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diff --git a/30031.txt b/30031.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..480a839 --- /dev/null +++ b/30031.txt @@ -0,0 +1,16266 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Eye of Dread, by Payne Erskine + +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 Eye of Dread + +Author: Payne Erskine + +Illustrator: George Gibbs + +Release Date: September 19, 2009 [EBook #30031] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE EYE OF DREAD *** + + + + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + +[Illustration: "Listen. Go with the love in your heart--for me." +FRONTISPIECE. _See Page 329._] + + + + +THE EYE OF DREAD + +By PAYNE ERSKINE + +Author of "The Mountain Girl," "Joyful Heatherby," Etc. + +With Frontispiece by + +GEORGE GIBBS + +A. L. BURT COMPANY, PUBLISHERS + +114-120 East Twenty-third Street--New York + +Published by Arrangement With Little, Brown & Company + + + + +Copyright, 1913, + +By Little, Brown, and Company. + +All rights reserved + +Published, October, 1913 + +Reprinted, October, 1913 + + + + +CONTENTS + +BOOK ONE + + I. BETTY 1 + II. WATCHING THE BEES 9 + III. A MOTHER'S STRUGGLE 23 + IV. LEAVE-TAKING 34 + V. THE PASSING OF TIME 49 + VI. THE END OF THE WAR 59 + VII. A NEW ERA BEGINS 69 + VIII. MARY BALLARD'S DISCOVERY 87 + IX. THE BANKER'S POINT OF VIEW 97 + X. THE NUTTING PARTY 110 + XI. BETTY BALLARD'S AWAKENING 125 + XII. MYSTERIOUS FINDINGS 139 + XIII. CONFESSION 157 + +BOOK TWO + + XIV. OUT OF THE DESERT 168 + XV. THE BIG MAN'S RETURN 183 + XVI. A PECULIAR POSITION 198 + XVII. ADOPTING A FAMILY 208 + XVIII. LARRY KILDENE'S STORY 219 + XIX. THE MINE--AND THE DEPARTURE 237 + XX. ALONE ON THE MOUNTAIN 252 + XXI. THE VIOLIN 267 + XXII. THE BEAST ON THE TRAIL 282 + XXIII. A DISCOURSE ON LYING 295 + XXIV. AMALIA'S FETE 305 + XXV. HARRY KING LEAVES THE MOUNTAIN 318 + +BOOK THREE + + XXVI. THE LITTLE SCHOOL-TEACHER 331 + XXVII. THE SWEDE'S TELEGRAM 342 + XXVIII. "A RESEMBLANCE SOMEWHERE" 354 + XXIX. THE ARREST 365 + XXX. THE ARGUMENT 376 + XXXI. ROBERT KATER'S SUCCESS 387 + XXXII. THE PRISONER 408 + XXXIII. HESTER CRAIGMILE RECEIVES HER LETTER 422 + XXXIV. JEAN CRAIGMILE'S RETURN 433 + XXXV. THE TRIAL 445 + XXXVI. NELS NELSON'S TESTIMONY 453 + XXXVII. THE STRANGER'S ARRIVAL 463 + XXXVIII. BETTY BALLARD'S TESTIMONY 475 + XXXIX. RECONCILIATION 487 + XL. THE SAME BOY 499 + + + + +THE EYE OF DREAD + + +BOOK ONE + +CHAPTER I + +BETTY + + +Two whip-poor-wills were uttering their insistent note, hidden +somewhere among the thick foliage of the maple and basswood trees that +towered above the spring down behind the house where the Ballards +lived. The sky in the west still glowed with amber light, and the +crescent moon floated like a golden boat above the horizon's edge. The +day had been unusually warm, and the family were all gathered on the +front porch in the dusk. The lamps within were unlighted, and the +evening wind blew the white muslin curtains out and in through the +opened windows. The porch was low,--only a step from the ground,--and +the grass of the dooryard felt soft and cool to the bare feet of the +children. + +In front and all around lay the garden--flowers and fruit quaintly +intermingled. Down the long path to the gate, where three roads met, +great bunches of peonies lifted white blossoms--luminously white in +the moonlight; and on either side rows of currant bushes cast low, +dark shadows, and here and there dwarf crab-apple trees tossed pale, +scented flowers above them. In the dusky evening light the iris +flowers showed frail and iridescent against the dark shadows under the +bushes. + +The children chattered quietly at their play, as if they felt a +mystery around them, and small Betty was sure she saw fairies dancing +on the iris flowers when the light breeze stirred them; but of this +she said nothing, lest her practical older sister should drop a +scornful word of unbelief, a thing Betty shrank from and instinctively +avoided. Why should she be told there were no such things as fairies +and goblins and pigwidgeons, when one might be at that very moment +dancing at her elbow and hear it all? + +So Betty wagged her curly golden head, wise with the wisdom of +childhood, and went her own ways and thought her own thoughts. As for +the strange creatures of wondrous power that peopled the earth, and +the sky, and the streams, she knew they were there. She could almost +see them, could almost feel them and hear them, even though they were +hidden from mortal sight. + +Did she not often go when the sun was setting and climb the fence +behind the barn under the great locust and silver-leaf poplar trees, +where none could see her, and watch the fiery griffins in the west? +Could she not see them flame and flash, their wings spreading far out +across the sky in fantastic flight, or drawn close and folded about +them in hues of purple and crimson and gold? Could she not see the +flying mist-women flinging their floating robes of softest pink and +palest green around their slender limbs, and trailing them delicately +across the deepening sky? + +Had she not heard the giants--nay, seen them--driving their terrible +steeds over the tumbled clouds, and rolling them smooth with noise of +thunder, under huge rolling machines a thousand times bigger than +that Farmer Hopkins used to crush the clods in his wheat field in the +spring? Had she not seen the flashes of fire dart through the heavens, +struck by the hoofs of