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diff --git a/27925.txt b/27925.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..43b1391 --- /dev/null +++ b/27925.txt @@ -0,0 +1,14832 @@ +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: ASCII + +*** 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) + + + + + + + + THE ART OF + DISAPPEARING + + + _By_ John Talbot Smith + + + _AUTHOR:_ + + "SARANAC" "HIS HONOR THE MAYOR," "A WOMAN OF CULTURE," + "SOLITARY ISLAND," "TRAINING OF A PRIEST," ETC., ETC. + + + NEW YORK, CINCINNATI, CHICAGO: + BENZIGER BROTHERS + PRINTERS TO THE HOLY APOSTOLIC SEE. + + + + + COPYRIGHT, 1902, + BY + JOHN TALBOT SMITH + + + _All Rights Reserved_ + + + + +CONTENTS. + + + DISAPPEARANCE. + +CHAPTER PAGE + + I. The Holy Oils 1 + + II. The Night at the Tavern 7 + + III. The Abysses of Pain 16 + + IV. The Road to Nothingness 25 + + V. The Door is Closed 33 + + AMONG THE EXILES. + + VI. Another Man's Shoes 40 + + VII. The Dillon Clan 55 + + VIII. The Wearin' o' the Green 68 + + IX. The Villa at Coney Island 77 + + X. The Humors of Election 87 + + XI. An Endicott Heir 100 + + THE GREEN AGAINST THE RED. + + XII. The Hate of Hannibal 107 + + XIII. Anne Dillon's Felicity 119 + + XIV. Aboard the "Arrow" 128 + + XV. The Invasion of Ireland 137 + + XVI. Castle Moyna 147 + + XVII. The Ambassador 158 + + AN ESCAPED NUN. + + XVIII. Judy Visits the Pope 170 + + XIX. La Belle Colette 177 + + XX. The Escaped Nun 190 + + XXI. An Anxious Night 199 + + XXII. The End of a Melodrama 208 + + XXIII. The First Blow 218 + + XXIV. Anne Makes History 227 + + XXV. The Cathedral 236 + + XXVI. The Fall of Livingstone 248 + + THE TEST OF DISAPPEARANCE. + + XXVII. A Problem of Disappearance 258 + + XXVIII. A First Test 266 + + XXIX. The Nerve of Anne 274 + + XXX. Under the Eyes of Hate 283 + + XXXI. The Heart of Honora 296 + + XXXII. The Pauline Privilege 304 + + XXXIII. Love is Blind 312 + + XXXIV. A Harpy at the Feast 320 + + XXXV. Sonia Consults Livingstone 327 + + XXXVI. Arthur's Appeal 335 + + XXXVII. The End of Mischief 344 + +XXXVIII. A Tale Well Told 351 + + XXXIX. Three Scenes 360 + + + + +DISAPPEARANCE. + + + + +THE ART OF DISAPPEARING. + + + + +CHAPTER I. + +THE HOLY OILS. + + +Horace Endicott once believed that life began for him 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. + +"Some years ago," thought Horace, "I would have studied his person for +indications of hoofs and horns--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." + +This satisfactory conclusion he dwelt upon lovingly, unconscious that +the Monsignor was now observing him in turn. + +"A fine boy," the priest thought, "with _man_ 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." + +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 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. + +"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." + +"I hope," said the other politely, "that I did you no harm in falling on +you. I could not very well help it." + +"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." + +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. + +"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 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. + +"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. + +"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." + +"And I have the holy oils, Tim," said Monsignor softly. + +Another rush of light to the darkening face! + +"Tell her that, too, father dear," said Tim. + +"With my own lips," answered Monsignor. + +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 +and returning all to the satchel again. There was a look of supreme +satisfaction on his face. + +"You are all right now, Tim," he said cheerfully. + +"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----" + +His voice faded away. + +"I'll tell her," murmured the engineer brokenly, and slipped away in +unbearable distress. The priest looked closer into Tim's face. + +"He's going fast," he said, "and I'll ask you all to kneel and say amen +to the last prayers for the boy." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +"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. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +THE NIGHT AT THE TAVERN. + + +The travelers of the wrecked train spent the night at 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. + +"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. + +"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." + +"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 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. + + Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased, + Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow? + +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." + +"It seems strange," Horace commented, "very strange. I cannot get at +your point of view at all." + +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. + +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 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. + +"I'll bet they don't let you sleep to-night," he said to the priest, who +laughed at the conceit. + +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. + +"Thank you," said Monsignor, "but I know all about you. See now if I +give you a good account of your life and descent." + +He was promenading the room before the picture-jury frowning on him. He +looked at them a moment solemnly. + +"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." + +They laughed together. + +"Well," to Horace, "you asked me many questions, because you know +nothing about me or mine, 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." + +Horace had to admit the contention. + +"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?" + +Monsignor held up his hand with two fingers stretched out beyond the +others, and gave a gentle war-whoop. Horace laughed. + +"I suppose every boy in the country invited his chums to a swim that +way," he said. + +"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 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." + +"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!" + +He stopped before the nearest portrait, and stared at it. + +"Well, what do you think of my acquaintance with your history?" he +asked. + +"Very clever, Monsignor," answered Horace impressed. "It is like +necromancy, though I see how the trick is done." + +"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 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----" + +"One moment--pardon me," said Horace, "how did you know I was married?" + +"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." + +"And there should not." + +"Of course. But I knew Tims. I met him for an hour, and I did not feel +like hanging him." + +"You are a celibate." + +"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." + +"But about your theory, Monsignor?" said Horace. "A theory of +disappearing?" + +"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 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." + +"They all seem to do that," said Horace, "and yet they are caught as +easily as rats with traps and cheese." + +"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." + +"I understand," said Horace, interested; "but the theory is impossible. +No one could do that even if they desired." + +"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 welcomed 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." + +The two men set up a shout at this sound conclusion. + +"After all, there are consequences as dark as the gallows," said Horace. + +"For instance," said the priest with a wave of his hand, "sleeping under +the eyes of these painted ghosts." + +"Poor Tim Hurley," said Horace, "little he thought he'd be a ghost +to-night." + +"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." + +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. + +"I am sure, I have a share in that chuckle," said Monsignor. + +"Shades of my ancestors," murmured Horace, "forgive this insult to your +pious memory--that I should occupy one bed with an idolatrous priest." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +Horace sighed, and fell asleep thinking of Sonia rather 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. + +When they were parting after breakfast, Monsignor said gayly. + +"If at any time you wish to disappear, command me." + +"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?" + +"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." + +"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." + +They clasped hands with feeling, and their eyes expressed the same +thought and resolution to meet again. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +THE ABYSSES OF PAIN. + + +Horace Endicott, though not a youth of deep sentiment, 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. + +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 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. + +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. + +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. + +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 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. + +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, 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. + +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. _They_ 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. + +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 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. + +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! + +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. + +"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?" + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"It is terrible to suffer," he said to Martha Willis. "In the last five +days I have suffered." + +"As all men must suffer," said the woman resignedly. + +"Then you have suffered too? How did you ever get over it, mother?" + +She did not tell him, after a look at his face, that some sorrows are +indelible. + +"We have to get over everything, son. And it is lucky we can do it, +without running into an insane asylum." + +"Were your troubles very great, mother?" + +"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. + +"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." + +"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." + +"And they are all gone?" + +"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 can a mother do? Her children are hers no matter if they turn out +wrong." + +"And you lived through it all, mother?" said the listener with his face +working. + +"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." + +"And you lived through it all!" repeated Horace in wonder. + +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 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. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +THE ROAD TO NOTHINGNESS. + + +"Whatever trouble you're a-sufferin' from," said 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." + +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. + +"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." + +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! + +By the pool which tempted him so strongly Horace sat down to study the +problem of his future. + +"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." + +He felt indeed that he was strong again in spite of 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? + +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! + +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 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! + +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. + +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. + +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 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. + +"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." + +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. + +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 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. + + Oh, good Horatio, what a wounded name. + Things standing thus unknown, shall live behind me. + If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart, + Absent thee from felicity awhile, + And in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain, + To tell my story. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"I have brought you another unfortunate," he said, "and I am going to +read his thoughts to you." + +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. + +"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, 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 _now_ and _then_ would never come into contact." + +He sighed. What a disappearance that would be. And at that moment the +words of the Monsignor came back to him: + +"_If at any time you wish to disappear, command me._" + +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! + +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. + +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 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. + +"I believe in God forever." + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +THE DOOR IS CLOSED. + + +Even Martha was startled by the change in him. She 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. + +"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." + +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. + +"You're no worse than the rest of us," said Martha, "I didn't know, and +very few of my friends ever seemed 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." + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"And where can we get that?" said Martha. + +"Only from God, I think," he replied. + +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, + + Oh, that this too, too solid flesh would melt, + Thaw and resolve itself into a dew! + +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 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! + +He had thought once that a hundred friends would have wept bitter tears +over his sorrow; of the number there were left only two! + +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. + +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. + +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 +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 struggling to find and devour him; and then +the miserable ending when time had proved his disappearance absolute and +perfect! + +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. + + + + +RESURRECTION. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +ANOTHER MAN'S SHOES. + + +As he laid aside his outer garments, Horace felt the joy 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. + +"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 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." + +"And how am I to know all these people, mother?" + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"What sort of a boy was--was I at that age, mother?" + +"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." + +"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?" + +"More than ever, I think, but he's a quiet man that says little when he +means a good deal." + +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. + +"So you knew me, Judy, in spite of the whiskers and the long absence?" + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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 a sudden cry from the women, Judy flying to the kitchen +while Anne came to his door. + +"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." + +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: + +"Louis Everard! Make much of him." + +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. + +"Will you have a fit if I come any nearer?" he said roguishly. + +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. + +"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 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?" + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"That sounds like you," said Louis, gently pulling his beard. + +"Tell me, partner," said Arthur lightly, "would you recognize me with +whiskers?" + +"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?" + +"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----" + +"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." + +"Real enough surely," said Arthur with a deep sigh, "and I hope they may +not tire you in the telling. Mother ... tells me that you are going to +be a priest. Is that true?" + +"As far as I can see now, yes. But one is never certain." + +"Then I hope you will be one of the Monsignor's stamp. That man is +surely a man of God." + +"Not a doubt of it," said Louis, taking his hat to go. + +"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!" + +"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." + +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: + +"I hope you have not neglected your religious duties?" + +"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 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 Caesar, 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. + +"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." + +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 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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"Then you've done with fighting, uncle?" + +There was regret in his tone, for he felt the situation would have been +improved if the Senator were still before the public as a gladiator. + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +"Whatever I have been," said the Senator, pressing the hand which still +held his, "I was never less than a square man." + +"That's easy to believe, uncle, and I'll willingly punch the head of the +first man that denies it." + +"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." + +"Fine boy, that Louis, but I never thought he'd turn to the Church." + +"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." + +"Which I'll never be," said Arthur with a grin. + +"Every man in his place, Artie. I've brought you yours, if you want to +take it. How would politics in New York suit you?" + +"I'm ripe for anything with fun in it." + +"Then you won't find fault, Artie, if I ask how things stood with +you--you see it's this way, Artie----" + +"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." + +"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?" + +"Straight as a die, uncle." + +"An' would you take the position of secretary to the chief an' so get +acquainted with everything an' everybody?" + +"On the spot, and thank you, if you can wait till I am able to move +about decently." + +"Then it's done, an' I'm the proudest man in the state to see another +Dillon enterin'----" + +"The ring," said Arthur. + +"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." + +When he was going after a most affectionate conversation with his nephew +the Senator made a polite suggestion to Mrs. Dillon. + +"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?" + +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. 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. + +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. + +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 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. + +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. + +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. + +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 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. + +"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." + +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. + +"How like a queen she looks," they said of the mother. + +"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." + +"She's fit for a king," they said of Mona. "Wirra, an' to think she'd +look at a plain man like Doyle Grahame." + +But of Anne Dillon and her son they said nothing, so 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. + +"You'll get the aristocracy now, the high Irish," said Louis. + +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. + +"His little finger," said the Senator in a whisper, "is worth more to +them than my whole body." + +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 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. + +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. + +"I feel more than ever to-night," said Louis at parting, "that all of +you has come home." + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +THE DILLON CLAN. + + +After the reception Arthur Dillon fell easily into the 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. + +"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 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." + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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. + +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. + +"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." + +"She has the money," sighed Mona, who had none. