he. "By +Jove, but I'll help you spread this for all it's worth."</p> + +<p>"Understand," she said, tapping the table with emphasis, +"the alliance must go through as far as we can make +it go. Now, do your best. When you go over to see John +Everard next, go with a mind to kill him if he doesn't +take your offer to marry his daughter. I'll see to it that +the poem on the Pilgrims does the trick for you."</p> + +<p>"I'd have killed him long ago, if I thought it worth the +trouble," he said.</p> + +<p>He felt that the crisis had come for him and Mona. +That charming girl, in spite of his entreaties, of his threats +to go exploring Africa, remained as rigidly faithful to her +ideas of duty as her father to his obstinacy. She would +not marry without his consent. With all his confidence +in Anne's cleverness, how could he expect her to do the +impossible? To change the unchangeable? John Everard +showed no sign of the influence which had brought +Livingstone to his knees, when Grahame and Mona stood +before him, and the lover placed in her father's hands the +document of honor.</p> + +<p>"Really, this is wonderful," said Everard, impressed to +the point of violence. "You are to compose and to read +the poem on the Pilgrim Fathers?"</p> + +<p>"That's the prize," said Grahame severely. He might +be squaring off at this man the next moment, and could +not carry his honors lightly. "And now that it has come +I want my reward. We must be married two weeks before +I read that poem, and the whole world must see and +admire the source of my inspiration."</p> + +<p>He drew his beloved into his arms and kissed her pale +cheek.</p> + +<p>"Very well. That will be appropriate," the father said +placidly, clearing his throat to read the invitation aloud. +He read pompously, quite indifferent to the emotion of his +children, proud that they were to be prominent figures in +a splendid gathering. They, beatified, pale, unstrung +by this calm acceptance of what he had opposed bitterly +two years, sat down foolishly, and listened to the pompous +utterance of pompous phrases in praise of dead heroes and +a living poet. Thought and speech failed together. If +only some desperado would break in upon him and try to +kill him! if the house would take fire, or a riot begin in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span> +the street! The old man finished his reading, congratulated +the poet, blessed the pair in the old-fashioned style, +informed his wife of the date of the wedding, and marched +off to bed. After pulling at that door for years it was +maddening to have the very frame-work come out as if +cemented with butter. What an outrage to come prepared +for heroic action, and to find the enemy turned friend! +Oh, admirable enchantress was this Anne Dillon!</p> + +<p>The enchantress, having brought Grahame into line and +finally into good humor, took up the more difficult task +of muzzling her stubborn son. To win him to the good +cause, she had no hope; sufficient, if he could be won to +silence while diplomacy shaped the course of destiny.</p> + +<p>"Better let me be on that point," Arthur said when she +made her attack. "I'm hostile only when disturbed. +Lord Conny owns us for the present. I won't say a word +to shake his title. Neither will I lift my eyebrows to +help this enterprise."</p> + +<p>"If you only will keep quiet," she suggested.</p> + +<p>"Well, I'm trying to. I'm set against alliance with +England, until we have knocked the devil out of her, begging +your pardon for my frankness. I must speak plainly +now so that we may not fall out afterwards. But I'll be +quiet. I'll not say a word to influence a soul. I'll do +just as Ledwith does."</p> + +<p>He laughed at the light which suddenly shone in her +face.</p> + +<p>"That's a fair promise," she said smoothly, and fled before +he could add conditions.</p> + +<p>Her aim and her methods alike remained hidden from +him. He knew only that she was leading them all by the +nose to some brilliant climax of her own devising. He +was willing to be led. The climax turned out to be a dinner. +Anne had long ago discovered the secret influence +of a fine dinner on the politics of the world. The halo +of a saint pales before the golden nimbus which well-fed +guests see radiating from their hostess after dinner. A +good man may possess a few robust virtues, but the +dinner-giver has them all. Therefore, the manager of +the alliance gathered about her table one memorable evening +the leaders whose good opinion and hearty support +Lord Constantine valued in his task of winning the Irish +to neutrality or favor for his enterprise. Arthur recog<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span>nized +the climax only when Lord Constantine, after the +champagne had sparkled in the glasses, began to explain +his dream to Sullivan.</p> + +<p>"What do you think of it?" said he.</p> + +<p>"It sounds as harmless as a popgun, and looks like a +vision. I don't see any details in your scheme," said the +blunt leader graciously.</p> + +<p>"We can leave the details to the framers of the alliance," +said His Lordship, uneasy at Arthur's laugh. +"What we want first is a large, generous feeling in its +favor, to encourage the leaders."</p> + +<p>"Well, in general," said the Boss, "it is a good thing +for all countries to live in harmony. When they speak +the same language, it's still better. I have no feeling one +way or the other. I left Ireland young, and would hardly +have remembered I'm Irish but for Livingstone. What +do you think of it, Senator?"</p> + +<p>"An alliance with England!" cried he with contempt. +"Fancy me walking down to a district meeting with such +an auctioneer's tag hanging on my back. Why, I'd be +sold out on the spot. Those people haven't forgot how +they were thrown down and thrown out of Ireland. No, +sir. Leave us out of an alliance."</p> + +<p>"That's the popular feeling, I think," Sullivan said to +His Lordship.</p> + +<p>"I can understand the Senator's feelings," the Englishman +replied softly. "But if, before the alliance came to +pass, the Irish question should be well settled, how would +that affect your attitude, Senator?"</p> + +<p>"My attitude," replied the Senator, posing as he reflected +that a budding statesman made the inquiry, +"would be entirely in your favor."</p> + +<p>"Thank you. What more could I ask?" Lord Constantine +replied with a fierce look at Arthur. "I say +myself, until the Irish get their rights, no alliance."</p> + +<p>"Then we are with you cordially. We want to do all +we can for a man who has been so fair to our people," the +Boss remarked with the flush of good wine in his cheek. +"Champagne sentiments," murmured Arthur.</p> + +<p>Monsignor, prompted by Anne, came to the rescue of +the young nobleman.</p> + +<p>"There would be a row, if the matter came up for discussion +just now," he said. "Ten years hence may see a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span> +change. There's one thing in favor of Irish ... well, +call it neutrality. Speaking as a churchman, Catholics +have a happier lot in English-speaking lands than in other +countries. They have the natural opportunity to develop, +they are not hampered in speech and action as in Italy and +France."</p> + +<p>"How good of you to say so," murmured His Lordship.</p> + +<p>"Then again," continued Monsignor, with a sly glance +at Arthur, "it seems to me inevitable that the English-speaking +peoples must come into closer communion, not +merely for their own good, or for selfish aims, but to +spread among less fortunate nations their fine political principles. +There's the force, the strength, of the whole +scheme. Put poor Ireland on her feet, and I vote for an +alliance."</p> + +<p>"Truly, a Daniel come to judgment," murmured +Arthur.</p> + +<p>"It's a fine view to take of it," the Boss thought.</p> + +<p>"Are you afraid to ask Ledwith for an opinion?" +Arthur suggested.</p> + +<p>"What's he got to do with it?" Everard snapped, unsoftened +by the mellow atmosphere of the feast.</p> + +<p>"It is no longer a practical question with me," Owen +said cheerfully. "I have always said that if the common +people of the British Isles got an understanding of each +other, and a better liking for each other, the end of +oppression would come very soon. They are kept apart +by the artificial hindrances raised by the aristocracy of +birth and money. The common people easily fraternize, +if they are permitted. See them in this country, living, +working, intermarrying, side by side."</p> + +<p>"How will that sound among the brethren?" said +Arthur disappointed.</p> + +<p>His mother flashed him a look of triumph, and Lord +Constantine looked foolishly happy.</p> + +<p>"As the utterance of a maniac, of course. Have they +ever regarded me as sane?" he answered easily.</p> + +<p>"And what becomes of your dream?" Arthur persisted.</p> + +<p>"I have myself become a dream," he answered sadly. +"I am passing into the land of dreams, of shadows. My +dream was Ireland; a principle that would bring forth its<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span> +own flower, fruit, and seed; not a department of an +empire. Who knows what is best in this world of change? +Some day men may realize the poet's dream:</p> + +<div class="block" style="width: 34%;"> +<div class="poem"> +"The parliament of man, the federation of the world." +</div></div> + +<p>Arthur surrendered with bad grace. He had expected +from Ledwith the last, grand, fiery denunciation which +would have swept the room as a broadside sweeps a deck, +and hurled the schemes of his mother and Lord Constantine +into the sea. Sad, sad, to see how champagne can +undo such a patriot! For that matter the golden wine had +undone the entire party. Judy declared to her dying day +that the alliance was toasted amid cheers before the close +of the banquet; that Lord Constantine in his delight +kissed Anne as she left the room; with many other circumstances +too improbable to find a place in a veracious +history. It is a fact, however, that the great scheme +which still agitates the peoples interested, had its success +depended on the guests of Anne Dillon, would have been +adopted that night. The dinner was a real triumph.</p> + +<p>Unfortunately, dinners do not make treaties; and, as +Arthur declared, one dinner is good enough until a better +is eaten. When the member of the British Cabinet came +to sit at Anne's table, if one might say so, the tables were +turned. Birmingham instead of Monsignor played the +lead; the man whose practical temperament, financial and +political influence, could soothe and propitiate his own +people and interest the moneyed men in the alliance. It +was admitted no scheme of this kind could progress without +his aid. He had been reserved for the Cabinet Minister.</p> + +<p>No one thought much about the dinner except the +hostess, who felt, as she looked down the beautiful table, +that her glory had reached its brilliant meridian. A +cabinet minister, a lord, a countess, a leading Knickerbocker, +the head of Tammany, and a few others who did +not matter; what a long distance from the famous cat-show +and Mulberry Street! Arthur also looked up the +table with satisfaction. If his part in the play had not +been dumb show (by his mother's orders), he would have +quoted the famous grind of the mills of the gods. The +two races, so unequally matched at home, here faced each +other on equal ground. Birmingham knew what he had +to do.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I am sure," he said to the cabinet minister, "that in +a matter so serious you want absolute sincerity?"</p> + +<p>"Absolute, and thank you," replied the great man.</p> + +<p>"Then let me begin with myself. Personally I would +not lift my littlest finger to help this scheme. I might +not go out of my way to hinder it, but I am that far Irish +in feeling, not to aid England so finely. For a nation +that will soon be without a friend in the world, an alliance +with us would be of immense benefit. No man of Irish +blood, knowing what his race has endured and still endures +from the English, can keep his self-respect and back the +scheme."</p> + +<p>Arthur was sorry for his lordship, who sat utterly +astounded and cast down wofully at this expression of +feeling from such a man.</p> + +<p>"The main question can be answered in this way," +Birmingham continued. "Were I willing to take part in +this business, my influence with the Irish and their descendants, +whatever it may be, would not be able to bring +a corporal's guard into line in its behalf."</p> + +<p>Lord Constantine opened his mouth, Everard snorted +his contempt, but the great man signaled silence. Birmingham +paid no attention.</p> + +<p>"In this country the Irish have learned much more +than saving money and acquiring power; they have +learned the unredeemed blackness of the injustice done +them at home, just as I learned it. What would Grahame +here, Sullivan, Senator Dillon, or myself have been at this +moment had we remained in Ireland? Therefore the +Irish in this country are more bitter against the English +government than their brethren at home. I am certain +that no man can rally even a minority of the Irish to the +support of the alliance. I am sure I could not. I am +certain the formal proposal of the scheme would rouse +them to fiery opposition."</p> + +<p>"Remember," Arthur whispered to Everard, raging to +speak, "that the Cabinet Minister doesn't care to hear +anyone but Birmingham."</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry for you, Conny," he whispered to his lordship, +"but it's the truth."</p> + +<p>"Never enjoyed anything so much," said Grahame <i>sotto +voce</i>, his eyes on Everard.</p> + +<p>"However, let us leave the Irish out of the question,"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span> +the speaker went on. "Or, better, let us suppose them +favorable, and myself able to win them over. What +chance has the alliance of success? None."</p> + +<p>"Fudge!" cried Everard, unabashed by the beautiful +English stare of the C. M.</p> + +<p>"The measure is one-sided commercially. This country +has nothing to gain from a scheme, which would be a +mine to England; therefore the moneyed men will not +touch it, will not listen to it. Their time is too valuable. +What remains? An appeal to the people on the score +of humanity, brotherhood, progress, what you please? +My opinion is that the dead weight there could not be +moved. The late war and the English share in it are too +fresh in the public mind. The outlook to me is utterly +against your scheme."</p> + +<p>"It might be objected to your view that feeling is too +strong an element of it," said the Cabinet Minister.</p> + +<p>"Feeling has only to do with my share in the scheme," +Birmingham replied. "As an Irishman I would not +further it, yet I might be glad to see it succeed. My opinion +is concerned with the actual conditions as I see them."</p> + +<p>With this remark the formal discussion ended. Mortified +at this outcome of his plans, Lord Constantine could +not be consoled.</p> + +<p>"As long as Livingstone is on your side, Conny," said +Arthur, "you are foredoomed."</p> + +<p>"I am not so sure," His Lordship answered with some +bitterness. "The Chief Justice of the United States is a +good friend to have."</p> + +<p>A thrill shot through Dillon at this emphasis to a +rumor hitherto too light for printing. The present incumbent +of the high office mentioned by Lord Constantine +lay dying. Livingstone coveted few places, and this +would be one. In so exalted a station he would be "enskied +and sainted." Even his proud soul would not disdain +to step from the throne-room of Windsor to the dais +of the Supreme Court of his country. And to strike him +in the very moment of his triumph, to snatch away the +prize, to close his career like a broken sentence with a +dash and a mark of interrogation, to bring him home like +any dead game in a bag: here would be magnificent justice!</p> + +<p>"Have I found thee, O mine enemy?" Arthur cried in +his delight.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter"><a name="CHAPTER_XXV" id="CHAPTER_XXV"></a>CHAPTER XXV.</h2> + +<h3 class="chapter2">THE CATHEDRAL.</h3> + + +<p>Ledwith was dying in profound depression, like most<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span> +brave souls, whose success has been partial, or whose failure +has been absolute. This mournful ending to a brave, +unselfish life seemed to Arthur pitiful and monstrous. +A mere breathing-machine like himself had enjoyed a +stimulating vengeance for the failure of one part of his +life. Oh, how sweet had been that vengeance! The +draught had not yet reached the bottom of the cup! His +cause for the moment a ruin, dragged down with Fenianism; +his great enemy stronger, more glorious, and more +pitiless than when he had first raised his hand against her +injustice; now the night had closed in upon Ledwith, +not merely the bitter night of sickness and death and failure, +but that more savage night of despondency, which +steeps all human sorrow in the black, polluted atmosphere +of hell. For such a sufferer the heart of Arthur Dillon +opened as wide as the gates of heaven. Oh, had he not +known what it is to suffer so, without consolation!</p> + +<p>He was like a son to Owen Ledwith.</p> + +<p>Every plan born in the poetic and fertile brain of the +patriot he took oath to carry out; he vowed his whole life +to the cause of Ireland; and he consoled Owen for apparent +failure by showing him that he had not altogether +failed, since a man, young, earnest, determined, and +wealthy should take up the great work just where he +dropped it. Could any worker ask more of life? A hero +should go to his eternity with lofty joy, leaving his noble +example to the mean world, a reproach to the despicable +among rulers, a star in the night to the warriors of +justice.</p> + +<p>In Honora her father did not find the greatest comfort. +His soul was of the earth and human liberty was his day-star; +her soul rose above that great human good to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span> +freedom of heaven. Her heart ached for him, that he +should be going out of life with only human consolation. +The father stood in awe of an affection, which at the same +time humbled and exalted him; she had never loved man +or woman like him; he was next to God in that virginal +heart, for with all her love of country, the father had the +stronger hold on her. Too spiritual for him, her sublime +faith did not cheer him. Yet when they looked straight +into each other's eyes with the consciousness of what was +coming, mutual anguish terribly probed their love. He +had no worry for her.</p> + +<p>"She has the best of friends," he said to Arthur, "she +is capable, and trained to take care of herself handsomely; +but these things will not be of any use. She will go to +the convent."</p> + +<p>"Not if Lord Constantine can hinder it," Arthur said +bluntly.</p> + +<p>"I would like to see her in so exalted and happy a sphere +as Lord Constantine could give her. But I am convinced +that the man is not born who can win the love of this +child of mine. Sir Galahad might, but not the stuff of +which you and I are made."</p> + +<p>"I believe you," said Arthur.</p> + +<p>Honora herself told him of her future plans, as they +sat with the sick man after a trying evening, when for +some hours the end seemed near. The hour invited confidences, +and like brother and sister at the sick-bed of a +beloved parent they exchanged them. When she had +finished telling him how she had tried to do her duty to +her father, and to her country, and how she had laid aside +her idea of the convent for their sake, but would now take +up her whole duty to God by entering a sisterhood, he +said casually:</p> + +<p>"It seems to me these three duties work together; and +when you were busiest with your father and your country, +then were you most faithful to God."</p> + +<p>"Very true," she replied, looking up with surprise. +"Obedience is better than sacrifice."</p> + +<p>"Take care that you are not deceiving yourself, +Honora. Which would cause more pain, to give up your +art and your cause, or to give up the convent?"</p> + +<p>"To give up the convent," she replied promptly.</p> + +<p>"That looks to me like selfishness," he said gently.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span> +"There are many nuns in the convents working for the +wretched and helping the poor and praying for the oppressed, +while only a few women are devoted directly to +the cause of freedom. It strikes me that you descend +when you retire from a field of larger scope to one which +narrows your circle and diminishes your opportunities. I +am not criticizing the nun's life, but simply your personal +scheme."</p> + +<p>"And you think I descend?" she murmured with a +little gasp of pain. "Why, how can that be?"</p> + +<p>"You are giving up the work, the necessary work, +which few women are doing, to take up a work in which +many women are engaged," he answered, uncertain of his +argument, but quite sure of his intention. "You lose +great opportunities to gain small ones, purely personal. +That's the way it looks to me."</p> + +<p>With wonderful cunning he unfolded his arguments in +the next few weeks. He appealed to her love for her +father, her wish to see his work continued; he described +his own helplessness, very vaguely though, in carrying out +schemes with which he was unacquainted, and to which he +was vowed; he mourned over the helpless peoples of the +world, for whom a new community was needed to fight, +as the Knights of St. John fought for Christendom; and +he painted with delicate satire that love of ease which +leads heroes to desert the greater work for the lesser on +the plea of the higher life. Selfishly she sought rest, +relief for the taxing labors, anxieties, and journeys of +fifteen years, and not the will of God, as she imagined. +Was he conscious of his own motives? Did he discover +therein any selfishness? Who can say?</p> + +<p>He discoursed at the same time to Owen, and in the +same fashion. Ledwith felt that his dreams were patch +work beside the rainbow visions of this California miner, +who had the mines which make the wildest dreams come +true sometimes. The wealthy enthusiast might fall, however, +into the hands of the professional patriot, who would +bleed him to death in behalf of paper schemes. To whom +could he confide him? Honora! It had always been +Honora with him, who could do nothing without her. He +did not wish to hamper her in the last moment, as he had +hampered her since she had first planned her own life.</p> + +<p>It was even a pleasant thought for him, to think of his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span> +faithful child living her beautiful, quiet, convent life, +after the fatigues and pilgrimages of years, devoted to his +memory, mingling his name with her prayers, innocent of +any other love than for him and her Creator. Yes, she +must be free as the air after he died. However, the sick +are not masters of their emotions. A great dread and a +great anguish filled him. Would it be his fate to lose +Arthur to Ireland by consideration for others? But he +loved her so! How could he bind her in bonds at the +very moment of their bitter separation? He would not +do it! He would not do it! He fought down his own +longing until he woke up in a sweat of terror one night, +and called to her loudly, fearing that he would die before +he exacted from her the last promise. He must sacrifice +all for his country, even the freedom of his child.</p> + +<p>"Honora," he cried, "was I ever faithless to Erin? +Did I ever hesitate when it was a question of money, or +life, or danger, or suffering for her sake?"</p> + +<p>"Never, father dear," she said, soothing him like a +child.</p> + +<p>"I have sinned now, then. For your sake I have +sinned. I wished to leave you free when I am gone, +although I saw you were still necessary to Eire. Promise +me, my child, that you will delay a little after I am gone, +before entering the convent; that you will make sure +beforehand that Erin has no great need of you ... just +a month or a year ... any delay——"</p> + +<p>"As long as you please, father," she said quietly. +"Make it five years if you will——"</p> + +<p>"No, no," he interrupted with anguish in his throat. +"I shall never demand again from you the sacrifices of the +past. What may seem just to you will be enough. I die +almost happy in leaving Arthur Dillon to carry on with +his talent and his money the schemes of which I only +dreamed. But I fear the money patriots will get hold of +him and cheat him of his enthusiasm and his money +together. If you were by to let him know what was best +to be done—that is all I ask of you——"</p> + +<p>"A year at least then, father dear! What is time to +you and me that we should be stingy of the only thing we +ever really possessed."</p> + +<p>"And now I lose even that," with a long sigh.</p> + +<p>Thus gently and naturally Arthur gained his point.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span></p> + +<p>Monsignor came often, and then oftener when Owen's +strength began to fail rapidly. The two friends in Irish +politics had little agreement, but in the gloom of approaching +death they remembered only their friendship. The +priest worked vainly to put Owen into a proper frame of +mind before his departure for judgment. He had made +his peace with the Church, and received the last rites like +a believer, but with the coldness of him who receives +necessities from one who has wronged him. He was dying, +not like a Christian, but like the pagan patriot who has +failed: only the shades awaited him when he fled from +the darkness of earthly shame. They sat together one +March afternoon facing the window and the declining sun. +To the right another window gave them a good view of +the beautiful cathedral, whose twin spires, many turrets, +and noble walls shone blue and golden in the brilliant +light.</p> + +<p>"I love to look at it from this elevation," said Monsignor, +who had just been discoursing on the work of his +life. "In two years, just think, the most beautiful +temple in the western continent will be dedicated."</p> + +<p>"The money that has gone into it would have struck +a great blow for Erin," said Ledwith with a bitter sigh.</p> + +<p>"So much of it as escaped the yawning pockets of the +numberless patriots," retorted Monsignor dispassionately. +"The money would not have been lost in so good a cause, +but its present use has done more for your people than a +score of the blows which you aim at England."</p> + +<p>"Claim everything in sight while you are at it," said +Owen. "In God's name what connection has your gorgeous +cathedral with any one's freedom?"</p> + +<p>"Father dear, you are exciting yourself," Honora broke +in, but neither heeded her.</p> + +<p>"Christ brought us true freedom," said Monsignor, +"and the Church alone teaches, practises, and maintains +it."</p> + +<p>"A fine example is provided by Ireland, where to a dead +certainty freedom was lost because the Church had too +unnatural a hold upon the people."</p> + +<p>"What was lost on account of the faith will be given +back again with compound interest. Political and military +movements have done much for Ireland in fifty years; +but the only real triumphs, universal, brilliant, enduring,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span> +significant, leading surely up to greater things, have been +won by the Irish faith, of which that cathedral, shining so +gloriously in the sun this afternoon, is both a result and a +symbol."</p> + +<p>"I believe you will die with that conviction," Ledwith +said in wonder.</p> + +<p>"I wish you could die with the same, Owen," replied +Monsignor tenderly.</p> + +<p>They fell silent for a little under the stress of sudden +feeling.</p> + +<p>"How do men reason themselves into such absurdities?" +Owen asked himself.</p> + +<p>"You ought to know. You have done it often enough," +said the priest tartly.</p> + +<p>Then both laughed together, as they always did when +the argument became personal.</p> + +<p>"Do you know what Livingstone and Bradford and the +people whom they represent think of that temple?" said +Monsignor impressively.</p> + +<p>"Oh, their opinions!" Owen snorted.</p> + +<p>"They are significant," replied the priest. "These two +leaders would give the price of the building to have kept +down or destroyed the spirit which undertook and carried +out the scheme. They have said to themselves many times +in the last twenty years, while that temple rose slowly but +gloriously into being, what sort of a race is this, so despised +and ill-treated, so poor and ignorant, that in a brief +time on our shores can build the finest temple to God +which this country has yet seen? What will the people, +to whom we have described this race as sunk in papistical +stupidity, debased, unenterprising, think, when they +gaze on this absolute proof of our mendacity?"</p> + +<p>Ledwith, in silence, took a second look at the shining +walls and towers.</p> + +<p>"Owen, your generous but short-sighted crowd have +fought England briefly and unsuccessfully a few times on +the soil of Ireland ... but the children of the faith have +fought her with church, and school, and catechism around +the globe. Their banner, around which they fought, was +not the banner of the Fenians but the banner of Christ. +What did you do for the scattered children of the household? +Nothing, but collect their moneys. While the +great Church followed them everywhere with her priests,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span> +centered them about the temple, and made them the bulwark +of the faith, the advance-guard, in many lands. +Here in America, and in all the colonies of England, in +Scotland, even in England itself, wherever the Irish settled, +the faith took root and flourished; the faith which +means death to the English heresy, and to English power +as far as it rests upon the heresy."</p> + +<p>"The faith kept the people together, scattered all over +the world. It organized them, it trained them, it kept +them true to the Christ preached by St. Patrick; it built +the fortress of the temple, and the rampart of the school; +it kept them a people apart, it kept them civilized, saved +them from inevitable apostasy, and founded a force from +which you collect your revenues for battle with your enemies; +a force which fights England all over the earth +night and day, in legislatures, in literature and journalism, +in social and commercial life ... why, man, you +are a fragment, a mere fragment, you and your warriors, +of that great fight which has the world for an audience +and the English earths for its stage."</p> + +<p>"When did you evolve this new fallacy?" said Ledwith +hoarsely.</p> + +<p>"You have all been affected with the spirit of the anti-Catholic +revolution in Europe, whose cry is that the Church +is the enemy of liberty; yours, that it has been no friend +to Irish liberty. Take another look at that cathedral. +When you are dead, and many others that will live longer, +that church will deliver its message to the people who +pass: 'I am the child of the Catholic faith and the Irish; +the broad shoulders of America waited for a simple, poor, +cast-out people, to dig me from the earth and shape me +into a thing of beauty, a glory of the new continent; I +myself am not new; I am of that race which in Europe +speaks in divine language to you pigmies of the giants that +lived in ancient days; I am a new bond between the old +continent and the new, between the old order and the new; +I speak for the faith of the past; I voice the faith of the +hour; the hands that raised me are not unskilled and +untrained; from what I am judge, ye people, of what +stuff my builders are made.' And around the world, in +all the capitals, in the great cities, of the English-speaking +peoples, temples of lesser worth and beauty, are speaking +in the same strain."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span></p> + +<p>Honora anxiously watched her father. A new light +shone upon him, a new emotion disturbed him; perhaps +that old hardness within was giving way. Ledwith +had the poetic temperament, and the philosopher's +power of generalization. A hint could open a grand horizon +before him, and the cathedral in its solemn beauty +was the hint. Of course, he could see it all, blind as he +had been before. The Irish revolution worked fitfully, +and exploded in a night, its achievement measured by the +period of a month; but this temple and its thousand sisters +lived on doing their good work in silence, fighting for +the truth without noise or conspiracy.</p> + +<p>"And this is the glory of the Irish," Monsignor continued, +"this is the fact which fills me with pride, American +as I am, in the race whose blood I own; they have preserved +the faith for the great English-speaking world. Already +the new principle peculiar to that faith has begun its work +in literature, in art, in education, in social life. Heresy +allowed the Christ to be banished from all the departments +of human activity, except the home and the temple. +Christ is not in the schools of the children, nor in the +books we read, nor in the pictures and sculptures of our +studios, nor in our architecture, even of the churches, +nor in our journalism, any more than in the market-place +and in the government. These things are purely pagan, +or worthless composites. It looks as if the historian of +these times, a century or two hence, will have hard work +to fitly describe the Gesta Hibernicorum, when this +principle of Christianity will have conquered the American +world as it conquered ancient Europe. I tell you, +Owen," and he strode to the window with hands outstretched +to the great building, "in spite of all the +shame and suffering endured for His sake, God has been +very good to your people, He is heaping them with honors. +As wide as is the power of England, it is no wider than the +influence of the Irish faith. Stubborn heresy is doomed +to fall before the truth which alone can set men free and +keep them so."</p> + +<p>Ledwith had begun to tremble, but he said never a word.</p> + +<p>"I am prouder to have had a share in the building of +that temple," Monsignor continued, "than to have won a +campaign against the English. This is a victory, not of +one race over another, but of the faith over heresy, truth<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span> +over untruth. It will be the Christ-like glory of Ireland +to give back to England one day the faith which a corrupt +king destroyed, for which we have suffered crucifixion. +No soul ever loses by climbing the cross with Christ."</p> + +<p>Ledwith gave a sudden cry, and raised his hands to +heaven, but grew quiet at once.</p> + +<p>The priest watched contentedly the spires of his cathedral.</p> + +<p>"You have touched heart and reason together," Honora +whispered.</p> + +<p>Ledwith remained a long time silent, struggling with a +new spirit. At last he turned the wide, frank eyes on his +friend and victor.</p> + +<p>"I am conquered, Monsignor."</p> + +<p>"Not wholly yet, Owen."</p> + +<p>"I have been a fool, a foolish fool,—not to have seen +and understood."</p> + +<p>"And your folly is not yet dead. You are dying in +sadness and despair almost, when you should go to eternity +in triumph."</p> + +<p>"I go in triumph! Alas! if I could only be blotted out +with my last breath, and leave neither grave nor memory, +it would be happiness. Why do you say, 'triumph'?"</p> + +<p>"Because you have been true to your country with the +fidelity of a saint. That's enough. Besides you leave +behind you the son born of your fidelity to carry on your +work——"</p> + +<p>"God bless that noble son," Owen cried.</p> + +<p>"And a daughter whose prayers will mount from the +nun's cell, to bless your cause. If you could but go from +her resigned!"</p> + +<p>"How I wish that I might. I ought to be happy, just +for leaving two such heirs, two noble hostages to Ireland. +I see my error. Christ is the King, and no man can +better His plans for men. I surrender to Him."</p> + +<p>"But your submission is only in part. You are not +wholly conquered."</p> + +<p>"Twice have you said that," Owen complained, raising +his heavy eyes in reproach.</p> + +<p>"Love of country is not the greatest love."</p> + +<p>"No, love of the race, of humanity, is more."</p> + +<p>"And the love of God is more than either. With all +their beauty, what do these abstract loves bring us? The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span> +country we love can give us a grave and a stone. Humanity +crucifies its redeemers. Wolsey summed up the +matter: 'Had I but served my God with half the zeal with +which I served my king, He would not in mine age, have +left me naked to mine enemies.'"</p> + +<p>He paused to let his words sink into Ledwith's mind.</p> + +<p>"Owen, you are leaving the world oppressed by the +hate of a lifetime, the hate ingrained in your nature, the +fatal gift of persecutor and persecuted from the past."</p> + +<p>"And I shall never give that up," Owen declared, +sitting up and fixing his hardest look on the priest. "I +shall never forget Erin's wrongs, nor Albion's crimes. I +shall carry that just and honorable hate beyond the grave. +Oh, you priests!"</p> + +<p>"I said you were not conquered. You may hate injustice, +but not the unjust. You will find no hate in +heaven, only justice. The persecutors and their victims +have long been dead, and judged. The welcome of the +wretched into heaven, the home of justice and love, wiped +out all memory of suffering here, as it will for us all. The +justice measured out to their tyrants even you would be +satisfied with. Can your hate add anything to the joy of +the blessed, or the woe of the lost?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing," murmured Owen from the pillow, as his +eyes looked afar, wondering at that justice so soon to be +measured out to him. "You are again right. Oh, but +we are feeble ... but we are foolish ... to think it. +What is our hate any more than our justice ... both +impotent and ridiculous."