the giants' huge beasts? Ah! She knew! If +Martha would only listen to her, she could show her some of these true +things and stop her scoffing. + +Lured by these mysteries, Betty made short excursions into the garden +away from the others, peering among the shadows, and gazing wide-eyed +into the clusters of iris flowers above which night moths fluttered +softly and silently. Maybe there were fairies there. Three could ride +at once on the back of a devil's riding horse, she knew, and in the +daytime they rode the dragon flies, two at a time; they were so light +it was nothing for the great green and gold, big-eyed dragon flies to +carry two. + +Betty knew a place below the spring where the maidenhair fern grew +thick and spread out wide, perfect fronds on slender brown stems, +shading fairy bowers; and where taller ferns grew high and leaned over +like a delicate fairy forest; and where the wild violets grew so thick +you could not see the ground beneath them, and the grass was lush and +long like fine green hair, and crept up the hillside and over the +roots of the maple and basswood trees. Here lived the elves; she knew +them well, and often lay with her head among the violets, listening +for the thin sound of their elfin fiddles. Often she had drowsed the +summer noon in the coolness, unheeding the dinner call, until busy +Martha roused her with the sisterly scolding she knew she deserved and +took in good part. + +Now as Betty crept cautiously about, peering and hoping with a +half-fearing expectation, a sweet, threadlike wail trembled out toward +her across the moonlit and shadowed space. Her father was tuning his +violin. Her mother sat at his side, hushing Bobby in her arms. Betty +could hear the sound of her rockers on the porch floor. Now the +plaintive call of the violin came stronger, and she hastened back to +curl up at her father's feet and listen. She closed her vision-seeing +eyes and leaned against her father's knee. He felt the gentle pressure +of his little daughter's head and liked it. + +All the long summer day Betty's small feet had carried her on +numberless errands for young and old, and as the season advanced she +would be busier still. This Betty well knew, for she was old enough to +remember other summers, several of them, each bringing an advancing +crescendo of work. But oh, the happy days! For Betty lived in a world +all her own, wherein her play was as real as her work, and labor was +turned by her imaginative little mind into new forms of play, and +although night often found her weary--too tired to lie quietly in her +bed sometimes--the line between the two was never in her thoughts +distinctly drawn. + +To-night Betty's conscience was troubling her a little, for she had +done two naughty things, and the pathetic quality of her father's +music made her wish with all the intensity of her sensitive soul that +she might confess to some one what she had done, but it was all too +peaceful and sweet now to tell her mother of naughty things, and, +anyway, she could not confess before the whole family, so she tried to +repent very hard and tell God all about it. Somehow it was always +easier to tell God about things; for she reasoned, if God was +everywhere and knew everything, then he knew she had been bad, and had +seen her all the time, and all she need do was to own up to it, +without explaining everything in words, as she would have to do to her +mother. + +Brother Bobby's bare feet swung close to her cheek as they dangled +from her mother's knee, and she turned and kissed them, first one and +then the other, with eager kisses. He stirred and kicked out at her +fretfully. + +"Don't wake him, dear," said her mother. + +Then Betty drew up her knees and clasped them about with her arms, and +hid her face on them while she repented very hard. Mother had said +that very day that she never felt troubled about the baby when Betty +had care of him, and that very day she had recklessly taken him up +into the barn loft, climbing behind him and guiding his little feet +from one rung of the perpendicular ladder to another, teaching him to +cling with clenched hands to the rounds until she had landed him in +the loft. There she had persuaded him he was a swallow in his nest, +while she had taken her fill of the delight of leaping from the loft +down into the bay, where she had first tossed enough hay to make a +soft lighting place for the twelve-foot leap. + +Oh, the joy of it--flying through the air! If she could only fly up +instead of down! Every time she climbed back into the loft she would +stop and cuddle the little brother and toss hay over him and tell him +he was a baby bird, and she was the mother bird, and must fly away and +bring him nice worms. She bade him look up to the rafters above and +see the mother birds flying out and in, while the little birds just +sat still in their nests and opened their mouths. So Bobby sat still, +and when she returned, obediently opened his mouth; but alas! he +wearied of his role in the play, and at last crept to the very edge of +the loft at a place where there was no hay spread beneath to break his +fall; and when Betty looked up and saw his sweet baby face peering +down at her over the edge, her heart stopped beating. How wildly she +called for him to wait for her to come to him! She promised him all +the dearest of her treasures if he would wait until "sister" got +there. + +Now, as she sat clasping her knees, her little body grew all trembling +and weak