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +At this point Judy's demureness gave way and she laughed till the tears +came. The others could not but join. + +"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." + +Arthur however gave the affair a very different complexion when she +mentioned it. + +"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." + +"That's just like you, and I wish you luck," said Mary Everard. + +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. + +"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?" + +He bowed to the apparition which came forward, seized his hands, held +them and patted them affectionately, despite his efforts to release +them. + +"We all seem to have known you since childhood," was her apology. + +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. + +"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." + +"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. + +"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?" + +"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." + +Her dark eyes were moist, but a smile lighted up her calm face. + +"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 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." + +"Nor I," said Arthur with a start. "How can you ever think of giving him +up?" + +"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." + +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! _Trumps_, their big brother called them, but the world knew +them as Marguerite and Constance, and they shared the human repugnance +to an early bed. + +"You ought to be glad to go to bed," Arthur said, "when you go to sleep +so fast, and dream beautiful dreams about angels." + +"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. + +"And I dreamed," said Constance, with a queer little pucker of her +mouth, "that she was all on fire, in her dress, and----" + +This was the limit of her language, for the thought of her sister on +fire overwhelmed the words at her command. + +"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.'" + +"What sad dreams," Arthur said. "Tell Father O'Donnell about them." + +"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." + +"Oh, please, dear cousin Artie," said the child, thrilling his heart +with the touch of her tender lips on his cheek. + +"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." + +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 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. + +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. + +"To go back would be to kill her ... but I must go back ... and then the +trail of blood over all...." + +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. + +"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...." + +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. + +"It's like a scene, or a skene from Macbeth," he said. "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?" + +"I said that, did I?" He thought a moment, then put his arms about +Louis. They were sitting on the side of the bed. + +"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." + +"And your child? you spoke of a child?" + +Arthur shook with a chill and wiped the sweat from his forehead. + +"No," he groaned, "no ... thank God for that ... I had no child." + +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. + +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 environment, +explained the difficulties, and soothed him with the sympathy of a +generous heart acquainted with his calamities. + +"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." + +"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." + +"I knew he would launch you on that stormy sea," Monsignor answered +reflectively, "but you are not bound to accept the enterprise." + +"It will give me distraction, and I need distraction from this +intolerable pain," tapping his breast with a gesture of anguish. + +"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." + +"Why beyond them?" + +"High office is closed to Catholics in this country." + +"Here I run up against the mysterious again," he complained. + +"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 _Irish_ and _Catholic_ 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 _Turk_ and _atheist_." + +"Dislike, irritation, perhaps contempt, with a hint of amusement," +Arthur replied thoughtfully. + +"How came that feeling there touching people of whom you knew next to +nothing?" + +"Another mystery." + +"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 Birmingham +out of high office, and now it will act against you, strangely enough." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +"This is your child?" said Arthur abruptly. + +"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." + +"What a people to attempt this miracle," said Arthur. + +"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 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." + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +THE WEARIN' O' THE GREEN. + + +By degrees the effervescence of little Ireland, in which 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. + +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 onward 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 debut +would take place at the banquet on St. Patrick's Day, when he should +make a speech. + +"Do you think you can do it, me boy?" said the Senator. "If you think +you can, why you can." + +"I know I can," said the reckless Dillon, who had never made a speech in +his life. + +"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. + +"Give a bastin' to Mare Livingstone," said Judy seriously. "I read in +the _Sun_ 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." + +The Senator beamed with secret pleasure, while the others began to talk +together with a bitterness beyond Arthur's comprehension. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"If you baste the Mayor like this now, there won't be much left for me +to do at the banquet," said Arthur with a laugh for their fierceness. + +"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." + +The Senator grew more cheerful as this talk grew warmer, and then, +seeing Arthur's wonderment, he made an explanation. + +"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." + +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. + +"I'll take your subject, Judy," said he. + +"Then rade up the histhory of Ireland," replied the old lady flattered. + +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 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. + +"If they were only marching for Ireland!" one man cried hoarsely. + +"They'll do it yet," said another more hopeful. + +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. + +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. + +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. 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. + +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. + +"About five minutes," he said. "Don't you know who's paradin' to-day?" + +"No." + +"See the green plumes an' ribbons?" + +"I do," vacantly. + +"Know what day o' the month it is?" + +"March seventeenth, of course." + +"Live near New York?" + +"About twenty miles out." + +"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." + +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. + +"I'm glad to meet one uncontaminated American citizen in this city," he +said. "I hope there are millions like you in the land." + +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. + +"You'll have to take that off," said the conductor in alarm, pointing to +the ribbon, "or leave the car." + +"I won't do either," said the man. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +The uncontaminated citizen and two ladies fled to the street, while the +driver and the conductor stood over the offending passenger. + +"Goin' to take off the ribbon?" asked the conductor. + +"You will be guilty of a cowardly surrender of principle if you do," +said the emphatic gentleman. + +"May I suggest," said Arthur blandly, "that you wear it in his stead?" + +"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----" + +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. + +"Who is he?" said Arthur with interest, drawing his breath with joy over +the delights of this day. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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 guests lost no time in congratulating him, and every +tongue wagged in his favor. + +"You have the gift of eloquence," said Sullivan. + +"It will be a pleasure to hear you again," said Vandervelt, the literary +and social light of the Tammany circle. + +"You have cleared your own road," Birmingham the financier remarked, and +he stayed long to praise the young orator. + +"There's nothin' too good for you after to-night," cried the Senator +brokenly. "I simply can't--cannot talk about it." + +"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." + +"It's embarrassing." + +"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." + +"I am willing to be of service," said Arthur severely. + +"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." + +Arthur laughed, Monsignor came up then, and heaped him with praise. + +"Were you blessed with fluency in--your earlier years?" he said. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"Why shouldn't I? I'm his mother," with emphasis. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +THE VILLA AT CONEY ISLAND. + + +The awkwardness of his relations with Anne Dillon wore 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! + +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. 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. + +"Where did you get your artiste, August?" he said to a waiter. + +"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." + +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 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. + +"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. + +"Not a second time," he told Louis. "I'd rather get the claw of a boiled +lobster." + +The young men did not like Miss Conyngham, but Louis pitied her sad +state. + +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. + +"Why should you mind it so, after a year?" the lad pleaded. + +"Time was when I minded nothing. I thought love and friendship, goodness +and happiness, grew on every bush, and that + + When we were far from the lips that we loved, + We had but to make love to the lips that were near. + +I am wiser now." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +"And who are the Ledwiths?" said Arthur incautiously, but no one noticed +the slip at the moment. + +"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 of that they're the +loveliest souls the sun ever shone on, and I adore Honora." + +"And if Mona takes to His Lordship," said Grahame, "I'll worship Miss +Ledwith." + +"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." + +"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?" + +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 +finding 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. + +"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----" + +"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." + +They all laughed save Anne, who looked awful at this scandalous mimicry +of a personage, until His Lordship laughed too. + +"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." + +He looked towards Honora who smiled and turned again to Arthur with +those gracious eyes. + +"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." + +"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?" + +Louis put his head between them slyly and whispered: + +"I can run over to the baker's if you wish and get a chunk of that +identical pie, if you're so in love with it, and we'll have the whole +scene over again." + +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. + +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. + +"I shall wear one like it at your inauguration, Senator," said she +brightly. + +"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." + +"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." + +"It might come--in time," the Senator thought. + +"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, +because you were a man o' your word, and no wan could lose be your +election." + +"Did he say all that?" + +"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." + +"And to win it," Arthur added under his breath. + +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. + +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 + + Fair gleams the snowy altar-cloth, + The silver vessels sparkle clean, + The shrill bell rings, the censer swings, + And solemn chants resound between. + +It was with him as with Sir Galahad. + + But all my heart is drawn above. + My knees are bowed in crypt and shrine + I never felt the kiss of love, + Nor maiden's hand in mine. + +Parting with him was a calamity. + +"How can you let him go?" he said to Mary Everard, busy with the +preparations. + +"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...." + +Twenty years she had served him, yet here came the inevitable end, as if +such love had never been. + +"Oh, you people of faith! I believe you never suffer, nor know what +suffering is!" + +"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." + +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. + +"Why, he's a priest," cried Constance, with a twist of her pretty mouth. +"Louis is a priest." + +"No, Baby," corrected Marguerite, the little mother, "but he is going to +be one sometime." + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +THE HUMORS OF ELECTION. + + +When the villa closed the Senator was hopelessly enmeshed 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. + +"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." + +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 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. + +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. + +"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." + +"Do you think I have influence?" said Arthur humbly. + +"You are the secretary," Birmingham answered, surprised. + +"I shall have to use it in behalf of my uncle then." + +"And if your uncle should not run?" + +"I should be happy to give you my support." + +Birmingham looked as blank as one before whom a door opens unexpectedly. + +"You understand," continued Arthur, "that I have been absent too long to +grasp the situation clearly. I think my uncle aspires...." + +"A very worthy man," murmured Birmingham. + +"You seem to think he has not much of a chance...." + +"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...." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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: + +"I know what your enemies will say if you come into contrast with +Livingstone." + +"I've heard it often enough," answered the Senator gayly. "If I'd +listened to them I'd be still in the ring." + +Then a suspicion overcame him, and he cried out bitterly: + +"Do you say the same, Artie?" + +"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?" + +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: + +"I never thought of all that. You've put me on the right track, Artie. I +thank you." + +"What can I do," he whispered to Anne, "since it's plain he wants me to +give in--no, to avoid the comic papers?" + +"Whatever he wishes must be done," she replied with a gesture of +despair. + +"The boy is a wonder," thought the Senator. "He has us all under that +little California thumb." + +"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." + +"Then make it Birmingham, uncle," Arthur suggested. "I would like to see +him in that place next to you." + +"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." + +She gave a little cry of joy and sat up straight. + +"Now God bless you for that word, Senator. It'll be a Dillon anyway." + +"In that case I make Birmingham second choice," Arthur said seriously, +accepting the hint as a happy ending to a rather painful scene. + +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. 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. + +"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?" + +"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." + +"I think it means that Quincy must apologize to the Irish, or nominate +himself," said Arthur slowly. + +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. + +"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." + +"I take nothing back," said the Mayor in a calm, sweet voice to which +feeling gave an edge. + +"Then you do not desire the nomination of Tammany Hall?" Arthur said +with a placid drawl, which usually exasperated Everard and other people. + +"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." + +"Then you must nominate yourself, for the Irish won't vote for you," +cried Everard. + +"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." + +"Go down on your knees at once, Mayor," sneered Everard. + +"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----" + +"This is the gentleman who spoke of your policy at the Donnybrook +banquet," Everard interrupted. + +Livingstone made a sign for silence, and took a closer look at Arthur. + +"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." + +"A very good word, fancies! Are you going to make your famous speech +over again?" said Everard with the ready sneer. + +"Can you deny that what I have spoken is the truth?" + +"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 accept the nomination, but that I never retract, never desert +a position." + +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. + +"It all comes to this: you must nominate yourself," said Everard. + +"And divide the party?" + +"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." + +"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." + +"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?" + +"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." + +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. + +"Birmingham can thank this pig-headed gentleman," said he to Everard, +"for making him mayor of New York." + +John snorted his contempt of the statement and its abettors. The report +of Arthur disquieted the Chief and his counselors, who assembled to hear +and discuss it. + +"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?" + +"A more pertinent question," Vandervelt said after a respectful silence, +"would be as to the next available man. I favor Birmingham." + +"And I," echoed the Senator. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"Take a good look at him. He's the man that steers Livingstone." + +"I thought it was John Everard." + +"John doesn't even steer himself," said Grahame savagely. "But take a +view of the bishop." + +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 heavy; one could hardly picture that face lighted by +humor or fancy. + +"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." + +"I thought everything got into the newspapers," Arthur complained. +"Blamed if I can get hold of the thing." + +"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." + +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. + +"He handles it as Laocoon did the serpents," whispered Grahame. + +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 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. + +"Study her, observe her," said Grahame. "These brands have had curious +burnings." + +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. + +"You see how the spirit works," said Grahame. + +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. + +"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." + +"Livingstone ought to be above such work." + +"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." + +"You seem envious," Arthur hinted. + +"Who wouldn't? I can't make a superfluous cent being virtuous, and +Sister Claire clears thousands by lying about her neighbors." + +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. + +"Stunning," Grahame whispered. "Costume incorrect, but dramatic." + +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 story. It sounded like the _Lady of the Lake_ 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. + +"That's the artistic touch," Grahame whispered again. "But it won't pay. +Her revelations must get more salaciousness after election." + +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. + +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 sanded sugar and deficient weight. +The police found their nerves overstrained. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +AN ENDICOTT HEIR. + + +Meanwhile what of the world and the woman he had 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. + +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 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. + +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. + +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, bidding 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. + +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. + +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 role 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 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. + +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! + +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 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. + +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. + +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 _then_ and _now_, 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. + +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 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. + +In four weeks old Martha returned from her mission, and told this story +as they sat in the pleasant kitchen near a cheery fire. + +"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 +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. + +"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." + +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! + +"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." + + + + +THE GREEN AGAINST THE RED. + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +THE HATE OF HANNIBAL. + + +Owen Ledwith had a theory concerning the invasion 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. + +"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." + +"Is it possible?" Honora cried in astonishment. + +"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." + +"I have not quite made up my mind about him yet, father," the young +woman said thoughtfully. + +"He's all man," said the father. + +"True, but a man who is playing a part." + +He laid down his pipe in his surprise, but she smiled assuringly. + +"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?" + +"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." + +"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." + +"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 _are_ 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!" + +"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." + +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 Ledwith it was almost affection. Deeply and +sincerely he returned their kindly feeling. + +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. + +"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." + +"It seems to be also the breath of her life," said Arthur. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +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 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. + +"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." + +"You can say: none," Ledwith answered bitterly. "And if you quote me as +your authority there will be many new members in the brotherhood." + +"Then why keep up the movement, if nothing is to come of it?" + +"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." + +"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." + +"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 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." + +"Hate is a terrible thing," said the young man. "Is England so hateful +then?" + +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. + +"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 fame, and dubbed them +Englishmen; the castaways, the Irish in America and elsewhere are known +as 'the mere Irish.'" + +"It is very bitter," said Arthur, seeing the unshed tears in Honora's +eyes. + +"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----" + +Honora gave a half scream at the blasphemy, but at once controlled +herself. + +"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 +_they_ 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 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." + +"I do not wonder," said Arthur. "With you there is always an increasing +hatred of England?" + +"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----" + +He paused as if in painful thought, and passed his hand over his +forehead. + +"Until the wrongs of centuries have been avenged," said Arthur. Ledwith +sat down with a scornful laugh. + +"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 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." + +He looked at Dillon with haggard eyes. Honora sat like a statue, as if +waiting for the storm to pass. + +"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." + +He sank back with a gesture of weariness, and found Honora's hand +resting on his tenderly. + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"Then let me volunteer the first for this enterprise," said Arthur +blithely. + +"And me the second," cried Honora with enthusiasm. + +"Accepted both," said Ledwith, with a proud smile, new life stealing +into his veins. + +Not for a moment did he suspect the identity of his benefactor, until +Monsignor, worried over the risk for 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. + +"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." + +"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?" + +"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." + +"Well, he has not spent any money yet, so far as I know," Ledwith said. + +The priest hesitated a moment, while the other looked at him curiously. + +"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. + +"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." + +"Amen," said Honora, rejoicing in her father's joy. + +"You know my opinion on these matters, Owen," said Monsignor. + +"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." + +"And what has patriotism done for you?" Monsignor replied without +irritation. + +"Little enough, to be sure." + +"Now, since I have told you how necessary it is that Dillon should +remain in America, and that his money should not be expended----" + +"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." + +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. + +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 +philosopher's saying: the dreams of the innocent are the last reasoning +of sages. + +"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." + +"What does that mean?" said Arthur. + +"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." + +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. + +"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!" + +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. + +"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." + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + +ANNE DILLON'S FELICITY. + + +Monsignor was not discouraged by his failure to detach 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. + +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. + +"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." + +"Tut, tut," said Monsignor, "are you not as good as the best, with the +blood of the Montgomerys and the Haskells in your veins? Are you to +make strange with all this magnificence, as if you were Indians seeing +it for the first time?" + +"That's what I've been sayin' to meself since it began," she replied. + +"Since what began?" + +"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." + +"Well, her son can afford it," said Monsignor affably. "Why shouldn't +she enjoy herself in her own way?" + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +She hastened to the hall and cried out, "Oui, oui, Madame," with a +murmured aside to the priest, "It's all I know." + +"Venez en haut, Judy," said the voice. + +"Oui, oui, Madame," answered Judy. "That manes come up, Father Phil," +and Judy walked off upright, with folded arms, swinging her garments, +actions belied by the broad grin on her face, and the sarcastic motion +of her lips, which kept forming the French words with great scorn. + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"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. + +"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." + +"He never could have been elected, Anne." + +"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." + +"Your French is tres propos, Anne," said Monsignor with a laugh. + +"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 Francais tout de meme." + +"And are you still afraid of Arthur? Wouldn't you venture on a little +protest against his exposing himself to needless danger?" + +"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." + +Her tones had a velvet tenderness in uttering this last sentence. She +had touched one of the peaks of her ambition. + +"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?" + +"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.'" + +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. + +"'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 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." + +"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." + +"I'll give him better reason before I'm done, Monsignor." + +The prelate rose to go, then hesitated a moment. + +"Do you think there is anything?--do you think there could be anything +with regard to Honora Ledwith?" + +She stopped him with a gesture. + +"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." + +"Good-by, Mrs. Montgomery Dillon," he said, bowing at the door. + +"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. + +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 highest expressions of that life were Mrs. Montgomery Dillon +and the Dowager Countess of Skibbereen. + +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. + +Arthur escorted his mother and Honora to the Vandervelt residence. + +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. + +"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." + +"But how?" said Vandervelt. "If you had the making of the scheme, I'm +sure it would be a success." + +"In this way," she answered, bowing and smiling to his sincere +compliment, "by making all the Irish Fenians, that is, those in Ireland, +policemen." + +The gentlemen laughed with one accord. + +"Mr. Sullivan manages his troublesome people that way," she observed +triumphantly. + +"You are a student of the leader," said Vandervelt. + +"Everybody should study him, if they want to win," said Anne. + +"And that's wisdom," cried Lord Constantine. + +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. + +"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." + +"Oh, you dear creature," cried the Countess, "what a long memory you +have." + +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. + +"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." + +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 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! + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + +ABOARD THE "ARROW." + + +One month later sailed another ship. In the depth of night the _Arrow_ +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. + +"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." + +"And do you think that the critics will read it and be overcome?" asked +Arthur. + +"It will convince the critics, not that they are pagans, but that I am. +They will review it, therefore, just to annoy me." + +"You reason just like a critic, from anywhere to nowhere." + +"The book will make a stir, nevertheless," and Doyle showed his +confidence. + +"It's to be a loud protest, and will tangle the supple legs of Henry +Ward Beecher and other semi-pagans like a lasso." + +"How about the legs of the publishers?" + +"That's their lookout. I have nothing against them, and I hope at the +close of the sale they will have nothing against me." + +"When, where, with what title, binding and so forth?" + +"Speak not overmuch to thy dentist," said Grahame slyly. "Already he +knoweth too many of thy mouth's secrets." + +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. + +"Let us have a choice, Captain," said Grahame, as the officer settled +himself in his chair. "You detectives always set forth your successes. +Give us now a story of complete failure, something that remains a +mystery till now." + +"Mystery is the word," said Honora. "This is a night of mystery. But a +story without an end to it----" + +"Like the history of Ireland," said Ledwith dryly. + +"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." + +"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." + +"Are you satisfied, then," said Arthur, "that we are all right?" + +"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." + +"Was there any money awaiting Tom? If so, I might be induced to be +discovered," Grahame said anxiously. + +"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----" + +"With a weak spot in my history," said Arthur. "I was off in California, +playing bad boy for ten years." + +The Captain waved his hand as admitting Dillon's right to his +personality. + +"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 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." + +All the men exchanged delighted glances at this simile. + +"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." + +"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 +disappearance are common. But if he is alive he can be found." + +"Why are you so sure of that?" said Arthur. + +"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." + +"Yet you failed to find Tom Jones." + +"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----" + +The detective coughed before uttering the word, and looked at the men as +he changed the form of his sentence. + +"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." + +"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----" + +"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." + +"Poor, dear lad," sighed she, "and of course he fled from her in +horror." + +"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 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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"I shall find him," said the detective. + +"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." + +The Captain made no reply, but went off to see how his ship was bearing +the storm. The little company fell silent, 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! + +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 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. + +"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." + +"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." + +Arthur saw a young and well-dressed fellow who might have been a student +of good birth and training. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +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, + +"You do the same for me." + +"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." + +He studied the photograph and compared it with the grave face before +him. + +"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." + +The young man and the Captain sighed together. + +"Oh, I brought in others, clever and experienced," said Curran, "to try +what a fresh mind could do to help me, but in vain." + +"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." + +The Captain burst into a mocking laugh, which escaped him before he +could repress the inclination. + +"He may never have heard of it, and if he did his wife's reputation----" + +"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. + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + +THE INVASION OF IRELAND. + + +One lovely morning the good ship sailed into the harbor of Foreskillen, +an obscure fishing port on the lonely coast of Donegal. The _Arrow_ 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. + +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 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. + +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. + +"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----" + +He was working himself into a fever of grief when Honora spoke to him. + +"You are forgetting, father, that this is the moment to thank Mr. Dillon +in the name of our country----" + +"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." + +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. + +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, driving, 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. + +"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." + +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. + +"Now by all the evil gods," said Grahame, "but we have dropped into the +very midst of the insurrection." + +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. + +"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." + +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 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. + +"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." + +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. + +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 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. + +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! + +"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. + +"It is young Devin, the poet," cried Ledwith with a burst of tears. +Honora moaned, and Grahame threw up his hands in despair. + +"We must give the best to our mother," said Ledwith, "but I would prefer +blood so rich to be scattered over a larger soil." + +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 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. + +"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." + +Grahame thanked him, and introduced him to the party. He bowed very low +over the hand which Honora gave him. + +"A rather unfortunate scene for you to witness," he said. + +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. + +"I was glad to be here," she replied, the tears still coursing down her +face, "to take their mother's place." + +"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." + +Ledwith flashed the officer a look of gratitude. + +"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." + +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! + +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. + +"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." + +"It is simply a case of luck," Ledwith replied. "Scheming won't save us. +If Lord Constantine were in London now----" + +"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." + +He called out to Captain Sydenham to come around to his side of the car +for a moment. + +"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?" + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"Then you had better telegraph to Lord Constantine," said Sydenham to +Grahame. + +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." + +"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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"I really can't see any reason for such despair," said Arthur. + +"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." + +"What is to be done?" inquired Honora. + +"You will stay with your father of course?" Honora nodded. + +"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." + +"If it comes to a trial," said Arthur, "won't Ledwith get the same +chance as any other lawbreaker?" + +Honora and Grahame looked at each other as much as to say: "Poor +innocent!" + +"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." + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + +CASTLE MOYNA. + + +The Dillon party took possession of Castle Moyna, its 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 _shebeen_ +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. + +"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. + +"He shall weep tears of brine for it," answered the Captain cheerfully. + +"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." + +They laughed in sheer delight at her accomplishments and her triumphs. + +"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?" + +"Likely. She seems to know the right thing at the right minute." + +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. + +"These Americans," said the butler with his nose in the air. + +"As if ye knew anythin' about Americans," said Judy promptly. "Have ye +ever thraveled beyant Donegal, me good little man?" + +"It wasn't necessary, me good woman." + +"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." + +"The impidence o' some people," said the cook with a loud and scornful +laugh. + +"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." + +"The Irish in New York are allowed to live there I belave," said a pert +housemaid with a simper. + +"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." + +"'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." + +"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 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." + +The audience, awed at Judy's assurance, was urged by pride to laugh +haughtily at this last statement. + +"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." + +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. + +"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 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." + +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. + +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 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. + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +"Who are these people, these Americans, do you know, Captain? I mean +those just now stopping with the Countess of Skibbereen?" + +"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." + +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? + +"Why do you think so?" he inquired. + +"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!" + +"Oh, dear me! Do you tell me!" + +"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." + +"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----" + +"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----" + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"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----" + +"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." + +"Oh, my dear, you could never have done it," cried he in astonishment; +"they are all Protestants, and very dark." + +"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." + +"My dear Mrs. Dillon you overwhelm me. There is nothing I want for +myself, but my brother, Father William----" + +"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." + +"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." + +Anne rose up delighted and came toward Father Roslyn with a smile. She +placed her hand lightly on his shoulder. + +"Father dear, whisper." + +He bent forward. There was not a soul within hearing distance, but Anne +loved a dramatic effect. + +"He need never leave New York. I'll see that Father William has the +_entree_ into the diocese, and I'll take care of him until he leaves for +home." + +She tapped him on the shoulder with her jeweled finger, and gave him a +most expressive look of assurance. + +"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." + +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. + +The bazaar became a splendid legend in the parish of 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. + +The Dowager gave a fete 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 fete 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, + +"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?" + +The beautiful American looked up with a smile. + +"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." + +"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." + +"Honora Ledwith," said the Dowager at a little distance. "What do you +know of my lovely Honora?" + +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. + +"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." + +"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. + +"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----" + +"Saw whom together?" said Arthur. + +"Why, Mrs. Endicott called on Honora at the hotel, you know." + +"Oh!" + +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! + +"Well?" cried Mona eagerly. + +"The old lady is a very sweet-looking woman," he answered. "On the whole +I think Captain Sydenham was right." + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. + +THE AMBASSADOR. + + +After the happy reunion at Castle Moyna there followed 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. + +"And she sings as she looks," whispered the Countess noting his gasp. + +"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." + +His reward was a melting glance from the wonderful eyes. + +"I know the Minister well, and I feel sure he will help for the asking," +said Anne. + +"Glad you're so hopeful, mother, but some of us are not," Arthur +interjected. + +"Then if you fail with His Excellency, Artie," she replied composedly, +"I shall go to see him myself." + +Captain and Dowager exchanged glances of admiration. + +"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 government 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." + +"What effect would these notifications have?" Arthur asked. + +"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." + +Every one looked impressed, so much so that the Captain had to explain. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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, +and keep your heart light. I know a way to make Quincy Livingstone dance +to any music I play." + +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. + +"There's just a chance of doing something for Ledwith," he said +dolorously. + +"By your looks a pretty poor one, I think," Arthur commented. + +"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." + +"What's wrong with our representative?" affecting innocence. + +"What's right with him would be the proper question," growled his +lordship. + +"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." + +"A free hand," repeated Arthur, fishing for information. "And what is a +free hand?" + +"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." + +"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----" + +"Drop it," said Lord Constantine fiercely. "In war there's nothing but +the brute left. The Fenians--may 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." + +"Why should he neglect them like that?" + +"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----" + +"I remember he was one of your alliance men," provokingly. + +"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." + +"Begad," murmured Arthur. "Surely you're getting excited." + +"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----" + +"Saw her--know her--at a distance. What is she to sing?" + +"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 +British 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!" + +"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?" + +"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." + +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 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. + +"Impossible," said Livingstone. "I am content with the ordinary course +for all these cases." + +"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." + +"And what good would my interference do?" said Livingstone. Arthur +grinned. + +"Your Excellency, such a notification would open the doors of the jail +to Ledwith to-morrow. There would be no trial." + +"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." + +"Can you tell me, then, how I am to satisfy you in Ledwith's case?" said +the young man good-naturedly. + +"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." + +"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." + +"All which can be shown at the trial, and will secure his acquittal." + +"Neither I nor his daughter will ever be called as witnesses. Instead, a +pack of ready informers will swear to anything necessary to hurry him +off to life imprisonment." + +"That is your opinion." + +"Do you know who sent me here, your Excellency, with the request for +your aid?" + +Livingstone stared his interrogation. + +"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." + +"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." + +"Outside of New York," corrected Arthur, with delightful malice. + +"Amendment accepted." + +"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?" + +"Impossible. I might as well interfere now." + +"Then on the score of sentiment. Ledwith is failing into age. Even a +brief term in prison may kill him." + +"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." + +"Were they so considerate when our moments were trying and they could +embarrass us?" + +"That is an Irish argument." + +"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." + +"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." + +"You are our representative and defender," replied Arthur gravely, "and +yet you leave us no alternative but to appeal to the English +themselves." + +Livingstone began to look bored, because irritation scorched him and had +to be concealed. Arthur rose. + +"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. + +"Precisely." + +"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." + +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. + +"Who are the people interested in Ledwith, may I ask?" + +"All your old friends of New York," said Arthur, "Birmingham, Sullivan, +and so on." + +"Of course. And the English friends who are to take up my duties where I +desert them?" + +"You must know some of them," and Arthur grinned again, so that the +Minister slightly winced. "Captain Sydenham, commanding in Donegal----" + +"I met him in New York one winter--younger brother to Lord Groton." + +"The Dowager Countess of Skibbereen." + +"Very fine woman. Ledwith is in luck." + +"And Lord Constantine of Essex." + +"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." + +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 dance whether he would or no. In taking +charge of the case Anne briefly expressed her opinion of her son's +methods. + +"You did the best you could, Arthur," she said sweetly. + +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. + +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. + +"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 government will pay his expenses. It ought to pay more +for the outrage." + +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. + +"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?" + +"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." + +"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." + +"Then for his daughter's sake I must persuade him to get away." + +"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." + +Ledwith thanked Arthur warmly when he called upon him in jail, and made +his explanation as the Captain had outlined it. + +"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, 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." + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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 poor creatures have stirred this spirit in you, +lighted the flame--it's enough." + +"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." + +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. + + + + +AN ESCAPED NUN. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. + +JUDY VISITS THE POPE. + + +He used the leisure of the voyage to review recent events, 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. + +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 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. + +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. + +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 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! + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +"Very," Arthur answered, "but give her time. So you saw the Pope?" + +"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.'" + +"What blood do you think there's in him?" said Arthur. + +"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." + +"That's a safe guess," said Arthur; "and you still have the choice of +his being a Sicilian, a Venetian, or a Neapolitan." + +"Unless," said the old lady cautiously, "he comes of the same stock as +Our Lord Himself." + +"Which would make him a Jew," Arthur smoothly remarked. + +"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." + +"And that's true too. And how did you come to see the Pope so easy, and +it in the summer time?" + +The expressive grin covered Judy's face as with comic sunshine. + +"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 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----" + +"What's that?" Arthur asked. "I was never in Rome." + +"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." + +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. + +"What's up?" Arthur asked sleepily. "Are you here as a reporter----" + +"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 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." + +"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?" + +"Your mother," said Doyle, "is a wonderful woman. I have often +speculated on the absence of a like ability in her son." + +"Nature is kind. Wait till I'm as old as she is," said the son. + +"The crowd awaits her to do her honor. The common travelers _will land_ +this morning, glad to set foot on solid ground again. Mrs. Montgomery +Dillon and her party are the only personages that _will arrive from +Europe_. The crowd gathers to meet, not the passengers who merely land, +but the personages who arrive from Europe." + +"Nice distinction. And who is the crowd?" + +"Monsignor O'Donnell----" + +"A very old and dear friend----" + +"Who hopes to build his cathedral with her help. The Senator----" + +"Representing the Dillon clan." + +"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." + +"Well, he, of course, is purely disinterested." + +"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?" + +"And John Everard of course." + +"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?" + +"Ask her brother," with a nod for the upper berth where Louis slept +serenely. + +"And of course you have news?" + +"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." + +The steamer swung to the pier some hours later, and 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. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. + +LA BELLE COLETTE. + + +After the situation had been discussed over the breakfast for ten +minutes Arthur understood the mournful expression of the Senator, whose +gaiety lapsed at intervals when bitterness got the better of him. + +"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." + +"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." + +"What they say of me is true, though. That's what hurts." + +"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. + +"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 _Post_ 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 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?" + +The Senator had to laugh at the description despite his sadness. + +"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?" + +"How long will it last? What is doing against it?" said Arthur. + +"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." + +"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. + +"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." + +"What's his little game?" Arthur asked. + +"Scientific ridicule ... the press plays to the galleries, 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." + +"What's to be done?" + +"If we only knew," the Senator groaned. "If we could only get them under +our fists, in a fair and square tussle!" + +"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 +_Confessions of an Escaped Nun_." + +"You think she's the hinge of the great scheme?" + +"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." + +"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?" + +"Lucky thought," shouted Grahame. "He's in town yet. The very man for +us." + +"I'm going to have it out with Livingstone," said 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 _must_ 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." + +"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. + +"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." + +Having come to a conclusion on this important matter, they dropped into +more personal topics. + +"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." + +"He's very dead," the Senator thought. + +"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." + +"Has Everard anything against you?" + +"A whole litany of crimes." + +"What's wrong with Everard?" + +"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." + +Seeing Arthur puzzled over these allusions, Grahame explained. + +"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!" + +He stalked about the room throwing himself into poses of ecstasy and +adoration before an imaginary goddess to the delight of the Senator. + +"I've been there myself," Arthur commented unmoved. "To the question: +how do you hope to woo and win Everard?" + +"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." + +"Rather risky, I should think." + +"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." + +"Will that impress John Everard?" + +"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 _Confessions_ of Sister Claire. We expose this clever woman. Picture +me, then, the despised 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?" + +"Not with Everard," said the Senator solemnly. "He's simply coke." + +"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." + +"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." + +Arthur found the _Confessions of an Escaped Nun_ 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 _Confessions_ 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: + +"I'm going to see ... I have an appointment with this terrible woman +for to-morrow afternoon. In fact, I saw her this morning. I went to her +office with Sister Mary Magdalen." + +"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. + +"Well, yes," and the lad laughed and blushed. "And she may succeed too. +The greater the sin the deeper the repentance. The unfortunate +woman----" + +"Who is making a fortune on her book by the way----" + +"----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 _was_ 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." + +"You may then have the honor of converting her." + +"It would be an honor," Louis replied stoutly. + +"Try it," said Arthur after thinking the matter over. "I know what force +_your_ arguments will have with her. And if you don't object I'll stay +... by the way, where is her office?" + +"In a quiet business building on Bleecker Street, near Broadway." + +"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." + +"I'm going for all your ridicule, Arthur." + +"No objection, but keep a cool head, and bear in mind that I am in the +hall outside." + +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. + +He had a double reason for seeking the detective. Besides the task of +ferreting out the record of Sister Claire, he 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. + +"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." + +"And seen her too ... a beautiful and artistic dancer." + +"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." + +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. + +"Richard has told me so much of you," she explained. + +"I have so admired your exquisite art," he replied, "that we are already +friends." + +"Que vous etes bien gentil," she murmured, and her tone would have +caressed the wrinkles out of the heart of old age. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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. + +"There's a devil in her," Arthur thought. + +"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." + +"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." + +"She has her consolations," said the detective; "but the devil in her is +not good-natured like the devil in you, Colette. She wants to get hold +of Tom and cut him in little bits for what he has made her suffer." + +"Did you get out any plans?" said Arthur. + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +"You tried the same plan," Arthur began---- + +"But he had no partner to sharpen his wits," she interrupted. Arthur +bowed. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"Not much to build upon, if one wished to worry Claire, or other +people." + +"Depend upon it," Colette broke in, "that Kate 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." + +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. + +"Tell him what you learned about her," said Curran, and then to Arthur, +"She can do a little work herself, and likes it." + +"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." + +She took a fit of laughing, then, over the embarrassment of Sister +Claire's chief supporters. + +"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 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." + +After this surprising remark, uttered without a smile, she looked out of +the window sadly, while Curran chuckled with delight. + +"It takes the woman to measure the woman," he said. Arthur was delighted +at this information. + +"I wish you would learn some more about her, Mrs. Curran." + +She mimicked the formal name in dumb show. + +"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. + +"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?" + +"One must protect his own," replied Arthur grimly. + +"What are we all but wolves that eat one another?--lambs by day, wolves +in the night. We all play our part----" + +"All the world's a stage, of course----" + +"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." + +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: + +"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." + +"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 advantage. Now with regard to this Sister +Claire, not to change the subject too suddenly----" + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XX. + +THE ESCAPED NUN. + + +Sister Claire sat in her office the next afternoon awaiting 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. + +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. + +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 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. + +"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." + +"If the boy is willing, where's the tangle, Mr. Curran?" she answered +placidly. + +"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." + +"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." + +That he did not rely on her his expression showed clearly. + +"You have made a great hit in this city, Sister Claire," he began---- + +"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." + +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 +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? + +"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!" + +"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!" + +"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. + +"What do you think I can do for you?" he asked, to relieve the suspense. + +"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----" + +"I have no right to despise you," said Louis, catching his breath. + +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 the presence of +Phryne. With this sport Sister Claire had been long familiar. + +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: + +"If you do not hate me now ... after all this ... then take pity on me." + + * * * * * + +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. + +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. + +"I had no idea that door was unlocked," said Curran helplessly. + +"Nor I. Who's within? My friend, young Everard?" + +"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. + +"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." + +"I can go to the first room, the front office, and inquire," said +Curran. + +"Never mind." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"Locked in?" he said to Curran, who nodded in a dazed way. + +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. + +"If she knew how near the cat is," Arthur remarked patiently. + +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. + +"Ah, you will go converting before your time," he said gayly. + +"Oh, Arthur, thank God----" the lad stammered. + +"Seize him," Claire began to shriek, very cautiously however. "Hold him, +gentlemen. Get the police. He is an emissary of the papists----" + +"Let me go," Louis cried in anguish. + +"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. + +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 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. + +"You may be very tired before our little talk is concluded----" + +"Am I to receive your insults as well as your agent's?" she interrupted. + +"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----" + +"I do not wish to listen you," she snapped. "I will not be insulted a +second time." + +"Who could insult the author of the _Confessions_? 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." + +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. + +"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." + +"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 go. I shall place the matter before my friends, and +before the public, when I find it agreeable." + +"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." + +"I am not afraid of whispers, quite used to them in fact," she drawled, +as if mimicking him. + +"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." + +"You are threatening me," she stammered with a show of pride. + +"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?" + +"You have," she replied brokenly. + +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 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. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. + +AN ANXIOUS NIGHT. + + +Curran caught up with him as he turned into Broadway. 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. + +"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?" + +"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. + +"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?" + +"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." + +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. + +"I am sorry you left him," he said, thoughtfully weighing the +circumstances. "This creature threatened him, 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." + +"I didn't know," Curran answered stupidly, a greenish pallor spreading +over his face. "That kind of work won't bring her much luck." + +"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?" + +"We must," Curran said harshly, "we must. Has he any money?" + +"Not enough to carry him far." + +"Then ten hours' search ought to capture him." + +"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." + +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 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. + +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. + +"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?" + +"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." + +"Secrecy above all things, understand," was the last admonition. + +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. + +"How in the name of Heaven," said he, "did you conceive this scheme of +converting this woman?" + +"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." + +"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 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?" + +"That could happen," she admitted with a shiver, "but I had her word +that my visit was to be kept a secret." + +"Her word!" and he raised his hands. + +"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." + +"I see indeed," said Arthur too worried to smile. + +"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." + +"And how did you come to mix Louis up in the thing?" + +"He happened to drop in as I was going, and I took him along. He was +very much edified, we all were." + +"And he has been more edified since," observed Arthur, but the good nun +missed the sarcasm. + +"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.' 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." + +"You say three. Was Edith Conyngham the third?" + +"Oh, no, only a sister of our community." + +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. + +"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." + +"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. + +"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." + +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 in his own mind. Oh, +no doubt Curran would find him! Why, he _must_ find him! + +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? + +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. + +"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. + +"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." + +They hurried away to the cab in silence. Before entering Arthur wrung +the hand of the detective warmly. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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. 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." + +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. + +"The sauce for this feast," said he, "is not appetite, but this fact: +that your troubles are over. Now eat." + +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. + +"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." + +"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 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." + +"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." + +"I shall come," said the lad with a show of spirit that delighted +Arthur. "Even if you should see me hanged the next day." + +"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." + +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 _en route_ 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. + +"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." + +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 suffering 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. + +"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." + +Thus the items in his account with kinsman Livingstone kept mounting +daily. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. + +THE END OF A MELODRAMA. + + +Louis kept his bed for some weeks, and suffered a slow 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 _Confessions_ and its author at a +banquet _vis-a-vis_ 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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"Is this the result of your clever story-telling, Dick Curran?" she +gasped. + +"It's the result of your affair with young Everard," he replied sadly. +"That was a mistake altogether. It waked up Arthur Dillon." + +"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!" + +"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." + +"With you to defend me?" ironically. + +"I could only die with you ... against that crowd." + +"And you would," she said with conviction, tears in her eyes. "My one +friend." + +His cheeks flushed and his eyes sparkled at the fervent praise of his +fidelity. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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 world this role 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!" + +She burst into hearty laughter. + +"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?" + +"On the stage perfectly." + +"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!" + +"It slipped on me," he said humbly. + +"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, "if +that doesn't take among the Methodists and the general public out West +and down South, what will?" + +"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?" + +"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 _grand coup_--press, manager, all details?" + +"Ready long ago." + +"Here then is the program, Dicky dear. To-morrow I seek the seclusion of +the convent at Park Square--isn't _seclusion_ 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." + +Both laughed heartily at this allusion. + +"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." + +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 _The Escaped Nun_ 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. + +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. + +"What is the meaning of it?" said Monsignor. "I thought you had +extinguished her, Arthur." + +"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?" + +"Isn't it rather late in history for such things?" said Monsignor. + +"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." + +"It would be awkward enough I admit. You think, then, that she ... but +what could be her motive?" + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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: + + "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." + +"At eight o'clock this evening where will Miss Conyngham be, Sister?" + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +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 disgraced 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. + +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. + +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. + +"Anything more, mum?" he said respectfully. + +"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 Colette. The next +instant he laughed like a hysterical woman. + +"By heavens, but that _was_ an inspiration!" he exclaimed. "Don't be +frightened, beautiful Colette. I was prepared for a tragedy, but this +discovery reveals a farce." + +Her terror gave way to stupefaction when she recognized him. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"Take you home to your husband," said Arthur. "Come." + +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. + +"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." + +Curran asked no questions and accepted the situation composedly. + +"She is in your hands," he said. + +"I place her in yours for the present," Arthur replied, 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." + +"You are a terrible man," she whimpered, as he walked out and left them +to their sins. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. + +THE FIRST BLOW. + + +Mayor Birmingham and Grahame, summoned by messengers, 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! + +The two men stared at his comfortable attitude in that strange inn, and +fairly gasped at the climax of his story. + +"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." + +"I think we have Livingstone and his enterprise in the proper sort of +hole," Arthur answered. "The question is how to use our advantage?" + +The young men turned to Birmingham with deference. + +"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 subpoena all our distinguished enemies. That course has +some disagreeable consequences, however." + +"I think we had better keep out of court," Arthur said quickly. + +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. + +"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?" + +"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." + +"That's the plan," Arthur interrupted with joy. "That _must_ 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." + +"Wild horses wouldn't drag them to it," Grahame thought. + +"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." + +"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 story for +the morning papers, covering dramatically the details of this very +remarkable episode." + +They sat long discussing the various features of the scheme. + +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. + +"At the start I would like to hear your explanation," Arthur began +coldly. "You were in my employ and in hers." + +"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----" + +In his nervous apprehension for Colette's fate the strong-willed man +broke down. He remained silent, struggling for his vanishing +self-control. + +"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." + +"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." + +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 trembled with eagerness and suspense. He +loved her,--this wretch, witch, fiend of a woman! + +"The question is, can I deal with her myself? She is intractable." + +"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." + +"I shall require a good deal of her, not for my own sake, but to undo +the evil work----" + +"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." + +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. + +"If you think I can deal with her, I shall not invoke the aid of the +law." + +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. + +"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 owner that you would need the rooms no more +after the end of the month." + +"Thanks," she murmured with downcast eyes. + +"I am ready now to lay before you the conditions----" + +"Are you going to send me to jail?" + +"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." + +"This for the beginning?" she said in despair. + +"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." + +"You will find all that in my papers." + +"Is Mr. Livingstone's name among your papers?" + +"He was the ringleader. Of course." + +"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." + +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? + +"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." + +Her sobbing touched him by its pathos and its cleverness. + +"You are beyond feeling, but you _must_ talk about feeling," was his +hard reply. "Probably I shall make you feel before the end of this +adventure." + +"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." + +"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." + +"Poor child!" she sneered, and burst out laughing 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...." + +"Your old friends and well-wishers, McMeeter, Bradford and Co." + +"Never, never, never," she screamed, and fell to weeping again. "I'll +die first." + +"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." + +"Can he do this?" she said scornfully to Curran, who nodded. + +"And if I agree to it, what do I get?" turning again to Dillon. + +"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." + +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. + +"You have done the Catholics of this city harm that will last a long +time, Colette," said he. "That vile book 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." + +He paused to decide this point, while she gazed like a fascinated bird. + +"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." + +What could she do but accept his terms, protesting that 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. + +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. + +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 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. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. + +ANNE MAKES HISTORY. + + +In the months that followed Anne Dillon lived as near 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. + +"Leave it all to me," said she. "You shall win the support of all these +people without turning your hand over." + +"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. + +She relied chiefly on Doyle Grahame for one part of her program, 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 _Herald_. + +"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." + +"Hasn't it all been good?" + +"Of course, or it would not have been printed. But there must come an +end sometime. What's your aim anyway?" + +"I want a share in making history," she said slyly. + +"Take a share in making mine," he answered morosely, and thereupon she +landed him. + +"Oh, run away with Mona, if you're thinking of marrying." + +"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." + +"You humor the man too much," Anne said with a laugh. "I can twist John +Everard about my finger, only----" + +"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?" + +"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." + +"You can have the column. What do you want it for?" + +"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?" + +"You've got a fine thing, Mrs. Dillon," said he. "By Jove, but I'll help +you spread this for all it's worth." + +"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." + +"I'd have killed him long ago, if I thought it worth the trouble," he +said. + +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. + +"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?" + +"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." + +He drew his beloved into his arms and kissed her pale cheek. + +"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 +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! + +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. + +"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." + +"If you only will keep quiet," she suggested. + +"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." + +He laughed at the light which suddenly shone in her face. + +"That's a fair promise," she said smoothly, and fled before he could add +conditions. + +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 +recognized the climax only when Lord Constantine, after the champagne +had sparkled in the glasses, began to explain his dream to Sullivan. + +"What do you think of it?" said he. + +"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. + +"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." + +"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?" + +"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." + +"That's the popular feeling, I think," Sullivan said to His Lordship. + +"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?" + +"My attitude," replied the Senator, posing as he reflected that a +budding statesman made the inquiry, "would be entirely in your favor." + +"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." + +"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. + +Monsignor, prompted by Anne, came to the rescue of the young nobleman. + +"There would be a row, if the matter came up for discussion just now," +he said. "Ten years hence may see a 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." + +"How good of you to say so," murmured His Lordship. + +"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." + +"Truly, a Daniel come to judgment," murmured Arthur. + +"It's a fine view to take of it," the Boss thought. + +"Are you afraid to ask Ledwith for an opinion?" Arthur suggested. + +"What's he got to do with it?" Everard snapped, unsoftened by the mellow +atmosphere of the feast. + +"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." + +"How will that sound among the brethren?" said Arthur disappointed. + +His mother flashed him a look of triumph, and Lord Constantine looked +foolishly happy. + +"As the utterance of a maniac, of course. Have they ever regarded me as +sane?" he answered easily. + +"And what becomes of your dream?" Arthur persisted. + +"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 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: + + "The parliament of man, the federation of the world." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"I am sure," he said to the cabinet minister, "that in a matter so +serious you want absolute sincerity?" + +"Absolute, and thank you," replied the great man. + +"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." + +Arthur was sorry for his lordship, who sat utterly astounded and cast +down wofully at this expression of feeling from such a man. + +"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." + +Lord Constantine opened his mouth, Everard snorted his contempt, but the +great man signaled silence. Birmingham paid no attention. + +"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." + +"Remember," Arthur whispered to Everard, raging to speak, "that the +Cabinet Minister doesn't care to hear anyone but Birmingham." + +"I'm sorry for you, Conny," he whispered to his lordship, "but it's the +truth." + +"Never enjoyed anything so much," said Grahame _sotto voce_, his eyes on +Everard. + +"However, let us leave the Irish out of the question," 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." + +"Fudge!" cried Everard, unabashed by the beautiful English stare of the +C. M. + +"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." + +"It might be objected to your view that feeling is too strong an element +of it," said the Cabinet Minister. + +"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." + +With this remark the formal discussion ended. Mortified at this outcome +of his plans, Lord Constantine could not be consoled. + +"As long as Livingstone is on your side, Conny," said Arthur, "you are +foredoomed." + +"I am not so sure," His Lordship answered with some bitterness. "The +Chief Justice of the United States is a good friend to have." + +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! + +"Have I found thee, O mine enemy?" Arthur cried in his delight. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV. + +THE CATHEDRAL. + + +Ledwith was dying in profound depression, like most 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! + +He was like a son to Owen Ledwith. + +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. + +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 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. + +"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." + +"Not if Lord Constantine can hinder it," Arthur said bluntly. + +"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." + +"I believe you," said Arthur. + +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: + +"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." + +"Very true," she replied, looking up with surprise. "Obedience is better +than sacrifice." + +"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?" + +"To give up the convent," she replied promptly. + +"That looks to me like selfishness," he said gently. "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." + +"And you think I descend?" she murmured with a little gasp of pain. +"Why, how can that be?" + +"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." + +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? + +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. + +It was even a pleasant thought for him, to think of his 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. + +"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?" + +"Never, father dear," she said, soothing him like a child. + +"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----" + +"As long as you please, father," she said quietly. "Make it five years +if you will----" + +"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----" + +"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." + +"And now I lose even that," with a long sigh. + +Thus gently and naturally Arthur gained his point. + +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. + +"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." + +"The money that has gone into it would have struck a great blow for +Erin," said Ledwith with a bitter sigh. + +"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." + +"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?" + +"Father dear, you are exciting yourself," Honora broke in, but neither +heeded her. + +"Christ brought us true freedom," said Monsignor, "and the Church alone +teaches, practises, and maintains it." + +"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." + +"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, 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." + +"I believe you will die with that conviction," Ledwith said in wonder. + +"I wish you could die with the same, Owen," replied Monsignor tenderly. + +They fell silent for a little under the stress of sudden feeling. + +"How do men reason themselves into such absurdities?" Owen asked +himself. + +"You ought to know. You have done it often enough," said the priest +tartly. + +Then both laughed together, as they always did when the argument became +personal. + +"Do you know what Livingstone and Bradford and the people whom they +represent think of that temple?" said Monsignor impressively. + +"Oh, their opinions!" Owen snorted. + +"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?" + +Ledwith, in silence, took a second look at the shining walls and towers. + +"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, 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." + +"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." + +"When did you evolve this new fallacy?" said Ledwith hoarsely. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +Ledwith had begun to tremble, but he said never a word. + +"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 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." + +Ledwith gave a sudden cry, and raised his hands to heaven, but grew +quiet at once. + +The priest watched contentedly the spires of his cathedral. + +"You have touched heart and reason together," Honora whispered. + +Ledwith remained a long time silent, struggling with a new spirit. At +last he turned the wide, frank eyes on his friend and victor. + +"I am conquered, Monsignor." + +"Not wholly yet, Owen." + +"I have been a fool, a foolish fool,--not to have seen and understood." + +"And your folly is not yet dead. You are dying in sadness and despair +almost, when you should go to eternity in triumph." + +"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'?" + +"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----" + +"God bless that noble son," Owen cried. + +"And a daughter whose prayers will mount from the nun's cell, to bless +your cause. If you could but go from her resigned!" + +"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." + +"But your submission is only in part. You are not wholly conquered." + +"Twice have you said that," Owen complained, raising his heavy eyes in +reproach. + +"Love of country is not the greatest love." + +"No, love of the race, of humanity, is more." + +"And the love of God is more than either. With all their beauty, what do +these abstract loves bring us? The 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.'" + +He paused to let his words sink into Ledwith's mind. + +"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." + +"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!" + +"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?" + +"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." + +There followed a long pause, then, for Monsignor had finished his +argument, and only waited to control his own emotion before saying +good-by. + +"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." + +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 +emotions. 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. + +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. + +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. + +Honora knew from the expression of the two men that a new element had +entered into her father's happiness. + +"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." + +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. + +"God alone has the future," he said. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. + +THE FALL OF LIVINGSTONE. + + +The ending of Quincy Livingstone's career in England 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? + +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. + +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 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. + +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 _dear_, DEAR 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? + +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. + +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. + +"We can make a good fight," was Grahame's conclusion, "but the field +belongs to Livingstone." + +"Chance is always kind to the unfit," said Arthur, "because the Irish +are good-natured." + +"I don't see the connection." + +"I should have said, because mankind is so. In this case Quincy gets the +prize, because the Irish think he will get it." + +"You speak like the oracle," said Grahame. + +"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?" + +They were discussing that point without fruit when Anne knocked at the +door of the study, and entered in some anxiety. + +"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?" + +"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." + +"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." + +"There's your man," said Grahame. + +"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 he understand and administer justice, even +among his own?" + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"Hurrah for the Irish!" cried Grahame, and the two cheered her as she +left the room to prepare for her share of the labor. + +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! + +Languidly the journals gave out in due time the advent 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. + +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! + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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 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 _Confessions_, +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?" + +"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----?" + +"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?" + +"I never did, and I never shall," with vehemence. "You are one of those +that can prove anything----" + +"If you were sure of his responsibility, would you go to Washington?" + +"Haven't I the evidence of my own senses? Were not all Livingstone's +friends on the committee which exposed Sister Claire?" + +"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?" + +"Enough, young man. I'm off for the train. Here, Mary, my satchel----" + +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. + +"Would you go to Washington if you were sure Livingstone backed Sister +Claire?" came the relentless question. + +"No, I wouldn't," he answered vacantly. + +"Do you wish to be made sure of it?" + +He began to turn purple and to bluster. + +"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?" + +"I want to know what is the meaning of this," Everard sputtered, "this +violence? In my own house, in broad day, like a burglar." + +"Answer the question." + +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. + +"If you can make me sure, I am willing," he said meekly. + +"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. + +"Legally you know what her testimony is worth," said he. + +"You accepted her testimony as to her own frauds, and so did the whole +committee." + +"We had to accept the evidence of our own senses." + +Obstinate to the last was Everard. + +"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 +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?" + +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. + +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. + +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 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. + +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. + +"I suppose there's no truth in it," he said. + +The Minister handed him the cablegram. + +"Within ten days," making a mental calculation, "I should be on my way +back to London, with the confirmation of the Senate practically +secured." + +"When it comes I shall be pleased to offer my congratulations," +Birmingham replied, and the remark slightly irritated Livingstone. + +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 in and another man's glory out, fleet, silent, +unrecognized, unhonored, and unknown. + +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. + +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.... + +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! + + + + +THE TEST OF DISAPPEARANCE. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. + +A PROBLEM OF DISAPPEARANCE. + + +After patient study of the disappearance of Horace 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. + +"Since you have failed," she said, "take up my theory. You will find +that man in Arthur Dillon." + +"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." + +"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." + +"Instinct! Theory! It is pure hatred. And the hate of a woman can make +her take an ass for Apollo." + +"No doubt I hate him. Oh, how I hate that man ... and young Everard...." + +"Or any man that escapes you," he filled in with sly malice. + +"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 Conyngham then with great success, +though not to crowded houses." + +She laughed heartily at the recollection. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"Dillon is a very close man." + +"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." + +"And you didn't get a cent," Curran remarked. + +"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 imitation 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." + +"He's dare-devil clear enough," commented her husband. + +"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." + +"Quite natural, I think. He went away a boy, came back a rich man, and +was able to boss things, having the cash." + +"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?" + +"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." + +"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 +he plays his part so well that fools like you, Dick, are tricked." + +"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." + +"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?" + +"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?" + +"Monsignor O'Donnell of course," she answered. + +"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." + +"That fool of a woman knows nothing, never did, never will," she +snapped. + +"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?" + +"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." + +"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?" + +"You won't find out any more than I've told you, but you may prove how +little reason they have for accepting him as the boy that ran away." + +"After that it would be necessary to search California." + +"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. + +"I'm not convinced," he said cheerfully. "Then tell me what to do." + +"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?" + +"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." + +"Well, it's your business to dive deeper than the tangle," she answered +crossly. "If I had your practice----" + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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?" + +"The eyes of hate, and the eyes of love," said he sagely. + +"Then I'd be afraid to bring them together," she admitted whispering +again, and cowering into his arms. "If he suspects I am hunting him +down, he will have no pity." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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?" + +Sadness came over the detective as she returned to her seat on his knee. + +"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." + +"What do you mean?" knowing very well what he meant. + +"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----" + +"To the dogs," she shrieked in a sudden access of horror. + +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 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. + +"What shall we do?" he ventured to say at last. + +"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." + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII. + +A FIRST TEST. + + +Curran could not study the Endicott problem. His 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. + +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 _Arrow_; 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. + +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 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. + +"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." + +She sneered at this bias, and bade him search deeper. + +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. + +"Do you know anything about Arthur's history in California?" and his +lazy eyes noted every change in the ruddy, handsome face. + +"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. + +"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 +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." + +This bit of fiction relieved the Senator's mind. + +"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." + +"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?" + +"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?" + +"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?" + +"If the court asked me how I knew my mother was my mother----" + +"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." + +"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? Why, if he +told me himself he was any one else, I wouldn't believe him." + +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. + +"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." + +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?" + +The detective explained what evidence a court would accept as proof of +personality. + +"Well, Arthur can give that aisy enough," said she. + +"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." + +"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. + +"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?" + +"I cud swear as manny oaths on that point as there are hairs in yer +head," said Judy. + +"And what would you say, Mrs. Haskell, if the judge said to you: Now, +madam, it's very easy for you to say you 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?" + +"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." + +"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?" + +"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." + +"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?" + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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 _prie-dieu_ in the inner room with +a group of works of devotion: and Edith had declared him no Catholic. +Here was the refutation. + +"He is a pious man," Curran said. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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 him any disagreeable facts in the lad's career. So deeply the +detective respected him! + +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. + +"There are the people he loves," said Curran with emotion. + +"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." + +"He's a terrible man," said Curran, repeating Edith's phrase. + +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. + +"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 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." + +"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." + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX. + +THE NERVE OF ANNE. + + +Curran laid emphasis in his account to his wife on the details of +Arthur's rooms, and on the photographs which had helped to discover the +lost boy in California. Edith laughed at him. + +"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." + +"I have nothing to say, I am just working on your lines, dearie," he +replied humbly. + +"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." + +"A love affair! Our tracks!" Curran repeated in confusion. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"That means you will have Arthur down on you next day." + +"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." + +"You are going to bring Sonia down, then?" + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +There was no change in the priest's expression or manner, no starting, +no betrayal of feeling. Keeping his eyes on the detective's face, he +repeated the name as one utters a half-forgotten thing. + +"Why has that name a familiar sound?" he asked himself. + +"You may have read it frequently in the papers at the time Horace +Endicott disappeared," Curran suggested. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"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. + +"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." + +"It was a mere guess on the part of those interested in finding him." + +"Still the guess must have been prompted by some theory of the search." + +"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." + +Monsignor looked amazed for a moment and then laughed. + +"Interesting for Mr. Dillon and his friends, particularly if this +Endicott is wanted for any crime...." + +"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." + +"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...." + +He picked up the photograph of Endicott again. + +"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." + +"If I might venture another----" + +"Pardon, not another word. In any official and public way I am always +ready to tell what the law requires, or charity demands." + +"You would be willing then to declare that Arthur Dillon----" + +"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 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. + +"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?" + +"Not a bit, sweetheart." + +"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." + +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. + +"I would like to know if you are acquainted with Mr. Horace Endicott?" +said he. + +Anne's face remained as blank as the wall, and her manner tranquil. She +had never heard the name before, for in 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. + +"I never heard the name," said Anne coldly. "Nor do I see by what right +you come here and ask questions." + +"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." + +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. + +"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?" + +And she rose to indicate that his reply must be brief. + +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. + +"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 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." + +"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." + +"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. + +"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." + +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! + +"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 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?" + +The detective explained the existence and motives of a deserted, +poverty-stricken wife and child. + +"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?" + +"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." + +"Have you a picture of the young man?" + +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. + +"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?" + +"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 court in the land and swear positively that you know your own +son." + +"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. + +"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----" + +"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!" + +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. + +"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." + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XXX. + +UNDER THE EYES OF HATE. + + +Edith's inference from the interviews with the Monsignor 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. + +"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?" + +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. + +"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." + +He waved his hands in despair. + +"Then you'll do the talking, Madam Mischief." + +"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 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." + +"There's a good deal in your method," he admitted in a hopeless way. + +"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!" + +"He'll _dear_ you after that scene!" + +"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...." + +"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." + +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. + +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 role of a child of light, an elf, +a goddess, for which nature had dressed her with golden hair, melting +eyes of celestial blue, and exquisite form. + +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. + +"If _you_ 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?" + +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. + +"He's not to speak until asked," she cried. + +"And then only say what she thinks," he added. + +"La! are you fighting over it already? That's not a good sign." + +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. + +"What do you wish me to do?" said she. + +"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 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!" + +Sonia's eyes sparkled at the thought of that sweet murder. + +"And wait another five years for all this," was her cynical remark. + +"If the question is not settled this Fall, then let it go forever," said +Edith with energy. + +"The scheme is well enough," Sonia said lazily. "Is this Arthur Dillon +handsome, a dashing blade?" + +"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." + +"And now you," to Curran. + +Sonia did not know, nor care why Edith hated Dillon. + +"I protest, Sonia. He will put a spell on you, and spoil our chances. +Let him talk later when we have succeeded or failed." + +"Nonsense, you fool. I must hear both sides, but I declare now that I +submit myself to you wholly. What do you say, Curran?" + +"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." + +"Why do you think him so clever? My Horace was anything but clever ... +at least we thought so ... until now." + +"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." + +"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." + +"This Arthur Dillon is Irish, and lives among the Irish in the +old-fashioned Irish way, half in the slums, and half in the swell +places...." + +"_Mon Dieu_, 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!" + +"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?" + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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, with plain admiration in his gaze. She deserves to succeed, he +thought. Sonia came to a conclusion, languidly. + +"We must try the eyes of hate," was her decision. + +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. + +"Horace would never do that when he could get a box," and she leveled +her glass at him. + +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. + +"You have recognized him?" Edith whispered mad with joy. + +"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." + +"There's a beginning," said Edith with triumph. "Next time for a nearer +look." + +"Oh, he could never have changed so," Sonia cried with bitterness of +heart. + +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. + +"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!" + +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 _pas seul_ amid the thunderous +applause of the hearty and adoring company. + +"That man Horace Endicott!" she exclaimed with contempt. "Bah! But it's +interesting, of course." + +"What a compliment! what acting! oh, incomparable man!" said Edith, +enraged at his success before such an audience. Her husband smiled +behind his hand. + +"You have a fine imagination, Colette, but I would not give a penny for +your instinct," said Sonia. + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +"Was your husband a speaker?" he asked. + +"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." + +"And why not Ireland's sorrows as well as those of America, or any other +country?" he replied savagely. + +"Oh, I quite forgot that you were Irish ... a thousand pardons," she +said with sneering civility. "Of course, I shall be glad to hear his +description of the sorrows. An orator! It's very interesting." + +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. + +"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. + +"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." + +"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. + +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 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. + +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. + +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. + +"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 _her_ nature ... but +if you don't stop it, why I must." + +"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----" + +"What! even my poor uncle! Oh, Curran!" + +"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." + +"And Tom Jones was Horace Endicott," Arthur mused, "I knew it of course +all along, but I respected your confidence. I had known Endicott." + +"You knew Horace Endicott?" said Curran, horrified by a sudden vision of +his own stupidity. + +"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. _And there are consolations._ 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----" + +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! + +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. + +"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! + +"Do you see any likeness?" whispered Edith. + +"None," was the despairing answer. + +"Be careful," hissed Curran. "In this sleep words are heard and +remembered sometimes." + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +"I think she is entertaining a friend," Curran said, hinting plainly at +a surprise. + +"Let her bring the friend along," was the careless answer. + +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. + +"Delighted," said Arthur in his usual drawling way on these occasions. +"I have had the pleasure of meeting Mrs. Endicott before." + +"Indeed," cried the lady. "I regret that my memory...." + +"At Castle Moyna, a little fete, mother fainted because she saw me +running across the lawn ... of course you remember...." + +"Why, certainly ... we all felt so sorry for the young singer ... her +father...." + +"He was in jail and died since, poor man. Then I saw you coming across +on the steamer with a dear, sweet, old lady...." + +"My husband's aunt," Sonia gasped at the thought of Aunt Lois. + +"Oh, but he's letter-perfect," murmured Edith in admiration. + +"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." + +"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. + +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 heart, without venturing to warn Edith. Another day, he told +her, and be good meanwhile. + +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. + +"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." + +When the door closed on her, Edith began to shriek in hysterical +laughter. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI. + +THE HEART OF HONORA. + + +While Edith urged the search for Endicott, the little 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. + +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 frightful 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 +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! + +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? + +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. + +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 increased in dignity. Her hair flamed more glorious than +ever. As a young matron she patronized Honora now an old maid. + +"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!" + +"Mona, do you mean to tell me that every one knew it?" + +"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." + +The usual fashion of teasing Honora attributed to her qualities opposed +to a religious vocation. + +"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----" + +"It was your fault, of course. Why do you throw doubt upon it?" + +"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?" + +"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." + +"You have a prejudice against convents, Mona." + +"No, dear, I believe in convents for those who are 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." + +"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?" + +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. + +"Did you say you had fixed the day, Honora?" + +"In September, any day before the end of the month." + +"You were never made for the convent," with seriousness. "Too fond of +the running about in life, and your training is all against it." + +"My training!" said Honora. + +"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." + +"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?" + +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. + +"Take care," whispered Mona. "He is not the man, but the man's agent." + +Louis bounced into the raspberry enclosure and flung himself at their +feet. + +"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." + +The deacon sat up and cast an indignant look on his sister. + +"Shake not thy gory locks at me," she began cooly.... + +"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...." + +"Everybody should get married," said Mona serenely, "except priests and +nuns. Mona is not a nun, therefore she should get married." + +"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...." + +"Don't quote Scripture, Reverend Sir," cried Mona angrily. + +"The besotted world is not worth the pother this foolish young married +woman makes over it." + +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. + +"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." + +"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. And if Arthur makes up his mind to win her, I'm bound +she shall have him." + +"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." + +"What was the baby doing when you left the house?" said she for answer. + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. 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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII. + +THE PAULINE PRIVILEGE. + + +For a week at the end of July Arthur had been in the city 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. + +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. + +"Dearest and best of women! By God's grace I shall soon call you mine!" + +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. + +"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." + +"And how about that other woman ...?" + +"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?" + +"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." + +"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?" + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +"All this looks to me," said the priest, "as if the time 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." + +"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?" + +"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...." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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?" + +"They are not the only pertinacious ones," the priest replied. + +"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." + +"In this case would it not be better to get an advantage by declaring +yourself, before Livingstone can bring suit against you?" + +"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?" + +"Very true," said Monsignor reluctantly, as he viewed the situation. + +"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." + +"He was young and innocent," said the priest with a pitiful glance at +Arthur. + +"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." + +"And the reason not to be controverted?" + +"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 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." + +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." + +"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." + +"It's a matter to be left undisturbed, or some one will go crazy over +it," Arthur said seriously. + +"And you are happy, really happy? The sight of this woman did not revive +in you any regret...." + +"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." + +"I heard of that too," said the priest meditatively. "Has she any regard +for you?" + +"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." + +"And she goes into the convent, I believe. You must not stand in God's +way." + +"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." + +Monsignor paused as if struck by the thought and looked at him for a +moment. + +"It is the right spirit," was his brief comment. + +He loved this strange, incomprehensible man, who had 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. + + She lives! If it be so, + It is a chance which does redeem all sorrows + That ever I have felt. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"I cannot argue with you," he said hopelessly, "and it's a sad subject. +There is only the will of God to be done." + +"And if you were free," went on Monsignor smiling, "and tried and failed +to light love in her heart, you would suffer still more." + +"A little more or less would not matter. I would be happy still to give +her to God." + +"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." + +Arthur broke into a laugh, and the priest said casually: + +"I think that by the law of the Church you are a free man." + +Arthur leaped to his feet with a face like death. + +"In the name of God!" he cried. + +Monsignor pushed him back into his chair. + +"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, unbaptized, 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." + +The man, unable to speak, or move, felt his hope grow strong and violent +out of the priest's words. + +"Mind, it's only my opinion," said Monsignor, to moderate his +transports. + +"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?" + +"Neither will happen," with painful effort. Sudden joy overcame him with +that anguish of the past, and this was overwhelming, wonderful. + +"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." + +"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----" + +"All your sorrow," the priest interrupted. + +"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 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!" + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII. + +LOVE IS BLIND. + + +Next morning after breakfast the house began to echo 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. + +"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?" + +The criminals began to laugh at the coincidence. + +"I always sing to baby," Mona screamed in justification. + +"I wasn't singing, I never sing," Louis yelled from the parlor. + +"Mother drove me to it," Arthur howled through the door. + +"I think the singin' was betther nor the shoutin'," Judy observed +leaning out of the window to display her quizzical smile. + +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 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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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?" + +"Oh, I know you are all working for the same thing, all against me," +Anne said pettishly. + +"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 girls are not med for the convent, except the blessed few...." + +Anne fled from the stream of Judy's eloquence, and the old lady looked +expressively at Mona. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"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...." + +"Oh, sooner than that," said Arthur with a meaning which escaped her. + +"No, six months is the period," she corrected seriously. + +"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 has long been worn away, will then clip with +one snip of the scissors her brown locks from her head...." + +"Horror!" cried Arthur. + +"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." + +"And what do they make of the hair?" said Arthur. + +"That's one of the things yet to be revealed." + +"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." + +"Where do the frowsy children come in?" + +"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." + +"Finally the last stage is worse than the first, I suppose. Having +acquired the habit she gets into it so deeply...." + +"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." + +"This is a case of rescue," said Arthur with determination, "I move we +rescue her this minute. Help, help!" + +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. + +"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, concealed, put +away where the mother may never see or hear her more." + +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. + +"What is the meaning of it, Louis?" + +He knew not how to make answer, thinking that Arthur should be the first +to tell his story. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"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!" + +"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. + +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 the bushes with eagerness, to gather for her black raspberries in +his drinking-cup. Her attempt to discuss her departure amiably had +failed. + +"I am tired already," said she to Louis helplessly. "I shall go back to +the house, and leave you to go on together." + +"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." + +"How long...." she began. He divined what she would have asked. + +"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." + +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? + +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 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. + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +For a change came over his face that sickened her. The next moment he +was ready for the struggle. + +"I fear not, Honora," said he humbly. "I fear we can never do that +again." + +"Then you are to stand in my way too?" with bitterness. + +"No, but I am not going to stand in my own way," he replied boldly. +"Have I ever stood in your way, Honora?" + +"You have always helped me. Do not fail me at the last, I beg of you." + +"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. Both he and I were of one mind that you +should be free. And you are." + +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? + +"Very well, thank you," she said helplessly. + +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. + +"I hope you will all let me go with resignation," she began again. + +"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." + +"Oh, my God!" she murmured, looking at him in wonder, for his words +sounded insanely to her ear. + +"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." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV. + +A HARPY AT THE FEAST. + + +Honora now saw that suffering was not to be avoided. 