</p> + +<p>There followed a long pause, then, for Monsignor had +finished his argument, and only waited to control his own +emotion before saying good-by.</p> + +<p>"I die content," said Ledwith with a long restful sigh, +coming back to earth, after a deep look into divine power +and human littleness. "Bring me to-morrow, and often, +the Lord of Justice. I never knew till now that in desiring +Justice so ardently, it was He I desired. Monsignor, +I die content, without hate, and without despair."</p> + +<p>If ever a human creature had a foretaste of heaven it +was Honora during the few weeks that followed this happy +day. The bitterness in the soul of Owen vanished like a +dream, and with it went regret, and vain longing, and the +madness which at odd moments sprang from these emo<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span>tions. +His martyrdom, so long and ferocious, would end +in the glory of a beautiful sunset, the light of heaven in +his heart, shining in his face. He lay forever beyond the +fire of time and injustice.</p> + +<p>Every morning Honora prepared the little altar in the +sick-room, and Monsignor brought the Blessed Sacrament. +Arthur answered the prayers and gazed with awe upon the +glorified face of the father, with something like anger upon +the exalted face of the daughter; for the two were gone +suddenly beyond him. Every day certain books provided +by Monsignor were read to the dying man by the daughter +or the son; describing the migration of the Irish all over +the English-speaking world, their growth to consequence +and power. Owen had to hear the figures of this growth, +see and touch the journals printed by the scattered race, +and to hear the editorials which spoke their success, their +assurance, their convictions, their pride.</p> + +<p>Then he laughed so sweetly, so naturally, chuckled so +mirthfully that Honora had to weep and thank God for +this holy mirthfulness, which sounded like the spontaneous, +careless, healthy mirth of a boy. Monsignor came +evenings to explain, interpret, put flesh and life into the +reading of the day with his vivid and pointed comment. +Ledwith walked in wonderland. "The hand of God is +surely there," was his one saying. The last day of his +pilgrimage he had a long private talk with Arthur. They +had indeed become father and son, and their mutual tenderness +was deep.</p> + +<p>Honora knew from the expression of the two men that +a new element had entered into her father's happiness.</p> + +<p>"I free you from your promise, my child," said Ledwith, +"my most faithful, most tender child. It is the +glory of men that the race is never without such children +as you. You are free from any bond. It is my wish that +you accept your release."</p> + +<p>She accepted smiling, to save him from the stress of +emotion. Then he wished to see the cathedral in the light +of the afternoon sun, and Arthur opened the door of the +sick-room. The dying man could see from his pillow the +golden spires, and the shining roof, that spoke to him so +wonderfully of the triumph of his race in a new land, the +triumph which had been built up in the night, unseen, +uncared for, unnoticed.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span></p> + +<p>"God alone has the future," he said.</p> + +<p>Once he looked at Honora, once more, with burning +eyes, that never could look enough on that loved child. +With his eyes on the great temple, smiling, he died. +They thought he had fallen asleep in his weakness. Honora +took his head in her arms, and Arthur Dillon stood +beside her and wept.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter"><a name="CHAPTER_XXVI" id="CHAPTER_XXVI"></a>CHAPTER XXVI.</h2> + +<h3 class="chapter2">THE FALL OF LIVINGSTONE.</h3> + + +<p>The ending of Quincy Livingstone's career in England<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</a></span> +promised to be like the setting of the sun: his glory +fading on the hills of Albion only to burn with greater +splendor in his native land: Chief Justice of the Supreme +Court! He needed the elevation. True, his career at +court had been delightful, from the English point of view +even brilliant; the nobility had made much of him, if not +as much as he had made of the nobility; the members of +the government had seriously praised him, far as they stood +from Lord Constantine's theory of American friendship. +However pleasant these things looked to the Minister, of +what account could they be to a mere citizen returning +to private life in New York? Could they make up for the +failures of the past year at home, the utter destruction of +his pet schemes for the restraint of the Irish in the land +of the Puritans?</p> + +<p>What disasters! The alliance thrust out of consideration +by the strong hand of Birmingham; the learned +Fritters chased from the platform by cold audiences, and +then from the country by relentless ridicule; Sister Claire +reduced to the rank of a tolerated criminal, a ticket-of-leave +girl; and the whole movement discredited! Fortunately +these calamities remained unknown in London.</p> + +<p>The new honors, however, would hide the failure and +the shame. His elevation was certain. The President +had made known his intention, and had asked Minister +Livingstone to be ready within a short time to sail for +home for final consultation. His departure from the +court of St. James would be glorious, and his welcome +home significant; afterwards his place would be amongst +the stars. He owned the honorable pride that loves power +and place, when these are worthy, but does not seek them. +From the beginning the Livingstones had no need to run<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[249]</a></span> +after office. It always sought them, receiving as rich a +lustre as it gave in the recognition of their worth. His +heart grew warm that fortune had singled him out for +the loftiest place in his country's gift. To die chief-justice +atoned for life's shortcomings. Life itself was at +once steeped in the color and perfume of the rose.</p> + +<p>Felicitations poured in from the great. The simplicities +of life suddenly put on a new charm, the commonplaces +a new emphasis. My Lord Tomnoddy's 'how-de-do' +was uttered with feeling, men took a second look at +him, the friends of a season felt a warmth about their +language, if not about the heart, in telling of his coming +dignity. The government people shook off their natural +drowsiness to measure the facts, to understand that emotion +should have a share in uttering the words of farewell. +"Oh, my <i>dear</i>, <span class="smcap">DEAR</span> Livingstone!" cried the +Premier as he pressed his hand vigorously at their first +meeting after the news had been given out. Society sang +after the same fashion. Who could resist the delight of +these things?</p> + +<p>His family and friends exulted. Lovable and deep-hearted +with them, harsh as he might be with opponents, +their gladness gave him joy. The news spread among the +inner circles with due reserve, since no one forgot the distance +between the cup and the lip; but to intimates the +appointment was said to be a certainty, and confirmation by +the Senate as sure as anything mortal. Of course the Irish +would raise a clamor, but no arm among them had length +or strength enough to snatch away the prize. Not in many +years had Livingstone dipped so deeply into the waters of +joy as in the weeks that followed the advice from the President.</p> + +<p>Arthur Dillon knew that mere opposition would not +affect Livingstone's chances. His position was too strong +to be stormed, he learned upon inquiry in Washington. +The political world was quiet to drowsiness, and the +President so determined in his choice that candidates +would not come forward to embarrass his nominee. The +public accepted the rumor of the appointment with indifference, +which remained undisturbed when a second +rumor told of Irish opposition. But for Arthur's determination +the selection of a chief-justice would have been +as dull as the naming of a consul to Algiers.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[250]</a></span></p> + +<p>"We can make a good fight," was Grahame's conclusion, +"but the field belongs to Livingstone."</p> + +<p>"Chance is always kind to the unfit," said Arthur, +"because the Irish are good-natured."</p> + +<p>"I don't see the connection."</p> + +<p>"I should have said, because mankind is so. In this +case Quincy gets the prize, because the Irish think he will +get it."</p> + +<p>"You speak like the oracle," said Grahame.</p> + +<p>"Well, the fight must be made, a stiff one, to the last +cartridge. But it won't be enough, mere opposition. +There must be another candidate. We can take Quincy +in front; the candidate can take him in the rear. It +must not be seen, only said, that the President surrendered +to Irish pressure. There's the plan: well-managed opposition, +and another candidate. We can see to the first, +who will be the other?"</p> + +<p>They were discussing that point without fruit when +Anne knocked at the door of the study, and entered in +some anxiety.</p> + +<p>"Is it true, what I heard whispered," said she, "that +they will soon be looking for a minister to England, that +Livingstone is coming back?"</p> + +<p>"True, mother dear," and he rose to seat her comfortably. +"But if you can find us a chief-justice the good +man will not need to come back. He can remain to help +keep patriots in English prisons."</p> + +<p>"Why I want to make sure, you know, is that Vandervelt +should get the English mission this time without fail. +I wouldn't have him miss it for the whole world."</p> + +<p>"There's your man," said Grahame.</p> + +<p>"Better than the English mission, mother," Arthur +said quickly, "would be the chief-justiceship for so good +a man as Vandervelt. If you can get him to tell his +friends he wants to be chief-justice, I can swear that he +will get one place or the other. I know which one he +would prefer. No, not the mission. That's for a few +years, forgotten honors. The other's for life, lasting +honor. Oh, how Vandervelt must sigh for that noble +dais, the only throne in the Republic, the throne of American +justice. Think, how Livingstone would defile it! +The hater and persecutor of a wronged and hounded race, +who begrudges us all but the honors of slavery, how could<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</a></span> +he understand and administer justice, even among his +own?"</p> + +<p>"What are you raving about, Artie?" she complained. +"I'll get Vandervelt to do anything if it's the right thing +for him to do; only explain to me what you want done."</p> + +<p>He explained so clearly that she was filled with delight. +With a quickness which astonished him, she picked up +the threads of the intrigue; some had their beginning +five years back, and she had not forgotten. Suddenly +the root of the affair bared itself to her: this son of hers +was doing battle for his own. She had forgotten Livingstone +long ago, and therefore had forgiven him. Arthur +had remembered. Her fine spirit stirred dubious Grahame.</p> + +<p>"Lave Vandervelt to me," she said, for her brogue +came back and gently tripped her at times, "and do you +young men look after Livingstone. I have no hard feelings +against him, but, God forgive me, when I think of +Louis Everard, and all that Mary suffered, and Honora, +and the shame put upon us by Sister Claire, something +like hate burns me. Anyway we're not worth bein' +tramped upon, if we let the like of him get so high, when +we can hinder it."</p> + +<p>"Hurrah for the Irish!" cried Grahame, and the two +cheered her as she left the room to prepare for her share +of the labor.</p> + +<p>The weight of the work lay in the swift and easy formation +of an opposition whose strength and temper would +be concealed except from the President, and whose action +would be impressive, consistent, and dramatic. The press +was to know only what it wished to know, without provocation. +The main effort should convince the President of +the unfitness of one candidate and the fitness of the +other. There were to be no public meetings or loud denunciations. +What cared the officials for mere cries of +rage? Arthur found his task delightful, and he worked +like a smith at the forge, heating, hammering, and shaping +his engine of war. When ready for action, his mother +had won Vandervelt, convinced him that his bid for the +greater office would inevitably land him in either place. +He had faith in her, and she had prophesied his future +glory!</p> + +<p>Languidly the journals gave out in due time the advent<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252]</a></span> +of another candidate for the chief-justiceship, and also +cloudy reports of Irish opposition to Livingstone. No +one was interested but John Everard, still faithful to the +Livingstone interest in spite of the gibes of Dillon and +Grahame. The scheme worked so effectively that Arthur +did not care to have any interruptions from this source. +The leaders talked to the President singly, in the order of +their importance, against his nominee, on the score of +party peace. What need to disturb the Irish by naming +a man who had always irritated and even insulted them? +The representation in the House would surely suffer by +his action, because in this way only could the offended +people retaliate. They detested Livingstone.</p> + +<p>Day after day this testimony fairly rained upon the President, +unanimous, consistent, and increasing in dignity with +time, each protester seeming more important than he who +just went out the door. Inquiries among the indifferent +proved that the Irish would give much to see Livingstone +lose the honors. And always in the foreground of the +picture of protest stood the popular and dignified Vandervelt +surrounded by admiring friends!</p> + +<p>Everard had the knack of ferreting out obscure movements. +When this intrigue was laid bare he found Arthur +Dillon at his throat on the morning he had chosen for a +visit to the President. To promise the executive support +from a strong Irish group in the appointment of Livingstone +would have been fatal to the opposition. Hence +the look which Arthur bestowed on Everard was as ugly +as his determination to put the marplot in a retreat for +the insane, if no other plan kept him at home.</p> + +<p>"I want to defeat Livingstone," said Arthur, "and I +think I have him defeated. You had better stay at home. +You are hurting a good cause."</p> + +<p>"I am going to destroy that good cause," John boasted +gayly. "You thought you had the field to yourself. And +you had, only that I discovered your game."</p> + +<p>"It's a thing to be proud of," Arthur replied sadly, +"this steady support of the man who would have ruined +your boy. Keep quiet. You've got to have the truth +rammed down your throat, since you will take it in no +other way. This Livingstone has been plotting against +your race for twenty years. It may not matter to a disposition +as crooked as yours, that he opened the eyes of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</a></span> +English government people to the meaning of Irish advance +in America, that he is responsible for Fritters, for +the alliance, for McMeeter, for the escaped nun, for her +vile <i>Confessions</i>, for the kidnapping societies here. You +are cantankerous enough to forget that he used his position +in London to do us harm, and you won't see that he will +do as much with the justiceship. Let these things pass. +If you were a good Catholic one might excuse your devotion +to Livingstone on the score that you were eager to return +good for evil. But you're a half-cooked Catholic, John. +Let that pass too. Have you no manhood left in you? +Are you short on self-respect? This man brought out and +backed the woman who sought to ruin your son, to break +your wife's heart, to destroy your own happiness. With +his permission she slandered the poor nuns with tongue +and pen, a vile woman hired to defile the innocent. And +for this man you throw dirt on your own, for this man you +are going to fight your own that he may get honors which +he will shame. Isn't it fair to think that you are going +mad, Everard?"</p> + +<p>"Don't attempt," said the other in a fury, "to work off +your oratory on me. I am going to Washington to expose +your intrigues against a gentleman. What! am I to +tremble at your frown——?"</p> + +<p>"Rot, man! Who asked you to tremble? I saved your +boy from Livingstone, and I shall save you from yourself, +even if I have to put you in an asylum for the harmless insane. +Don't you believe that Livingstone is the patron of +Sister Claire? that he is indirectly responsible for that +scandal?"</p> + +<p>"I never did, and I never shall," with vehemence. +"You are one of those that can prove anything——"</p> + +<p>"If you were sure of his responsibility, would you go to +Washington?"</p> + +<p>"Haven't I the evidence of my own senses? Were not +all Livingstone's friends on the committee which exposed +Sister Claire?"</p> + +<p>"Because we insisted on that or a public trial, and they +came with sour stomachs," said Arthur, glad that he had +begun to discuss the point. "Would you go to Washington +if you were sure he backed the woman?"</p> + +<p>"Enough, young man. I'm off for the train. Here, +Mary, my satchel——"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</a></span></p> + +<p>Two strong bands were laid on his shoulders, he was +pushed back into his chair, and the face which glowered +on him after this astonishing violence for the moment +stilled his rage and astonishment.</p> + +<p>"Would you go to Washington if you were sure Livingstone +backed Sister Claire?" came the relentless question.</p> + +<p>"No, I wouldn't," he answered vacantly.</p> + +<p>"Do you wish to be made sure of it?"</p> + +<p>He began to turn purple and to bluster.</p> + +<p>"Not a word," said his master, "not a cry. Just answer +that question. Do you wish to be made sure of this +man's atrocious guilt and your own folly?"</p> + +<p>"I want to know what is the meaning of this," Everard +sputtered, "this violence? In my own house, in broad +day, like a burglar."</p> + +<p>"Answer the question."</p> + +<p>Alarm began to steal over Everard, who was by no means +a brave man. Had Arthur Dillon, always a strange fellow, +gone mad? Or was this scene a hint of murder? The +desperate societies to which Dillon was said to belong often +indulged in violence. It had never occurred to him before +that these secret forces must be fighting Livingstone +through Dillon. They would never permit him to use his +influence at Washington in the Minister's behalf. Dreadful! +He must dissemble.</p> + +<p>"If you can make me sure, I am willing," he said +meekly.</p> + +<p>"Read that, then," and Arthur placed his winning card, +as he thought, in his hands; the private confession of +Sister Claire as to the persons who had assisted her in her +outrageous schemes; and the chief, of course, was Livingstone. +Everard read it with contempt.</p> + +<p>"Legally you know what her testimony is worth," said +he.</p> + +<p>"You accepted her testimony as to her own frauds, and +so did the whole committee."</p> + +<p>"We had to accept the evidence of our own senses."</p> + +<p>Obstinate to the last was Everard.</p> + +<p>"You will not be convinced," said Arthur rudely, "but +you can be muzzled. I say again: keep away from Washington, +and keep your hands off my enterprise. You have +some idea of what happens to men like you for interfering. +If I meet you in Washington, or find any trace of your<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</a></span> +meddling in the matter, here is what I shall do; this +whole scandal of the escaped nun shall be reopened, this +confession shall be printed, and the story of Louis' adventure, +from that notable afternoon at four o'clock until his +return, word for word, with portraits of his interesting +family, of Sister Claire, all the details, will be given to +the journals. Do you understand? Meanwhile, study +this problem in psychology: how long will John Everard +be able to endure life after I tell the Irish how he helped +to enthrone their bitterest enemy?"</p> + +<p>He did not wait for an answer, but left the baffled man +to wrestle with the situation, which must have worsted +him, for his hand did not appear in the game at Washington. +Very smoothly the plans of Arthur worked to their +climax. The friends of Vandervelt pressed his cause as +urgently and politely as might be, and with increasing energy +as the embarrassment of the President grew. The +inherent weakness of Vandervelt's case appeared to the +tireless Dillon more appalling in the last moments than at +the beginning: the situation had no logical outcome. It +was merely a question whether the President would risk a +passing unpopularity.</p> + +<p>He felt the absence of Birmingham keenly, the one +man who could say to the executive with authority, this +appointment would be a blunder. Birmingham being +somewhere on the continent, out of reach of appeals for +help, his place was honorably filled by the General of the +Army, with an influence, however, purely sentimental. +Arthur accompanied him for the last interview with the +President. Only two days intervened before the invitation +would be sent to Livingstone to return home. The great +man listened with sympathy to the head of the army making +his protest, but would promise nothing; he had fixed an +hour however for the settlement of the irritating problem; +if they would call the next morning at ten, he would give +them his unalterable decision.</p> + +<p>Feeling that the decision must be against his hopes, +Arthur passed a miserable night prowling with Grahame +about the hotel. Had he omitted any point in the fight? +Was there any straw afloat which could be of service? +Doyle used his gift of poetry to picture for him the return +of Livingstone, and his induction into office; the serenity +of mind, the sense of virtue and patriotism rewarded, his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[256]</a></span> +cold contempt of the defeated opposition and their candidate, +the matchless dignity, which would exalt Livingstone +to the skies as the Chief-Justice. Their only consolation +was the fight itself, which had shaken for a moment +the edifice of the Minister's fame.</p> + +<p>The details went to London from friends close to the +President, and enabled Livingstone to measure the full +strength of a young man's hatred. The young man should +be attended to after the struggle. There was no reason +to lose confidence. While the factions were still worrying, +the cablegram came with the request that he sail on +Saturday for home, the equivalent of appointment. When +reading it at the Savage Club, whither a special messenger +had followed him, the heavy mustache and very round +spectacles of Birmingham rose up suddenly before him, +and they exchanged greetings with the heartiness of exiles +from the same land. The Minister remembered that his +former rival had no share in the attempt to deprive him +of his coming honors, and Birmingham recalled the rumor +picked up that day in the city.</p> + +<p>"I suppose there's no truth in it," he said.</p> + +<p>The Minister handed him the cablegram.</p> + +<p>"Within ten days," making a mental calculation, "I +should be on my way back to London, with the confirmation +of the Senate practically secured."</p> + +<p>"When it comes I shall be pleased to offer my congratulations," +Birmingham replied, and the remark +slightly irritated Livingstone.</p> + +<p>Could he have seen what happened during the next few +hours his sleep would have lost its sweetness. Birmingham +went straight to the telegraph office, and sent a cipher +despatch to his man of business, ordering him to see the +President that night in Washington, and to declare in his +name, with all the earnestness demanded by the situation, +that the appointment of Livingstone would mean political +death to him and immense embarrassment to his party for +years. As it would be three in the morning before a reply +would reach London, Birmingham went to bed with a good +conscience. Thus, while the two young men babbled all +night in the hotel, and thought with dread of the fatal +hour next morning, wire, and train, and business man +flew into the capital and out of it, carrying one man's word<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[257]</a></span> +in and another man's glory out, fleet, silent, unrecognized, +unhonored, and unknown.</p> + +<p>At breakfast Birmingham read the reply from his +business man with profound satisfaction. At breakfast +the Minister read a second cablegram with a sudden +recollection of Birmingham's ominous words the night +before. He knew that he would need no congratulations, +for the prize had been snatched away forever. The cablegram +informed him that he should not sail on Saturday, +and that explanations would follow. For a moment his +proud heart failed him. Bitterness flowed in on him, so +that the food in his mouth became tasteless. What did +he care that his enemies had triumphed? Or, that he had +been overthrown? The loss of the vision which had +crowned his life, and made a hard struggle for what he +thought the fit and right less sordid, even beautiful; that +was a calamity.</p> + +<p>He had indulged it in spite of mental protests against +the dangerous folly. The swift imagination, prompted +by all that was Livingstone in him, had gone over the +many glories of the expected dignity; the departure from +beautiful and flattering England, the distinction of the +return to his beloved native land, the splendid interval +before the glorious day, the crowning honors amid the +applause of his own, and the long sweet afternoon of life, +when each day would bring its own distinction! He had +had his glimpse of Paradise. Oh, never, never would life be +the same for him! He began to study the reasons for his +ill-success....</p> + +<p>At ten o'clock that day the President informed the +General of the Army in Mr. Dillon's presence that he had +sent the name of Hon. Van Rensselaer Vandervelt to the +Senate for the position of Chief-Justice!</p> + + +<div class="minispace"> </div> +<hr /> +<h2>THE TEST OF DISAPPEARANCE.</h2> +<hr /> +<div class="minispace"> </div> + +<h2 class="chapter"><a name="CHAPTER_XXVII" id="CHAPTER_XXVII"></a>CHAPTER XXVII.</h2> + +<h3 class="chapter2">A PROBLEM OF DISAPPEARANCE.</h3> + + +<p>After patient study of the disappearance of Horace<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[258]</a></span> +Endicott, for five years, Richard Curran decided to give +up the problem. All clues had come to nothing. Not +the faintest trace of the missing man had been found. +His experience knew nothing like it. The money earned +in the pursuit would never repay him for the loss of self-confidence +and of nerve, due to study and to ill success. +But for his wife he would have withdrawn long ago from +the search.</p> + +<p>"Since you have failed," she said, "take up my theory. +You will find that man in Arthur Dillon."</p> + +<p>"That's the strongest reason for giving up," he replied. +"Once before I felt my mind going from insane eagerness +to solve the problem. It would not do to have us both in +the asylum at once."</p> + +<p>"I made more money in following my instincts, Dick, +than you have made in chasing your theories. Instinct +warned me years ago that Arthur Dillon is another than +what he pretends. It warns me now that he is Horace +Endicott. At least before you give up for good, have a +shy at my theory."</p> + +<p>"Instinct! Theory! It is pure hatred. And the hate +of a woman can make her take an ass for Apollo."</p> + +<p>"No doubt I hate him. Oh, how I hate that man ... +and young Everard...."</p> + +<p>"Or any man that escapes you," he filled in with sly +malice.</p> + +<p>"Be careful, Dick," she screamed at him, and he +apologized. "That hate is more to me than my child. +It will grow big enough to kill him yet. But apart from +hate, Arthur Dillon is not the man he seems. I could +swear he is Horace Endicott. Remember all I have told +you about his return. He came back from California about +the time Endicott disappeared. I was playing Edith<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[259]</a></span> +Conyngham then with great success, though not to +crowded houses."</p> + +<p>She laughed heartily at the recollection.</p> + +<p>"I remarked to myself even then that Anne Dillon ... +she's the choice hypocrite ... did not seem easy in +showing the letter which told of his coming back, how +sorry he was for his conduct, how happy he would make +her with the fortune he had earned."</p> + +<p>"All pure inference," said Curran. "Twenty men +arrived home in New York about the same time with +fortunes from the mines, and some without fortunes from +the war."</p> + +<p>"Then how do you account for this, smart one? Never +a word of his life in California from that day to this. +Mind that. No one knows, or seems to know, just where +he had been, just how he got his money ... you understand +... all the little bits o' things that are told, and +guessed, and leak out in a year. I asked fifty people, +I suppose, and all they knew was: California. You'd +think Judy Haskell knew, and she told me everything. +What had she to tell? that no one dared to ask him about +such matters."</p> + +<p>"Dillon is a very close man."</p> + +<p>"Endicott had to be among that long-tongued Irish +crowd. I watched him. He was stupid at first ... stuck +to the house ... no one saw him for weeks ... except +the few. He listened and watched ... I saw him ... +his eyes and his ears ought to be as big as a donkey's from +it ... and he said nothing. They made excuses for +a thing that everyone saw and talked about. He was ill. +I say he wanted to make no mistakes; he was learning his +part; there was nothing of the Irish in him, only the sharp +Yankee. It made me wonder for weeks what was wrong. +He looked as much like the boy that ran away as you do. +And then I had no suspicions, mind you. I believed Anne +Dillon's boy had come back with a fortune, and I was +thinking how I could get a good slice of it."</p> + +<p>"And you didn't get a cent," Curran remarked.</p> + +<p>"He hated me from the beginning. It takes one that +is playing a part to catch another in the same business. +After a while he began to bloom. He got more Irish +than the Irish. There's no Yankee living, no Englishman, +can play the Irishman. He can give a good imita<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[260]</a></span>tion +maybe, d'ye hear? That's what Dillon gave. He did +everything that young Dillon used to do before he left +home ... a scamp he was too. He danced jigs, flattered +the girls, chummed with the ditch-diggers and barkeepers +... and he hated them all, women and men. +The Yankees hate the Irish as easy as they breathe. I tell +you he had forgotten nothing that he used to do as a boy. +And the fools that looked on said, oh, it's easy to see he +was sick, for now that he is well we can all recognize our +old dare-devil, Arthur."</p> + +<p>"He's dare-devil clear enough," commented her husband.</p> + +<p>"First point you've scored," she said with contempt. +"Horace Endicott was a milksop: to run away when he +should have killed the two idiots. Dillon is a devil, as I +ought to know. But the funniest thing was his dealings +with his mother. She was afraid of him ... as much as +I am ... she is till this minute. Haven't I seen her +look at him, when she dared to say a sharp thing? And +she's a good actress, mind you. It took her years to act +as a mother can act with a son."</p> + +<p>"Quite natural, I think. He went away a boy, came +back a rich man, and was able to boss things, having the +cash."</p> + +<p>"You think! You! I've seen ten years of your thinking! +Well, I thought too. I saw a chance for cash, where I +smelled a mystery. Do you know that he isn't a Catholic? +Do you know that he's strange to all Catholic ways? that +he doesn't know how to hear Mass, to kneel when he enters +a pew, to bless himself when he takes the holy water at +the door? Do you know that he never goes to communion? +And therefore he never goes to confession. Didn't I +watch for years, so that I might find out what was wrong +with him, and make some money?"</p> + +<p>"All that's very plausible," said her husband. "Only, +there are many Catholics in this town, and in particular +the Californians, that forgot as much as he forgot about +their religion, and more."</p> + +<p>"But he is not a Catholic," she persisted. "There's an +understanding between him and Monsignor O'Donnell. +They exchange looks when they meet. He visits the priest +when he feels like it, but in public they keep apart. Oh, +all round, that Arthur Dillon is the strangest fellow; but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[261]</a></span> +he plays his part so well that fools like you, Dick, are +tricked."</p> + +<p>"You put a case well, Dearie. But it doesn't convince +me. However," for he knew her whim must be obeyed, +"I don't mind trying again to find Horace Endicott in +this Arthur Dillon."</p> + +<p>"And of course," with a sneer, "you'll begin with the +certainty that there's nothing in the theory. What can +the cleverest man discover, when he's sure beforehand that +there's nothing to discover?"</p> + +<p>"My word, Colette, if I take up the matter, I'll convince +you that you're wrong, or myself that you're right. +And I'll begin right here this minute. I believe with you +that we have found Endicott at last. Then the first question +I ask myself is: who helped Horace Endicott to become +Arthur Dillon?"</p> + +<p>"Monsignor O'Donnell of course," she answered.</p> + +<p>"Then Endicott must have known the priest before he +disappeared: known him so as to trust him, and to get a +great favor from him? Now, Sonia didn't know that +fact."</p> + +<p>"That fool of a woman knows nothing, never did, never +will," she snapped.</p> + +<p>"Well, for the sake of peace let us say he was helped +by Monsignor, and knew the priest a little before he went +away. Monsignor helped him to find his present hiding-place; +quite naturally he knew Mrs. Dillon, how her son +had gone and never been heard of: and he knew it would +be a great thing for her to have a son with an income like +Endicott's. The next question is: how many people know +at this moment who Dillon really is?"</p> + +<p>"Just two, sir. He's a fox ... they're three foxes +... Monsignor, Anne Dillon, and Arthur himself. I +know, for I watched 'em all, his uncle, his friends, his old +chums ... the fellows he played with before he ran +away ... and no one knows but the two that had to +know ... sly Anne and smooth Monsignor. They made +the money that I wasn't smart enough to get hold +of."</p> + +<p>"Then the next question is: is it worth while to make +inquiries among the Irish, his friends and neighbors, the +people that knew the real Dillon?"</p> + +<p>"You won't find out any more than I've told you, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[262]</a></span> +you may prove how little reason they have for accepting +him as the boy that ran away."</p> + +<p>"After that it would be necessary to search California."</p> + +<p>"Poor Dick," she interrupted with compassion, smoothing +his beard. "You are really losing your old cleverness. +Search California! Can't you see yet the wonderful +'cuteness of this man, Endicott? He settled all that before +he wrote the letter to Anne Dillon, saying that her +son was coming home. He found out the career of Arthur +Dillon in California. If he found that runaway he sent +him off to Australia with a lump of money, to keep out of +sight for twenty years. Did the scamp need much persuading? +I reckon not. He had been doing it for nothing +ten years. Or, perhaps the boy was dead: then he +had only to make the proper connections with his history +up to the time of his death. Or he may have disappeared +forever, and that made the matter all the simpler for Endicott. +Oh, you're not clever, Dick," and she kissed him +to sweeten the bitterness of the opinion.</p> + +<p>"I'm not convinced," he said cheerfully. "Then tell +me what to do."</p> + +<p>"I don't know myself. Endicott took his money with +him. Where does Arthur Dillon keep his money? How +did it get there? Where was it kept before that? How +is he spending it just now? Does he talk in his sleep? +Are there any mementoes of his past in his private boxes? +Could he be surprised into admissions of his real character +by some trick, such as bringing him face to face on a sudden +with Sonia? Wouldn't that be worth seeing? Just +like the end of a drama. You know the marks on +Endicott's body, birthmarks and the like ... are they +on Dillon's body? The boy that ran away must have had +some marks.... Judy Haskell would know ... are +they on Endicott's body?"</p> + +<p>"You've got the map of the business in that pretty head +perfect," said Curran in mock admiration. "But don't +you see, my pet, that if this man is as clever as you would +have him he has already seen to these things? He has +removed the birthmarks and peculiarities of Horace, and +adopted those of Arthur? You'll find it a tangled business +the deeper you dive into it."</p> + +<p>"Well, it's your business to dive deeper than the tangle," +she answered crossly. "If I had your practice——"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[263]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You would leave me miles behind, of course. Here's +the way I would reason about this thing: Horace Endicott +is now known as Arthur Dillon; he has left no track +by which Endicott can be traced to his present locality; +but there must be a very poor connection between the +Dillon at home and the real Dillon in California, in Australia, +or in his grave; if we can trace the real Arthur +Dillon then we take away the foundations of his counterfeit. +Do you see? I say a trip to California and a clean +examination there, after we have done our best here to +pick flaws in the position of the gentleman who has been +so cruel to my pet. He must get his punishment for that, +I swear."