again as she lived over the terrible moment when she had +reached him just in time to drag him back from the edge, and to cuddle +and caress him, until he lifted up his voice and wept, not because he +was in the least troubled or hurt, but because it seemed to be the +right thing to do. + +Then she gave him the pretty round comb that held back her hair, and +he promptly straightened it and broke it; and when she reluctantly +brought him back to dinner--how she had succeeded in getting him down +from the loft would make a chapter of diplomacy--her mother reproved +her for allowing him to take it, and lapped the two pieces and wound +them about with thread, and told her she must wear the broken comb +after this. She was glad--glad it was broken--and she had treasured it +so--and glad that her mother had scolded her; she wished she had +scolded harder instead of speaking words of praise that cut her to the +heart. Oh, oh, oh! If he had fallen over, he would be dead now, and +she would have killed him! Thus she tortured herself, and repented +very hard. + +The other sin she had that day committed she felt to be a double sin, +because she knew all the time it was wrong and did it deliberately. +When she went out with the corn meal to feed the little chicks and +fetch in the new-laid eggs, she carried, concealed under her skirt, a +small, squat book of Robert Burns' poems. These poems she loved; not +that she understood them, but that the rhythm pleased her, and the odd +words and half-comprehended phrases stirred her imagination. + +So, after feeding the chicks and gathering the eggs, she did not +return to the house, but climbed instead up into the top of the +silver-leaf poplar behind the barn, and sat there long, swaying with +the swaying tree top and reading the lines that most fascinated her +and stirred her soul, until she forgot she must help Martha with the +breakfast dishes--forgot she must carry milk to the neighbor's--forgot +she must mind the baby and peel the potatoes for dinner. It was so +delightful to sway and swing and chant the rythmic lines over and over +that almost she forgot she was being bad, and Martha had done the +things she ought to have done, and the baby cried himself to sleep +without her, and lay with the pathetic tear marks still on his cheeks, +but her tired mother had only looked reproachfully at her and had not +said one word. Oh, dear! If she could only be a good girl! If only she +might pass one day being good all day long with nothing to regret! + +Now with the wailing of the violin her soul grew hungry and sad, and a +strange, unchildish fear crept over her, a fear of the years to +come--so long and endless they would be, always coming, coming, one +after another; and here she was, never to stop living, and every day +doing something that she ought not and every evening repenting +it--and her father might stop loving her, and her sister might stop +loving her, and her little brother might stop loving her, and Bobby +might die--and even her mother might die or stop loving her, and she +might grow up and marry a man who forgot after a while to love +her--and she might be very poor--even poorer than they were now, and +have to wash dishes every day and no one to help her--until at last +she could bear the sadness no longer, and could not repent as hard as +she ought, there where she could not go down on her knees and just cry +and cry. So she slipped away and crept in the darkness to her own +room, where her mother found her half an hour later on her knees +beside the bed fast asleep. She lovingly undressed the limp, weary +little girl, lifted her tenderly and laid her curly head on the +pillow, and kissed her cheek with a repentant sigh of her own, +regretting that she must lay so many tasks on so small a child. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +WATCHING THE BEES + + +Father Ballard walked slowly up the path from the garden, wiping his +brow, for the heat was oppressive. "Mary, my dear, I see signs of +swarming. The bees are hanging out on that hive under the Tolman +Sweet. Where's Betty?" + +"She's down cellar churning, but she can leave. Bobby's getting +fretful, anyway, and she can take him under the trees and watch the +bees and amuse him. Betty!" Mary Ballard went to the short flight of +steps leading to the paved basement, dark and cool: "Betty, father +wants you to watch the bees, dear. Find Bobby. He's so still I'm +afraid he's out at the currant bushes again, and he'll make himself +sick. Keep an eye on the hive under the Tolman Sweet particularly, +dear." + +Gladly Betty bounded up the steps and darted away to find the baby who +was still called the baby by reason of his being the last arrival, +although he was nearly three, and an active little tyrant at that. +Watching the bees was Betty's delight. Minding the baby, lolling under +the trees reading her books, gazing up into the great branches, and +all the time keeping an eye on the hives scattered about in the +garden,--nothing could be pleasanter. + +Naturally Betty could not understand all she read in the books she +carried out from the library, for purely children's books were very +few in those days. The children of the present day would be dismayed +were they asked to read what Betty pondered over with avidity and +loved. Her father's library was his one extravagance, even though the +purchase of books was always a serious matter, each volume being +discussed and debated about, and only obtained after due