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. + +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. + +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. + +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 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. + +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. + +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. + +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 of foliage on +the blue waters, the islet of St. Michel, and the wooded cape known as +Cumberland Head. + +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! + +"I came here in the hope of meeting you, madam," she began suddenly, "if +you are Miss Ledwith. I come to warn you." + +"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." + +"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. + +Honora's calm look plainly spoke her thought: the creature was mad. + +"I am not mad. Miss Ledwith, and your looks will not prevent me warning +you. Arthur Dillon is not the man he pretends----" + +"Please go away," Honora interrupted. + +"He is not the son of Anne Dillon----" + +"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. + +"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----" + +"Why don't you put her on the track?" Honora asked, relieved that the +lunatic wished only to talk. + +"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." + +"Is that all?" + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +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: + +"Possibly we have met before." + +The blood rose hot to his face as he recognized her, and her face paled +as he seized her by the wrist with scant courtesy. + +"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." + +"You have not improved," she snarled. "You would attack my honor again." + +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. + +"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?" + +Honora recoiled. Edith stood in shame, with the mortified expression of +the wild beast, the intelligent fox, trapped by an inferior boy. + +"Oh, let her go, Louis," she pleaded. + +"Not till she has seen Arthur. The mischief she can do is beyond +counting. Arthur knows how to deal with her." + +"I insist," said Honora. "Come away, Louis, please, come away." + +He flung away her wrist with contempt, and pointed out her path. In a +short time she had disappeared. + +"And what had she to tell you, may I ask?" said the Deacon. "Like the +banshee her appearance brings misfortune to us." + +"You have always been my confidant, Louis," she answered after some +thought. "Do you know anything about the earlier years of Arthur +Dillon?" + +"Much. Was that her theme?" + +"That he was married and his wife still lives." + +"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...." + +"Oh, I know," she answered with a smile. "The wretched creature is not +to be believed under any circumstances. Poor soul!" + +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. + +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. + +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 dear father whose last moments they had +consoled. Who would regret the sorrow which led to such a revealing of +hearts? + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV. + +SONIA CONSULTS LIVINGSTONE. + + +Edith's visit, so futile, so unlike her, had been prompted 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. + +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. + +"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." + +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! + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +Edith made a face at him. + +"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." + +"You'll find an alligator who will eat the legs off you both before you +can run away," said Curran. + +"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!" + +"You have a high opinion of his softness, if you think he would throw +away money to learn what any schoolboy might learn by himself. How much +did you, with all your cleverness, get out of him in the last five +years?" + +He laughed joyfully at her wicked face. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"You have fair evidence I suppose that he is Horace Endicott, madam?" + +"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." + +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. + +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! + +"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 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." + +"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." + +Edith smiled faintly at the suggestive pause, and murmured the intended +phrase, "marry Quincy Lenox." + +"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." + +"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." + +"You would not like the case to come to trial?" said the lawyer to +Sonia. + +"I must get my divorce," she answered coolly, "whether this is the right +man or no." + +"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 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." + +"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." + +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. + +"You can get the declaration in that way. To please you, he might at my +request make affidavit without publicity and scenes at court." + +"I would prefer the court," said Sonia firmly. + +"She's afeared the lawyer suspects her virtue," Edith said to herself. + +"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." + +"All I want is the declaration under oath," Sonia repeated. + +"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." + +"Particularly as he is about to marry a very handsome woman," Edith +interjected, heedless of the withering glance from Sonia. + +"Ah, indeed!" + +"Then I think some way ought to be planned to get 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." + +"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." + +"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." + +Edith lowered her eyes and looked out of the window on the busy street. + +"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." + +"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." + +"And the others? The priest and Mrs. Dillon?" asked Edith. + +"They are of no consequence," was Sonia's opinion. + +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 dealing 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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI. + +ARTHUR'S APPEAL. + + +Suit was promptly begun by Livingstone on behalf of 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. + +"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." + +"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. + +"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 +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." + +"I recognize the touch," said Livingstone, unable to resist a smile. +"Mr. Dillon must be audacious or nothing." + +"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?" + +So true was the surprise that Livingstone blushed with sudden violence. + +"That woman was the so-called escaped nun?" he exclaimed. + +"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." + +This time Livingstone did not blush, being prepared for any turn of mood +and speech from this singular young man. + +"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." + +"Undoubtedly. She made her career up to this moment 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." + +The lawyer bowed his permission. + +"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." + +Livingstone cast a look at him to see the expression which backed that +natural and happy phrase. Arthur Dillon might have borne it. + +"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." + +"Risking her own safety and happiness?" Livingstone repeated. + +"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." + +"You have kept close track of her," said Livingstone. + +"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." + +"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?" + +"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?" + +"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." + +"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." + +"I shall be glad to examine them in the interest of my client." + +"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 therefore 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." + +"Then, you are prepared to convince Mrs. Endicott that she has more to +lose than to gain by bringing you into her divorce suit?" + +"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." + +"I do not know how strong an argument that would be with Mrs. Endicott," +said Livingstone with interest. + +"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." + +Livingstone resisted the inclination to laugh, and then to get angry. + +"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?" + +"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?" + +"Nothing more than the fact, and the failure to find the young man?" + +"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 when +she gets a divorce. He was devoted to her before her marriage and is +faithful still, I am told." + +Not a sign of feeling in the utterance of these significant words! + +"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?" + +"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?" + +"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." + +"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." + +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 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. + +"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." + +"Thank you." + +"I might even use persuasion ..." + +"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." + +"Did you know Endicott?" + +"Very well indeed. I was his guide in California every time he made a +trip to that country." + +"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." + +Arthur felt all the bitterness and the interest which this shot implied. + +"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 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." + +"You are always the orator, Mr. Endi ... Dillon." + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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." + +"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? So +peculiarly Irish, anti-English, rich with the flavor of the Fourth Ward, +and nevertheless most interesting. + +"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." + +"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?" + +"I shall advise her to leave you in peace for the sake of the Endicott +name," said Livingstone politely. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII. + +THE END OF MISCHIEF. + + +Arthur set out for the Curran household, where he 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. + +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! + +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. + +"They who love the danger shall perish in it," he said for a beginning. +"You court it, Colette, and not very wisely." + +"How, not wisely?" she asked with a pretence of boldness. + +"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." + +How she hated him when he talked in that fashion! + +"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." + +She burst into vehement tears. + +"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." + +"Why do you let him talk to me so?" she screamed at Curran. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"Who are you, anyway?" Curran burst out hoarsely after a while. + +"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?" + +"You have proved yourself Horace Endicott," she gasped in her rage, +burning with hate, mortification, shame, fifty tigerish feelings that +could not find expression. + +"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." + +Sobbing like an angry and humiliated child, Edith rushed out of the +room. Curran felt excessively foolish. Though partly in league with +Arthur, the present situation went beyond him. + +"Be hanged if I don't feel like demanding an explanation," he said +awkwardly. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +She smiled at the compliment and felt reassured. + +"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." + +Her smile died away, and her face hardened. She prepared herself for +trouble. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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?" + +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. + +"Who are you?" she asked feebly, the same question asked by Curran in +his surprise. + +"A friend of Horace Endicott," he answered quietly. + +"And what do you know of us?" + +"All that Horace knew." + +She could not summon courage to put a third question. He came to her +aid. + +"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?" + +With closed eyes she made a sign of acquiescence. + +"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." + +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. + +"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...." + +"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 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." + +"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...." + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVIII. + +A TALE WELL TOLD. + + +Of these strange and stirring events no one knew but 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. + +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. + +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! + +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? + +The heavenly days flew by like swift swallows. September came with its +splendid warnings of change. The 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. + +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. + +"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. + +"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." + +"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?" + +"On the contrary, it soothed me, I think," she said with a blush. + +"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. +Monsignor has heard the greater part, but not all. And I have been like +the Ancient Mariner. + + Since then at an uncertain hour + That agony returns; + And till my ghastly tale is told, + The heart within me burns. + + * * * * * + + That moment that his face I see + I know the man that must hear me; + To him my tale I teach." + +"I am the man," said she, "with a woman's curiosity. How can I help but +listen?" + + He holds him with his glittering eye-- + The wedding-guest stood still, + And listens like a three years' child: + The mariner hath his will. + + The wedding-guest sat on a stone, + He cannot choose but hear; + And thus spake on that ancient man, + That bright-eyed mariner. + +"Do you remember how we read and re-read it on the _Arrow_ 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 _Arrow_ Captain Curran's story of Tom Jones?" + +He looked up at her interested face, and saw the violet eyes widen with +sudden horror. + +"I remember," she cried with astonishment and pain. "You, Arthur, you +the victim of that shameful story?" + +"Do you remember what you said then, Honora, when Curran declared he +would one day find Tom Jones?" + +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. + +"And you were sitting there, in the cabin, not ten feet off, listening +to him and me?" she said with a gasp of pleasure. + +"'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." + +She blushed with pleasure and murmured: "I hope they came true!" + +"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." + +"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!" + +"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----" + +She clasped her hands in anguish and turned toward him as if to protect +him. + +"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---- + + Alone, alone, all, all alone, + Alone on a wide, wide sea! + And never a saint took pity on + My soul in agony. + + * * * * * + + O wedding-guest! this soul hath been + Alone on a wide, wide sea; + So lonely 'twas that God Himself + Scarce seemed there to be." + +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. + +"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?" + +Trembling with emotion, she simply raised her hands in a gesture that +said a thousand things too beautiful for words. + +"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 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." + +"And the real Arthur Dillon? He was never found?" + +"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." + +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. + +"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?" + +"I am lost in wonder," she said. + +"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." + +"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?" + +"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. + +"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." + +"You have not ended," said she beseechingly. + +"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 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." + +"And did you meet her since you left her ... that woman?" Honora said in +a low voice half ashamed of the question. + +"At Castle Moyna ..." he began and stopped dead at a sudden +recollection. + +"I met her," cried Honora with a stifled scream, "I met her." + +"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." + +"Oh, how you must have suffered, Arthur, how you must have suffered!" + +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. + +"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 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...." + +He arose from his place and his knees were shaking. + +"There is consolation for us all somewhere. Mine is not to be here. The +road to heaven is sometimes long. Not here, Honora?" + +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. + +"Here and hereafter," she whispered, as they sat down on the bench +again. + + * * * * * + +"Judy," said Anne in the shade of the trees, "is Arthur hugging Honora, +or...." + +"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." + +And the two old ladies stole away home through the happy woods. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIX. + +THREE SCENES. + + +Anne might have been the bitterest critic of Honora 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. + +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. + +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 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." + +How his heart had like to burst under that blessing! He thought of +Honora, not yet his own. + +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. + +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! + +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 companionship. What +made this strange man so unlike all other men? + +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. + +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? + +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. + + * * * * * + +Desolation seized her, as the vision of the convent vanished like some +lovely vale which one leaves forever. Very simply he banished the +desolation. + +"I have been computing," he said, as they sat on the veranda after +breakfast, "what you might have been 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." + +"And no man will ever know it," said Anne. "Men have no discretion about +ages." + +"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." + +"Unless the newspapers want to say that she's a hundred," said Anne +slyly. + +"For the sake of notoriety she is willing to have the truth told about +her age." + +"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?" + +"Very fair," said she indifferently. + +"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." + +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. + +"What do you think of it? Isn't it a fair release?" + +"Only I am not worth it," she said. "But so much the better, if every +one gains more than I lose by my ... infatuation." + +"Are you as much in love as that?" said Anne with malice. + +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. 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. + +The Chief Justice of the nation headed the _elite_, 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. + +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. + +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 country, the order +which he had hoped, still hoped, to destroy. His heart bled as he +watched him. + +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. + + * * * * * + +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. + +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. + +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 +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. + +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! + +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! + +Thereafter the temple became for him a symbol, as for the faithful +priest; the symbol of his own life as that of his people. + +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, 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! + +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. + + + + +THE END. + + + + + + +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.txt or 27925.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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