</p> + +<p>"Ah, there's the rub," she whimpered in her childish +way. "I hate him, and I love him. He's the finest fellow +in the world. He has the strength of ten. See how +he fought the battles of the Irish against his own. One +minute I could tear him like a wolf, and now I could let +him tear me to pieces. You are fond of him too, Dick."</p> + +<p>"I would follow him to the end of the world, through +fire and flood and fighting," said the detective with feeling. +"He loves Ireland, he loves and pities our poor +people, he is spending his money for them. But I could +kill him just the same for his cruelty to you. He's a hard +man, Colette."</p> + +<p>"Now I know what you are trying to do," she said +sharply. "You think you can frighten me by telling me +what I know already. Well, you can't."</p> + +<p>"No, no," he protested, "I was thinking of another +thing. We'll come to the danger part later. There is one +test of this man that ought to be tried before all others. +When I have sounded the people about Arthur Dillon, and +am ready for California, Sonia Endicott should be brought +here to have a good look at him in secret first; and then, +perhaps, in the open, if you thought well of it."</p> + +<p>"Why shouldn't I think well of it? But will it do any +good, and mayn't it do harm? Sonia has no brains. If +you can't see any resemblance between Arthur and the +pictures of Horace Endicott, what can Sonia see?"</p> + +<p>"The eyes of hate, and the eyes of love," said he +sagely.</p> + +<p>"Then I'd be afraid to bring them together," she admitted +whispering again, and cowering into his arms. "If<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[264]</a></span> +he suspects I am hunting him down, he will have no +pity."</p> + +<p>"No doubt of it," he said thoughtfully. "I have +always felt the devil in him. Endicott was a fat, gay, +lazy sport, that never so much as rode after the hounds. +Now Arthur Dillon has had his training in the mines. +That explains his dare-devil nature."</p> + +<p>"And Horace Endicott was betrayed by the woman he +loved," she cried with sudden fierceness. "That turns a +man sour quicker than all the mining-camps in the world. +That made him lean and terrible like a wolf. That +sharpened his teeth, and gave him a taste for woman's +blood. That's why he hates me."</p> + +<p>"You're wrong again, my pet. He has a liking for +you, but you spoil it by laying hands on his own. You +saw his looks when he was hunting for young Everard."</p> + +<p>"Oh, how he frightens me," and she began to walk the +room in a rage. "How I would like to throw off this fear +and face him and fight him, as I face you. I'll do it if +the terror kills me. I shall not be terrified by any man. +You shall hunt him down, Dick Curran. Begin at once. +When you are ready send for Sonia. I'll bring them together +myself, and take the responsibility. What can he +do but kill me?"</p> + +<p>Sadness came over the detective as she returned to her +seat on his knee.</p> + +<p>"He is not the kind, little girl," said he, "that lays +hands on a woman or a man outside of fair, free, open +fight before the whole world."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?" knowing very well what he +meant.</p> + +<p>"If he found you on his trail," with cunning deliberation, +so that every word beat heart and brain like a hammer, +"and if he is really Horace Endicott, he would only +have to give your character and your address——"</p> + +<p>"To the dogs," she shrieked in a sudden access of horror.</p> + +<p>Then she lay very still in his arms, and the man +laughed quietly to himself, sure that he had subdued her +and driven her crazy scheme into limbo. The wild creature +had one dread and by reason of it one master. Never +had she been so amenable to discipline as under Dillon's +remote and affable authority. Curran had no fear of consequences +in studying the secret years of Arthur Dillon's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[265]</a></span> +existence. The study might reveal things which a young +man preferred to leave in the shadows, but would not +deliver up to Sonia her lost Horace; and even if Arthur +came to know what they were doing, he could smile at +Edith's vagaries.</p> + +<p>"What shall we do?" he ventured to say at last.</p> + +<p>"Find Horace Endicott in Arthur Dillon," was the unexpected +answer, energetic, but sighed rather than spoken. +"I fear him, I love him, I hate him, and I'm going to +destroy him before he destroys me. Begin to-night."</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter"><a name="CHAPTER_XXVIII" id="CHAPTER_XXVIII"></a>CHAPTER XXVIII.</h2> + +<h3 class="chapter2">A FIRST TEST.</h3> + + +<p>Curran could not study the Endicott problem. His<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[266]</a></span> +mind had lost edge in the vain process, getting as confused +over details as the experimenter in perpetual motion after +an hundred failures. In favor of Edith he said to himself +that her instincts had always been remarkable, always +helpful; and her theory compared well with the twenty +upon which he had worked years to no purpose. Since he +could not think the matter out, he went straight on in +the fashion which fancy had suggested. Taking it for +granted that Dillon and Endicott were the same man, +he must establish the connection; that is, discover the +moment when Horace Endicott passed from his own into +the character of Arthur Dillon.</p> + +<p>Two persons would know the fact: Anne Dillon and +her son. Four others might have knowledge of it; Judy, +the Senator, Louis, and Monsignor. A fifth might be +added, if the real Arthur Dillon were still living in obscurity, +held there by the price paid him for following his +own whim. Others would hardly be in the secret. The +theory was charming in itself, and only a woman like +Edith, whose fancy had always been sportive, would have +dreamed it. The detective recalled Arthur's interest in +his pursuit of Endicott; then the little scenes on board +the <i>Arrow</i>; and grew dizzy to think of the man pursued +comparing his own photograph with his present likeness, +under the eyes of the detective who had grown stale +in the chase of him.</p> + +<p>He knew of incidents quite as remarkable, which had +a decent explanation afterwards, however. He went about +among the common people of Cherry Hill, who had known +Arthur Dillon from his baptism, had petted him every +week until he disappeared, and now adored him in his success. +He renewed acquaintance with them, and heaped<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[267]</a></span> +them with favors. Loitering about in their idling places, +he threw out the questions; hints, surmises, which might +bring to the surface their faith in Arthur Dillon. He reported +the result to Edith.</p> + +<p>"Not one of them" said he, "but would go to court +and swear a bushel of oaths that Arthur Dillon is the +boy who ran away. They have their reasons too; how +he dances, and sings, and plays the fiddle, and teases the +girls, just as he did when a mere strip of a lad; how the +devil was always in him for doing the thing that no one +looked for; how he had no fear of even the priest, or of +the wildest horse; and sought out terrible things to do +and to dare, just as now he shakes up your late backers, +bishops, ministers, ambassadors, editors, or plots against +England; all as if he earned a living that way."</p> + +<p>She sneered at this bias, and bade him search deeper.</p> + +<p>It was necessary to approach the Senator on the matter. +He secured from him a promise that their talk would remain +a secret, not only because the matter touched one +very dear to the Senator, but also because publicity might +ruin the detective himself. If the Senator did not care +to give his word, there would be no talk, but his relative +might also be exposed to danger. The Senator was always +gracious with Curran.</p> + +<p>"Do you know anything about Arthur's history in +California?" and his lazy eyes noted every change in the +ruddy, handsome face.</p> + +<p>"Never asked him but one question about it. He answered +that straight, and never spoke since about it. +Nothing wrong, I hope?" the Senator answered with +alarm.</p> + +<p>"Lots, I guess, but I don't know for sure. Here are +the circumstances. Think them out for yourself. A +crowd of sharp speculators in California mines bought a +mine from Arthur Dillon when he was settling up his +accounts to come home to his mother. As trouble arose +lately about that mine, they had to hunt up Arthur Dillon. +They send their agent to New York, he comes to Arthur, +and has a talk with him. Then he goes back to his +speculators, and declares to them that this Arthur +Dillon is not the man who sold the mine. So the company, +full of suspicion, offers me the job of looking up +the character of Arthur, and what he had been doing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[268]</a></span> +these ten years. They say straight out that the real +Arthur Dillon has been put out of the way, and that the +man who is holding the name and the stakes here in New +York is a fraud."</p> + +<p>This bit of fiction relieved the Senator's mind.</p> + +<p>"A regular cock-and-bull story," said he with indignation. +"What's their game? Did you tell them what +we think of Artie? Would his own mother mistake him? +Or even his uncle? If they're looking for hurt, tell them +they're on the right road."</p> + +<p>"No, no," said Curran, "these are straight men. But +if doubt is cast on a business transaction, they intend to +clear it away. It would be just like them to bring suit +to establish the identity of Arthur with the Arthur Dillon +who sold them the mine. Now, Senator, could you +go into court and swear positively that the young man +who came back from California five years ago is the +nephew who ran away from home at the age of fifteen?"</p> + +<p>"Swear it till I turned blue; why, it's foolish, simply +foolish. And every man, woman, and child in the district +would do the same. Why don't you go and talk +with Artie about it?"</p> + +<p>"Because the company doesn't wish to make a fuss +until they have some ground to walk on," replied Curran +easily. "When I tell them how sure the relatives and +friends of Arthur are about his identity, they may drop +the affair. But now, Senator, just discussing the thing +as friends, you know, if you were asked in court why you +were so sure Arthur is your nephew, what could you tell +the court?"</p> + +<p>"If the court asked me how I knew my mother was my +mother——"</p> + +<p>"That's well enough, I know. But in this case Arthur +was absent ten years, in which time you never saw him, +heard of him, or from him."</p> + +<p>"Good point," said the Senator musingly. "When +Artie came home from California, he was sick, and I went +to see him. He was in bed. Say, I'll never forget it, +Curran. I saw Pat sick once at the same age ... Pat +was his father, d'ye see?... and here was Pat lying +before me in the bed. I tell you it shook me. I never +thought he'd grow so much like his father, though he +has the family features. Know him to be Pat's son?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[269]</a></span> +Why, if he told me himself he was any one else, I wouldn't +believe him."</p> + +<p>Evidently the Senator knew nothing of Horace Endicott +and recognised Arthur Dillon as his brother's son. The +detective was not surprised; neither was Edith at the daily +report.</p> + +<p>"There isn't another like him on earth," she said with +the pride of a discoverer. "Keep on until you find his +tracks, here or in California."</p> + +<p>Curran had an interesting chat with Judy Haskell on a +similar theme, but with a different excuse from that +which roused the Senator. The old lady knew the detective +only as Arthur's friend. He approached her mysteriously, +with a story of a gold mine awaiting Arthur in +California, as soon as he could prove to the courts that +he was really Arthur Dillon. Judy began to laugh. +"Prove that he's Arthur Dillon! Faith, an' long I'd wait +for a gold mine if I had to prove I was Judy Haskell. +How can any one prove themselves to be themselves, Misther +Curran? Are the courts goin' crazy?"</p> + +<p>The detective explained what evidence a court would +accept as proof of personality.</p> + +<p>"Well, Arthur can give that aisy enough," said she.</p> + +<p>"But he won't touch the thing at all, Mrs. Haskell. +He was absent ten years, and maybe he doesn't want that +period ripped up in a court. It might appear that he had +a wife, you know, or some other disagreeable thing might +leak out. When the lawyers get one on the witness +stand, they make hares of him."</p> + +<p>"Sure enough," said Judy thoughtfully. Had she +not suggested this very suspicion to Anne? The young +are wild, and even Arthur could have slipped from grace +in that interval of his life. Curran hoped that Arthur +could prove his identity without exposing the secrets of +the past.</p> + +<p>"For example," said he smoothly, with an eye for +Judy's expression, "could you go to court to-morrow and +swear that Arthur is the same lad that ran away from his +mother fifteen years ago?"</p> + +<p>"I cud swear as manny oaths on that point as there are +hairs in yer head," said Judy.</p> + +<p>"And what would you say, Mrs. Haskell, if the judge +said to you: Now, madam, it's very easy for you to say you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[270]</a></span> +know the young man to be the same person as the runaway +boy; but how do you know it? what makes you +think you know it?"</p> + +<p>"I'd say he was purty sassy, indade. Of coorse I'd +say that to meself, for ye can't talk to a judge as aisy +an' free as to a lawyer. Well, I'd say manny pleasant +things. Arthur was gone tin years, but I knew him an' +he knew me the minute we set eyes on aich other. Then, +agin, I knew him out of his father. He doesn't favor +the mother at all, for she's light an' he's dark. There's a +dale o' the Dillon in him. Then, agin, how manny things +he tould me of the times we had together, an' he even +asked me if Teresa Flynn, his sweetheart afore he wint off, +was livin' still. Oh, as thrue as ye're sittin' there! Poor +thing, she was married. An' he remembered how fond +he was o' rice puddin' ice cold. An' he knew Louis Everard +the minute he shtud forninst him in the door. But +what's the use o' talkin'? I cud tell ye for hours all +the things he said an' did to show he was Arthur Dillon."</p> + +<p>"Has he any marks on his body that would help to +identify him, if he undertook to get the gold mine that +belongs to him?"</p> + +<p>"Artie had only wan mark on him as a boy ... he was +the most spotless child I ever saw ... an' that was a mole +on his right shoulder. He tuk it wid him to California, an' +he brought it back, for I saw it meself in the same spot while +he was sick, an' I called his attintion to it, an' he was much +surprised, for he had never thought of it wanst."</p> + +<p>"It's my opinion," said Curran solemnly, "that he can +prove his identity without exposing his life in the west. +I hope to persuade him to it. Maybe the photographs of +himself and his father would help. Have you any copies +of them?"</p> + +<p>"There's jist two. I wudn't dare to take thim out of +his room, but if ye care to walk up-stairs, Mr. Curran, an' +luk at thim there, ye're welcome. He an' his mother are +away the night to a gran' ball."</p> + +<p>They entered Arthur's apartments together, and Judy +showed the pictures of Arthur Dillon as a boy of fourteen, +and of his youthful father; old daguerreotypes, but faithful +and clear as a likeness. Judy rattled on for an hour, +but the detective had achieved his object. She had no +share in the secret.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[271]</a></span></p> + +<p>Arthur Dillon was his father's son, for her. He studied +the pictures, and carefully examined the rooms, his admiration +provoking Judy into a display of their beauties. With +the skill and satisfaction of an artist in man-hunting, he +observed how thoroughly the character of the young man +displayed itself in the trifles of decoration and furnishing.</p> + +<p>The wooden crucifix with the pathetic figure in bronze +on the wall over the desk, the holy water stoup at the +door, carved figures of the Holy Family, a charming group, +on the desk, exquisite etchings of the Christ and the +Madonna after the masters, a <i>prie-dieu</i> in the inner room +with a group of works of devotion: and Edith had declared +him no Catholic. Here was the refutation.</p> + +<p>"He is a pious man," Curran said.</p> + +<p>"And no wan sees it but God and himself. So much +the betther, I say," Judy remarked. "Only thim that +had sorra knows how to pray, an' he prays like wan that +had his fill of it."</p> + +<p>The tears came into the man's eyes at the indications of +Arthur's love for poor Erin. Hardness was the mark of +Curran, and sin had been his lifelong delight; but for +his country he had kept a tenderness and devotion that +softened and elevated his nature at times. Of little use +and less honor to his native land, he felt humbled in this +room, whose books, pictures, and ornaments revealed +thought and study in behalf of a harried and wretched +people, yet the student was not a native of Ireland. It +seemed profane to set foot here, to spy upon its holy privacy. +He felt glad that its details gave the lie so emphatically +to Edith's instincts.</p> + +<p>The astonishing thing was the absence of Californian +relics and mementoes. Some photographs and water +colors, whose names Curran mentally copied for future +use, pictured popular scenes on the Pacific slope; but +they could be bought at any art store. Surely his life in +the mines, with all the luck that had come to him, must +have held some great bitterness, that he never spoke of it +casually, and banished all remembrances.</p> + +<p>That would come up later, but Curran had made up his +mind that no secret of Arthur's life should ever see the +light because he found it. Not even vengeful Edith, and +she had the right to hate her enemy, should wring from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[272]</a></span> +him any disagreeable facts in the lad's career. So deeply +the detective respected him!</p> + +<p>In the place of honor, at the foot of his bed, where his +eyes rested on them earliest and latest, hung a group of +portraits in oil, in the same frame, of Louis the beloved, +from his babyhood to the present time: on the side wall +hung a painting of Anne in her first glory as mistress of +the new home in Washington Square; opposite, Monsignor +smiled down in purple splendor; two miniatures contained +the grave, sweet, motherly face of Mary Everard and the +auburn hair and lovely face of Mona.</p> + +<p>"There are the people he loves," said Curran with emotion.</p> + +<p>"Ay, indade," Judy said tenderly, "an' did ever a wild +boy like him love his own more? Night an' day his wan +thought is of them. The sun rises an' sets for him behind +that picther there," pointing to Louis' portraits. "If +annythin' had happened to that lovely child last Spring he'd +a-choked the life out o' wan woman wid his own two hands. +He's aisy enough, God knows, but I'd rather jump into +the say than face him when the anger is in him."</p> + +<p>"He's a terrible man," said Curran, repeating Edith's +phrase.</p> + +<p>He examined some manuscript in Arthur's handwriting. +How different from the careless scrawl of Horace Endicott +this clear, bold, dashing script, which ran full speed across +the page, yet turned with ease and leisurely from the +margin. What a pity Edith could not see with her own +eyes these silent witnesses to the truth. Beyond the study +was a music-room, where hung his violin over some scattered +music. Horace Endicott hated the practising of the +art, much as he loved the opera. It was all very sweet, +just what the detective would have looked for, beautiful +to see. He could have lingered in the rooms and speculated +on that secret and manly life, whose currents were +so feebly but shiningly indicated in little things. It occurred +to him that copies of the daguerreotypes, Arthur +at fourteen and his father at twenty-five, would be of service +in the search through California. He spoke of it to +Judy.</p> + +<p>"Sure that was done years ago," said Judy cautiously. +"Anne Dillon wouldn't have it known for the world, ye +see, but I know that she sint a thousand o' thim to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[273]</a></span> +polis in California; an' that's the way she kem across the +lad. Whin he found his mother shtill mournin' him, he +wrote to her that he had made his pile an' was comin' +home. Anne has the pride in her, an' she wants all the +world to believe he kem home of himself, d'ye see? Now +kape that a secret, mind."</p> + +<p>"And do you never let on what I've been telling you," +said Curran gravely. "It may come to nothing, and it +may come to much, but we must be silent."</p> + +<p>She had given her word, and Judy's word was like the +laws of the Medes and Persians. Curran rejoiced at the incident +of the daguerreotypes, which anticipated his proposed +search in California. Vainly however did he describe +the result of his inquiry for Edith. She would have none +of his inferences. He must try to entrap Anne Dillon +and the priest, and afterwards he might scrape the surface +of California.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter"><a name="CHAPTER_XXIX" id="CHAPTER_XXIX"></a>CHAPTER XXIX.</h2> + +<h3 class="chapter2">THE NERVE OF ANNE.</h3> + + +<p>Curran laid emphasis in his account to his wife on the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[274]</a></span> +details of Arthur's rooms, and on the photographs which +had helped to discover the lost boy in California. Edith +laughed at him.</p> + +<p>"Horace Endicott invented that scheme of the photographs," +said she. "The dear clever boy! If he had +been the detective, not a stupid like you! I saw Arthur +Dillon in church many times in four years, and I tell you +he is not a Catholic born, no matter what you saw in his +rooms. He's playing the part of Arthur Dillon to the last +letter. Don't look at me that way, Dick or I'll scratch +your face. You want to say that I am crazy over this theory, +and that I have an explanation ready for all your objections."</p> + +<p>"I have nothing to say, I am just working on your +lines, dearie," he replied humbly.</p> + +<p>"Just now your game is busy with an affair of the heart. +He won't be too watchful, unless, as I think, he's on our +tracks all the time. You ought to get at his papers."</p> + +<p>"A love affair! Our tracks!" Curran repeated in confusion.</p> + +<p>"Do you think you can catch a man like Arthur napping?" +she sneered. "Is there a moment in the last four +years that he has been asleep? See to it that you are not +reported to him every night. But if he is in love with +Honora Ledwith, there's a chance that he won't see or care +to see what you are doing. She's a lovely girl. A hint of +another woman would settle his chances of winning her. +I can give her that. I'd like to. A woman of her stamp +has no business marrying."</p> + +<p>She mused a few minutes over her own statements, +while Curran stared. He began to feel that the threads +of this game were not all in his hands.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[275]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You must now go to the priest and Anne Dillon," she +resumed, "and say to them plump ... take the priest first ... say +to them plump before they can hold their faces +in shape: do you know Horace Endicott? Then watch +the faces, and get what you can out of them."</p> + +<p>"That means you will have Arthur down on you next +day."</p> + +<p>"Sure," catching her breath. "But it is now near +the end of the season. When he comes to have it out +with me, he will find himself face to face with Sonia. If +it's to be a fight, he'll find a tiger. Then we can run away +to California, if Sonia says so."</p> + +<p>"You are going to bring Sonia down, then?"</p> + +<p>"You suggested it. Lemme tell you what you're going +to find out to-day. You're going to find out that Monsignor +knew Horace Endicott. After that I think it would +be all right to bring down Sonia."</p> + +<p>Little use to argue with her, or with any woman for that +matter, once an idea lodged so deep in her brain. He +went to see Monsignor, with the intention of being candid +with him: in fact there was no other way of dealing with +the priest. In his experience Curran had found no class so +difficult to deal with as the clergy. They were used to keeping +other people's secrets as well as their own. He did not +reveal his plan to Edith, because he feared her criticism, and +could not honestly follow her methods. He had not, with +all his skill and cunning, her genius for ferreting.</p> + +<p>Monsignor, acquainted with him, received him coldly. +Edith's instructions were, ask the question plump, watch +his face, and then run to Anne Dillon before she can be +warned by the Monsignor's messenger. Looking into the +calm, well-drilled countenance of the priest, Curran found +it impossible to surprise him so uncourteously. Anyway +the detective felt sure that there would be no surprise, +except at the mere question.</p> + +<p>"I would like to ask you a question, Monsignor," said +Curran smoothly, "which I have no right to ask perhaps. +I am looking for a man who disappeared some time ago, +and the parties interested hope that you can give some information. +You can tell me if the question is at all impertinent, +and I will go. Do you know Horace Endicott?"</p> + +<p>There was no change in the priest's expression or +manner, no starting, no betrayal of feeling. Keeping his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[276]</a></span> +eyes on the detective's face, he repeated the name as one +utters a half-forgotten thing.</p> + +<p>"Why has that name a familiar sound?" he asked himself.</p> + +<p>"You may have read it frequently in the papers at the +time Horace Endicott disappeared," Curran suggested.</p> + +<p>"Possibly, but I do not read the journals so carefully," +Monsignor answered musingly. "Endicott, Endicott ... I +have it ... and it brings to my mind the incident of the +only railroad wreck in which I have ever had the misfortune +to be ... only this time it was good fortune for one +poor man."</p> + +<p>Very deliberately he told the story of the collision and +of his slight acquaintance with the young fellow whose +name, as well as he could remember, was Endicott. The +detective handed him a photograph of the young man.</p> + +<p>"How clearly this picture calls up the whole scene," +said Monsignor much pleased. "This is the very boy. +Have you a copy of this? Do send me one."</p> + +<p>"You can keep that," said Curran, delighted at his progress, +astonished that Edith's prophecy should have come +true. Naturally the next question would be, have you seen +the young man since that time? and Curran would have +asked it had not the priest broken in with a request for the +story of his disappearance. It was told.</p> + +<p>"Of course I shall be delighted to give what information +I possess," said Monsignor. "There was no secret about +him then ... many others saw him ... of course this must +have been some time before he disappeared. But let me ask +a question before we go any further. How did you suspect +my acquaintance with a man whom I met so casually? +The incident had almost faded from my mind. In fact I +have never mentioned it to a soul."</p> + +<p>"It was a mere guess on the part of those interested in +finding him."</p> + +<p>"Still the guess must have been prompted by some theory +of the search."</p> + +<p>"I am almost ashamed to tell it," Curran said uneasily. +"The truth is that my employers suspect that Horace +Endicott has been hiding for years under the character of +Arthur Dillon."</p> + +<p>Monsignor looked amazed for a moment and then +laughed.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[277]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Interesting for Mr. Dillon and his friends, particularly +if this Endicott is wanted for any crime...."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, no," cried the detective. "It is his wife who +is seeking him, a perfectly respectable man, you know ... +it's a long story. We have chased many a man supposed +to be Endicott, and Mr. Dillon is the latest. I don't +accept the theory myself. I know Dillon is Dillon, but a +detective must sift the theories of his employers. In fact +my work up to this moment proves very clearly that of all +our wrong chases this is the worst."</p> + +<p>"It looks absurd at first sight. I remember the time +poor Mrs. Dillon sent out her photographs, scattered a few +hundred of them among the police and the miners of +California, in the hope of finding her lost son. That +was done with my advice. She had her first response, a +letter from her son, about the very time that I met young +Endicott. For the life of me I cannot understand why +anyone should suppose Arthur Dillon...."</p> + +<p>He picked up the photograph of Endicott again.</p> + +<p>"The two men look as much alike as I look like you. +I'm glad you mentioned the connection which Dillon has +with the matter. You will kindly leave me out of it until +you have made inquiries of Mr. Dillon himself. It would +not do, you understand, for a priest in my position to give +out any details in a matter which may yet give trouble. I +fear that in telling you of my meeting with Endicott I +have already overstepped the limits of prudence. However, +that was my fault, as you warned me. Thanks for the +photograph, a very nice souvenir of a tragedy. Poor +young fellow! Better had he perished in the smash-up +than to go out of life in so dreary a way."</p> + +<p>"If I might venture another——"</p> + +<p>"Pardon, not another word. In any official and public +way I am always ready to tell what the law requires, or +charity demands."</p> + +<p>"You would be willing then to declare that Arthur +Dillon——"</p> + +<p>"Is Mrs. Dillon's son? Certainly ... at any time, +under proper conditions. Good morning. Don't mention +it," and Curran was outside the door before his thoughts +took good shape; so lost in wonder over the discovery of +Monsignor's acquaintance with Endicott, that he forgot to +visit Anne Dillon. Instead he hurried home with the news<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[278]</a></span> +to Edith, and blushed with shame when she asked if he +had called on Anne. She forgave his stupidity in her delight, +and put him through his catechism on all that had +been said and seen in the interview with Monsignor.</p> + +<p>"You are a poor stick," was her comment, and for the +first time in years he approved of her opinion. "The +priest steered you about and out with his little finger, and +the corner of his eye. He did not give you a chance to +ask if he had ever seen Horace Endicott since. Monsignor +will not lie for any man. He simply refuses to answer +on the ground that his position will not permit it. You +will never see the priest again on this matter. Arthur +Dillon will bid you stand off. Well, you see what my instinct +is now! Are you more willing to believe in it when +it says: Arthur Dillon is Horace Endicott?"</p> + +<p>"Not a bit, sweetheart."</p> + +<p>"I won't fight with you, since you are doing as I order. +Go to Anne Dillon now. Mind, she's already prepared by +this time for your visit. You may run against Arthur instead +of her. While you are gone I shall write to Sonia +that we have at last found a clue, and ask her to come on +at once. Dillon may not give us a week to make our escape +after he learns what we have been doing. We must +be quick. Go, my dear old stupid, and bear in mind that +Anne Dillon is the cunningest cat you've had to do with +yet."</p> + +<p>She gave an imitation of the lady that was funny to a +degree, and sent the detective off laughing, but not at all +convinced that there was any significance in his recent discovery. +He felt mortified to learn again for the hundredth +time how a prejudice takes the edge off intellect. Though +certain Edith's theory was wrong, why should he act like a +donkey in disproving it? On the contrary his finest skill +was required, and methods as safe as if Dillon were sure +to turn out Endicott. He sharpened his blade for the +coming duel with Anne, whom Monsignor had warned, +without doubt. However, Anne had received no warning +and she met Curran with her usual reserve. He was +smoothly brutal.</p> + +<p>"I would like to know if you are acquainted with Mr. +Horace Endicott?" said he.</p> + +<p>Anne's face remained as blank as the wall, and her manner +tranquil. She had never heard the name before, for in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[279]</a></span> +the transactions between herself and her son only the name +of Arthur Dillon had been mentioned, while of his previous +life she knew not a single detail. Curran not disappointed, +hastened, after a pause, to explain his own rudeness.</p> + +<p>"I never heard the name," said Anne coldly. "Nor do +I see by what right you come here and ask questions."</p> + +<p>"Pardon my abruptness," said the detective. "I am +searching for a young man who disappeared some years +ago, and his friends are still hunting for him, still anxious, +so that they follow the most absurd clues. I am forced +to ask this question of all sorts of people, only to get the +answer which you have given. I trust you will pardon me +for my presumption for the sake of people who are suffering."</p> + +<p>His speech warned her that she had heard her son's +name for the first time, that she stood on the verge of exposure; +and her heart failed her, she felt that her voice +would break if she ventured to speak, her knees give way +if she resented this man's manner by leaving the room. +Yet the weakness was only for a moment, and when it +passed a wild curiosity to hear something of that past +which had been a sealed book to her, to know the real personality +of Arthur Dillon, burned her like a flame, and +steadied her nerves. For two years she had been resenting +his secrecy, not understanding his reasons. He was +guarding against the very situation of this moment.</p> + +<p>"Horace Endicott," she repeated with interest. +"There is no one of that name in my little circle, and I +have never heard the name before. Who was he? And +how did he come to be lost?"</p> + +<p>And she rose to indicate that his reply must be brief.</p> + +<p>Curran told with eloquence of the disappearance and the +long search, and gave a history of Endicott's life in nice +detail, pleased with the unaffected interest of this severe +but elegant woman. As he spoke his eye took in every +mark of feeling, every gesture, every expression. Her +self-command, if she knew Horace Endicott, remained +perfect; if she knew him not, her manner seemed natural.</p> + +<p>"God pity his poor people," was her fervent comment +as she took her seat again. "I was angry with you at +first, sir," looking at his card, "and of a mind to send you +away for what looked like impertinence. But it's I would<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[280]</a></span> +be only too glad to give you help if I could. I never even +heard the young man's name. And it puzzles me, why +you should come to me."</p> + +<p>"For this reason, Mrs. Dillon," he said with sincere +disgust. "The people who are hunting for Horace Endicott +think that Arthur Dillon is the man; or to put it in +another way, that you were deceived when you welcomed +back your son from California. Horace Endicott and not +Arthur Dillon returned."</p> + +<p>"My God!" cried she, and sat staring at him; then +rose up and began to move towards the door backwards, +keeping an eye upon him. Her thought showed clear to +the detective: she had been entertaining a lunatic. He +laughed.</p> + +<p>"Don't go," he said. "I know what you imagine, but +I'm no lunatic. I don't believe that your son is an impostor. +He is a friend of mine, and I know that he is +Arthur Dillon. But a man in my business must do as he +is ordered by his employers. I am a detective."</p> + +<p>For a minute she hesitated with hand outstretched to the +bell-rope. Her mind acted with speed; she had nothing +to fear, the man was friendly, his purpose had failed, whatever +it was, the more he talked the more she would learn, +and it might be in her power to avert danger by policy. +She went back to her seat, having left it only to act her +part. Taking the hint provided by Curran, she pretended +belief in his insanity, and passed to indignation at +this attempt upon her happiness, her motherhood. This +rage became real, when she reflected that the Aladdin +palace of her life was really threatened by Curran's employers. +To her the prosperity and luxury of the past five +years had always been dream-like in its fabric, woven of +the mists of morning, a fairy enchantment, which might +vanish in an hour and leave poor Cinderella sitting on a +pumpkin by the roadside, the sport of enemies, the burden +of friends. How near she had been to this public humiliation! +What wretches, these people who employed the detective!</p> + +<p>"My dear boy was absent ten years," she said, "and I +suffered agony all that time. What hearts must some +people have to wish to put me through another time like +that! Couldn't any wan see that I accepted him as my +son? that all the neighbors accepted him? What could<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[281]</a></span> +a man want to deceive a poor mother so? I had nothing +to give him but the love of a mother, and men care little +for that, wild boys care nothing for it. He brought me a +fortune, and has made my life beautiful ever since he +came back. I had nothing to give him. Who is at the +bottom of this thing?"