preparation +by sundry small economies. + +As for worldly possessions, the Ballards had started out with nothing +at all but their own two hands, and, as assets, well-equipped brains, +their love for each other, a fair amount of thrift, and a large share +of what Mary Ballard's old Grannie Sherman used to designate as +"gumption." Exactly what she intended should be understood by the word +it would be hard to say, unless it might be the faculty with which, +when one thing proved to be no longer feasible as a shift toward +progress and the making of a living for an increasing family, they +were enabled to discover other means and work them out to a productive +conclusion. + +Thus, when times grew hard under the stress of the Civil War, and the +works of art representing many hours of Bertrand Ballard's keenest +effort lay in his studio unpurchased, and even carefully created +portraits, ordered and painstakingly painted, were left on his hands, +unclaimed and unpaid for, he quietly turned his attention to his +garden, saying, "People can live without pictures, but they must +eat." + +So he obtained a few of the choicest of the quickly produced small +fruits and vegetables and flowers, and soon had rare and beautiful +things to sell. His clever hands, which before had made his own +stretchers for his canvases, and had fashioned and gilded with gold +leaf the frames for his own paintings, now made trellises for his +vines and boxes for his fruits, and when the price of sugar climbed to +the very top of the gamut, he created beehives on new models, and +bought a book on bee culture; ere long he had combs of delicious honey +to tempt the lovers of sweets. + +But how came Bertrand Ballard away out in Wisconsin in a country home, +painting pictures for people who knew little or nothing of art, and +cared not to know more, raising fruits and keeping bees for the means +to live? Ah, that is another story, and to tell it would make another +book; suffice it to say that for love of a beautiful woman, strong and +wise and sweet, he had followed her farmer father out into the newer +west from old New York State. + +There, frail in health and delicate and choice in his tastes, but +brave in spirit, he took up the battle of the weak with life, and +fought it like a strong man, valiantly and well. And where got he his +strength? How are the weak ever made strong? Through strength of +love--the inward fire that makes great the soul, while consuming the +dross of false values and foolish estimates--from the merry heart that +could laugh through any failure, and most of all from the beautiful +hand, supple and workful, and gentle and forceful, that lay in his. + +But this is not the story of Bertrand Ballard, except incidentally as +he and his family play their part in the drama that centers in the +lives of two lads, one of whom--Peter Craigmile, Junior--comes now +swinging up the path from the front gate, where three roads meet, +brave in his new uniform of blue, with lifted head, and eyes grave and +shining with a kind of solemn elation. + +"Bertrand, here comes Peter Junior in a new uniform," Mary Ballard +called to her husband, who was working at a box in which he meant to +fit glass sides for an aquarium for the edification of the little +ones. He came quickly out from his workroom, and Mary rose from her +seat and pushed her mending basket one side, and together they walked +down the path to meet the youth. + +"Peter Junior, have you done it? Oh, I'm sorry!" + +"Why, Mary! why, Mary! I'm astonished! Not sorry?" Bertrand took the +boy's hand in both his own and looked up in his eyes, for the lad was +tall, much taller than his friend. "I would go myself if I only had +the strength and were not near-sighted." + +"Thank the Lord!" said his wife, fervently. + +"Why, Mary--Mary--I'm astonished!" he said again. "Our country--" + +"Yes, 'Our Country' is being bled to death," she said, taking the +boy's hand in hers for a moment; and, turning, they walked back to the +house with the young volunteer between them. "No, I'm not reconciled +to having our young men go down there and die by the thousands from +disease and bullets and in prisons. It's wrong! I say war is +iniquitous, and the issues, North or South, are not worth it. Peter, I +had hoped you were too young. Why did you?" + +"I couldn't help it, Mrs. Ballard. The call for fifty thousand more +came, and father gave his consent; and, anyway, they are taking a +younger set now than at first." + +"Yes, and soon they'll take an older set, and then they'll take the +small and frail and near-sighted ones, and then--" She stopped +suddenly, with a contrite glance at her husband's face. He hated to be +small and frail and near-sighted. She stepped round to his side and +put her hand in his. "I'm thankful you are, Bertrand," she said +quietly. "You'll stay to tea with us, won't you, Peter? We'll have it +out of doors." + +"Yes, I'll stay--thank you. It may be the last time, and mother--I +came to see if you'd go up home and see mother, Mrs. Ballard. I kind +of thought you'd think as father and Mr. Ballard do about it, and I +thought you might be able to help mother to see it that way, too. You +see, mother--she--I always thought you were kind of strong and would +see things sort of--well--big, you know, more--as we men do." He held +his head high and looked off as he spoke. + +She exchanged a half-smiling glance with her husband, and their hands +clasped tighter. "Maybe, though--if you feel this