</p> + +<p>The detective explained the existence and motives of a +deserted, poverty-stricken wife and child.</p> + +<p>"I knew a woman would be at the bottom of it," she +exclaimed viciously, feeling against Sonia a hatred which +she knew to be unjust. "Well, isn't she able to recognize +her own husband? If I could tell my son after ten years, +when he had grown to be a man, can't she tell her own +husband after a few years? Could it be that my boy +played Horace Endicott in Boston and married that +woman, and then came back to me?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, my dear Mrs. Dillon," cried the detective in +alarm, "do not excite yourself over so trifling a thing. +Your son is your son no matter what our theories may +be. This Endicott was born and brought up in the +vicinity of Boston, and came from a very old family. +Your suspicion is baseless. Forget the whole matter I +beg of you."</p> + +<p>"Have you a picture of the young man?"</p> + +<p>He handed her the inevitable photograph reluctantly, +quite sure that she would have hysterics before he left, so +sincere was her excitement. Anne studied the portrait +with keen interest, it may be imagined, astonished to find +it so different from Arthur Dillon. Had she blundered as +well as the detective? Between this portrait and any of +the recent photographs of Arthur there seemed no apparent +resemblance in any feature. She had been exciting +herself for nothing.</p> + +<p>"Wonderful are the ways of men," was her comment. +"How any one ..." her brogue had left her ... "could +take Arthur Dillon for this man, even supposing he was +disguised now, is strange and shameful. What is to be +the end of it?"</p> + +<p>"Just this, dear madam," said Curran, delighted at her +returning calmness. "I shall tell them what you have +said, what every one says, and they'll drop the inquiry as +they have dropped about one hundred others. If they are +persistent, I shall add that you are ready to go into any<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[282]</a></span> +court in the land and swear positively that you know your +own son."</p> + +<p>"Into twenty courts," she replied with fervor, and the +tears, real tears came into her eyes; then, at sight of +Aladdin's palace as firm as ever on its frail foundations, +the tears rolled down her cheeks.</p> + +<p>"Precisely. And now if you would be kind enough to +keep this matter from the ears of Mr. Dillon ... he's a +great friend of mine ... I admire him ... I was with +him in the little expedition to Ireland, you know ... and +it was to save him pain that I came to you first ... if it +could be kept quiet——"</p> + +<p>"I want it kept quiet," she said with decision, "but at +the same time Arthur must know of these cruel suspicions. +Oh, how my heart beats when I think of it! Without +him ten years, and then to have strangers plan to take +him from me altogether ... forever ... forever ... oh!"</p> + +<p>Curran perspired freely at the prospect of violent +hysterics. No man could deal more rudely with the weak +and helpless with right on his side, or if his plans demanded +it. Before a situation like this he felt lost and +foolish.</p> + +<p>"Certainly he must know in time. I shall tell him myself, +as soon as I make my report of the failure of this +clue to my employers. I would take it as a very great +favor if you would permit me to tell him. It must come +very bitter to a mother to tell her son that he is suspected +of not being her son. Let me spare you that anguish."</p> + +<p>Anne played with him delightfully, knowing that she +had him at her mercy, not forgetting however that the +sport was with tigers. Persuaded to wait a few days while +Curran made his report, in return he promised to inform +her of the finding of poor Endicott at the proper +moment. The detective bowed himself out, the lady +smiled. A fair day's work! She had learned the name +and the history of the young man known as Arthur Dillon +in a most delightful way. The doubt attached to this +conclusion did not disturb her. Wonderful, that Arthur +Dillon should look so little like the portrait of Horace +Endicott! More wonderful still that she, knowing +Arthur was not her son, had come to think of him, to feel +towards him, and to act accordingly, as her son! Her +rage over this attempt upon the truth and the fact of their +relationship grew to proportions.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter"><a name="CHAPTER_XXX" id="CHAPTER_XXX"></a>CHAPTER XXX.</h2> + +<h3 class="chapter2">UNDER THE EYES OF HATE.</h3> + + +<p>Edith's inference from the interviews with the Monsignor<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[283]</a></span> +and Anne did justice to her acuteness. The priest alone +knew the true personality of Arthur. From Anne all but +the fact of his disappearance had been kept, probably to +guard against just such attempts as Curran's. The detective +reminded her that her theory stood only because +of her method of selection from his investigations. Nine +facts opposed and one favored her contention: therefore +nine were shelved, leaving one to support the edifice of +her instincts or her suspicions. She stuck out her tongue +at him.</p> + +<p>"It shows how you are failing when nine out of ten +facts, gathered in a whole day's work, are worthless. Isn't +that one fact, that the priest knew Horace Endicott, +worth all your foolish reasonings? Who discovered it? +Now, will you coax Sonia Endicott down here to have a +look at this Arthur Dillon? Before we start for California?"</p> + +<p>He admitted humbly that the lady would not accept his +invitation, without stern evidence of a valuable clue. The +detectives had given her many a useless journey.</p> + +<p>"She'll be at the Everett House to-morrow early in the +morning," said Edith proudly. "Want to know why, +stupid? I sent her a message that her game had been +treed at last ... by me."</p> + +<p>He waved his hands in despair.</p> + +<p>"Then you'll do the talking, Madam Mischief."</p> + +<p>"And you'll never say a word, even when asked. What! +would I let you mesmerize her at the start by telling her +how little you think of my idea and my plans? She +would think as little of them as you do, when you got +through. No! I shall tell her, I shall plan for her, I +shall lead her to the point of feeling where that long experience +with Horace Endicott will become of some use in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[284]</a></span> +piercing the disguise of Arthur Dillon. You would convince +her she was not to see Horace Endicott, and of +course she would see only Arthur Dillon. I'll convince +her she is to see her runaway husband, and then if she +doesn't I'll confess defeat."</p> + +<p>"There's a good deal in your method," he admitted in +a hopeless way.</p> + +<p>"We are in for it now," she went on, scorning the compliment. +"By this time Arthur Dillon knows, if he did +not before, that I am up to mischief. He may fall on us +any minute. He will not suffer this interference: not +because he cares two cents one way or the other, but because +he will not have us frightening his relatives and +friends, telling every one that he is two. Keep out of his +way so that he shall have to come here, and to send word +first that he is coming. I'll arrange a scene for him with +his Sonia. It may be sublime, and again it may be a +fizzle. One way or the other, if Sonia says so, we'll fly to +the west out of his way. The dear, dear boy!"</p> + +<p>"He'll <i>dear</i> you after that scene!"</p> + +<p>"Now, do you make what attempts you may to find out +where he keeps his money, he must have piles of it, and +search his papers, his safe...."</p> + +<p>"He has nothing of the kind ... everything about +him is as open as the day ... it's an impertinence to +bother him so ... well, he can manage you, I think ... no +need for me to interfere or get irritated."</p> + +<p>Then she had a tantrum, which galled the soul of Curran, +except that it ended as usual in her soft whimpering, +her childish murmuring, her sweet complaint against the +world, and her falling asleep in his arms. Thus was he +regularly conquered and led captive.</p> + +<p>They went next day at noon to visit Sonia Endicott at +the Everett House, where she had established herself with +her little boy and his nurse. Her reception of the Currans, +while supercilious in expression, was really sincere. +They represented her hope in that long search of five +years, which only a vigorous hate had kept going. +Marked with the characteristics of the cat, velvety to eye +and touch, insolent and elusive in her glance, undisciplined, +she could act a part for a time. To Horace +Endicott she had played the rôle of a child of light, an +elf, a goddess, for which nature had dressed her with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[285]</a></span> +golden hair, melting eyes of celestial blue, and exquisite +form.</p> + +<p>The years had brought out the animal in her. She +found it more and more difficult to repress the spite, rage, +hatred, against Horace and fate, which consumed her +within, and violated the external beauty with unholy +touches, wrinkles, grimaces, tricks of sneering, distortions +of rage. Her dreams of hatred had only one scene: a +tiger in her own form rending the body of the man who +had discovered and punished her with a power like omnipotence; +rending him but not killing him, leaving his +heart to beat and his face unmarked, that he might feel +his agony and show it.</p> + +<p>"If <i>you</i> had sent me the telegram," she remarked to +Curran, "I would not have come. But this dear Colette, +she is to be my good angel and lead me to success, aren't +you, little devil? Ever since she took up the matter I +have had my beautiful dreams once more, oh, such +thrilling dreams! Like the novels of Eugene Sue, just +splendid. Well, why don't you speak?"</p> + +<p>He pointed to Edith with a gesture of submission. She +was hugging the little boy before the nurse took him away, +teasing him into baby talk, kissing him decorously but +lavishly, as if she could not get enough of him.</p> + +<p>"He's not to speak until asked," she cried.</p> + +<p>"And then only say what she thinks," he added.</p> + +<p>"La! are you fighting over it already? That's not a +good sign."</p> + +<p>With a final embrace which brought a howl from young +Horace, Edith gave the boy to the nurse and began her +story of finding Horace Endicott in the son of Anne Dillon. +She acted the story, admirably keeping back the +points which would have grated on Sonia's instincts, or +rather expectations. The lady, impressed, evidently felt +a lack of something when Curran refused his interest and +his concurrence to the description.</p> + +<p>"What do you wish me to do?" said she.</p> + +<p>"To see this Dillon and to study him, as one would a +problem. The man's been playing this part, living it indeed, +nearly five years. Can any one expect that the +first glance will pierce his disguise? He must be watched +and studied for days, and if that fetches nothing, then you +must meet him suddenly, and say to him tenderly, 'at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[286]</a></span> +last, Horace!' If that fetches nothing, then we must go +to California, and work until we get the evidence which +will force him to acknowledge himself and give up his +money. But by that time, if we can make sure it is he, +and if we can get his money, then I would recommend one +thing! Kill him!"</p> + +<p>Sonia's eyes sparkled at the thought of that sweet +murder.</p> + +<p>"And wait another five years for all this," was her +cynical remark.</p> + +<p>"If the question is not settled this Fall, then let it go +forever," said Edith with energy.</p> + +<p>"The scheme is well enough," Sonia said lazily. "Is +this Arthur Dillon handsome, a dashing blade?"</p> + +<p>"Better," murmured Edith with a smack of her lips, +"a virtuous sport, who despises the sex in a way, and can +master woman by a look. He is my master. And I hate +him! It will be worth your time to see him and meet him."</p> + +<p>"And now you," to Curran.</p> + +<p>Sonia did not know, nor care why Edith hated Dillon.</p> + +<p>"I protest, Sonia. He will put a spell on you, and spoil +our chances. Let him talk later when we have succeeded +or failed."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense, you fool. I must hear both sides, but I +declare now that I submit myself to you wholly. What +do you say, Curran?"</p> + +<p>"Just this, madam: if this man Arthur Dillon is really +your husband, then he's too clever to be caught by any +power in this world. Any way you choose to take it, you +will end as this search has always ended."</p> + +<p>"Why do you think him so clever? My Horace was +anything but clever ... at least we thought so ... until +now."</p> + +<p>"Until he has foiled every attempt to find him," said +Curran. "Colette has her own ideas, but she has kept +back all the details that make or unmake a case. She is +so sure of her instincts! No doubt they are good."</p> + +<p>"But not everything, hey?" said the lady tenderly. +"Ah, a woman's instincts lead her too far sometimes...." +they all laughed. "Well, give me the details Colette left +out. No winking at each other. I won't raise a hand in +this matter until I have heard both sides."</p> + +<p>"This Arthur Dillon is Irish, and lives among the Irish<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[287]</a></span> +in the old-fashioned Irish way, half in the slums, and half +in the swell places...."</p> + +<p>"<i>Mon Dieu</i>, what is this I hear! The Irish! My +Horace live among the Irish! That's not the man. He +could live anywhere, among the Chinese, the Indians, the +niggers, but with that low class of people, never!" and +she threw up her hands in despair. "Did I come from +Boston to pursue a low Irishman!"</p> + +<p>"You see," cried Edith. "Already he has cast his +spell on you. He doesn't believe I have found your man, +and he won't let you believe it. Can't you see that this +Horace went to the very place where you were sure he +would not go?"</p> + +<p>"You cannot tell him now from an Irishman," continued +the detective. "He has an Irish mother, he is a member +of Tammany Hall, he is a politician who depends on Irish +voters, he joined the Irish revolutionists and went over the +sea to fight England, and he's in love with an Irish +girl."</p> + +<p>"Shocking! Horace never had any taste or any sense, +but I know he detested the Irish around Boston. I can't +believe it of him. But, as Colette says truly, he would +hide himself in the very place where we least think of +looking for him."</p> + +<p>"Theories have come to nothing," screamed Edith, +until the lady placed her hands on her ears. "Skill and +training and coolness and all that rot have come to +nothing. Because I hate Arthur Dillon I have discovered +Horace Endicott. Now I want to see your eyes looking +at this man, eyes with hate in them, and with murder in +them. They will discover more than all the stupid detectives +in the country. See what hate did for Horace +Endicott. He hated you, and instead of murdering you +he learned to torture you. He hated you, and it made +him clever. Oh, hate is a great teacher! This fool of +mine loves Arthur Dillon, because he is a patriot and hates +England. Hate breeds cleverness, it breeds love, it opens +the mind, it will dig out Horace Endicott and his fortune, +and enrich us all."</p> + +<p>"La, but you are strenuous," said the lady placidly, +but impressed. She was a shallow creature in the main, +and Curran compared his little wife, eloquent, glowing +with feeling, dainty as a flame, to the slower-witted beauty,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[288]</a></span> +with plain admiration in his gaze. She deserves to succeed, +he thought. Sonia came to a conclusion, languidly.</p> + +<p>"We must try the eyes of hate," was her decision.</p> + +<p>The pursuit of Arthur proved very interesting. The +detective knew his habits of labor and amusement, his +public haunts and loitering-places. Sonia saw him first at +the opera, modestly occupying a front seat in the balcony.</p> + +<p>"Horace would never do that when he could get a box," +and she leveled her glass at him.</p> + +<p>Edith mentally dubbed her a fool. However, her study +of the face and figure and behavior of the man showed care +and intelligence. Edith's preparation had helped her. She +saw a lean, nervous young man, whose flowing black hair +and full beard were streaked with gray. His dark face, +hollow in the cheeks and not too well-colored with the glow +of health, seemed to get light and vivacity from his melancholy +eyes. Seriousness was the characteristic expression. +Once he laughed, in the whole evening. Once he looked +straight into her face, with so fixed, so intense an expression, +so near a gaze, so intimate and penetrating, that she +gave a low cry.</p> + +<p>"You have recognized him?" Edith whispered mad +with joy.</p> + +<p>"No, indeed," she answered sadly, "That is not +Horace Endicott. Not a feature that I recall, certainly no +resemblance. I was startled because I saw just now in +his look, ... he looked towards me into the glass ... an +expression that seemed familiar ... as if I had seen it +before, and it had hurt me then as it hurts me now."</p> + +<p>"There's a beginning," said Edith with triumph. +"Next time for a nearer look."</p> + +<p>"Oh, he could never have changed so," Sonia cried +with bitterness of heart.</p> + +<p>Curran secured tickets for a ball to be held by a political +association in the Cherry Hill district, and placed the +ladies in a quiet corner of the gallery of the hall. Arthur +Dillon, as a leading spirit in the society, delighted to +mingle with the homely, sincere, warm-hearted, and simple +people for whom this occasion was a high festival; and +nowhere did his sorrow rest so lightly on his soul, nowhere +did he feel so keenly the delight of life, or give freer expression +to it. Edith kept Sonia at the highest pitch of excitement +and interest.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[289]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Remember," she said now, "that he probably knows +you are in town, that you are here watching him; but not +once will he look this way, nor do a thing other than if +you were miles away. My God, to be an actor like that!"</p> + +<p>The actor played his part to perfection and to the utter +disappointment of the women. The serious face shone +now with smiles and color, with the flash of wit and the +play of humor. Horace Endicott had been a merry fellow, +but a Quaker compared with the butterfly swiftness +and gaiety of this young man, who led the grand march, +flirted with the damsels and chatted with the dames, +danced as often as possible, joked with the men, found +partners for the unlucky, and touched the heart of every +rollicking moment. The old ladies danced jigs with him, +proud to their marrow of the honor, and he allowed himself +... Sonia gasped at the sight ... to execute a wild +Irish <i>pas seul</i> amid the thunderous applause of the hearty +and adoring company.</p> + +<p>"That man Horace Endicott!" she exclaimed with +contempt. "Bah! But it's interesting, of course."</p> + +<p>"What a compliment! what acting! oh, incomparable +man!" said Edith, enraged at his success before such an +audience. Her husband smiled behind his hand.</p> + +<p>"You have a fine imagination, Colette, but I would not +give a penny for your instinct," said Sonia.</p> + +<p>"My instinct will win just the same, but I fear we shall +have to go to California. This man is too clever for commonplace +people."</p> + +<p>"Arthur Dillon is a fine orator," said Curran mischievously, +"and to-morrow night you shall hear him at his +best on the sorrows of Ireland."</p> + +<p>Sonia laughed heartily and mockingly. Were not these +same sorrows, from their constancy and from repetition, +become the joke of the world? Curran could have struck +her evil face for the laugh.</p> + +<p>"Was your husband a speaker?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Horace would not demean himself to talk in public, +and he couldn't make a speech to save his life. But to +talk on the sorrows of Ireland ... oh, it's too absurd."</p> + +<p>"And why not Ireland's sorrows as well as those of +America, or any other country?" he replied savagely.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I quite forgot that you were Irish ... a thousand +pardons," she said with sneering civility. "Of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[290]</a></span> +course, I shall be glad to hear his description of the sorrows. +An orator! It's very interesting."</p> + +<p>The occasion for the display of Arthur's powers was one +of the numerous meetings for which the talking Irish are +famous all over the world, and in which their clever +speakers have received fine training. Even Sonia, impressed +by the enthusiasm of the gathering, and its esteem +for Dillon, could not withhold her admiration. +Alas, it was not her Horace who poured out a volume of +musical tone, vigorous English, elegant rhetoric, with the +expression, the abandonment, the picturesqueness of a +great actor. She shuddered at his descriptions, her heart +melted and her eyes moistened at his pathos, she became +filled with wonder. It was not Horace! Her husband +might have developed powers of eloquence, but would have +to be remade to talk in that fashion of any land. This +Dillon had terrible passion, and her Horace was only a +a handsome fool. She could have loved Dillon.</p> + +<p>"So you will have to arrange the little scene where I +shall stand before him without warning, and murmur +tenderly, 'at last, Horace!' And it must be done +without delay," was her command to Edith.</p> + +<p>"It can be done perhaps to-morrow night," Edith said +in a secret rage, wondering what Arthur Dillon could have +seen in Sonia. "But bear in mind why I am doing this +scene, with the prospects of a furious time afterwards with +Dillon. I want you to see him asleep, just for ten minutes, +in the light of a strong lamp. In sleep there is no disguise. +When he is dressed for a part and playing it, the sharpest +eyes, even the eyes of hate, may not be able to escape the +glamour of the disguise. The actor asleep is more like +himself. You shall look into his face, and turn it from +side to side with your own hands. If you do not catch +some feeling from that, strike a resemblance, I shall feel +like giving up."</p> + +<p>"La, but you are an audacious creature," said Sonia, +and the triviality of the remark sent Edith into wild +laughter. She would like to have bitten the beauty.</p> + +<p>The detective consented to Edith's plans, in his anxiety +to bring the farce to an end before the element of danger +grew. Up to this point they might appeal to Arthur for +mercy. Later the dogs would be upon them. As yet no +sign of irritation on Arthur's part had appeared. The day<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[291]</a></span> +after the oration on the sorrows of Erin he sent a note to +Curran announcing his intention to call the same evening. +Edith, amazed at her own courage in playing with the fire +which in an instant could destroy her, against the warning +of her husband, was bent on carrying out the scene.</p> + +<p>Dearly she loved the dramatic off the stage, spending +thought and time in its arrangement. How delicious the +thought of this man and his wife meeting under circumstances +so wondrous after five years of separation. Though +death reached her the next moment she would see it. +The weakness of the plot lay in Sonia's skepticism and +Arthur's knowledge that a trap was preparing. He would +brush her machinery aside like a cobweb, but that did not +affect the chance of his recognition by Sonia.</p> + +<p>Dillon had never lost his interest in the dancer and her +husband. They attracted him. In their lives ran the +same strain of madness, the madness of the furies, as in +his own. Their lovable qualities were not few. Occasionally +he dropped in to tease Edith over her lack of conscience, +or her failures, and to discuss the cause of freedom +with the smooth and flinty Curran. Wild humans have +the charm of their wilderness. One must not forget their +teeth and their claws. This night the two men sat alone. +Curran filled the glasses and passed the cigars. Arthur +made no comment on the absence of Edith. He might +have been aware that the curtains within three feet of his +chair, hiding the room beyond, concealed the two women, +whose eyes, peering through small glasses fixed in the +curtains, studied his face. He might even have guessed +that his easy chair had been so placed as to let the light +fall upon him while Curran sat in the dim light beyond. +The young man gave no sign, spoke freely with Curran on +the business of the night, and acted as usual.</p> + +<p>"Of course it must be stopped at once," he said. +"Very much flattered of course that I should be taken +for Horace Endicott ... you gave away Tom Jones' +name at last ... but these things, so trifling to you, jar +the nerves of women. Then it would never do for me, +with my little career in California unexplained, to have +stories of a double identity ... is that what you call it?... +running around. Of course I know it's that devil +Edith, presuming always on good nature ... that's <i>her</i> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[292]</a></span>nature ... but if you don't stop it, why I must."</p> + +<p>"You'll have to do it, I think," the detective replied +maliciously. "I can do only what she orders. I had to +satisfy her by running to the priest, and your mother, and +the Senator——"</p> + +<p>"What! even my poor uncle! Oh, Curran!"</p> + +<p>"The whole town, for that matter, Mr. Dillon. It was +done in such a way, of course, that none of them suspected +anything wrong, and we talked under promise of secrecy. +I saw that the thing had to be done to satisfy her and to +bring you down on us. Now you're down and the trouble's +over as far as I am concerned."</p> + +<p>"And Tom Jones was Horace Endicott," Arthur mused, +"I knew it of course all along, but I respected your confidence. +I had known Endicott."</p> + +<p>"You knew Horace Endicott?" said Curran, horrified +by a sudden vision of his own stupidity.</p> + +<p>"And his lady, a lovely, a superb creature, but just a +shade too sharp for her husband, don't you know. He +was a fool in love, wasn't he? judging from your story of +him. Has she become reconciled to her small income, I +wonder? She was not that kind, but when one has to, +that's the end of it. <i>And there are consolations.</i> How the +past month has tired me. I could go to sleep right in the +chair, only I want to settle this matter to-night, and I must +say a kind word to the little devil——"</p> + +<p>His voice faded away, and he slept, quite overpowered +by the drug placed in his wine. After perfect silence for +a minute, Curran beckoned to the women, who came +noiseless into the room, and bent over the sleeping face. +In his contempt for them, the detective neither spoke nor +left his seat. Harpies brooding over the dead! Even he +knew that!</p> + +<p>Arthur's face lay in profile, its lines all visible, owing to +the strong light, through the disguise of the beard. The +melancholy which marks the face of any sleeper, a foreshadow +of the eternal sleep, had become on this sleeper's +countenance a profound sadness. From his seat Curran +could see the pitiful droop of the mouth, the hollowness +of the eyes, the shadows under the cheek-bones; marks of +a sadness too deep for tears. Sonia took his face in her +soft hands and turned the right profile to the light. She +looked at the full face, smoothed his hair as if trying to +recall an ancient memory.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[293]</a></span></p> + +<p>"The eyes of hate," murmured Edith between tears and +rage. She pitied while she hated him, understanding the +sorrow that could mark a man's face so deeply, admiring +the courage which could wear the mask so well. Sonia +was deeply moved in spite of disappointment. At one moment +she caught a fleeting glimpse of her Horace, but too +elusive to hold and analyze. Something pinched her feelings +and the great tears fell from her soft eyes. Emotion +merely pinched her. Only in hate could she writhe and +foam and exhaust nature. She studied his hands, observed +the fingers, with the despairing conviction that this was +not the man; too lean and too coarse and too hard; and +her rage began to burn against destiny. Oh, to have Horace +as helpless under her hands! How she could rend +him!</p> + +<p>"Do you see any likeness?" whispered Edith.</p> + +<p>"None," was the despairing answer.</p> + +<p>"Be careful," hissed Curran. "In this sleep words +are heard and remembered sometimes."</p> + +<p>Edith swore the great oaths which relieved her anger. +But what use to curse, to look and curse again? At the +last moment Curran signalled them away, and began +talking about his surprise that Arthur should have known +the lost man.</p> + +<p>"Because you might have given me a clue," Arthur +heard him saying as he came back from what he thought +had been a minute's doze, "and saved me a year's search, +not to mention the money I could have made."</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you about it some other time," said Arthur +with a yawn, as he lit a fresh cigar. "Ask madam to +step in here, will you. I must warn her in a wholesome +way."</p> + +<p>"I think she is entertaining a friend," Curran said, +hinting plainly at a surprise.</p> + +<p>"Let her bring the friend along," was the careless +answer.</p> + +<p>The two women entered presently, and Edith made the +introduction. The husband and wife stood face to face at +last. Her voice failed in her throat from nervousness, so +sure was she that the Endicotts had met again! They had +the center of the stage, and the interest of the audience, +but acted not one whit like the people in a play.</p> + +<p>"Delighted," said Arthur in his usual drawling way on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[294]</a></span> +these occasions. "I have had the pleasure of meeting +Mrs. Endicott before."</p> + +<p>"Indeed," cried the lady. "I regret that my memory...."</p> + +<p>"At Castle Moyna, a little fête, mother fainted because +she saw me running across the lawn ... of course you +remember...."</p> + +<p>"Why, certainly ... we all felt so sorry for the +young singer ... her father...."</p> + +<p>"He was in jail and died since, poor man. Then I saw +you coming across on the steamer with a dear, sweet, old +lady...."</p> + +<p>"My husband's aunt," Sonia gasped at the thought of +Aunt Lois.</p> + +<p>"Oh, but he's letter-perfect," murmured Edith in +admiration.</p> + +<p>"And you might remember me," said the heartless fellow, +"but of course on a wedding-tour no one can expect +the parties to remember anything, as the guide for a +whole week to your party in California."</p> + +<p>"Of course there was a guide," she admitted, very pleasant +to meet him again, and so on to the empty end. +Edith, stunned by her defeat, sat crushed, for this man no +more minded the presence of his wife than did Curran. +It was true. Arthur had often thought that a meeting +like this in the far-off years would rock his nature as an +earthquake rocks the solid plain. Though not surprised +at her appearance, for Edith's schemes had all been +foreseen, he felt surprise at his own indifference. So +utterly had she gone out of his thought, that her sudden +appearance, lovely and seductive as of old, gave him no +twinge of hate, fear, repugnance, disgust, horror, shame, +or pain.</p> + +<p>He took no credit to himself for a self-control, which +he had not been called upon by any stress of feeling to exercise. +He was only Arthur Dillon, encountering a lady +with a past; a fact in itself more or less amusing. +Once she might have been a danger to be kept out like a +pest, or barricaded in quarantine. That time had gone +by. His indifference for the moment appalled him, since +it showed the hopeless depth of Endicott's grave. After +chatting honestly ten minutes, he went away light of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[295]</a></span> +heart, without venturing to warn Edith. Another day, +he told her, and be good meanwhile.</p> + +<p>Curran became thoughtful, and the women irritable +after he had gone. Edith felt that her instincts had no +longer a value in the market. In this wretched Endicott +affair striking disappointment met the most brilliant +endeavors. Sonia made ready to return to her hotel. +Dolorously the Currans paid her the last courtesies, waiting +for the word which would end the famous search for her +Horace.</p> + +<p>"I have been thinking the matter over," she said +sweetly, "and I have thought out a plan, not in your line +of course, which I shall see to at once. I think it worth +while to look through California for points in the life of +this interesting young man, Mr. Dillon."</p> + +<p>When the door closed on her, Edith began to shriek in +hysterical laughter.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter"><a name="CHAPTER_XXXI" id="CHAPTER_XXXI"></a>CHAPTER XXXI.</h2> + +<h3 class="chapter2">THE HEART OF HONORA.</h3> + + +<p>While Edith urged the search for Endicott, the little<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[296]</a></span> +world to be horrified by her success enjoyed itself north +and south as the season suggested, and the laws of fashion +permitted. At the beginning of June, Anne settled herself +comfortably for the summer in a roomy farmhouse, +overlooking Lake Champlain and that particular island of +Valcour, which once witnessed the plucky sea-fight and +defeat of dare-devil Arnold. Only Honora accompanied +her, but at the close of the month Louis, the deacon, and +Mrs. Doyle Grahame joined them; and after that the +whole world came at odd times, with quiet to-day and riot +to-morrow. Honora, the center of interest, the storm-center, +as we call it in these days, turned every eye in her +direction with speculative interest. Would she retire to +the convent, or find her vocation in the world? She had +more than fulfilled her father's wish that she remain in +secular life for a year. Almost two years had passed. He +could not reproach her from his grave.</p> + +<p>One divine morning she came upon the natural stage +which had been the scene of a heart-drama more bitter to +her than any sorrow. Walking alone in the solemn woods +along the lake shore, the path suddenly ended on a rocky +terrace, unshaded by trees, and directly over the water. +Raspberry bushes made an enclosure there, in the center +of which the stumps of two trees held a rough plank to +make a seat. A stony beach curved inward from this +point, the dark woods rose behind, and the soft waters +made music in the hollows of the rock beneath her feet. +Delightful with the perfume of the forest, the placid +shores of Valcour, sun, and flower, and bird filling eye +and ear with beauty, the sight of the spot chilled her +heart. Here Lord Constantine had offered her his love +and his life the year before. To her it had been a fright<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[297]</a></span>ful +scene, this strong, handsome, clever man, born to the +highest things of mind, heart, talent and rank, kneeling +before her, pleading with pallid face for her love, ... and +all the rest of it! She would have sunk down with shame +but for his kindness in accepting the situation, and carrying +her through it.</p> + +<p>Why his proposal shocked her his lordship could not +see at first. He understood before his mournful interview +and ended. Honora was of that class, to whom marriage +does not present itself as a personal concern. She had the +true feminine interest in the marriage of her friends, and +had vaguely dreamed of her own march to the altar, an +adoring lover, a happy home and household cares. +Happy in the love of a charming mother and a high-hearted +father, she had devoted her youthful days to them +and to music. They stood between her and importunate +lovers, whose intentions she had never divined.</p> + +<p>With the years came trouble, the death of the mother, +the earning of her living by her art, the care of her father, +and the work for her native land. Lovers could not pursue +this busy woman, occupied with father and native land, +and daily necessity. The eternal round of travel, conspiracy, +scheming, planning, spending, with its invariable ending +of disappointment and weariness of heart, brought forth +a longing for the peace of rest, routine, satisfied aspirations; +and from a dream the convent became a passion, +longed for as the oasis by the traveler in the sands.</p> + +<p>Simple and sincere as light, the hollow pretence of the +world disgusted her. Her temperament was of that unhappy +fiber which sees the end almost as speedily as the +beginning; change and death and satiety treading on the +heels of the noblest enterprise. For her there seemed no +happiness but in the possession of the everlasting, the +unchangeable, the divinely beautiful. Out of these feelings +and her pious habits rose the longing for the convent, +for what seemed to be permanent, fixed, proportioned, +without dust and dirt and ragged edges, and wholly +devoted to God.</p> + +<p>After a little Lord Constantine understood her astonishment, +her humiliation, her fright. He had a wretched +satisfaction in knowing that no other man would snatch +this prize; but oh, how bitter to give her up even to God! +The one woman in all time for him, more could be said in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[298]</a></span> +her praise still; her like was not outside heaven. How +much this splendid lake, with sapphire sky and green +shores, lacked of true beauty until she stepped like light +into view; then, as for the first time, one saw the green +woods glisten, the waters sparkle anew, the sky deepen in +richness! One had to know her heart, her nature, so +nobly dowered, to see this lighting up of nature's finest +work at her coming. She was beautiful, white as milk, +with eyes like jewels, framed in lashes of silken black, so +dark, so dark!</p> + +<p>Honora wept at the sight of his face as he went away. +She had seen that despair in her father's face. And she +wept to-day as she sat on the rough bench. Had she +been to blame? Why had she delayed her entrance into +the convent a year beyond the time? Arthur had declared +his work could not get on without her for at least an extra +half year. She was lingering still? Had present comfort +shaken her resolution?</p> + +<p>A cry roused her from her mournful thoughts, and she +looked up to see Mona rounding the point at the other +end of the stony beach, laboring at the heavy oars. +Honora smiled and waved her handkerchief. Here was +one woman for whom life had no problems, only solid contentment, +and perennial interest; and who thought her +husband the finest thing in the world. She beached her +boat and found her way up to the top of the rock. To +look at her no one would dream, Honora certainly did +not, that she had any other purpose than breathing the +air.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Doyle Grahame enjoyed the conviction that marriage +settles all difficulties, if one goes about it rightly. +She had gone about it rightly, with marvellous results. +That charming bear her father had put his neck in her +yoke, and now traveled about in her interest as mild as a +clam. All men gasped at the sight of his meekness. When +John Everard Grahame arrived on this planet, his grandfather +fell on his knees before him and his parents, and +never afterwards departed from that attitude. Doyle +Grahame laid it to his art of winning a father-in-law. +Mona found the explanation simply in the marriage, which +to her, from the making of the trousseau to the christening +of the boy, had been wonderful enough to have changed the +face of the earth. The delicate face, a trifle fuller, had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[299]</a></span> +increased in dignity. Her hair flamed more glorious than +ever. As a young matron she patronized Honora now an +old maid.</p> + +<p>"You've been crying," said she, with a glance around, +"and I don't wonder. This is the place where you broke +a good man's heart. It will remain bewitched until you +accept some other man in the same spot. How did we +know, Miss Cleverly? Do you think Conny was as secret +as you? And didn't I witness the whole scene from the +point yonder? I couldn't hear the words, but there wasn't +any need of it. Heavens, the expression of you two!"</p> + +<p>"Mona, do you mean to tell me that every one knew it?"</p> + +<p>"Every soul, my dear ostrich with your head in the +sand. The hope is that you will not repeat the refusal +when the next lover comes along. And if you can arrange +to have the scene come off here, as you arranged for the +last one ... I have always maintained that the lady with +a convent vocation is by nature the foxiest of all women. +I don't know why, but she shows it."</p> + +<p>The usual fashion of teasing Honora attributed to her +qualities opposed to a religious vocation.</p> + +<p>"Well, I have made up my mind to fly at once to the +convent," she said, "with my foxiness and other evil qualities. +If it was my fault that one man proposed to +me——"</p> + +<p>"It was your fault, of course. Why do you throw doubt +upon it?"</p> + +<p>"It will not be my fault that the second man proposes. +So, this place may remain accursed forever. Oh, my poor +Lord Constantine! After all his kindness to father and +me, to be forced to inflict such suffering on him! Why +do men care for us poor creatures so much, Mona?"</p> + +<p>"Because we care so much for them ..." Honora +laughed ... "and because we are necessary to their +happiness. You should go round the stations on your +knees once a day for the rest of your life, for having rejected +Lord Conny. It wasn't mere ingratitude ... that +was bad enough; but to throw over a career so splendid, +to desert Ireland so outrageously," this was mere pretence +... "to lose all importance in life for the sake of +a dream, for the sake of a convent."</p> + +<p>"You have a prejudice against convents, Mona."</p> + +<p>"No, dear, I believe in convents for those who are<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[300]</a></span> +made that way. I have noticed, perhaps you have too, +that many people who should go to a convent will not, +and many people at present in the cloisters ought to have +stayed where nature put them first."</p> + +<p>"It's pleasant on a day like this for you to feel that you +are just where nature intended you to be, isn't it? How +did you leave the baby?"</p> + +<p>Mona leaped into a rhapsody on the wonderful child, +who was just then filling the time of Anne, and at the +same time filling the air with howlings, but returned +speedily to her purpose.</p> + +<p>"Did you say you had fixed the day, Honora?"</p> + +<p>"In September, any day before the end of the month."</p> + +<p>"You were never made for the convent," with seriousness. +"Too fond of the running about in life, and your +training is all against it."</p> + +<p>"My training!" said Honora.</p> + +<p>"All your days you were devoted to one man, weren't +you? And to the cause of a nation, weren't you? And +to the applause of the crowd, weren't you? Now, my +dear, when you find it necessary to make a change in your +habits, the changes should be in line with those habits. +Otherwise you may get a jolt that you won't forget. In a +convent, there will be no man, no Ireland, and no crowd, +will there? What you should have done was to marry +Lord Conny, and to keep right on doing what you had +done before, only with more success. Now when the next +man comes along, do not let the grand opportunity go."</p> + +<p>"I'll risk the jolt," Honora replied. "But this next +man about whom you have been hinting since you came +up here? Is this the man?"</p> + +<p>She pointed to the path leading into the woods. Louis +came towards them in a hurry, having promised them a +trip to the rocks of Valcour. The young deacon was in +fighting trim after a month on the farm, the pallor of hard +study and confinement had fled, and the merry prospect +ahead made his life an enchantment. Only his own could +see the slight but ineffaceable mark of his experience with +Sister Claire.</p> + +<p>"Take care," whispered Mona. "He is not the man, +but the man's agent."</p> + +<p>Louis bounced into the raspberry enclosure and flung +himself at their feet.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[301]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Tell me," said Honora mischievously. "Is there any +man in love with me, and planning to steal away my convent +from me? Tell me true, Louis."</p> + +<p>The deacon sat up and cast an indignant look on his +sister.</p> + +<p>"Shake not thy gory locks at me," she began cooly....</p> + +<p>"There it is," he burst out. "Do you know, Honora, +I think marriage turns certain kinds of people, the redheads +in particular, quite daft. This one is never done +talking about her husband, her baby, her experience, her +theory, her friends who are about to marry, or who want +to marry, or who can't marry. She can't see two persons +together without patching up a union for them...."</p> + +<p>"Everybody should get married," said Mona serenely, +"except priests and nuns. Mona is not a nun, therefore +she should get married."</p> + +<p>"The reasoning is all right," replied the deacon, "but +it doesn't apply here. Don't you worry, Honora. There's +no man about here that will worry you, and even if there +was, hold fast to that which is given thee...."</p> + +<p>"Don't quote Scripture, Reverend Sir," cried Mona +angrily.</p> + +<p>"The besotted world is not worth the pother this foolish +young married woman makes over it."</p> + +<p>The foolish young woman received a warning from her +brother when Mona went into the woods to gather an armful +of wild blossoms for the boat.</p> + +<p>"Don't you know," said he with the positiveness of a +young theologian, "that Arthur will probably never +marry? Has he looked at a girl in that way since he came +back from California? He's giddy enough, I know, but +one that studies him can see he has no intention of marrying. +Now why do you trouble this poor girl, after her +scene with the Englishman, with hints of Arthur? I tell +you he will never marry."</p> + +<p>"You may know more about him than I do," his sister +placidly answered, "but I have seen him looking at Honora +for the last five years, and working for her, and thinking +about her. His look changed recently. Perhaps you +know why. There's something in the air. I can feel it. +You can't. None of you celibates can. And you can't +see beyond your books in matters of love and marriage. +That's quite right. We can manage such things better.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[302]</a></span> +And if Arthur makes up his mind to win her, I'm bound +she shall have him."</p> + +<p>"We can manage! I'm bound!" he mimicked. "Well, +remember that I warned you. It isn't so much that your +fingers may be burned ... that's what you need, you +married minx. You may do harm to those two. They +seem to be at peace. Let 'em alone."</p> + +<p>"What was the baby doing when you left the house?" +said she for answer.</p> + +<p>"Tearing the nurse's hair out in handfuls," said the +proud uncle, as he plunged into a list of the doings of the +wonderful child, who fitted into any conversation as neatly +as a preposition.</p> + +<p>Mona, grew sad at heart. Her brother evidently knew +of some obstacle to this union, something in Arthur's past +life which made his marriage with any woman impossible. +She recalled his silence about the California episode, his +indifference to women, his lack of enthusiasm as to +marriage.</p> + +<p>They rowed away over the lake, with the boat half +buried in wild bushes, sprinkled with dandelion flowers +and the tender blossoms of the apple trees. Honora was +happy, at peace. She put the scene with Lord Constantine +away from her, and forgot the light words of Mona.</p> + +<p>Whoever the suitor might be, Arthur did not appear to +her as a lover. So careful had he been in his behavior, +that Louis would have as much place in her thought as +Arthur, who had never discouraged her hope of the convent, +except by pleading for Ireland. The delay in keeping +her own resolution had been pleasant. Now that the +date was fixed, the grateful enclosure of the cloister seemed +to shut her in from all this dust and clamor of men, from the +noisome sights and sounds of world-living, from the endless +coming and going and running about, concerning trifles, +from the injustice and meanness and hopeless crimes of +men.</p> + +<p>In the shade of the altar, in the restful gloom of Calvary, +she could look up with untired eyes to the calm glow of +the celestial life, unchanging, orderly, beautiful with its +satisfied aspiration, and rich in perfect love and holy companionship. +Such a longing came over her to walk into +this perfect peace that moment! Mona well knew this +mood, and Louis in triumph signalled his sister to look.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[303]</a></span> +Her eyes, turned to the rocky shore of Valcour, saw far +beyond. On her perfect face lay a shadow, the shadow of +her longing, and from her lips came now and then the perfume +of a sigh.</p> + +<p>In silence these two watched her, Louis recognizing the +borderland of holy ecstasy, Mona hopeful that the vision +was only a mirage. The boat floated close to the perpendicular +rocks and reflected itself in the deep waters; far +away the farmhouse lay against the green woods; to the +north rose the highest point of the bluff, dark with pines; +farther on was the sweep of the curved shore, and still +farther the red walls of the town. Never boat carried +freight so beautiful as this which bore along the island the +young mother, the young deacon, and deep-hearted +Honora, who was blessing God.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter"><a name="CHAPTER_XXXII" id="CHAPTER_XXXII"></a>CHAPTER XXXII.</h2> + +<h3 class="chapter2">THE PAULINE PRIVILEGE.</h3> + + +<p>For a week at the end of July Arthur had been in the city<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[304]</a></span> +closing up the Curran episode. On his return every one +felt that change of marked and mysterious kind had touched +him. His face shone with joy. The brooding shadow, +acquired in his exile, had disappeared. Light played about +his face, emanated from it, as from moonlit water, a phosphorescence +of the daylight. His mother studied him with +anxiety, without which she had not been since the surprising +visit of Curran. The old shadow seemed to have +fled forever.</p> + +<p>One night on the lake, as Louis and he floated lazily +towards the island, he told the story. After enjoying a +moonlight swim at the foot of the bluff, they were preparing +to row over to Valcour when Honora's glorious voice +rang out from the farmhouse on the hill above, singing to +Mona's accompaniment. The two sat in delight. A full +moon stood in the sky, and radiance silvered the bosom of +the lake, the mystic shores, the far-off horizon. This +singer was the voice of the night, whose mystic beauty and +voiceless feeling surged into the woman's song like waters +escaping through a ravine. Dillon was utterly oppressed +by happiness. When the song had ceased, he stretched +out his arms towards her.</p> + +<p>"Dearest and best of women! By God's grace I shall +soon call you mine!"</p> + +<p>Louis took up the oars and pulled with energy in the +direction of Valcour. "Is that the meaning of the look +on your face since your return?" said he.</p> + +<p>"That's the meaning. I saw you all watching me in +surprise. My mother told me of it in her anxiety. If my +face matched my feelings the moon there would look sickly +besides its brightness. I have been in jail for five years, and +to-day I am free."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[305]</a></span></p> + +<p>"And how about that other woman ...?"</p> + +<p>"Dead as far as I am concerned, the poor wretch! +Yesterday I could curse her. I pity her to-day. She has +gone her way and I go mine. Monsignor has declared me +free. Isn't that enough?"</p> + +<p>"That's enough," cried Louis, dropping the oars in his +excitement. "But is it enough to give you Honora? +I'm so glad you think of her that way. Mona told her +only yesterday that some lover was pursuing her, not mentioning +your name. I assured her on the contrary that +the road to the convent would have no obstacles. And I +rebuked Mona for her interference."</p> + +<p>"You were right, and she was right," said Arthur sadly. +"I never dared to show her my love, because I was not +free. But now I shall declare it. What did she think of +Mona's remarks?"</p> + +<p>"She took them lightly. I am afraid that your freedom +comes at a poor time, Arthur; that you may be too late. +I have had many talks with her. Her heart is set on the +convent, she has fixed the date for September, and she +does not seem to have love in her mind at all."</p> + +<p>"Love begets love. How could she think of love when +I never gave any sign, except what sharp-eyed Mona saw. +You can conceal nothing from a woman. Wait until I +have wooed her ... but apart from all that you must hear +how I came to be free ... oh, my God, I can hardly +believe it even now after three days ... I have been so +happy that the old anguish which tore my soul years ago +seemed easier to bear than this exquisite pain. I must get +used to it. Listen now to the story of my escape, and row +gently while you listen so as to miss not a word."</p> + +<p>Arthur did not tell his chum more than half of the tale, +chiefly because Louis was never to know the story of +Horace Endicott. He had gone to New York at the invitation +of Livingstone. This surprising incident began +a series of surprises. The Currans had returned from +California, and made their report to Sonia; and to Livingstone +of all men the wife of Horace Endicott had gone +for advice in so delicate an affair as forcing Arthur Dillon +to prove and defend his identity. After two or three interviews +with Livingstone Arthur carried his report to +Monsignor.</p> + +<p>"All this looks to me," said the priest, "as if the time<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[306]</a></span> +for a return to your own proper personality had come. +You know how I have feared the consequences of this +scheme. The more I look into it, the more terrible it +seems."</p> + +<p>"And why should I give up now of all times? when I +am a success?" cried the young fellow. "Do I fear +Livingstone and the lawyers? Curran and his wife have +done their best, and failed. Will the lawyers do any +better?"</p> + +<p>"It is not that," said the priest. "But you will always +be annoyed in this way. The sharks and blackmailers +will get after you later...."</p> + +<p>"No, no, no, Monsignor. This effort of the Currans +and Mrs. Endicott will be the last. I won't permit it. +There will be no result from Livingstone's interference. +He can go as far as interviews with me, but not one step +beyond. And I can guarantee that no one will ever take +up the case after him."</p> + +<p>"You are not reasonable," urged the priest. "The +very fact that these people suspect you to be Horace Endicott +is enough; it proves that you have been discovered."</p> + +<p>"I am only the twentieth whom they pursued for +Horace," he laughed. "Curran knows I am not Endicott. +He has proved to the satisfaction of Livingstone +that I am Arthur Dillon. But the two women are pertinacious, +and urge the men on. Since these are well paid +for their trouble, why should they not keep on?"</p> + +<p>"They are not the only pertinacious ones," the priest +replied.</p> + +<p>"You may claim a little of the virtue yourself," Arthur +slyly remarked. "You have urged me to betray myself +into the hands of enemies once a month for the last five +years."</p> + +<p>"In this case would it not be better to get an advantage +by declaring yourself, before Livingstone can bring +suit against you?"</p> + +<p>"There will be no suit," he answered positively. "I +hold the winning cards in this game. There is no advantage +in my returning to a life which for me holds nothing +but horror. Do you not see, Monsignor, that the same +reasons which sent me out of it hold good to keep me out +of it?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[307]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Very true," said Monsignor reluctantly, as he viewed +the situation.</p> + +<p>"And new reasons, not to be controverted, have sprung +up around Arthur Dillon. For Horace Endicott there is +nothing in that old life but public disgrace. Do you +know that I hate that fat fool, that wretched cuckold who +had not sense enough to discover what the uninterested +knew about that woman? I would not wear his name, +nor go back to his circle, if the man and woman were +dead, and the secret buried forever."</p> + +<p>"He was young and innocent," said the priest with a +pitiful glance at Arthur.</p> + +<p>"And selfish and sensual too. I despise him. He +would never have been more than an empty-headed pleasure-seeker. +With that wife he could have become anything +you please. The best thing he did was his flight +into everlasting obscurity, and that he owed to the simple, +upright, strong-hearted woman who nourished him in his +despair. Monsignor," and he laid his firm hand on the +knee of the priest and looked at him with terrible eyes, +"I would choose death rather than go back to what I was. +I shall never go back. I get hot with shame when I think +of the part an Endicott played as Sonia Westfield's fool."</p> + +<p>"And the reason not to be controverted?"</p> + +<p>"In what a position my departure would leave my +mother. Have you thought of that? After all her kindness, +her real affection, as if I had been her own son. +She thinks now that I am her son, and I feel that she is +my mother. And what would induce me to expose her to +the public gaze as the chief victim, or the chief plotter in +a fraud? If it had to be done, I would wait in any event +until my mother was dead. But beyond all these minor +reasons is one that overshadows everything. I am Arthur +Dillon. That other man is not only dead, he is as unreal +to me as the hero of any book I read in my boyhood. It +was hard to give up the old personality; to give up what +I am now would be impossible. I am what I seem. I +feel, think, speak, dream Arthur Dillon. The roots would +bleed if I were to transplant myself. I found my career +among your people, and the meaning of life. There is no +other career for me. These are the people I love. I will +never raise between them and me so odious a barrier as +the story of my disappearance would be. They could<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[308]</a></span> +never take to Horace Endicott. Oh, I have given the +matter a moment's thought, Monsignor. The more I +dwell on it, the worse it seems."</p> + +<p>He considered the point for a moment, and then whispered +with joyous triumph, "I have succeeded beyond my own +expectations. I have disappeared even from myself. An +enemy cannot find me, not even my own confession would +reveal me. The people who love me would swear to a man +that I am Arthur Dillon, and that only insanity could explain +my own confession. At the very least they would raise +such a doubt in the mind of a judge that he would insist +on clean proofs from both sides. But there's the clear fact. +I have escaped from myself, disappeared from the sight of +Arthur Dillon. Before long I can safely testify to a dream +I had of having once been a wretch named Horace Endicott. +But I have a doubt even now that I was such a man."</p> + +<p>"My God, but it's weird," said Monsignor with emotion, +as he rose to walk the room. "I have the same notion +myself at times."</p> + +<p>"It's a matter to be left undisturbed, or some one will +go crazy over it," Arthur said seriously.</p> + +<p>"And you are happy, really happy? The sight of this +woman did not revive in you any regret...."</p> + +<p>"I am happy, Monsignor, beyond belief," with a contented +sigh. "It would be too much to expect perfect +happiness. Yet that is within my reach. If I were only +free to marry Honora Ledwith."</p> + +<p>"I heard of that too," said the priest meditatively. +"Has she any regard for you?"</p> + +<p>"As a brother. How could I have asked any other +love? And I am rich in that. Since there is no divorce +for Catholics, I could not let her see the love which burned +in me. I had no hope."</p> + +<p>"And she goes into the convent, I believe. You must +not stand in God's way."</p> + +<p>"I have not, though I delayed her going because I could +not bear to part from her. Willingly I have resigned her +to God, because I know that in His goodness, had I been +free, He would have given her to me."</p> + +<p>Monsignor paused as if struck by the thought and +looked at him for a moment.</p> + +<p>"It is the right spirit," was his brief comment.</p> + +<p>He loved this strange, incomprehensible man, who had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[309]</a></span> +stood for five years between his adopted people and their +enemies in many a fight, who had sought battle in their +behalf and heaped them with favors. His eyes saw the +depth of that resignation which gave to God the one jewel +that would have atoned for the horrid sufferings of the +past. If he were free! He thought of old Lear moaning +over dead Cordelia.</p> + +<div class="block"> +<div class="poem"> +<span style="margin-left: 9.5em;">She lives! If it be so,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">It is a chance which does redeem all sorrows</span><br /> +<span class="i0">That ever I have felt.</span><br /> +</div></div> + +<p>"It is the right spirit," he repeated as he considered +the matter. "One must not stand in the way of a soul, +or in the way of God. Yet were you free, where would +be the advantage? She is for the convent, and has never +thought of you in the way of love."</p> + +<p>"Love begets love, father dear. I could light the flame +in her heart, for I am dear to her as a brother, as her +father's son."</p> + +<p>"Then her dream of the convent, which she has cherished +so many years, cannot be more than a dream, if she +resigned it for you."</p> + +<p>"I cannot argue with you," he said hopelessly, "and +it's a sad subject. There is only the will of God to be done."</p> + +<p>"And if you were free," went on Monsignor smiling, +"and tried and failed to light love in her heart, you would +suffer still more."</p> + +<p>"A little more or less would not matter. I would be +happy still to give her to God."</p> + +<p>"I see, I see," shaking his sage head. "To God! As +long as it is not to another and luckier fellow, the resignation +is perfect."</p> + +<p>Arthur broke into a laugh, and the priest said casually:</p> + +<p>"I think that by the law of the Church you are a free +man."</p> + +<p>Arthur leaped to his feet with a face like death.</p> + +<p>"In the name of God!" he cried.</p> + +<p>Monsignor pushed him back into his chair.</p> + +<p>"That's my opinion. Just listen, will you. Then take +your case to a doctor of the law. There is a kind of +divorce in the Church known as the Pauline Privilege. +Let me state the items, and do you examine if you can +claim the privilege. Horatius, an infidel, that is, unbap<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[310]</a></span>tized, +deserts his wife legally and properly, because of her +crimes; later he becomes a Catholic; meeting a noble +Catholic lady, Honoria, he desires to marry her; question, +is he free to contract this marriage? The answer of the +doctors of the law is in the affirmative, with the following +conditions: that the first wife be an infidel, that is, unbaptized; +that to live with her is impossible; that she has +been notified of his intention to break the marriage. The +two latter conditions are fulfilled in your case the moment +the first wife secures the divorce which enables her to +marry her paramour. Horatius is then free to marry +Honoria, or any other Catholic lady, but not a heretic or a +pagan. This is called the Pauline Privilege because it is +described in the Epistle of St. Paul to the Corinthians. +My opinion is that you are free."</p> + +<p>The man, unable to speak, or move, felt his hope grow +strong and violent out of the priest's words.</p> + +<p>"Mind, it's only my opinion," said Monsignor, to +moderate his transports.</p> + +<p>"You must go to Dr. Bender, the theologian, to get a +purely legal decision. I fear that I am only adding to +your misery. What if he should decide against you? +What if she should decide against you?"</p> + +<p>"Neither will happen," with painful effort. Sudden +joy overcame him with that anguish of the past, and this +was overwhelming, wonderful.</p> + +<p>"The essence of love is sacrifice," said Monsignor, +talking to give him time for composure. "Not your +good only, but the happiness of her you love must control +your heart and will; and above all there must be submission +to God. When He calls, the child must leave the +parent, the lover his mistress, all ties must be broken."</p> + +<p>"I felt from the beginning that this would come to +pass," said Arthur weakly. "Oh, I made my sacrifice +long ago. The facts were all against me, of course. +Easy to make the sacrifice which had to be made. I can +make another sacrifice, but isn't it now her turn? Oh, +Monsignor, all my joy seems to come through you! From +that first moment years ago, when we met, I can date——"</p> + +<p>"All your sorrow," the priest interrupted.</p> + +<p>"And all my joy. Well, one cannot speak of these +great things, only act. I'm going to the theologian. +Before I sleep to-night he must settle that case. I know<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[311]</a></span> +from your eyes it will be in my favor. I can bear disappointment. +I can bear anything now. I am free from +that creature, she is without a claim on me in any way, +law, fact, religion, sympathy. Oh, my God!"</p> + +<p>Monsignor could not hinder the tears that poured from +his eyes silently. He clasped Arthur's hand and saw him go +as he wept. In his varied life he had never seen so intimately +any heart, none so strange and woful in its sorrow and its +history, none so pathetic. The man lived entirely on the +plane of tragedy, in the ecstasy of pain; a mystery, a +problem, a wonder, yet only an average, natural, simple +man, that had fought destiny with strange weapons.</p> + +<p>This story Arthur whispered to Louis, floating between +the moonlit shores of Champlain. He lay in the stern +watching the rhythmic rise of the oar-blades, and the flashing +of the water-drops falling back like diamonds into the +wave. Happiness lay beside him steering the boat, a +seraph worked the oars, the land ahead must be paradise. +His was a lover's story, clear, yet broken with phrases of +love; for was he not speaking to the heart, half his own, +that beat with his in unison? The tears flowed down the +deacon's cheek, tears of dread and of sympathy. What +if Honora refused this gift laid so reverently at her feet? +He spoke his dread.</p> + +<p>"One must take the chance," said the lover calmly. +"She is free too. I would not have her bound. The +very air up here will conspire with me to win her. She +must learn at once that I want her for my wife. Then let +the leaven work."</p> + +<p>The boat came back to the landing. The ladies sat on +the veranda chatting quietly, watching the moon which +rose higher and higher, and threw Valcour into shadow so +deep, that it looked like a great serpent asleep on a crystal +rock, nailed by a golden spike through its head to the +crystal rock beneath. The lighthouse lamp burning +steadily at the south point, and its long reflection in the +still waters, was the golden nail. A puffing tug passed by +with its procession of lumber boats, fanciful with colored +lights, resounding with the roaring songs of the boatmen; +and the waves recorded their protest against it in long +groans on the shore. Arthur drank in the scene without +misgiving, bathed in love as in moonlight. This moon +would see the consummation of his joy.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter"><a name="CHAPTER_XXXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXXIII"></a>CHAPTER XXXIII.</h2> + +<h3 class="chapter2">LOVE IS BLIND.</h3> + + +<p>Next morning after breakfast the house began to echo<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[312]</a></span> +with the singing of the inmates. Mona sang to the baby +in an upper room, the Deacon thrummed the piano and +hummed to himself in the raucous voice peculiar to most +churchmen. Judy in the kitchen meditatively crooned to +her maids an ancient lamentation, and out on the lawn, +Arthur sang to his mother an amorous ditty in compliment +to her youthful appearance. Honora, the song-bird, +silent, heard with amusement this sudden lifting up of +voices, each unconscious of the other. Arthur's bawling +dominated.</p> + +<p>"Has the house gone mad?" she inquired from the +hallway stairs, so clearly that the singers paused to hear. +"What is the meaning of all this uproar of song. Judy +in the kitchen, Mona in the nursery, Louis in the parlor, +Arthur on the lawn?"</p> + +<p>The criminals began to laugh at the coincidence.</p> + +<p>"I always sing to baby," Mona screamed in justification.</p> + +<p>"I wasn't singing, I never sing," Louis yelled from the +parlor.</p> + +<p>"Mother drove me to it," Arthur howled through the +door.</p> + +<p>"I think the singin' was betther nor the shoutin'," Judy +observed leaning out of the window to display her quizzical +smile.</p> + +<p>A new spirit illumined the old farmhouse. Love had +entered it, and hope had followed close on his heels; hope +that Honora would never get to her beloved convent. +They loved her so and him that with all their faith, their +love and respect for the convent life, gladly would they +have seen her turn away from the holy doors into Arthur's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[313]</a></span> +reverential arms. With the exception of Anne. So surely +had she become his mother that the thought of giving him +up to any woman angered her. She looked coldly on +Honora for having inspired him with a foolish passion.</p> + +<p>"Come down, celestial goddess," said Arthur gayly, +"and join the Deacon and me in a walk over the bluff, +through the perfumed woods, down the loud-resounding +shore. Put on rubbers, for the dew has no respect for the +feet of such divinity."</p> + +<p>They went off together in high spirits, and Mona came +down to the veranda with the baby in her arms to look +after them. Anne grieved at the sight of their intimacy.</p> + +<p>"I have half a mind," she said, "to hurry Honora off to +her convent, or to bring Sister Magdalen and the Mother +Superior up here to strengthen her. If that boy has his +way, he'll marry her before Christmas. He has the look of +it in his eye."</p> + +<p>"And why shouldn't he?" Mona asked. "If she will +have him, then she has no business with the convent, and +it will be a good opportunity for her to test her vocation."</p> + +<p>"And what luck will there be in it for him?" said the +mother bitterly. "How would you feel if some hussy +cheated Louis out of his priesthood, with blue eyes and +golden hair and impudence? If Arthur wants to marry +after waiting so long, let him set eyes on women that ask +for marriage. He'll never have luck tempting a poor girl +from the convent."</p> + +<p>"Little ye think o' the luck," said Judy, who had come +out to have her morning word with the mistress. "Weren't +ye goin' into a convent yerself whin Pat Dillon kem along, +an' wid a wink tuk ye to church undher his arm. An' is +there a woman in the whole world that's had greater luck +than yerself?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I know you are all working for the same thing, +all against me," Anne said pettishly.</p> + +<p>"Faith we are, and may the angels guide him and +her to each other. Can't a blind man see they wor made +to be man an' wife? An' I say it, knowin' that the convent +is the best place in the world for anny girl. I wish +every girl that was born wint there. If they knew what +is lyin' in wait for thim whin they take up wid a man, +there wouldn't be convents enough to hould all that wud +be runnin' to thim. But ye know as well as I do that the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[314]</a></span> +girls are not med for the convent, except the blessed +few...."</p> + +<p>Anne fled from the stream of Judy's eloquence, and the +old lady looked expressively at Mona.</p> + +<p>"She's afraid she's goin' to lose her Artie. Oh, these +Irish mothers! they'd kape a boy till his hairs were gray, +an' mek him belave it too, if they cud. I never saw but +wan mother crazy to marry her son. That was Biddy +Brady, that wint to school wid yer mother, an' poor Micksheen +was a born ijit, wid a lip hangin' like a sign, so's ye +cud hang an auction notice on it. Sure, the poor boy +wudn't lave his mother for Vanus herself, an' the mother +batin' him out o' the house every day, an' he bawlin' for +fear the women wud get hould of him."</p> + +<p>Honora had observed the happy change in Arthur, her +knight of service, who had stood between her and danger, +and had fought her battles with chivalry; asking no reward, +hinting at none, because she had already given him +all, a sister's love. What tenderness, what adoration, +what service had he lavished on her, unmarred by act, or +word, or hint! God would surely reward him for his consideration. +Walking through the scented woods she +found it easy to tell them of the date fixed for her entrance +into the convent. Grand trees were marshalled +along the path, supporting a roof of gold and green, +where the sun fell strong on the heavy foliage.</p> + +<p>"September," said Arthur making a calculation. +"Why not wait until October and then shed your colors +with the trees. I can see her," he went on humorously, +"decorously arranging the black dress so that it will hang +well, and not make her a fright altogether before the +other women; and getting a right tilt to the black bonnet +and enough lace in it to set off her complexion."</p> + +<p>"Six months later," said the Deacon taking up the +strain, "she will do better than that. Discarding the +plain robes of the postulant, she will get herself into the +robes of a bride...."</p> + +<p>"Oh, sooner than that," said Arthur with a meaning +which escaped her.</p> + +<p>"No, six months is the period," she corrected seriously.</p> + +<p>"In wedding finery she will prance before her delighted +friends for a few minutes, and then march out to shed +white silk and fleecy tulle. A vengeful nun, whose hair<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[315]</a></span> +has long been worn away, will then clip with one snip of +the scissors her brown locks from her head...."</p> + +<p>"Horror!" cried Arthur.</p> + +<p>"Sure, straight across the neck, you know, like the +women's-rights people. Then the murder of the hair has +to be concealed, so they put on a nightcap, and hide that +with a veil, and then bring her into the bishop to tell +him it's all right, and that she's satisfied."</p> + +<p>"And what do they make of the hair?" said Arthur.</p> + +<p>"That's one of the things yet to be revealed."</p> + +<p>"And after that she is set at chasing the rule, or being +chased by the rule for two years. She studies striking examples +of observing the rule, and of the contrary. She +has a shy at observing it herself, and the contrary. The +rule is it when she observes it; she's it when she doesn't. +At this point the mother superior comes into the game."</p> + +<p>"Where do the frowsy children come in?"