way--you can't help +mother--but what shall I do?" The big boy looked wistfully down at +her. + +"I may not be able to help her to see things you want, Peter Junior. +Maybe she would be happier in seeing things her own way; but I can +sympathize with her. Perhaps I can help her to hope for the best, and +anyway--we can--just talk it over." + +"Thank you, Mrs. Ballard, thank you. I don't care how she sees it, +if--if--she'll only be happier--and--give her consent. I can't bear to +go away without that; but if she won't give it, I must go anyway,--you +know." + +"Yes," she said, smiling, "I suppose we women have to be forced +sometimes, or we never would allow some things to be done. You +enlisted first and then went to her for her consent? Yes, you are a +man, Peter Junior. But I tell you, if you were my son, I would never +give my consent--nor have it forced from me--still--I would love you +better for doing this." + +"My love, your inconsistency is my joy," said her husband, as she +passed into the house and left them together. + +The sun still shone hotly down, but the shadows were growing longer, +and Betty left baby asleep under the Harvest apple tree where she had +been staying patiently during the long, warm hours, and sat at her +father's feet on the edge of the porch, where apparently she was +wholly occupied in tracing patterns with her bare toes in the sand of +the path. Now and then she ran out to the Harvest apple tree and back, +her golden head darting among the green shrubbery like a sunbeam. She +wished to do her full duty by the bees and the baby, and at the same +time hear all the talk of the older ones, and watch the fascinating +young soldier in his new uniform. + +As bright as the sunbeam, and as silent, she watched and listened. Her +heart beat fast with excitement, as it often did these days, when she +heard them talk of the war and the men who went away, perhaps never to +return, or to return with great glory. Now here was Peter Junior +going. He already had his beautiful new uniform, and he would march +and drill and carry a gun, and halt and present arms, along with the +older men she had seen in the great camp out on the high bluffs which +overlooked the wide, sweeping, rushing, willful Wisconsin River. + +Oh, if she were only a man and as old as Peter Junior, she would go +with him; but it was very grand to know him even. Why was she a girl? +If God had only asked her which she would rather be when he had made +her out of dust, she would have told him to make her a man, so she +might be a soldier. It was not fair. There was Bobby; he would be a +man some day, and he could ride on a large black horse like the +knights of old, and go to wars, and rescue people, and do deeds of +arms. What deeds of arms were, she little knew, but it was something +very strong and wonderful that only knights and soldiers did. + +Betty heaved a deep sigh, and put out her hand and softly touched +Peter Junior's trousers. He thought it was the kitten purring about. +No, God had not treated her fairly. Now she must grow up and be only a +woman, and wash dishes, and sweep and dust, and get very tired, and +wear dresses--and oh, dear! But then perhaps God had to do that way, +for if he had given everybody a choice, everybody would choose to be +men, and there would be no women to mind the home and take care of the +little children, and it would be a very sad kind of world, as she had +often heard her father say. Perhaps God had to do with them as Peter +Junior had done with his mother when he enlisted first and asked her +consent afterwards; just make them girls, and then try to convince +them afterwards that it was a fine thing to be a girl. She wished she +were Bobby instead of Betty--but then--Bobby might not have liked +that. + +She glanced wistfully at the sleeping child and saw him toss his arms +about, and knew she ought to be there to sway a green branch over him +to keep the little gnats and flies from bothering him and waking him; +and the bees might swarm and no one see them. + +"Father, is it three o'clock yet?" + +"Yes, deary, why?" + +"Goody! The bees won't swarm now, will they? Will you bring Bobby in, +father?" + +"He is very well there; we won't disturb him." + +Peter Junior looked down on the little girl, so full of vitality and +life and inspiration, so vibrant with enthusiasm, and saw her vaguely +as a slightly disturbing element, but otherwise of little moment in +the world's economy. His thoughts were on greater things. + +Betty accepted her father's decision without protest, as she accepted +most things,--a finality to be endured and made the best of,--so she +continued to run back and forth between the sleeping child and the +porch, thereby losing much interesting dialogue,--all about camps and +fighting and scout duty,--until at last her mother returned and with a +glance at her small daughter's face said:-- + +"Father, will you bring baby in now and put him in his cradle? Betty +has had him nearly all day." And father went. Oh, beautiful mother! +How did she know! + +Then Betty settled herself at Peter Junior's feet and looked up in his +eyes gravely. "What will you be, now you are a soldier?" she asked. + +"Why, a soldier." + +"No, I mean, will you be a general--or a flag carrier--or will you +drum? I'd be a general if I were you--or else a drummer. I think you +would be very handsome for a general." + +Peter Junior threw back his head and laughed. It was the first time he +had laughed that day, and yet he was both proud and happy. "Would you +like to be a soldier?" + +"Yes." + +"But you might be killed, or have your leg shot off--or--" + +"I know. So might you--but you would go, anyway--wouldn't you?" + +"Certainly." + +"Well, then you understand how I feel. I'd like to be a man, and go to +war, and 'Have a part to tear a cat in,' too." + +"What's that? What's that? Mary, do you hear that?" said her father, +resuming his seat at Peter's side, and hearing her remark. + +"Why, father, wouldn't you? You know you'd like to go to war. I heard +what you said to mother, and, anyway--I'd just like to be a man and +'Have a part to tear a cat in,' the way men have." + +Bertrand Ballard looked down and patted his little daughter's head, +then caught her up and placed her on his knee. He realized suddenly +that his child was an entity unfathomed, separate from himself, +working out her own individuality almost without guidance, except such +as he and his Mary were unconsciously giving to her by their daily +acts and words. + +"What books are those you have there? Don't you know you mustn't take +father's Shakespeare out and leave it on the grass?" + +Betty laughed. "How did you know I had Shakespeare?" + +"Didn't you say you 'Would like a part to tear a cat in'?" + +"Oh, have you read 'Midsummer Night's Dream'?" She lifted her head +from his bosom and eyed him gravely a moment, then snuggled +comfortably down again. "But then, I suppose you have read everything." +Her father and Peter both laughed. + +"Were you reading 'Midsummer Night's Dream' out there?" + +"No, I've read that lots of times--long ago. I'm reading 'The Merry +Wives of Windsor' now." + +"Mary, Mary, do you hear this? I think it's time our Betty had a +little supervision in her reading." + +Mary Ballard came to the door from the tea table where she had been +arranging her little set of delicate china, her one rare treasure and +inheritance. "Yes, I knew she was reading--whatever she fancied, but I +thought I wouldn't interfere--not yet. I have so little time, for one +thing, and, anyway, I thought she might browse a bit. She's like a +calf in rare pastures, and I don't think she understands enough to do +her harm--or much good, either. Those things slide off from her like +water off a duck's back." + +Betty looked anxiously up at her mother. What things was she missing? +She must read them all over again. + +"What else have you out there, Betty?" asked her father. + +Betty dropped her head shamefacedly. She never knew when she was in +the right and when wrong. Sometimes the very things which seemed most +right to her were most wrong. "That's 'Paradise Lost.' It was an old +book, father. There was a tear in the back when I took it down. I like +to read about Satan. I like to read about the mighty hosts and the +angels and the burning lake. Is that hell? I was pretending if the +bees swarmed that they would be the mighty host of bad angels falling +out of heaven." + +Again Peter flung back his head and laughed. He looked at the child +with new interest, but Betty did not smile back at him. She did not +like being laughed at. + +"It's true," she said; "they did fall out of heaven in a swarm, and it +was like over at High Knob on the river bank, only a million times +higher, because they were so long falling. 'From morn till noon they +fell, from noon till dewy eve.'" Betty looked off into space with +half-closed eyes. She was seeing them fall. "It was a long time to be +in suspense, wasn't it, father?" Then every one laughed. Even mother +joined in. She was putting the last touches to the tea table. + +"Mary, my dear, I think we'd better take a little supervision of the +child's reading--I do, really." + +The gate at the end of the long path to the house clicked, and another +lad came swinging up the walk, slightly taller than Peter Junior, but +otherwise enough like him in appearance to be his own brother. He was +not as grave as Peter, but smiled as he hailed them, waving his cap +above his head. He also wore the blue uniform, and it was new. + +"Hallo, Peter! You here?" + +"Of course I'm here. I thought you were never coming." + +"You did?" + +Betty sprang from her father's lap and ran to meet him. She slipped +her hand in his and hopped along at his side. "Oh, Rich! Are you +going, too? I wish I were you." + +He lifted the child to a level with his face and kissed her, then set +her on her feet again. "Never wish that, Betty. It would spoil a nice +little girl." + +"I'm not such a nice little girl. I--I--love Satan--and they're going +to--to--supervise my reading." She clung to his hand and nodded her +head with finality. He swung her along, making her take long leaps as +they walked. + +"You love Satan? I thought you loved me!" + +"It's the same thing, Rich," said Peter Junior, with a grin. + +Bertrand had gone to the kitchen door. "Mary, my love, here's Richard +Kildene." She entered the living room, carrying a plate of light, hot +biscuit, and hurried out to Richard, greeting him warmly--even +lovingly. + +"Bertrand, won't you and the boys carry the table out to the garden?" +she suggested. "Open both doors and take it carefully. It will be +pleasanter here in the shade." + +The young men sprang to do her bidding, and the small table was borne +out under the trees, the lads enumerating with joy the articles of +Mary Ballard's simple menu. + +"Hot biscuits and honey! My golly! Won't we wish for this in about two +months from now?" said Richard. + +"Cream