</p> + +<p>"At meals usually. Honora cuts the bread and her +fingers, butters it, and passes it round; the frowsy butter +themselves, and Honora; this is an act of mortification, +which is intensified when the mistress of novices discovers +the butter on her habit."</p> + +<p>"Finally the last stage is worse than the first, I suppose. +Having acquired the habit she gets into it so deeply...."</p> + +<p>"She sheds it once more, Arthur. Then she's tied to +the frowsy children forever, and is known as Sister Mary +of the Cold Shoulder to the world."</p> + +<p>"This is a case of rescue," said Arthur with determination, +"I move we rescue her this minute. Help, help!"</p> + +<p>The woods echoed with his mocking cries. Honora had +not spoken, the smile had died away, and she was plainly +offended. Louis observant passed a hint to Arthur, who +made the apology.</p> + +<p>"We shall be there," he said humbly, "with our hearts +bleeding because we must surrender you. And who are +we that you need care? It is poor Ireland that will mourn +for the child that bathed and bound her wounds, that +watched by her in the dark night, and kept the lamp of +hope and comfort burning, that stirred hearts to pity and +service, that woke up Lord Constantine and me, and +strangers and enemies like us, to render service; the +child whose face and voice and word and song made the +meanest listen to a story of injustice; all shut out, con<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[316]</a></span>cealed, +put away where the mother may never see or hear +her more."</p> + +<p>His voice broke, his eyes filled with tears at the vividness +of the vision called up in the heart of the woods; and +he walked ahead to conceal his emotion. Honora stopped +dead and looked inquiringly at the Deacon, who switched +the flowers with downcast eyes.</p> + +<p>"What is the meaning of it, Louis?"</p> + +<p>He knew not how to make answer, thinking that Arthur +should be the first to tell his story.</p> + +<p>"Do you think that we can let you go easily?" he said. +"If we tease you as we did just now it is to hide what we +really suffer. His feeling got the better of him, I think."</p> + +<p>The explanation sounded harmless. For an instant a +horrid fear that these woods must witness another scene +like Lord Constantine's chilled her heart. She comforted +Arthur like a sister.</p> + +<p>"Do not feel my going too deeply. Change must come. +Let us be glad it is not death, or a journey into distant +lands with no return. I shall be among you still, and +meanwhile God will surely comfort you."</p> + +<p>"Oh, if we could walk straight on like this," Arthur +answered, "through the blessed, free, scented forest, just +as we are, forever! And walking on for years, content +with one another, you, Louis, and I, come out at last, as +we shall soon come out here on the lake, on the shore of +eternity, just as life's sun sets, and the moon of the immortal +life rises; and then without change, or the anguish +of separation and dying, if we could pass over the waters, +and enter the land of eternity, taking our place with God +and His children, our friends, that have been there so +long!"</p> + +<p>"Is not that just what we are to do, not after your +fashion, but after the will of God, Arthur? Louis at the +altar, I in the convent before the altar, and you in the +field of battle fighting for us both. Aaron, Miriam, +Moses, here are the three in the woods of Champlain, as +once in the desert of Arabia," and she smiled at the young +men.</p> + +<p>Louis returned the smile, and Arthur gave her a look of +adoration, so tender, so bold, that she trembled. The +next moment, when the broad space through which they +were walking ended in a berry-patch, he plunged among<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[317]</a></span> +the bushes with eagerness, to gather for her black raspberries +in his drinking-cup. Her attempt to discuss her +departure amiably had failed.</p> + +<p>"I am tired already," said she to Louis helplessly. "I +shall go back to the house, and leave you to go on together."</p> + +<p>"Don't blame him," the Deacon pleaded, perceiving +how useless was concealment. "If you knew how that +man has suffered in his life, and how you opened heaven +to him ..." she made a gesture of pain ... "remember +all his goodness and be gentle with him. He must speak +before you go. He will take anything from you, and you +alone can teach him patience and submission."</p> + +<p>"How long...." she began. He divined what she +would have asked.</p> + +<p>"Mona has known it more than a year, but no one else, +for he gave no sign. I know it only a short time. After +all it is not to be wondered at. He has been near you, +working with you for years. His life has been lonely +somehow, and you seemed to fill it. Do not be hasty with +him. Let him come to his avowal and his refusal in his +own way. It is all you can do for him. Knowing you +so well he probably knows what he has to receive."</p> + +<p>Arthur came back with his berries and poured them out +on a leaf for her to eat. Seated for a little on a rock, +while he lay on the ground at her feet, she ate to please +him; but her soul in terror saw only the white face of +Lord Constantine, and thought only of the pain in store +for this most faithful friend. Oh, to have it out with him +that moment! Yet it seemed too cruel. But how go on +for a month in dread of what was to come?</p> + +<p>She loved him in her own beautiful way. Her tears fell +that night as she sat in her room by the window watching +the high moon, deep crimson, rising through the mist over +the far-off islands. How bitter to leave her beloved even +for God, when the leaving brought woe to them! So +long she had waited for the hour of freedom, and always +a tangle at the supreme moment! How could she be +happy and he suffering without the convent gates? This +pity was to be the last temptation, her greatest trial. Its +great strength did not disarm her. If twenty broke their +hearts on that day, she would not give up her loved design. +Let God comfort them, since she could not. But the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[318]</a></span> +vision of a peaceful entrance into the convent faded. +She would have to enter, as she had passed through life, +carrying the burden of another's woe, in tears.</p> + +<p>She could see that he never lost heart. The days passed +delightfully, and somehow his adoration pleased her. +Having known him in many lights, there was novelty in +seeing him illumined by candid love. How could he keep +so high a courage with the end so dark and so near? +Honora had no experience of love, romantic love, and she +had always smiled at its expression in the novels of the +time. If Arthur only knew the task he had set for himself! +She loved him truly, but marriage repelled her +almost, except in others.</p> + +<p>Therefore, having endured the uncertainty of the position +a week, she had it out with Arthur. Sitting on the +rocks of an ancient quarry, high above the surface of the +lake, they watched the waters rough and white from the +strong south wind. The household had adjourned that +day for lunch to this wild spot, and the members were +scattered about, leaving them, as they always did now, by +common consent alone.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps," she said calmly, "this would be a good +time to talk to you, Arthur, as sister to brother ... can't +we talk as brother and sister?"</p> + +<p>For a change came over his face that sickened her. The +next moment he was ready for the struggle.</p> + +<p>"I fear not, Honora," said he humbly. "I fear we can +never do that again."</p> + +<p>"Then you are to stand in my way too?" with bitterness.</p> + +<p>"No, but I am not going to stand in my own way," he +replied boldly. "Have I ever stood in your way, +Honora?"</p> + +<p>"You have always helped me. Do not fail me at the +last, I beg of you."</p> + +<p>"I shall never fail you, nor stand in your way. You +are free now as your father wished you to be. You shall +go to the convent on the date which you have named. +Neither Ireland, nor anything but your heart shall hinder +you. You have seen my heart for a week as you never +saw it before. Do not let what you saw disturb or detain +you. I told your father of it the last day of his life, and +he was glad. He said it was like ... he was satisfied.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[319]</a></span> +Both he and I were of one mind that you should be free. +And you are."</p> + +<p>Ideas and words fled from her. The situation of her +own making she knew not how to manage. What could +be more sensible than his speech?</p> + +<p>"Very well, thank you," she said helplessly.</p> + +<p>He had perfect control of himself, but his attitude expressed +his uneasiness, his face only just concealed his +pain. All his life in moments like this, Arthur Dillon +would suffer from his earliest sorrow.</p> + +<p>"I hope you will all let me go with resignation," she +began again.</p> + +<p>"I give you to God freely," was his astonishing answer, +"but I may tell you it is my hope He will give you back +to me. I have nothing, and He is the Lord of all. He +has permitted my heart to be turned to ashes, and yet gave +it life again through you. I have confidence in Him. +To you I am nothing; in the future I shall be only a +memory to be prayed for. If we had not God to lift us +up, and repay us for our suffering, to what would we +come? I could not make my heart clear to you, show you +its depths of feeling, frightful depths, I think sometimes, +and secure your pity. God alone, the master of hearts, +can do that. I have been generous to the last farthing. +He will not be outdone by me."</p> + +<p>"Oh, my God!" she murmured, looking at him in +wonder, for his words sounded insanely to her ear.</p> + +<p>"I love you, Honora," he went on, with a flush on his +cheek, and so humble that he kept his eyes on the ground. +"Go, in spite of that, if God demands it. If you can, +knowing that I shall be alone, how much alone no one may +know, go nevertheless. Only bear it in mind, that I shall +wait for you outside the convent gate. If you cannot remain +thinking of me, I shall be ready for you. If not +here, then hereafter, as God wills. But you are free, and +I love you. Before you go, God's beloved," and he looked +at her then with eyes so beautiful that her heart went out +to him, "you must let me tell you what I have been. You +will pray for me better, when you have learned how far a +man can sink into hell, and yet by God's grace reach +heaven again."</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter"><a name="CHAPTER_XXXIV" id="CHAPTER_XXXIV"></a>CHAPTER XXXIV.</h2> + +<h3 class="chapter2">A HARPY AT THE FEAST.</h3> + + +<p>Honora now saw that suffering was not to be avoided.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[320]</a></span> +Experience had taught her how to economize with it. In +the wood one day she watched for minutes two robins +hopping about in harmony, feeding, singing now and then +low notes of content from a bough, and always together. +A third robin made appearance on the scene, and their +content vanished. Irritated and uneasy, even angered, +they dashed at the intruder, who stood his ground, confident +of his strength. For a long time he fought them, +leaving only at his own pleasure. Longer still the pair +remained unquiet, distressed by the struggle rather than +wearied, complaining to each other tenderly.</p> + +<p>Behold a picture of her own mind, its order upset by the +entrance of a new idea. That life of the mind, which is our +true life, had to change its point of view in order to meet +and cope with the newcomer. Arthur's love had the fiber +of tragedy. She felt rather than knew its nature. For +years it had been growing in his strong heart, disciplined +by steady buffeting, by her indifference, by his own hard +circumstances; no passion of an hour like Romeo's; more +like her father's love for Erin.</p> + +<p>Former ideas began to shift position, and to struggle +against the intruder vainly. Some fought in his favor. +The vision of convent peace grew dim. She must take it +with tears, and his sorrow would cloud its beauty. Marriage, +always so remote from her life, came near, and tried +to prove the lightness of its yoke with Arthur as the mate. +The passion of her father's life awoke. Dear Erin cried +out to her for the help which such a union would bring.</p> + +<p>Her fixed resolve to depart for her convent in September +kept the process from tangle. Sweet indeed was the +thought of how nobly he loved her. She was free. God +alone was the arbiter. None would hinder her going, if<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[321]</a></span> +her heart did not bid her stay for his sake. Her father +had needed her. She would never have forgiven herself +had she left him to carry his sorrow alone. Perhaps this +poor soul needed her more. With delight one moment +and shame the next, she saw herself drifting towards him. +Nevertheless she did not waver, nor change the date of +her departure.</p> + +<p>Arthur continued to adore at her shrine as he had done +for years, and she studied him with the one thought: how +will he bear new sorrow? No man bore the mark of +sorrow more terribly when he let himself go, and at times +his mask fell off in spite of resolve. As a lover Honora, +with all her distaste for marriage, found him more lovable +than ever, and had to admit that companionship with her +hero would not be irritating. The conspiracy in his favor +flourished within and without the citadel. Knowing that +he adored her, she liked the adoration. To any goddess +the smell of the incense is sweet, the sight of the flowers, +the humid eyes, the leaping heart delightful. Yet she put +it one side when the day over, and she knelt in her room +for prayer. Like a dream the meanings of the day faded, +and the vision of her convent cell, its long desired peace +and rest, returned with fresher coloring. The men and +women of her little world, the passions and interests of +the daylight, so faded, that they seemed to belong to +another age.</p> + +<p>While this comedy went on the farmhouse and its happy +life were keenly and bitterly watched by the wretched +wife of Curran. It was her luck, like Sonia's, to spoil +her own feast in defiling her enemy's banquet. Having +been routed at all points and all but sent to Jezebel's fate +by Arthur Dillon, she had stolen into this paradise to do +what mischief she could. Thus it happened, at the +moment most favorable for Arthur's hopes, when Honora +inclined towards him out of sisterly love and pity, that +the two women met in a favorite haunt of Honora's, in +the woods near the lake shore.</p> + +<p>To reach it one took a wild path through the woods, +over the bluff, and along the foot of the hill, coming out +on a small plateau some fifteen feet above the lake. Behind +rose a rocky wall, covered with slender pines and +cedars; noble trees shaded the plateau, leaving a clearing +towards the lake; so that one looked out as from a frame<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[322]</a></span> +of foliage on the blue waters, the islet of St. Michel, and +the wooded cape known as Cumberland Head.</p> + +<p>As Honora entered this lovely place, Edith sat on a stone +near the edge of the precipice, enjoying the view. She +faced the newcomer with unfailing impertinence, and +coolly studied the woman whom Arthur Dillon loved. +Sickness of heart filled her with rage. The evil beauty of +Sonia and herself showed purely animal beside the pale +spiritual luster that shone from this noble, sad-hearted +maid. Honora bowed distantly and passed on. Edith +began to glow with delight of torturing her presently, and +would not speak lest her pleasure be hurried. The instinct +of the wild beast, to worry the living game, overpowered +her. What business had Honora with so much +luck? The love of Arthur, fame as a singer, beauty, and +a passion for the perfect life? God had endowed herself +with three of these gifts. Having dragged them through +the mud, she hated the woman who had used them with +honor. What delight that in a moment she could torture +her with death's anguish!</p> + +<p>"I came here in the hope of meeting you, madam," she +began suddenly, "if you are Miss Ledwith. I come to +warn you."</p> + +<p>"I do not need warnings from strangers," Honora replied +easily, studying the other for an instant with indifferent +eyes, "and if you wished me to see on proper matters +you should have called at the house."</p> + +<p>"For a scene with the man who ran away from his wife +before he deceived me, and then made love to you? I +could hardly do that," said she as demure and soft as a +purring cat.</p> + +<p>Honora's calm look plainly spoke her thought: the creature +was mad.</p> + +<p>"I am not mad. Miss Ledwith, and your looks will not +prevent me warning you. Arthur Dillon is not the man +he pretends——"</p> + +<p>"Please go away," Honora interrupted.</p> + +<p>"He is not the son of Anne Dillon——"</p> + +<p>"Then I shall go," said Honora, but Edith barred the +only way out of the place, her eyes blazing with the insane +pleasure of torturing the innocent. Honora turned her +back on her and walked down to the edge of the cliff, +where she remained until the end.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[323]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I know Arthur Dillon better than you know him," +Edith went on, "and I know you better than you think. +Once I had the honor of your acquaintance. That doesn't +matter. Neither does it matter just who Arthur Dillon +is. He's a fraud from cover to cover. His deserted wife +is living, poor as well as neglected. The wretched woman +has sought him long——"</p> + +<p>"Why don't you put her on the track?" Honora asked, +relieved that the lunatic wished only to talk.</p> + +<p>"He makes love to you now as he has done for years, +and he hopes to marry you soon. I can tell that by +his behavior. I warn you that he is not free to marry. +His wife lives. If you marry him I shall put her on his +track, and give you a honeymoon of scandal. It was +enough for him to have wrecked my life and broken my +heart. I shall not permit him to repeat that work on any +other unfortunate."</p> + +<p>"Is that all?"</p> + +<p>Edith, wholly astonished at the feeble impression made +by her story, saw that her usual form had been lacking. +Her scorn for Honora suggested that acting would be +wasted on her; that the mere news of the living wife +would be sufficient to plunge her into anguish. But here +was no delight of pallid face and trembling limbs. Her +tale would have gone just as well with the trees.</p> + +<p>"I have risked my life to tell you this," said she +throwing in the note of pathos. "If Arthur Dillon, or +whoever he is, hears of it, he will kill me."</p> + +<p>"Don't worry then," and Honora turned about with +benign face and manner, quite suited to the need of a +crazy patient escaped from her keepers, "I shall never +tell him. But please go, for some one is coming. It may +be he."</p> + +<p>Edith turned about swiftly and saw a form approaching +through the trees. She had her choice of two paths +a little beyond, and fled by the upper one. Her fear of +Arthur had become mortal. As it was she rushed into +the arms of Louis, who had seen the fleeing form, and +thought to play a joke upon Mona or Honora. He +dropped the stranger and made apologies for his rudeness. +She curtsied mockingly, and murmured:</p> + +<p>"Possibly we have met before."</p> + +<p>The blood rose hot to his face as he recognized her,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[324]</a></span> +and her face paled as he seized her by the wrist with scant +courtesy.</p> + +<p>"I scarcely hoped for the honor of meeting you again, +Sister Claire. Of course you are here only for mischief, +and Arthur Dillon must see you and settle with you. I'll +trouble you to come with me."</p> + +<p>"You have not improved," she snarled. "You would +attack my honor again."</p> + +<p>Then she screamed for help once, not the second +time, which might have brought Arthur to the scene; but +Honora came running to her assistance.</p> + +<p>"Ah, this was your prey, wolf?" said Louis coolly. +"Honora, has she been lying to you, this fox, Sister +Claire, Edith Conyngham, with a string of other names +not to be remembered? Didn't you know her?"</p> + +<p>Honora recoiled. Edith stood in shame, with the +mortified expression of the wild beast, the intelligent fox, +trapped by an inferior boy.</p> + +<p>"Oh, let her go, Louis," she pleaded.</p> + +<p>"Not till she has seen Arthur. The mischief she can +do is beyond counting. Arthur knows how to deal with +her."</p> + +<p>"I insist," said Honora. "Come away, Louis, please, +come away."</p> + +<p>He flung away her wrist with contempt, and pointed +out her path. In a short time she had disappeared.</p> + +<p>"And what had she to tell you, may I ask?" said the +Deacon. "Like the banshee her appearance brings misfortune +to us."</p> + +<p>"You have always been my confidant, Louis," she +answered after some thought. "Do you know anything +about the earlier years of Arthur Dillon?"</p> + +<p>"Much. Was that her theme?"</p> + +<p>"That he was married and his wife still lives."</p> + +<p>"He will tell you about that business himself no doubt. +I know nothing clear or certain ... some hasty expressions +of feeling ... part of a dream ... the declaration +that all was well now ... and so on. But I shall tell +him. Don't object, I must. The woman is persistent +and diabolical in her attempts to injure us. He must +know at least that she is in the vicinity. He will guess +what she's after without any further hint. But you +mustn't credit her, Honora. As you know...."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[325]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh, I know," she answered with a smile. "The +wretched creature is not to be believed under any circumstances. +Poor soul!"</p> + +<p>Nevertheless she felt the truth of Edith's story. It +mattered little whether Arthur was Anne Dillon's son, +he would always be the faithful, strong friend, and benefactor. +That he had a wife living, the living witness of +the weakness of his career in the mines, shocked her for +the moment. The fact carried comfort too. Doubt fled, +and the weighing of inclinations, the process kept up by +her mind apart from her will, ceased of a sudden. The +great pity for Arthur, which had welled up in her heart +like a new spring, dried up at its source. For the first +time she felt the sin in him, the absence of the ideal. He +had tripped and fallen like all his kind in the wild days +of youth; and according to his nature had been repeating +with her the drama enacted with his first love. She respected +his first love. She respected the method of +nature, but did not feel forced to admire it.</p> + +<p>Her distaste for the intimacy of marriage returned with +tenfold strength. One might have become submissive +and companionable with a virgin nature; to marry another +woman's lover seemed ridiculous. This storm cleared the +air beautifully. Her own point of view became plainer, and +she saw how far inclination had hurried her. For some +hours she had been near to falling in love with Arthur, +had been willing to yield to tender persuasion. The +woman guilty of such weakness did not seem at this moment +to have been Honora Ledwith; only a poor soul, +like a little ship in a big wind, borne away by the tempest +of emotion.</p> + +<p>She had no blame for Arthur. His life was his own +concern. Part of it had brought her much happiness. +Edith's scandalous story did not shake her confidence in +him. Undoubtedly he was free to marry, or he would not +have approached her. His freedom from a terrible bond +must have been recent, since his manner towards herself +had changed only that summer, within the month in fact. +The reserve of years had been prompted by hard conditions. +In honor he could not woo. Ah, in him ran the fibre of +the hero, no matter what might have been his mistakes! +He had resisted every natural temptation to show his love. +Once more they were brother and sister, children of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[326]</a></span> +dear father whose last moments they had consoled. Who +would regret the sorrow which led to such a revealing of +hearts?</p> + +<p>The vision of her convent rose again to her pleased +eye, fresh and beautiful as of old, and dearer because of +the passing darkness which had concealed it for a time; +the light from the chapel windows falling upon the dark +robes in the choir, the voices of the reader, chanter, and +singer, and the solemn music of the organ; the procession +filing silently from one duty to another, the quiet cell +when the day was over, and the gracious intimacy with +God night and day. Could her belief and her delight in +that holy life have been dim for an instant? Ah, weakness +of the heart! The mountain is none the less firm +because clouds obscure its lofty form. She had been +wrapped in the clouds of feeling, but never once had her +determination failed.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter"><a name="CHAPTER_XXXV" id="CHAPTER_XXXV"></a>CHAPTER XXXV.</h2> + +<h3 class="chapter2">SONIA CONSULTS LIVINGSTONE.</h3> + + +<p>Edith's visit, so futile, so unlike her, had been prompted<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[327]</a></span> +by the hatefulness of her nature. The expedition to +California had failed, her effort to prove her instincts true +had come to nothing, and Arthur Dillon had at last put +his foot down and extinguished her and Sonia together. +Free to snarl and spit if they chose, the two cats could +never plot seriously against him more. Curran triumphed +in the end. Tracking Arthur Dillon through California +had all the features of a chase through the clouds after a +bird. The scene changed with every step, and the ground +just gone over faded like a dream.</p> + +<p>They found Dillons, a few named Arthur, some coincidences, +several mysteries, and nothing beyond. The police +still had the photographs sent out by Anne Dillon, and a +record that the man sought for had been found and returned +to his mother. The town where the search ended +had only a ruined tavern and one inhabitant, who vaguely +remembered the close of the incident. Edith surrendered +the search in a violent temper, and all but scratched out +the eyes of her devoted slave. To Sonia the detective put +the net result very sensibly.</p> + +<p>"Arthur Dillon did not live in California under his own +name," said he, "and things have so changed there in +five years that his tracks have been wiped out as if by +rain. All that has been done so far proves this man to be +just what he appears. We never had a worse case, and +never took up a more foolish pursuit. We have proved +just one sure thing: that if this man be Horace, then he +can't be found. He is too clever to be caught, until he is +willing to reveal himself. If you pursue him to the point +which might result in his capture, there'll be murder or +worse waiting for you at that point. It might be better +for you two not to find him."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[328]</a></span></p> + +<p>This suggestion, clever and terrifying, Sonia could not +understand as clearly as Curran. She thought the soft +nature of Horace quite manageable, and if murder were to +be done her knife should do it. Oh, to seize his throat +with her beautiful hands, to press and squeeze and dig +until the blood gorged his face, and to see him die by +inches, gasping! He had lied like a coward! Nothing +easier to destroy than such a wretch!</p> + +<p>"Don't give up, Sonia," was Edith's comment on the +wise words of Curran. "Get a good lawyer, and by some +trick drag Dillon and his mother and the priest to court, +put them on oath as to who the man is; they won't perjure +themselves, I'll wager."</p> + +<p>"That is my thought," said Sonia tenderly nursing the +idea. "There seems to be nothing more to do. I have +thought the matter over very carefully. We are at the +end. If this fails I mean to abandon the matter. But +for his money I would have let him go as far as he wanted, +and I would let this man pass too but for the hope of getting +at his money. It is the only way to punish Horace, +as he punished me. I feel like you, that the mystery is +with this Arthur Dillon. Since I saw you last, he has +filled my dreams, and always in the dreams he has been so +like Horace that I now see more of a likeness in Arthur +Dillon. I have a relative in the city, a very successful +lawyer, Quincy Livingstone. I shall consult him. Perhaps +it would be well for you to accompany me, Edith. +You explain this case so well."</p> + +<p>"No, she'll keep out of it, by your leave," the detective +answered for her. "Dillon has had patience with this +woman, but he will resent interference so annoying."</p> + +<p>Edith made a face at him.</p> + +<p>"As if I could be bossed by either you or Arthur. +Sonia, you have the right stuff in you, clear grit. This +trick will land your man."</p> + +<p>"You'll find an alligator who will eat the legs off you +both before you can run away," said Curran.</p> + +<p>"Do you know what I think, Dick Curran?" she +snapped at him. "That you have been playing the traitor +to us, telling Arthur Dillon all we've been doing. Oh, +if I could prove that, you wretch!"</p> + +<p>"You have a high opinion of his softness, if you think +he would throw away money to learn what any schoolboy<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[329]</a></span> +might learn by himself. How much did you, with all your +cleverness, get out of him in the last five years?"</p> + +<p>He laughed joyfully at her wicked face.</p> + +<p>"Let me tell you this," he added. "You have been +teasing that boy as a monkey might a lion. Now you +will set on him the man that he likes least in this world, +Livingstone. What a pretty mouthful you will be when +he makes up his mind that you've done enough."</p> + +<p>Nevertheless the two women called on Livingstone. +The great man, no longer great, no longer in the eye of +the world, out of politics because the charmed circle had +closed, and no more named for high places because his record +had made him impossible, had returned to the practice of +law. Eminent by his ability, his achievement, and his blood, +but only a private citizen, the shadow of his failure lay +heavy on his life and showed clearly in his handsome face. +That noble position which he had missed, so dear to heart +and imagination, haunted his moments of leisure and +mocked his dreams. He had borne the disappointment +bravely, had lightly called it the luck of politics. Now +that the past lay in clear perspective, he recognized his +own madness.</p> + +<p>He had fought with destiny like a fool, had stood in the +path of a people to whom God had given the chance which +the rulers of the earth denied them; and this people, +through a youth carrying the sling of David, had ruined +him. He had no feeling against Birmingham, nor against +Arthur Dillon. The torrent, not the men, had destroyed +him. Yet he had learned nothing. With a fair +chance he would have built another dam the next morning. +He was out of the race forever. In the English mission he +had touched the highest mark of his success. He mourned +in quiet. Life had still enough for him, but oh! the +keenness of his regret.</p> + +<p>Sonia's story he had heard before, at the beginning of the +search, as a member of the Endicott family. The details +had never reached him. The cause of Horace Endicott's +flight he had forgotten. Edith in her present costume +remained unknown, nor did she enlighten him. Her +thought as she studied him was of Dillon's luck in his +enterprises. Behold three of his victims. Sonia repeated +for the lawyer the story of her husband's disappearance, +and of the efforts to find him.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[330]</a></span></p> + +<p>"At last I think that I have found him," was her conclusion, +"in the person of a man known in this city as +Arthur Dillon."</p> + +<p>Livingstone started slightly. However, there must be +many Arthur Dillons, the Irish being so numerous, and +tasteless in the matter of names. When she described her +particular Arthur his astonishment became boundless at +the absurdity of the supposition.</p> + +<p>"You have fair evidence I suppose that he is Horace +Endicott, madam?"</p> + +<p>"I am sorry to tell you that I have none, because the +statement makes one feel so foolish. On the contrary the +search of a clever detective ... he's really clever, isn't +he, Edith?... shows that Dillon is just what he appears +to be, the son of Mrs. Anne Dillon. The whole town +believes he is her son. The people who knew him since +he was born declare him to be the very image of his +father. Still, I think that he is Horace Endicott. Why +I think so, ... Edith, my dear, it is your turn now. +Do explain to the lawyer."</p> + +<p>Livingstone wondered as the dancer spoke where that +beautiful voice and fluent English had become familiar. +Sister Claire had passed from his mind with all the minor +episodes of his political intrigues. He could not find her +place in his memory. Her story won him against his +judgment. The case, well put, found strength in the +contention that the last move had not been made, since the +three most important characters in the play had not been +put to the question.</p> + +<p>His mind ran over the chief incidents in that remarkable +fight which Arthur Dillon had waged in behalf of his +people: the interview before the election of Birmingham, +... the intrigues in London, the dexterous maneuvers which +had wrecked the campaign against the Irish, had silenced +McMeeter, stunned the Bishop, banished Fritters, ruined +Sister Claire, tumbled him from his lofty position, and +cut off his shining future. How frightful the thought +that this wide ruin might have been wrought by an Endicott, +one of his own blood!</p> + +<p>"A woman's instincts are admirable," he said, politely +and gravely, "and they have led you admirably in this +case. But in face of three facts, the failure of the detective, +the declaration of Mr. Dillon, and your failure to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[331]</a></span> +recognize your husband after five years, it would be absurd +to persist in the belief that this young man is your husband. +Moreover there are intrinsic difficulties, which +would tell even if you had made out a good case for the +theory. No Endicott would take up intimate connection +with the Irish. He would not know enough about them, +he could not endure them; his essence would make the +scheme, even if it were presented to him by others, impossible. +One has only to think of two or three main difficulties +to feel and see the utter absurdity of the whole thing,"</p> + +<p>"No doubt," replied Sonia sweetly. "Yet I am determined +not to miss this last opportunity to find my husband. +If it fails I shall get my divorce, and ... bother with +the matter no more."</p> + +<p>Edith smiled faintly at the suggestive pause, and murmured +the intended phrase, "marry Quincy Lenox."</p> + +<p>"Very well," said the lawyer. "You have only to begin +divorce proceedings here, issue a summons for the real +Horace Endicott, and serve the papers on Mr. Arthur +Dillon. You must be prepared for many events however. +The whole business will be ventilated in the journals. +The disappearance will come up again, and be described +in the light of this new sensation. Mr. Dillon is eminent +among his people, and well known in this city. It will be +a year's wonder to have him sued in a divorce case, to +have it made known that he is supposed to be Horace +Endicott."</p> + +<p>"That is unavoidable," Edith prompted, seeing a sudden +shrinking on the part of Sonia. "Do not forget, sir, that +all Mrs. Endicott wants is the sworn declaration of Arthur +Dillon that he is not Horace Endicott, of his mother that +he is her son, of Father O'Donnell that he knows nothing +of Horace Endicott since his disappearance."</p> + +<p>"You would not like the case to come to trial?" said +the lawyer to Sonia.</p> + +<p>"I must get my divorce," she answered coolly, "whether +this is the right man or no."</p> + +<p>"Let me tell you what may happen after the summons, +or notice, is served on Mr. Dillon," said the lawyer. "The +serving can be done so quietly that for some time no others +but those concerned need know about it. I shall assume +that Mr. Dillon is not Horace Endicott. In that case he +can ignore the summons, which is not for him, but for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[332]</a></span> +another man. He need never appear. If you insisted on +his appearance, you would have to offer some evidence that +he is really Horace Endicott. This you cannot do. He +could make affidavit that he is not the man. By that +time the matter would be public property, and he could +strike back at you for the scandal, the annoyance, and the +damage done to his good name."</p> + +<p>"What I want is to have his declaration under oath that +he is not Horace. If he is Horace he will never swear to +anything but the truth."</p> + +<p>For the first time Sonia showed emotion, tears dropped +from her lovely eyes, and the lawyer wondered what folly +had lost to her husband so sweet a creature. Evidently +she admired one of Horace's good qualities.</p> + +<p>"You can get the declaration in that way. To please +you, he might at my request make affidavit without publicity +and scenes at court."</p> + +<p>"I would prefer the court," said Sonia firmly.</p> + +<p>"She's afeared the lawyer suspects her virtue," Edith +said to herself.</p> + +<p>"Let me now assume that Arthur Dillon is really +Horace Endicott," continued Livingstone. "He must be +a consummate actor to play his part so well and so long. +He can play the part in this matter also, by ignoring the +summons, and declaring simply that he is not the man. +In that case he leaves himself open to punishment, for if +he should thereafter be proved to be Horace Endicott, the +court could punish him for contempt. Or, he can answer +the summons by his lawyer, denying the fact, and stating +his readiness to swear that he is not any other than Arthur +Dillon. You would then have to prove that he is Horace +Endicott, which you cannot do."