and caraway cookies!" shouted Peter Junior, turning back to the +porch to help Bertrand carry the chairs. "Of course we'll be wishing +for this before long, but that's part of soldiering." + +"We're not looking forward to a well-fed, easy time of it, so we'll +just make the best of this to-night, and eat everything in sight," +said Richard. + +Bertrand preferred to change the subject. "This is some of our new +white clover honey," he said. "I took it from that hive over there +last evening, and they've been working all day as if they had had new +life given them. All bees want is a lot of empty space for storing +honey." + +Richard followed Mrs. Ballard into the kitchen for the tea. "Where are +the other children?" he asked. + +"Martha and Jamie are spending a week with my mother and father. They +love to go there, and mother--and father, also, seem never to have +enough of them. Baby is still asleep, and I must waken him, too, or +he won't sleep to-night. I hung a pail of milk over the spring to keep +it cool, and the butter is there also--and the Dutch cheese in a tin +box. Can you--wait, I'd better go with you. We'll leave the tea to +steep a minute." + +They passed through the house and down toward the spring house under +the maple and basswood trees at the back, walking between rows of +currant bushes where the fruit hung red. + +"I hate to leave all this--maybe forever," said the boy. The corners +of his mouth drooped a little, and he looked down at Mary Ballard with +a tender glint in his deep blue eyes. His eyes were as blue as the +lake on a summer's evening, and they were shaded by heavy dark brown +lashes, almost black. His brows and hair were the same deep brown. +Peter Junior's were a shade lighter, and his hair more curling. It was +often a matter of discussion in the village as to which of the boys +was the handsomer. That they were both fine-looking lads was always +conceded. + +Mary Ballard turned toward him impulsively. "Why did you do this, +Richard? Why? I can't feel that this fever for war is right. It is +terrible. We are losing the best blood in the land in a wicked war." +She took his two hands in hers, and her eyes filled. "When we first +came here, your mother was my dearest friend. You never knew her, but +I loved her--and her loss was much to me. Richard, why didn't you +consult us?" + +"I hadn't any one but you and your husband to care. Oh, Aunt Hester +loves me, of course, and is awfully good to me--but the Elder--I +always feel somehow as if he expects me to go to the bad. He never had +any use for my father, I guess. Was my father--was--he no good? Don't +mind telling me the truth: I ought to know." + +"Your father was not so well known here, but he was, in Bertrand's +estimation, a royal Irish gentleman. We both liked him; no one could +help it. Never think hardly of him." + +"Why has he never cared for me? Why have I never known him?" + +"There was a quarrel--or--some unpleasantness between your uncle and +him; it's an old thing." + +Richard's lip quivered an instant, then he drew himself up and smiled +on her, then he stooped and kissed her. "Some of us must go; we can't +let this nation be broken up. Some men must give their lives for it; +and I'm one of those who ought to go, for I have no one to mourn for +me. Half the class has enlisted." + +"I venture to say you suggested it, too?" + +"Well--yes." + +"And Peter Junior was the first to follow you?" + +"Well, yes! I'm sorry--because of Aunt Hester--but we always do pull +together, you know. See here, let's not think of it in this way. There +are other ways. Perhaps I'll come back with straps on my shoulders and +marry Betty some day." + +"God grant you may; that is, if you come back as you left us. You +understand me? The same boy?" + +"I do and I will," he said gravely. + +That was a happy hour they spent at the evening meal, and many an +evening afterwards, when hardship and weariness had made the lads seem +more rugged and years older, they spoke of it and lived it over. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +A MOTHER'S STRUGGLE + + +"Come, Lady, come. You're slow this morning." Mary Ballard drove a +steady, well-bred, chestnut mare with whom she was on most friendly +terms. Usually her carryall was filled with children, for she kept no +help, and when she went abroad, she must perforce take the children +with her or spend an unquiet hour or two while leaving them behind. +This morning she had left the children at home, and carried in their +stead a basket of fruit and flowers on the seat beside her. "Come, +Lady, come; just hurry a little." She touched the mare with the whip, +a delicate reminder to haste, which Lady assumed to be a fly and +treated as such with a switch of her tail. + +The way seemed long to Mary Ballard this morning, and the sun beating +down on the parched fields made the air quiver with heat. The unpaved +road was heavy with dust, and the mare seemed to drag her feet through +it unnecessarily as she jogged along. Mary was anxious and dreaded the +visit she must make. She would be glad when it was over. What could +she say to the stricken woman who spent her time behind closed blinds? +Presently she left the dust behind and drove along under the maple +trees that lined the village street, over cool roads that were kept +well sprinkled. + +The Craigmiles lived on the main street of the town in the most +dignified of the well-built homes of cream-colored brick, with a wide +front stoop and white