</p> + +<p>"All I want is the declaration under oath," Sonia +repeated.</p> + +<p>"And you are ready for any ill consequences, the resentment +and suit of Mr. Dillon, for instance? Understand, +my dear lady, that suit for divorce is not a trifling matter +for Mr. Dillon, if he is not Endicott."</p> + +<p>"Particularly as he is about to marry a very handsome +woman," Edith interjected, heedless of the withering +glance from Sonia.</p> + +<p>"Ah, indeed!"</p> + +<p>"Then I think some way ought to be planned to get<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[333]</a></span> +Anne Dillon and the priest into court," Edith suggested. +"Under oath they might give us some hint of the way to +find Horace Endicott. The priest knows something about +him."</p> + +<p>"I shall be satisfied if Arthur Dillon swears that he is +not Horace," Sonia said, "and then I shall get my divorce +and wash my hands of the tiresome case. It has cost me +too much money and worry."</p> + +<p>"Was there any reason alleged for the remarkable disappearance +of the young man? I knew his father and +mother very well, and admired them. I saw the boy in his +schooldays, never afterwards. You have a child, I understand."</p> + +<p>Edith lowered her eyes and looked out of the window on +the busy street.</p> + +<p>"It is for my child's sake that I have kept up the +search," Sonia answered with maternal tenderness. "Insanity +is supposed to be the cause. Horace acted strangely +for three months before his disappearance, he grew quite +thin, and was absent most of the time. As it was summer, +which I spent at the shore with friends, I hardly noticed +his condition. It was only when he had gone, without +warning, taking considerable money with him, that I +recalled his queer behavior. Since then not a scrap of +information, not a trace, nor a hint of him, has ever come +back to me. The detectives did their best until this +moment. All has failed."</p> + +<p>"Very sad," Livingstone said, touched by the hopeless +tone. "Well, as you wish it then, I shall bring suit for +divorce and alimony against Horace Endicott, and have +the papers served on Arthur Dillon. He can ignore them +or make his reply. In either case he must be brought to +make affidavit that he is not the man you look for."</p> + +<p>"And the others? The priest and Mrs. Dillon?" +asked Edith.</p> + +<p>"They are of no consequence," was Sonia's opinion.</p> + +<p>After settling unimportant details the two women departed. +Livingstone found the problem which they had +brought to his notice fascinating. He had always marked +Arthur Dillon among his associates, as an able and +peculiar young man, he had been attracted by him, and +had listened to his speeches with more consideration than +most young men deserved. His amazing success in deal<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[334]</a></span>ing +with a Livingstone, his audacity and nerve in attacking +the policy which he brought to nothing, were more +wonderful to the lawyer than to the friends of Dillon, who +had not seen the task in its entirety.</p> + +<p>And this peculiar fellow was thought to be an Endicott, +of his own family, of the English blood, more Irish than +the Irish, bitterer towards him than the priests had been. +The very impossibility of the thing made it charming. +What course of thought, what set of circumstances, could +turn the Puritan mind in the Celtic direction? Was +there such genius in man to convert one personality into +another so neatly that the process remained undiscoverable, +not to be detected by the closest observation? He +shook off the fascination. These two women believed it, +but he knew that no Endicott could ever be converted.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter"><a name="CHAPTER_XXXVI" id="CHAPTER_XXXVI"></a>CHAPTER XXXVI.</h2> + +<h3 class="chapter2">ARTHUR'S APPEAL.</h3> + + +<p>Suit was promptly begun by Livingstone on behalf of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[335]</a></span> +Sonia for a divorce from Horace Endicott. Before the +papers had been fully made out, even before the officer +had been instructed to serve them on Arthur Dillon, the +lawyer received an evening visit from the defendant himself. +As a suspicious act he welcomed it; but a single +glance at the frank face and easy manner, when one knew +the young man's ability, disarmed suspicion. The lawyer +studied closely, for the first time with interest, the man +who might yet prove to be his kinsman. He saw a form +inclined to leanness, a face that might have been handsome +but for the sunken cheeks, dark and expressive eyes +whose natural beauty faded in the dark circles around +them, a fine head with dead black hair, and a handsome +beard, streaked with gray. His dress, gentleman-like but +of a strange fashion, the lawyer did not recognize as the +bachelor costume of Cherry Hill prepared by his own +tailor. Nothing of the Endicott in face or manner, nothing +tragical, the expression decorous and formal, perhaps +a trifle quizzical, as this was their first meeting since the +interview in London.</p> + +<p>"I have called to enter a protest," Arthur began +primly, "against the serving of the papers in the coming +Endicott divorce case on your humble servant."</p> + +<p>"As the papers are to be served only on Horace Endicott, +I fail to see how you have any right or reason to protest," +was the suave answer.</p> + +<p>"I know all about the matter, sir, for very good reasons. +For some months the movements of the two women +concerned in this affair have been watched in my interest. +Not long after they left you a few days ago, the result +of their visit was made known to me. To anticipate the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[336]</a></span> +disagreeable consequences of serving the papers on me, I +have not waited. I appeal to you not only as the lawyer +of Mrs. Endicott, but also as one much to blame for the +new persecution which is about to fall upon me."</p> + +<p>"I recognize the touch," said Livingstone, unable to +resist a smile. "Mr. Dillon must be audacious or +nothing."</p> + +<p>"I am quite serious," Arthur replied. "You know +part of the story, what Mrs. Endicott chose to tell you, +but I can enlighten you still more. I appeal to you, as +the lady's lawyer, to hinder her from doing mischief; and +again I appeal to you as one to blame in part for the +threatened annoyances. But for the lady who accompanied +Mrs. Endicott, I would not be suspected of relationship +with your honored family. But for the discipline +which I helped to procure for that lady, she would have +left me in peace. But for your encouragement of the +lady, I would not have been forced to subject a woman to +discipline. You may remember the effective Sister +Claire?"</p> + +<p>So true was the surprise that Livingstone blushed with +sudden violence.</p> + +<p>"That woman was the so-called escaped nun?" he exclaimed.</p> + +<p>"Now Mrs. Curran, wife of the detective employed by +Mrs. Endicott for five years to discover her lost husband. +She satisfies her noblest aspirations by dancing in the +theaters, ... and a very fine dancer she is. Her leisure +is devoted to plotting vengeance on me. She pretends to +believe that I am Horace Endicott; perhaps she does believe +it. Anyway she knows that persecution will result, +and she has persuaded Mrs. Endicott to inaugurate it. I +do not know if you were her selection to manage the +case."</p> + +<p>This time Livingstone did not blush, being prepared +for any turn of mood and speech from this singular young +man.</p> + +<p>"As the matter was described to me," he said, "only a +sentimental reason included you in the divorce proceedings. +I can understand Mrs. Curran's feelings, and to +what they would urge a woman of that character. Still, +her statements here were very plausible."</p> + +<p>"Undoubtedly. She made her career up to this mo<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[337]</a></span>ment +on the plausible. Let me tell you, if it is not too +tedious, how she has pursued this theory in the face of all +good sense."</p> + +<p>The lawyer bowed his permission.</p> + +<p>"I am of opinion that the creature is half mad, or subject +to fits of insanity. Her husband had talked much of +the Endicott case, which was not good for a woman of her +peculiarities. By inspiration, insane suggestion, she assumed +that I was the man sought for, and built up the +theory as you have heard. First, she persuaded her good-natured +husband, with whom I am acquainted, to investigate +among my acquaintances for the merest suspicion, +doubt, of my real personality. A long and minute inquiry, +the details of which are in writing in my possession, was +made by the detective with one result: that no one +doubted me to be what I was born."</p> + +<p>Livingstone cast a look at him to see the expression +which backed that natural and happy phrase. Arthur +Dillon might have borne it.</p> + +<p>"She kept at her husband, however, until he had tried +to surprise my relatives, my friends, my nurse, and my +mother, ... yes, even my confessor, into admissions +favorable to her mad dream. My rooms, my papers, my +habits, my secrets were turned inside out; Mrs. Endicott +was brought on from Boston to study me in my daily life; +for days I was watched by the three. In the detective's +house I was drugged into a profound sleep, and for ten +minutes the two women examined my sleeping face for +signs of Horace Endicott. When all these things failed, +Sister Claire dragged her unwilling husband to California, +where I had spent ten years of my life, and tried hard to +find another Arthur Dillon, or to disconnect me with myself. +She proved to her own satisfaction that these things +could not be done. But there is a devil of perversity in +her. She is like a boa constrictor ... I think that's the +snake which cannot let go its prey once it has seized it. +She can't let go. In desperation she is risking her own +safety and happiness to make public her belief that I am +Horace Endicott. In spite of the overwhelming proofs +against the theory, and in favor of me, she is bent on +bringing the case into court."</p> + +<p>"Risking her own safety and happiness?" Livingstone +repeated.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[338]</a></span></p> + +<p>"If the wild geese among the Irish could locate Sister +Claire, who is supposed to have fled the town long ago, her +life would be taken. If this suit continues she will have +to leave the city forever. Knowing this the devil in her +urges her to her own ruin."</p> + +<p>"You have kept close track of her," said Livingstone.</p> + +<p>"You left me no choice," was the reply, "having +sprung the creature on us, and then thrown her off when +you found out her character. If she had only turned on +her abettors and wracked them I wouldn't have cared."</p> + +<p>"You protest then against the serving of these papers +on you. Would it not be better to settle forever the last +doubts in so peculiar a matter?"</p> + +<p>"What have I to do with the doubts of an escaped nun, +and of Mrs. Endicott? Must I go to court and stand the +odium of a shameful imputation to settle the doubts of a +lunatic criminal and a woman whose husband fled from +her with his entire fortune?"</p> + +<p>"It is regrettable," the lawyer admitted with surprise. +"As Mrs. Endicott is perhaps the most deeply interested, +I fear that the case must go on."</p> + +<p>"I have come to show you that it will not be to the interest +of the two women that it should go on. In fact I +feel quite certain that you will not serve those papers on +me after I have laid a few facts before you."</p> + +<p>"I shall be glad to examine them in the interest of my +client."</p> + +<p>"Having utterly failed to prove me other than I am," +Arthur said easily, while the lawyer watched with increasing +interest the expressive face, "these women have +accepted your suggestion to put me under oath as to my +own personality. I would not take affidavit," and his contempt +was evident. "I am not going to permit any public +or official attempt to cast doubt on my good name. You +can understand the feeling. My mother and my friends +are not accustomed to the atmosphere of courts, nor of +scandal. It would mean severe suffering for them to be +dragged into so sensational a trial. The consequences +one cannot measure beforehand. The unpleasantness +lives after all the parties are dead. Since I can prevent +it I am going to do it. As far as I am concerned Mrs. +Endicott must be content with a simple denial, or a simple +affirmation rather, that I am Arthur Dillon, and there<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[339]</a></span>fore +not her husband. It is more than she deserves, because +there is not a shred of evidence to warrant her +making a single move against me. She has not been +able to find in me a feature resembling her husband."</p> + +<p>"Then, you are prepared to convince Mrs. Endicott +that she has more to lose than to gain by bringing you +into her divorce suit?"</p> + +<p>"Precisely. Here is the point for her to consider: if +the papers in this suit are served upon me, then there +will be no letting-up afterward. Her affairs, the affairs +of this woman Curran, the lives of both to the last detail, +will be served up to the court and the public. You know +how that can be done. I would rather not have it done, +but I proffer Mrs. Endicott the alternative."</p> + +<p>"I do not know how strong an argument that would +be with Mrs. Endicott," said Livingstone with interest.</p> + +<p>"She is too shallow a woman to perceive its strength, +unless you, as her lawyer and kinsman, make it plain to +her," was the guileless answer. "Mrs. Curran knows +nothing of court procedure, but she is clever enough to +foresee consequences, and her history before her New +York fiasco includes bits of romance from the lives of important +people."</p> + +<p>Livingstone resisted the inclination to laugh, and then +to get angry.</p> + +<p>"You think then, that if Mrs. Endicott could be made +to see the possibilities of a desperate trial, the possible exposures +of her sins and the sins of others, that she would +not risk it?"</p> + +<p>"She has family pride," said Arthur seriously, "and +would not care to expose her own to scorn. I presume you +know something about the Endicott disappearance?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing more than the fact, and the failure to find +the young man?"</p> + +<p>"His wife employed the detective Curran to make the +search for Endicott, and Curran is a Fenian, as interested +as myself in such matters. He was with me in the little +enterprise which ended so fatally for Ledwith and ... +others." Livingstone was too sore on this subject to +smile at the pause and the word. "Curran told me the +details after he had left the pursuit of Endicott. They +are known now to Mrs. Endicott's family in part. It is +understood that she will marry her cousin Quincy Lenox<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[340]</a></span> +when she gets a divorce. He was devoted to her before +her marriage and is faithful still, I am told."</p> + +<p>Not a sign of feeling in the utterance of these significant +words!</p> + +<p>"It is not affection, then, which prompts the actions +of my client? She wishes to make sure of the existence +or non-existence of her husband before entering upon this +other marriage?"</p> + +<p>"Of course I can tell you only what the detective and +one other told us," Arthur said. "When Horace Endicott +disappeared, it is said, he took with him his entire +fortune, something over a million, leaving not one cent +to his wife. He had converted his property into cash secretly. +Her anxiety to find him is very properly to get +her lawful share in that property, that is, alimony with +her divorce?"</p> + +<p>"I see," said Livingstone, and he began to understand +the lines and shadows on this young man's face. "A +peculiar, and I suppose thorough, revenge."</p> + +<p>"If the papers are served on me, you understand, then +in one fashion or another Mrs. Endicott shall be brought +to court, and Quincy Lenox too, with the detective and +his wife, and a few others. It is almost too much that +you have been made acquainted with the doubts of these +people. I bear with it, but I shall not endure one degree +more of publicity. Once it is known that I am thought +to be Horace Endicott, then the whole world must know +quite as thoroughly that I am Arthur Dillon; and also +who these people are that so foolishly pursue me. It cannot +but appear to the average crowd that this new +form of persecution is no more than an outgrowth of +the old."</p> + +<p>Then they glared at each other mildly, for the passions +of yesterday were still warm. Livingstone's mood had +changed, however. He felt speculatively certain that +Horace Endicott sat before him, and he knew Sonia to be +a guilty woman. As his mind flew over the humiliating +events which connected him with Dillon, consolation +soothed his wounded heart that he had been overthrown +perhaps by one of his own, rather than by the Irish. The +unknown element in the contest had given victory to the +lucky side. He recalled his sense of this young fellow's +superiority to his environment. He tried to fathom<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[341]</a></span> +Arthur's motive in this visit, but failed. As a matter of +fact Arthur was merely testing the thoroughness of his +own disappearance. His visit to Livingstone the real Dillon +would have made. It would lead the lawyer to believe +that Sonia, in giving up her design, had been moved by +his advice and not by a quiet, secret conversation with her +husband. Livingstone quickly made up his mind that +the divorce suit would have to be won by default, but he +wished to learn more of this daring and interesting kinsman.</p> + +<p>"The decision must remain with Mrs. Endicott," he +said after a pause. "I shall tell her, before your name +is mixed up with the matter, just what she must expect. +If she has anything to fear from a public trial you are +undoubtedly the man to bring it out."</p> + +<p>"Thank you."</p> + +<p>"I might even use persuasion ..."</p> + +<p>"It would be a service to the Endicott family," Arthur +said earnestly, "for I can swear to you that the truth +will come out, the scandal which Horace Endicott fled to +avoid and conceal forever."</p> + +<p>"Did you know Endicott?"</p> + +<p>"Very well indeed. I was his guide in California every +time he made a trip to that country."</p> + +<p>"I might persuade Mrs. Endicott," said the lawyer +with deeper interest, "for the sake of the family name, to +surrender her foolish theory. It is quite clear to any one +with unbiased judgment that you are not Horace Endicott, +even if you are not Arthur Dillon. I knew the young +man slightly, and his family very well. I can see myself +playing the part which you have presented to us for the +past five years, quite as naturally as Horace Endicott +would have played it. It was not in Horace's nature, nor +in the Endicott nature to turn Irish so completely."</p> + +<p>Arthur felt all the bitterness and the interest which this +shot implied.</p> + +<p>"I had the pleasure of knowing Endicott well, much +better than you, sir," he returned warmly, "and while I +know he was something of a good-natured butterfly, I can +say something for his fairness and courage. If he had +known what I know of the Irish, of their treatment by +their enemies at home and here, of English hypocrisy and +American meanness, of their banishment from the land<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">[342]</a></span> +God gave them and your attempt to drive them out of +New York or to keep them in the gutter, he would have +taken up their cause as honestly as I have done."</p> + +<p>"You are always the orator, Mr. Endi ... Dillon."</p> + +<p>"I have feeling, which is rare in the world," said Arthur +smiling. "Do you know what this passion for justice +has done for me, Mr. Livingstone? It has brought out +in me the eloquence which you have praised, and inspired +the energy, the deviltry, the trickery, the courage, that +were used so finely at your expense.</p> + +<p>"I was like Endicott, a wild irresponsible creature, +thinking only of my own pleasure. Out of my love for +one country which is not mine, out of a study of the +wrongs heaped upon the Irish by a civilized people, I have +secured the key to the conditions of the time. I have +learned to despise and pity the littleness of your party, to +recognize the shams of the time everywhere, the utter +hypocrisy of those in power.</p> + +<p>"I have pledged myself to make war on them as I made +war on you; on the power that, mouthing liberty, holds +Ireland in slavery; on the powers that, mouthing order +and peace, hold down Poland, maintain Turkey, rob and +starve India, loot the helpless wherever they may. I was +a harmless hypocrite and mostly a fool once. Time and +hardship and other things, chiefly Irish and English, have +given me a fresh start in the life of thought. You hardly +understand this, being thoroughly English in your +make-up.</p> + +<p>"You love good Protestants, pagans who hate the Pope, +all who bow to England, and that part of America which +is English. You can blow about their rights and liberties, +and denounce their persecutors, if these happen to +be French or Dutch or Russian. For a Pole or an Irishman +you have no sympathy, and you would deny him any +place on the earth but a grave. Liberty is not for him +unless he becomes a good English Protestant at the same +time. In other words liberty may be the proper sauce for +the English goose but not for the Irish gander."</p> + +<p>"I suppose it appears that way to you," said Livingstone, +who had listened closely, not merely to the sentiments, +but to the words, the tone, the idiom. Could +Horace Endicott have ever descended to this view of his +world, this rawness of thought, sentiment, and expression?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">[343]</a></span> +So peculiarly Irish, anti-English, rich with the flavor of +the Fourth Ward, and nevertheless most interesting.</p> + +<p>"I shall not argue the point," he continued. "I judge +from your earnestness that you have a well-marked ambition +in life, and that you will follow it."</p> + +<p>"My present ambition is to see our grand cathedral +completed and dedicated as soon as possible, as the loudest +word we can speak to you about our future. But I fear +I am detaining you. If during the next few days the +papers in the divorce case are not served on me, I may +feel certain that Mrs. Endicott has given up the idea of +including me in the suit?"</p> + +<p>"I shall advise her to leave you in peace for the sake of +the Endicott name," said Livingstone politely.</p> + +<p>Arthur thanked him and departed, while the lawyer +spent an hour enjoying his impressions and vainly trying +to disentangle the Endicott from the Dillon in this extraordinary +man.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter"><a name="CHAPTER_XXXVII" id="CHAPTER_XXXVII"></a>CHAPTER XXXVII.</h2> + +<h3 class="chapter2">THE END OF MISCHIEF.</h3> + + +<p>Arthur set out for the Curran household, where he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[344]</a></span> +was awaited with anxiety. Quite cheerful over his command +of the situation, and inclined to laugh at the mixed +feelings of Livingstone, he felt only reverence and awe +before the human mind as seen in the light of his own +experience. His particular mind had once been Horace +Endicott's, but now represented the more intense and +emotional personality of Arthur Dillon. He was neither +Horace, nor the boy who had disappeared; but a new being +fashioned after the ideal Arthur Dillon, as Horace Endicott +had conceived him. What he had been seemed no +more a part of his past, but a memory attached to another +man. All his actions proved it.</p> + +<p>The test of his disappearance delighted him. He had +gone through its various scenes with little emotion, with +less than Edith had displayed; far less than Arthur Dillon +would have felt and shown. Who can measure the mind? +Itself the measure of man's knowledge, the judge in the +court of human destiny, how feeble its power over itself! +A few years back this mind directed Horace Endicott; to-day +it cheerfully served the conscience of Arthur Dillon!</p> + +<p>Edith and her husband awaited their executioner. The +detective suffered for her rather than himself. From +Dillon he had nothing to fear, and for his sake, also for +the strange regard he had always kept for Curran's wife, +Arthur had been kind when harshness would have done +more good. Now the end had come for her and Sonia. +As the unexpected usually came from this young man, +they had reason to feel apprehension. He took his seat +comfortably in the familiar chair, and lit his cigar while +chaffing her.</p> + +<p>"They who love the danger shall perish in it," he said +for a beginning. "You court it, Colette, and not very +wisely."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">[345]</a></span></p> + +<p>"How, not wisely?" she asked with a pretence of +boldness.</p> + +<p>"You count on the good will of the people whom you +annoy and wrong, and yet you have never any good will to +give them in return. You have hated me and pursued me +on the strength of my good will for you. It seems never +to have occurred to you to do me a good turn for the many +I have done for you. You are a bud of incarnate evil, +Colette."</p> + +<p>How she hated him when he talked in that fashion!</p> + +<p>"Well, it's all settled. I have had the last talk with +Livingstone, and spoiled your last trick against the comfort +of Arthur Dillon. There will be no dragging to court +of the Dillon clan. Mr. Livingstone believes with me that +the publicity would be too severe for Mrs. Endicott and +her family, not to mention the minor revelations connected +with yourself. So there's the end of your precious tomfoolery, +Colette."</p> + +<p>She burst into vehement tears.</p> + +<p>"But you weep too soon," he protested. "I have saved +you as usual from yourself, but only to inflict my own +punishment. Don't weep those crocodile diamonds until +you have heard your own sentence. Of course you know +that I have followed every step you took in this matter. +You are clever enough to have guessed that. You discovered +all that was to be discovered, of course. But you +are too keen. If this trial had come to pass you would +have been on the witness stand, and the dogs would have +caught the scent then never to lose it. You would have +ruined your husband as well as yourself."</p> + +<p>"Why do you let him talk to me so?" she screamed at +Curran.</p> + +<p>"Because it is for your good," Arthur answered. "But +here's briefness. You must leave New York at once, and +forever. Get as far from it as you can, and stay there +while I am alive. And for consolation in your exile take +your child with you, your little boy, whom Mrs. Endicott +parades as her little son, the heir of her beloved Horace."</p> + +<p>A frightful stillness fell in the room with this terrific +declaration. But for pity he could have laughed at the +paralysis which seized both the detective and his wife. +Edith sat like a statue, white-faced, pouting at him, her +hands clasped in her lap.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">[346]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well, are you surprised? You, the clever one? If I +am Horace Endicott, as you pretend to believe, do I not +know the difference between my own child and another's? +I am Arthur Dillon only, and yet I know how you conspired +with Mrs. Endicott to provide her with an heir for +the Endicott money. You did this in spite of your husband, +who has never been able to control you, not even +when you chose to commit so grave a crime. Now, it is +absolutely necessary for the child's sake that you save him +from Mrs. Endicott's neglect, when he is of no further +use to her. She loves children, as you know."</p> + +<p>"Who are you, anyway?" Curran burst out hoarsely +after a while.</p> + +<p>"Not half as good a detective as you are, but I happen +in this matter to be on the inside," Arthur answered +cheerfully. "I knew Horace Endicott much better than +his wife or his friends. The poor fellow is dead and gone, +and yet he left enough information behind him to trouble +the clever people. Are you satisfied, Colette, that this +time everything must be done as I have ordered?"</p> + +<p>"You have proved yourself Horace Endicott," she +gasped in her rage, burning with hate, mortification, +shame, fifty tigerish feelings that could not find expression.</p> + +<p>"Fie, fie, Colette! You have proved that I am Arthur +Dillon. Why go back on your own work? If you had +known Horace Endicott as I did, you would not compare +the meek and civilized Dillon with the howling demon into +which his wife turned him. That fellow would not have sat +in your presence ten minutes knowing that you had palmed +off your child as his, without taking your throat in his +hands for a death squeeze. His wife would not have escaped +death from the madman had he ever encountered +her. Here are your orders now; it is late and I must not +keep you from your beauty sleep; take the child as soon +as the Endicott woman sends him to you, and leave New +York one hundred miles behind you. If you are found in +this city any time after the month of September, you take +all the risks. I shall not stand between you and justice +again. You are the most ungrateful sinner that I have +ever dealt with. Now go and weep for yourself. Don't +waste any tears on Mrs. Endicott."</p> + +<p>Sobbing like an angry and humiliated child, Edith +rushed out of the room. Curran felt excessively foolish.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">[347]</a></span> +Though partly in league with Arthur, the present situation +went beyond him.</p> + +<p>"Be hanged if I don't feel like demanding an explanation," +he said awkwardly.</p> + +<p>"You don't need it," said Arthur as he proceeded to +make it. "Can't you see that Horace Endicott is acting +through me, and has been from the first, to secure the things +I have secured. He is dead as I told you. How he got +away, kept himself hid, and all that, you are as good an +authority as I. While he was alive you could have found +him as easily as I could, but he was beyond search always, +though I guess not beyond betrayal. Well, let me congratulate +you on getting your little family together again. +Don't worry over what has happened to-night. Drop the +Endicott case. You can see there's no luck in it for any +one."</p> + +<p>Certainly there had been no luck in it for the Currans. +Arthur went to his club in the best humor, shaking with +laughter over the complete crushing of Edith, with whom +he felt himself quite even in the contest that had endured +so long. Next morning it would be Sonia's turn. Ah, +what a despicable thing is man's love, how unstable and +profitless! No wonder Honora valued it so lightly. How +Horace Endicott had raved over this whited sepulcher five +years ago, believed in her, sworn by her virtue and truth! +And to-day he regarded her without feeling, neither love +nor hate, perfect indifference only marking his mental +attitude in her regard. Somehow one liked to feel that +love is unchangeable, as with the mother, the father; as +with God also, for whom sin does not change relationship +with the sinner.</p> + +<p>When he stood before her the next day in the hotel +parlor, she reminded him in her exquisite beauty of a play +seen from the back of the stage; the illusion so successful +with the audience is there an exposed sham, without coherence, +and without beauty. Her eyes had a scared look. +She had to say to herself, if this is Horace then my time +has come, if it is Arthur Dillon I have nothing to worry +about, before her hate came to her aid and gave her courage. +She murmured the usual formula of unexpected pleasure. +He bowed, finding no pleasure in this part of his revenge. +Arthur Dillon could not have been more considerate of +Messalina.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348">[348]</a></span></p> + +<p>"It is certainly a privilege and an honor," said he, "to +be suspected of so charming a relationship with Mrs. Endicott. +Nevertheless I have persuaded your lawyer, Mr. +Livingstone, that it would be unprofitable and imprudent +to bring me into the suit for divorce. He will so advise +you I think to-day."</p> + +<p>She smiled at the compliment and felt reassured.</p> + +<p>"There were some things which I could not tell the +lawyer," he went on, "and so I made bold to call on you +personally. It is disagreeable, what I must tell you. My +only apology is that you yourself have made this visit necessary +by bringing my name into the case."</p> + +<p>Her smile died away, and her face hardened. She prepared +herself for trouble.</p> + +<p>"I told your lawyer that if the papers were served on +me, and a public and official doubt thrown on my right to +the name of Arthur Dillon, I would not let the business +drop until the Endicott-Curran-Dillon mystery had been +thoroughly ventilated in the courts. He agreed with me +that this would expose the Endicott name to scandal."</p> + +<p>"We have been perhaps too careful from the beginning +about the Endicott name," she said severely. "Which is +the reason why no advance has been made in the search for +my dear husband."</p> + +<p>"That may be true, Mrs. Endicott. You must not forget, +however, that you will be a witness, and Mrs. Curran, +and her husband, and Mr. Quincy Lenox, and others besides. +How do you think these people would stand questioning +as to who your little boy, called Horace Endicott, +really is?"</p> + +<p>She sat prepared for a dangerous surprise, but not for +this horror; and the life left her on the spot, for the poor +weed was as soft and cowardly as any other product of the +swamp. He rang for restoratives and sent for her maid. +In ten minutes, somewhat restored, she faced the ordeal, if +only to learn what this terrible man knew.</p> + +<p>"Who are you?" she asked feebly, the same question +asked by Curran in his surprise.</p> + +<p>"A friend of Horace Endicott," he answered quietly.</p> + +<p>"And what do you know of us?"</p> + +<p>"All that Horace knew."</p> + +<p>She could not summon courage to put a third question. +He came to her aid.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_349" id="Page_349">[349]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Perhaps you are not sure about what Horace knew? +Shall I tell you? I did not tell your lawyer. I only hinted +that the truth would be brought out if my name was dragged +into the case against my protest. Shall I tell you what +Horace knew?"</p> + +<p>With closed eyes she made a sign of acquiescence.</p> + +<p>"He knew of your relations with Quincy Lenox. He +saw you together on a certain night, when he arrived home +after a few days' absence. He also heard your conversation. +In this you admitted that out of hatred for your husband +you had destroyed his heir before the child was born. He +knew your plan of retrieving that blunder by adopting the +child of Edith Curran, and palming him off as your own. +He knew of your plan to secure the good will of his Aunt +Lois for the impostor, and found the means to inform his +aunt of the fraud. All that he knew will be brought out +at any trial in which my name shall be included. Your +lawyer will tell you that it cannot be avoided. Therefore, +when your lawyer advises you to get a divorce from your +former husband without including me as that husband, +yon had better accept that advice."</p> + +<p>She opened her eyes and stared at him with insane fright. +Who but Horace Endicott could know her crimes? All +but the crime which he had named her blunder. Could this +passionless stranger, this Irish politician, looking at her as +indifferently as the judge on the bench, be Horace? No, +surely no! Because that fool, dolt though he was, would +never have seen this wretched confession of her crimes, +and not slain her the next minute. Into this ambuscade +had she been led by the crazy wife of Curran, whose sound +advice she herself had thrown aside to follow the instincts +of Edith. Recovering her nerve quickly, she began her +retreat as well as one might after so disastrous a field.</p> + +<p>"It was a mistake to have disturbed you, Mr. Dillon," +she said. "You may rest assured that no further attempt +will be made on your good name. Since you pretend to +such intimacy with my unfortunate husband I would like +to ask you...."</p> + +<p>"That was the extent of my intimacy, Mrs. Endicott, +and I would never have revealed it except to defend myself," +he interrupted suavely. "Of course the revelation +brings consequences. You must arrange to have your little +Horace die properly in some remote country, surround his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_350" id="Page_350">[350]</a></span> +funeral with all the legal formalities, and so on. That +will be easy. Meanwhile you can return the boy to his +mother, who is ready to receive him. Then your suit for +divorce must continue, and you will win it by default, that +is, by the failure of Horace Endicott to defend his side. +When these things are done, it would be well for your +future happiness to lay aside further meddling with the +mystery of your husband's disappearance."</p> + +<p>"I have learned a lesson," she said more composedly. +"I shall do as you command, because I feel sure it is a +command. I have some curiosity however about the life +which Horace led after he disappeared. Since you must +have known him a little, would it be asking too much from +you...."</p> + +<p>She lost her courage at sight of his expression. Her +voice faded. Oh, shallow as any frog-pond, indecently +shallow, to ask such a question of the judge who had just +ordered her to execution. His contempt silenced her. +With a formal apology for having caused her so much +pain, he bowed and withdrew. Some emotion had stirred +him during the interview, but he had kept himself well +under control. Later he found it was horror, ever to have +been linked with a monster; and dread too that in a +sudden access of passion he might have done her to death. +It seemed natural and righteous to strike and destroy the +reptile.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter"><a name="CHAPTER_XXXVIII" id="CHAPTER_XXXVIII"></a>CHAPTER XXXVIII.</h2> + +<h3 class="chapter2">A TALE WELL TOLD.</h3> + + +<p>Of these strange and stirring events no one knew but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_351" id="Page_351">[351]</a></span> +Arthur himself; nor of the swift consequences, the +divorce of Sonia from her lost husband, her marriage to +Quincy Lenox, the death and burial of her little boy in +England, and the establishment of La Belle Colette and +her son Horace in Chicago, where the temptation to annoy +her enemies disappeared, and the risk to herself was practically +removed forever. Thus faded the old life out of +Arthur's view, its sin-stained personages frightened off the +scene by his well-used knowledge of their crimes. Whatever +doubt they held about his real character, self-interest +accepted him as Arthur Dillon.</p> + +<p>He was free. Honora saw the delight of that freedom +in his loving and candid expression. He repressed his +feelings no more, no longer bound.</p> + +<p>He was gayer than ever before, with the gaiety of his +nature, not of the part which he had played. Honora +knew how deeply she loved him, from her very dread of +inflicting on him that pain which was bound to come. +The convent would be her rich possession; but he who +had given her and her father all that man could give, he +would have only bitter remembrance. How bitter that +could be experience with her father informed her. The +mystery of his life attracted her. If not Arthur Dillon, +who was he? What tragedy had driven him from one +life into another? Did it explain that suffering so clearly +marked on his face? To which she must add, as part of +the return to be made for all his goodness!</p> + +<p>Her pity for him grew, and prompted deeper tenderness; +and how could she know, who had been without experience, +that pity is often akin to love?</p> + +<p>The heavenly days flew by like swift swallows. September +came with its splendid warnings of change. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_352" id="Page_352">[352]</a></span> +trees were suddenly bordered in gold yellow and dotted +with fire-red. The nights began to be haunted by cool +winds. Louis packed his trunk early in the month. His +long vacations had ended, ordination was at hand, and his +life-work would begin in the month of October.</p> + +<p>The household went down to the city for the grand +ceremony. Mona and her baby remained in the city then, +while the others returned to the lake for a final week, +Anne with perfect content, Honora in calmness of spirit, +but also in dread for Arthur's sake. He seemed to have +no misgivings. Her determination continued, and the situation +therefore remained as clear as the cold September +mornings. Yet some tie bound them, elusive, beyond +description, but so much in evidence that every incident +of the waiting time seemed to strengthen it. Delay did +not abate her resolution, but it favored his hope.</p> + +<p>"Were you disturbed by the revelations of Mrs. Curran?" +he said as they sat, for the last time indeed, on the +terrace so fatal to Lord Constantine. Anne read the +morning newspaper in the shadow of the grove behind +them, with Judy to comment on the news. The day, +perfect, comfortable, without the perfume of August, +sparkled with the snap of September.</p> + +<p>"My curiosity was disturbed," she admitted frankly, +and her heart beat, for the terrible hour had come. "I +felt that your life had some sadness and mystery in it, but +it was a surprise to hear that you were not Anne Dillon's +long-lost son."</p> + +<p>"That was pure guess-work on Colette's part, you know. +She's a born devil, if there are such things among us +humans. I'll tell you about her some time. Then the +fact of my wife's existence did not disturb you at all?"</p> + +<p>"On the contrary, it soothed me, I think," she said with +a blush.</p> + +<p>"I know why. Well, it will take my story to explain +hers. She told the truth in part, poor Colette. Once +I had a wife, before I became Anne Dillon's son. Will it +be too painful for you to hear the story? It is mournful. +To no one have I ever told it complete; in fact I +could not, only to you. How I have burned to tell it +from beginning to end to the true heart. I could not +shock Louis, the dear innocent, and it was necessary to +keep most of it from my mother, for legal reasons. Mon<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_353" id="Page_353">[353]</a></span>signor +has heard the greater part, but not all. And I +have been like the Ancient Mariner.</p> + +<div class="block"> +<div class="poem"> +Since then at an uncertain hour<br /> +That agony returns;<br /> +And till my ghastly tale is told,<br /> +The heart within me burns.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="letter-spacing: 1.2em; padding-left: 1.2em;">* * * *</span> +<br /> +<br /> +That moment that his face I see<br /> +I know the man that must hear me;<br /> +To him my tale I teach."<br /> +</div></div> + +<p>"I am the man," said she, "with a woman's curiosity. +How can I help but listen?"</p> + +<div class="block"> +<div class="poem"> +He holds him with his glittering eye—<br /> +The wedding-guest stood still,<br /> +And listens like a three years' child:<br /> +The mariner hath his will.<br /> +<br /> +The wedding-guest sat on a stone,<br /> +He cannot choose but hear;<br /> +And thus spake on that ancient man,<br /> +That bright-eyed mariner.<br /> +</div></div> + +<p>"Do you remember how we read and re-read it on the <i>Arrow</i> +years ago? Somehow it has rung in my ears ever since, +Honora. My life had a horror like it. Had it not passed +I could not speak of it even to you. Long ago I was an +innocent fool whom men knew in the neighborhood of +Cambridge as Horace Endicott. I was an orphan, without +guides, or real friends. I felt no need of them, for +was I not rich, and happily married? Good nature and +luck had carried me along lazily like that pine-stick +floating down there. What a banging it would get on +this rocky shore if a good south wind sprang up. For +a long time I escaped the winds. When they came.... +I'll tell you who I was and what she was. Do you remember +on the <i>Arrow</i> Captain Curran's story of Tom +Jones?"</p> + +<p>He looked up at her interested face, and saw the violet +eyes widen with sudden horror.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_354" id="Page_354">[354]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I remember," she cried with astonishment and pain. +"You, Arthur, you the victim of that shameful story?"</p> + +<p>"Do you remember what you said then, Honora, when +Curran declared he would one day find Tom Jones?"</p> + +<p>She knew by the softness of his speech that her saying +had penetrated the lad's heart, and had been treasured till +this day, would be treasured forever.</p> + +<p>"And you were sitting there, in the cabin, not ten feet +off, listening to him and me?" she said with a gasp of +pleasure.</p> + +<p>"'You will never find him, Captain Curran ... that +fearful woman shattered his very soul ... I know the +sort of man he was ... he will never go back ... if he +can bear to live, it will be because in his obscurity God +gave him new faith and hope in human nature, and in the +woman's part of it.' Those are your words, Honora."</p> + +<p>She blushed with pleasure and murmured: "I hope +they came true!"</p> + +<p>"They were true at that moment," he said reflectively. +"Oh, indeed God guided me, placed me in the hands of +Monsignor, of my mother, of such people as Judy and the +Senator and Louis, and of you all."</p> + +<p>"Oh, my God, what suffering!" she exclaimed suddenly +as her tears began to fall. "Louis told me, I saw it +in your face as every one did, but now I know. And we +never gave you the pity you needed!"</p> + +<p>"Then you must give it to me now," said he with boldness. +"But don't waste any pity on Endicott. He is +dead, and I look at him across these five years as at a +stranger. Suffer? The poor devil went mad with suffering. +He raved for days in the wilderness, after he discovered +his shame, dreaming dreams of murder for the +guilty, of suicide for himself——"</p> + +<p>She clasped her hands in anguish and turned toward +him as if to protect him.</p> + +<p>"It was a good woman who saved him, and she was an +old mother who had tasted death. Some day I shall show +you the pool where this old woman found him, after he +had overcome the temptation to die. She took him to her +home and her heart, nourished him, gave him courage, +sent him on a new mission of life. What a life! He had +a scheme of vengeance, and to execute it he had to return +to the old scenes, where he was more alone—<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_355" id="Page_355">[355]</a></span>—</p> + +<div class="block"> +<div class="poem"> +Alone, alone, all, all alone,<br /> +Alone on a wide, wide sea!<br /> +And never a saint took pity on<br /> +My soul in agony.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="letter-spacing: 1em; padding-left: 1em;">* * * * *</span> +<br /> +<br /> +O wedding-guest! this soul hath been<br /> +Alone on a wide, wide sea;<br /> +So lonely 'twas that God Himself<br /> +Scarce seemed there to be."<br /> +</div></div> + +<p>The wonder to Honora, as he described himself, was +the indifference of his tone. It had no more than the +sympathy one might show toward a stranger whose suffering +had been succeeded by great joy.</p> + +<p>"Oh, God grant," he broke in with vehemence, "that +no soul suffers as did this Endicott, poor wretch, during +the time of his vengeance. Honora, I would not inflict +on that terrible woman the suffering of that man for a +year after his discovery of her sin. I doubted long the +mercy of God. Rather I knew nothing about His mercy. +I had no religion, no understanding of it, except in a +vague, unpractical way. You know now that I am of the +Puritan race ... Livingstone is of my family ... the +race which dislikes the Irish and the Catholic as the English +dislike them ... the race that persecuted yours! +But you cannot say that I have not atoned for them as +nearly as one man can?"</p> + +<p>Trembling with emotion, she simply raised her hands in +a gesture that said a thousand things too beautiful for +words.</p> + +<p>"My vengeance on the guilty was to disappear. I took +with me all my property, and I left Messalina with her +own small dower to enjoy her freedom in poverty. She +sought for me, hired that detective and others to hound +me to my hiding-place, and so far has failed to make sure +of me. But to have you understand the story clearly, I +shall stick to the order of events. I had known Monsignor +a few days before calamity overtook me, and to him I +turned for aid. It was he who found a mother for me, a +place among 'the mere Irish,' a career which has turned +out very well. You know how Anne Dillon lost her son. +What no one knows is this: three months before she was +asked to take part in the scheme of disappearance she sent<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_356" id="Page_356">[356]</a></span> +a thousand photographs of her dead husband and her lost +son to the police of California, and offered a reward for his +discovery living or dead. Monsignor helped her to that. +I acknowledged that advertisement from one of the most +obscure and ephemeral of the mining-camps, and came +home as her son."</p> + +<p>"And the real Arthur Dillon? He was never found?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, he answered it too, indirectly. While I was +loitering riotously about, awaiting the proper moment to +make myself known, I heard that one Arthur Dillon was +dying in another mining-camp some thirty miles to the +north of us. He claimed to be the real thing, but he was +dying of consumption, and was too feeble, and of too little +consequence, to be taken notice of. I looked after him +till he died, and made sure of his identity. He was Anne +Dillon's son and he lies in the family lot in Calvary beside +his father. No one knows this but his mother, Monsignor, +and ourselves. Colette stumbled on the fact in her +search of California, but the fates have been against that +clever woman."</p> + +<p>He laughed heartily at the complete overthrow of the +escaped nun. Honora looked at him in astonishment. +Arthur Dillon laughed, quite forgetful of the tragedy of +Horace Endicott.</p> + +<p>"Since my return you know what I have been, Honora. +I can appeal to you as did Augustus to his friends on his +dying-bed: have I not played well the part?"</p> + +<p>"I am lost in wonder," she said.</p> + +<p>"Then give me your applause as I depart," he answered +sadly, and her eyes fell before his eloquent glance. "In +those early days rage and hate, and the maddest desire for +justice, sustained me. That woman had only one wish in +life: to find, rob, and murder the man who had befooled +her worse than she had tricked him. I made war on that +man. I hated Horace Endicott as a weak fool. He had +fallen lowest of all his honest, able, stern race. I beat him +first into hiding, then into slavery, and at last into annihilation. +I studied to annihilate him, and I did it by raising +Arthur Dillon in his place. I am now Arthur Dillon. +I think, feel, act, speak, dream like that Arthur Dillon +which I first imagined. When you knew me first, Honora, +I was playing a part. I am no longer acting. I am the +man whom the world knows as Arthur Dillon."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_357" id="Page_357">[357]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I can see that, and it seems more wonderful than any +dream of romance. You a Puritan are more Irish than +the Irish, more Catholic than the Catholics, more Dillon +than the Dillons. Oh, how can this be?"</p> + +<p>"Don't let it worry you," he said grimly. "Just +accept the fact and me. I never lived until Horace +Endicott disappeared. He was a child of fortune and a +lover of ease and pleasure. His greatest pain had been a +toothache. His view of life had been a boy's. When I +stepped on this great stage I found myself for the first +time in the very current of life. Suffering ate my heart +out, and I plunged into that current to deaden the agony. +I found myself by accident a leader of a poor people who +had fled from injustice at home to suffer a mean persecution +here. I was thrown in with the great men of the +hour, and found a splendid opponent in a member of the +Endicott family, Livingstone. I saw the very heart of +great things, and the look enchanted me.</p> + +<p>"You know how I worked for my friends, for your +father, for the people, for every one and everything that +needed help. For the first time I saw into the heart of a +true friend. Monsignor helped me, carried me through, +stood by me, directed me. For the first time I saw into +the heart of innocence and sanctity, deep down, the heart +of that blessed boy, Louis. For the first time I looked +into the heart of a patriot, and learned of the love which +can endure, not merely failure, but absolute and final +disappointment, and still be faithful. I became an orator, +an adventurer, an enthusiast. The Endicott who could +not speak ten words before a crowd, the empty-headed +stroller who classed patriots with pickles, became what +you know me to be. I learned what love is, the love of +one's own; of mother, and friend, and clan. Let me not +boast, but I learned to know God and perhaps to love Him, +at least since I am resigned to His will. But I am talking +too much, since it is for the last time."</p> + +<p>"You have not ended," said she beseechingly.</p> + +<p>"It would take a lifetime," and he looked to see if she +would give him that time, but her eyes watched the lake. +"The latest events in my history took place this summer, +and you had a little share in them. By guess-work +Colette arrived at the belief that I am Horace Endicott, and +she set her detective-husband to discover the link between<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_358" id="Page_358">[358]</a></span> +Endicott and Dillon. I helped him, because I was curious +to see how Arthur Dillon would stand the test of direct +pursuit. They could discover nothing. As fast as a +trace of me showed it vanished into thin air. There was +nothing to do but invent a suit which would bring my +mother, Monsignor, and myself into court, and have us +declare under oath who is Arthur Dillon. I blocked that +game perfectly. Messalina has her divorce from Horace +Endicott, and is married to her lover. There will be no +further search for the man who disappeared. And I am +free, Monsignor declares. No ties bind me to that shameful +past. I have had my vengeance without publicity or +shame to anyone. I have punished as I had the right to +punish. I have a noble place in life, which no one can +take from me."</p> + +<p>"And did you meet her since you left her ... that +woman?" Honora said in a low voice half ashamed of the +question.</p> + +<p>"At Castle Moyna ..." he began and stopped dead at +a sudden recollection.</p> + +<p>"I met her," cried Honora with a stifled scream, "I +met her."</p> + +<p>"I met her again on the steamer returning," he said +after a pause. "She did not recognize me, nor has she +ever. We met for the last time in July. At that meeting +Arthur Dillon pronounced sentence on her in the name of +Horace Endicott. She will never wish to see me or her +lost husband again."</p> + +<p>"Oh, how you must have suffered, Arthur, how you +must have suffered!"</p> + +<p>She had grown pale alarmingly, but he did not perceive +it. The critical moment had come for him, and he was +praying silently against the expected blow. Her resolution +had left her, and the road had vanished in the obscurity of +night. She no longer saw her way clear. Her nerves had +been shaken by this wonderful story, and the surges of +feeling that rose before it like waves before the wind.</p> + +<p>"And I must suffer still," he went on half to himself. +"I was sure that God would give me that which I most +desired, because I had given Him all that belonged to me. +I kept back nothing except as Monsignor ordered. +Through you, Honora, my faith in woman came back, as +you said it would when you answered the detective in my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_359" id="Page_359">[359]</a></span> +behalf. When Monsignor told me I was free, that I could +speak to you as an honorable man, I took it as a sign from +heaven that the greatest of God's gifts was for me. I love +you so, Honora, that your wish is my only happiness. +Since you must go, if it is the will of God, do not mind my +suffering, which is also His will...."</p> + +<p>He arose from his place and his knees were shaking.</p> + +<p>"There is consolation for us all somewhere. Mine is +not to be here. The road to heaven is sometimes long. +Not here, Honora?"</p> + +<p>The hope in him was not yet dead. She rose too and +put her arms about him, drawing his head to her bosom +with sudden and overpowering affection.</p> + +<p>"Here and hereafter," she whispered, as they sat down +on the bench again.</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>"Judy," said Anne in the shade of the trees, "is Arthur +hugging Honora, or...."</p> + +<p>"Glory be," whispered Judy with tears streaming down +her face, "it's Honora that's hugging Arthur ... no, +it's both o' them at wanst, thanks be to God."</p> + +<p>And the two old ladies stole away home through the +happy woods.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter"><a name="CHAPTER_XXXIX" id="CHAPTER_XXXIX"></a>CHAPTER XXXIX.</h2> + +<h3 class="chapter2">THREE SCENES.</h3> + + +<p>Anne might have been the bitterest critic of Honora<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_360" id="Page_360">[360]</a></span> +for her descent from the higher to the lesser life, but she +loved the girl too well even to look displeasure. Having +come to believe that Arthur would be hers alone forever, +she regarded Honora's decision as a mistake. The whole +world rejoiced at the union of these ideal creatures, even +Sister Magdalen, from whom Arthur had snatched a prize. +Honora was her own severest critic. How she had let +herself go in pity for a sufferer to whom her people, her +faith, her father, her friends, and herself owed much, +she knew not. His explanation was simple: God gave you +to me.</p> + +<p>The process of surrender really began at Louis' ordination. +Arthur watched his boy, the center of the august +ceremony, with wet eyes. This innocent heart, with its +solemn aspirations, its spiritual beauty, had always been +for him a wonder and a delight; and it seemed fitting that +a life so mysteriously beautiful should end its novitiate +and begin its career with a ceremony so touching. The +September sun streamed through the venerable windows +of the cathedral, the music soared among the arches, the +altar glowed with lights and flowers; the venerable archbishop +and his priests and attendants filled the sanctuary, +an adoring crowd breathed with reverence in the nave; +but the center of the scene, its heart of beauty, was the +pale, sanctified son of Mary Everard.</p> + +<p>For him were all these glories! Happy, happy, youth! +Blessed mother! There were no two like them in the +whole world, he said in his emotion. Her glorified face +often shone on him in the pauses of the ceremony. Her +look repeated the words she had uttered the night before: +"Under God my happiness is owing to you, Arthur Dillon: +like the happiness of so many others; and that I am not +to-day dead of sorrow and grief is also owing to you; now<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_361" id="Page_361">[361]</a></span> +may God grant you the dearest wish of your heart, as +He has granted mine this day through you; for there is +nothing too good for a man with a heart and a hand like +yours."</p> + +<p>How his heart had like to burst under that blessing! +He thought of Honora, not yet his own.</p> + +<p>The entire Irishry was present, with their friends of +every race. In deference to his faithful adherent, the +great Livingstone sat in the very front pew, seriously attentive +to the rite, and studious of its significance. +Around him were grouped the well-beloved of Arthur Dillon, +the souls knit to his with the strength of heaven; the +Senator, high-colored, richly-dressed, resplendent, sincere; +the Boss, dark and taciturn, keen, full of emotion, +sighing from the depths of his rich nature over the meaning +of life, as it leaped into the light of this scene; +Birmingham, impressive and dignified, rejoicing at the +splendor so powerful with the world that reckons everything +by the outward show; and all the friends of the +new life, to whom this ceremony was dear as the breath +of their bodies. For this people the sanctuary signified +the highest honor, the noblest service, the loftiest glory. +Beside it the honors of the secular life, no matter how esteemed, +looked like dead flowers.</p> + +<p>At times his emotion seemed to slip from the rein, +threatening to unman him. This child, whose innocent +hands were anointed with the Holy Oil, who was bound +and led away, who read the mass with the bishop and received +the Sacred Elements with him, upon whom the +prelate breathed solemn powers, who lay prostrate on the +floor, whose head was blessed by the hands of the assembled +priests: this child God had given him to replace the innocent +so cruelly destroyed long ago!</p> + +<p>Honora's eyes hardly left Arthur's transfigured face, +which held her, charmed her, frightened her by its ever-changing +expression. Light and shadow flew across it as +over the depths of the sea. The mask off, the habit of +repression laid aside, his severe features responded to the +inner emotions. She saw his great eyes fill with tears, +his breast heave at times. As yet she had not heard his +story. The power of that story came less from the tale +than the recollection of scenes like this, which she unthinking +had witnessed in the years of their companion<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_362" id="Page_362">[362]</a></span>ship. +What made this strange man so unlike all other +men?</p> + +<p>At the close of the ordination the blessing from the +new priest began. Flushed, dewy-eyed, calm, and white, +Louis stood at the railing to lay his anointed hands on +each in turn; first the mother, and the father. Then +came a little pause, while Mona made way for him dearest +to all hearts that day, Arthur. He held back until he +saw that his delay retarded the ceremony, when he accepted +the honor. He felt the blessed hands on his head, +and a thrill leaped through him as the palms, odorous of +the balmy chrism, touched his lips.</p> + +<p>Mona held up her baby with the secret prayer that he +too would be found worthy of the sanctuary; then +followed her husband and her sisters. Honora did not see as +she knelt how Arthur's heart leaped into his eyes, and +shot a burning glance at Louis to remind him of a request +uttered long ago: when you bless Honora, bless her for +me! Thus all conspired against her. Was it wonderful +that she left the cathedral drawn to her hero as never +before?</p> + +<p>The next day Arthur told her with pride and tenderness, +as they drove to the church where Father Louis +was to sing his first Mass, that every vestment of the +young priest came from him. Sister Magdalen had made +the entire set, with her own hands embroidered them, and +he had borne the expense. Honora found her heart +melting under these beautiful details of an affection, +without limit. The depth of this man's heart seemed incredible, +deeper than her father's, as if more savage sorrow +had dug depths in what was deep enough by nature. +Long afterward she recognized how deeply the ordination +had affected her. It roused the feeling that such a heart +should not be lightly rejected.</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>Desolation seized her, as the vision of the convent +vanished like some lovely vale which one leaves forever. +Very simply he banished the desolation.</p> + +<p>"I have been computing," he said, as they sat on the +veranda after breakfast, "what you might have been +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_363" id="Page_363">[363]</a></span>worth to the Church as a nun ... hear me, hear me +... wait for the end of the story ... it is charming. +You are now about twenty-seven, I won't venture any +nearer your age. I don't know my mother's age."</p> + +<p>"And no man will ever know it," said Anne. "Men +have no discretion about ages."</p> + +<p>"Let me suppose," Arthur continued, "that fifty years +of service would be the limit of your active life. You +would then be seventy-seven, and there is no woman alive +as old as that. The oldest is under sixty."</p> + +<p>"Unless the newspapers want to say that she's a hundred," +said Anne slyly.</p> + +<p>"For the sake of notoriety she is willing to have the +truth told about her age."</p> + +<p>"As a school-teacher, a music-teacher, or a nurse, let +me say that your services might be valued at one thousand +a year for the fifty years, Honora. Do you think +that a fair average?"</p> + +<p>"Very fair," said she indifferently.</p> + +<p>"Well, I am going to give that sum to the convent for +having deprived them of your pleasant company," said he. +"Hear me, hear me, ... I'm not done yet. I must be +generous, and I know your conscience will be tender a +long time, if something is not done to toughen it. I +want to be married in the new cathedral, which another +year will see dedicated. But a good round sum would +advance the date. We owe much to Monsignor. In your +name and mine I am going to give him enough to put the +great church in the way to be dedicated by November."</p> + +<p>He knew the suffering which burned her heart that morning, +himself past master in the art of sorrow. That she +had come down from the heights to the common level +would be her grief forever; thus to console her would +be his everlasting joy.</p> + +<p>"What do you think of it? Isn't it a fair release?"</p> + +<p>"Only I am not worth it," she said. "But so much +the better, if every one gains more than I lose by my ... infatuation."</p> + +<p>"Are you as much in love as that?" said Anne with +malice.</p> + +<p>They were married with becoming splendor in January. +A quiet ceremony suggested by Honora had been promptly +overruled by Anne Dillon, who saw in this wedding a +social opportunity beyond any of her previous triumphs.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_364" id="Page_364">[364]</a></span> +Mrs. Dillon was not your mere aristocrat, who keeps exclusive +her ceremonious march through life. At that +early date she had perceived the usefulness to the aristocracy +of the press, of general popularity, and of mixed +assemblies; things freely and openly sought for by society +to-day. Therefore the great cathedral of the western +continent never witnessed a more splendid ceremony +than the wedding of Honora and Arthur; and no event +in the career of Anne Dillon bore stronger testimony to +her genius.</p> + +<p>The Chief Justice of the nation headed the <i>élite</i>, among +whom shone like a constellation the Countess of Skibbereen; +the Senator brought in the whole political circle of +the city and the state; Grahame marshaled the journalists +and the conspirators against the peace of England; the +profession of music came forward to honor the bride; the +common people of Cherry Hill went to cheer their hero; +Monsignor drew to the sanctuary the clerics of rank to +honor the benefactor of the cathedral; and high above all, +enthroned in beauty, the Cardinal of that year presided +as the dispenser of the Sacrament.</p> + +<p>As at the ordination of Louis the admirable Livingstone +sat among the attendant princes. For the third time within +a few months had he been witness to the splendors of +Rome now budding on the American landscape. He did +not know what share this Arthur Dillon had in the life of +Louis and in the building of the beautiful temple. But +he knew the strength of his leadership among his people; +and he felt curious to see with his own eyes, to feel with +his own heart, the charm, the enchantment, which had +worked a spell so fatal on the richly endowed Endicott +nature.</p> + +<p>For enchantment there must have been. The treachery +and unworthiness of Sonia, detestable beyond thought, +could not alone work so strange and weird a transformation. +Half cynic always, and still more cynical since his late +misfortunes, he could not withhold his approbation from +the cleverness which grouped about this young man and +his bride the great ones of the hour. The scene wholly +depressed him. Not the grandeur, nor the presence of the +powers of society, but the sight of this Endicott, of the +mould of heroes, of the blood of the English Puritan, +acting as sponsor of a new order of things in his beloved<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_365" id="Page_365">[365]</a></span> +country, the order which he had hoped, still hoped, to +destroy. His heart bled as he watched him.</p> + +<p>The lovely mother, the high-hearted father, lay in their +grave. Here stood their beloved, a prince among men, +bowing before the idols of Rome, receiving for himself and +his bride the blessing of the archpriest of Romanism, a +cardinal in his ferocious scarlet. All his courage and +skill would be forever at the service of the new order. +Who was to blame? Was it not the rotten reed which he +had leaned upon, the woman Sonia, rather than these? +True it is, true it always will be, that a man's enemies are +they of his own household.</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>A grand content filled the heart of Arthur. The bitterness +of his fight had passed. So long had he struggled +that fighting had become a part of his dreams, as necessary +as daily bread. He had not laid aside his armor even +for his marriage. Yet there had been an armistice, quite +unperceived, from the day of the cathedral's dedication. +He had lonely possession of the battle-field. His enemies +had fled. All was well with his people. They had +reached and passed the frontier, as it were, on that day +when the great temple opened its sanctuary to God and +its portals to the nation.</p> + +<p>The building he regarded as a witness to the daring of +Monsignor; for Honora's sake he had given to it a third of +his fortune; the day of the dedication crowned Monsignor's +triumph. When he had seen the spectacle, he learned +how little men have to do with the great things of history. +God alone makes history; man is the tide which rushes in +and out at His command, at the great hours set by Him, +and knows only the fact, not the reason. In the building +that day gathered a multitude representing every form of +human activity and success. They stood for the triumph +of a whole race, which, starved out of its native seat, had +clung desperately to the land of Columbia in spite of persecution.</p> + +<p>Soldiers sat in the assembly, witnesses for the dead of +the southern battle-fields, for all who had given life and +love, who had sacrificed their dearest, to the new land in +its hour of calamity. Men rich in the honors of commerce, +of the professions, of the schools, artists, journalists, +leaders, bore witness to the native power of a people, who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_366" id="Page_366">[366]</a></span> +had been written down in the books of the hour as idle, +inferior, incapable by their very nature. In the sanctuary +sat priests and prelate, a brilliant gathering, surrounding +the delicate-featured Cardinal, in gleaming red, high on +his beautiful throne.</p> + +<p>From the organ rolled the wonderful harmonies born of +faith and genius; from the pulpit came in sonorous English +the interpretation of the scene as a gifted mind perceived +it; about the altar the ancient ritual enacted the holy +drama, whose sublime enchantment holds every age. +Around rose the towering arches, the steady columns, the +broad walls, lighted from the storied windows, of the first +really great temple of the western continent!</p> + +<p>Whose hands raised it? Arthur discovered in the answer +the charm which had worked upon dying Ledwith, +turned his failure into triumph, and his sadness into joy. +What a witness, an eternal witness, to the energy and +faith of a poor, simple, despised people, would be this +temple! Looking upon its majestic beauty, who could +doubt their powers, though the books printed English +slanders in letters of gold? Out of these great doors +would march ideas to strengthen and refresh the poor; +ideas once rejected, once thought destructible by the air +of the American wilderness. A conspiracy of centuries +had been unable to destroy them. Into these great portals +for long years would a whole people march for their +own sanctification and glory!</p> + +<p>Thereafter the temple became for him a symbol, as +for the faithful priest; the symbol of his own life as +that of his people.</p> + +<p>He saw it in the early dawn, whiter than the mist +which broke against it, a great angel whose beautiful feet +the longing earth had imprisoned! red with the flush +of morning, rosy with the tints of sunrise, as if heaven +were smiling upon it from open gates! clear, majestic, +commanding in the broad day, like a leader of the people, +drawing all eyes to itself, provoking the question, the +denial, the prayer from every passer, as tributes to its +power! in the sunset, as dying Ledwith had seen it, +flushed with the fever of life, but paling like the day, +tender, beseeching, appealing to the flying crowd for a +last turning to God before the day be done forever! in +the twilight, calm, restful, submissive to the darkness,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_367" id="Page_367">[367]</a></span> +which had no power over it, because of the Presence +within! terrible when night falls and sin goes forth in +purple and fine linen, a giant which had heaved the earth +and raised itself from the dead stone to rebuke and +threaten the erring children of God!</p> + +<p>He described all this for Honora, and, strangely enough, +for Livingstone, who never recovered from the spell cast +over him by this strange man. The old gentleman loved +his race with the fervor of an ancient clansman. For this +lost sheep of the house of Endicott he developed in time +an interest which Arthur foresaw would lead agreeably +one day to a review of the art of disappearing. He was +willing to satisfy his curiosity. Meanwhile, airing his +ideas on the providential mission of the country, and of +its missionary races, and combatting his exclusiveness, they +became excellent friends. Livingstone fell deeply in love +with Honora, as it was the fashion in regard to that +charming woman. For Arthur the circle of life had its +beginning in her, and with her would have its end.</p> + + +<div class="minispace"> </div> +<div class="minispace"> </div> +<h3>THE END.</h3> +<div class="minispace"> </div> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Art of Disappearing, by John Talbot Smith + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ART OF DISAPPEARING *** + +***** This file should be named 27925-h.htm or 27925-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/7/9/2/27925/ + +Produced by David Clarke, Meredith Bach, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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