columns at the entrance. Mary was shown into the +parlor by a neat serving maid, who stepped softly as if she were +afraid of waking some one. The room was dark and cool, but the air +seemed heavy with a lingering musky odor. The dark furniture was set +stiffly back against the walls, the floor was covered with a velvet +carpet of rich, dark colors, and oil portraits were hung about in +heavy gold frames. + +Mary looked up at two of these portraits with pride, and rebelled that +the light was so shut out that they must always be seen in the +obscurity, for Bertrand had painted them, and she considered them her +husband's best work. In the painting of them and the long sittings +required the intimacy between the two families had begun. Really it +had begun before that, for there were other paintings in that +home--portraits, old and fine, which Elder Craigmile's father had +brought over from Scotland when he came to the new world to establish +a new home. These paintings were the pride of Elder Craigmile's heart, +and the delight of Bertrand Ballard's artist soul. + +To Bertrand they were a discovery--an oasis in a desert. One day the +banker had called him in to look at a canvas that was falling to +pieces with age, in the hope that the artist might have the skill to +restore it. From that day the intimacy began, and a warm friendship +sprang up between the two families, founded on Bertrand's love for the +old works of art, wherein the ancestors of Peter Craigmile, Senior, +looked out from their frames with a dignity and warmth and grace +rarely to be met with in this new western land. + +Bertrand's heart leaped with joy as he gazed on one of them, the one +he had been called on to save if possible. "This must be a genuine +Reynolds. Ah! They could paint, those old fellows!" he cried. + +"Genuine Reynolds? Why, man, it is! it is! You are a true artist. You +knew it in a moment." Peter Senior's heart was immediately filled with +admiration for the younger man. "Yes, they were a good family--the +Craigmiles of Aberdeen. My father brought all the old portraits coming +to him to this country to keep the family traditions alive. It's a +good thing--a good thing!" + +"She was a beautiful woman, the original of that portrait." + +"She was a great beauty, indeed. Her husband took her to London to +have it done by the great painter. Ah, the Scotch lasses were fine! +Look at that color! You don't see that here, no?" + +"Our American women are too pale, for the most part; but then again, +your men are too red." + +"Ah! Beef and red wine! Beef and red wine! With us in Scotland it was +good oatcakes and home-brew--and the air. The air of the Scotch hills +and the sea. You don't have such air here, I've often heard my father +say. I've spent the greater part of my life here, so it's mostly the +traditions I have--they and the portraits." + +Thus it came about that owing to his desire to keep up the line of +family portraits, Peter Craigmile engaged the artist to paint the +picture of his gentle, sweet-faced wife. She was painted seated, a +little son on either side of her; and now in the dimness she looked +out from the heavy gold frame, a half smile playing about her lips, on +her lap an open book, and about the low-cut crimson velvet bodice +rare old lace pinned at the bosom with a large brooch of wrought gold, +framing a delicately cut cameo. + +As Mary Ballard sat in the parlor waiting, she looked up in the dusky +light at this picture. Ah, yes! Her Bertrand also was a great painter. +If only he could be where he might become known and appreciated! She +sighed for another reason, also, as she regarded it: because the two +little sons clasped by the mother's arms were both gone. Sunny-haired +Scotch laddies they were, with fair, wide brows, each in kilt and +plaid, with bare knees and ruddy cheeks. What delight her husband had +taken in painting it! And now the mother mourned unceasingly the loss +of those little sons, and of one other whom Mary had never seen, and +of whom they had no likeness. It was indeed hard that the one son left +them,--their firstborn,--their hope and pride, should now be going +away to leave them, going perhaps to his death. + +The door opened and a shadow swept slowly across the room. Always pale +and in black--wrapped in her mourning the shadow of sorrow never left +this mother; and now it seemed to envelop even Mary Ballard, bright +and warm of nature as she was. + +Hester Craigmile barely smiled as she held out her slender, +blue-veined hand. + +"It is very good of you to come to me, Mary Ballard, but you can't +make me think I should be reconciled to this. No! It is hard enough to +be reconciled to the blows God has dealt me, without accepting what my +husband and son see fit to give me in this." Her hand was cold and +passive, and her voice was restrained and low. + +Mary Ballard's hands were warm, and her tones were rich and full. She +took the proffered hand in both her own and drew the shadow down to +sit at her side. + +"No, no. I'm not going to try to make you reconciled, or anything. +I've just come to tell you that I understand, and that I think you are +justified in withholding your consent to Peter Junior's going off in +this way." + +"If he were killed, I should feel as if I had consented to his +death." + +"Of course you would. I should feel just the same. Naturally you can't +forbid his going,--now,--for it's too late, and he would have to go +with the feeling of disobedience in his heart, and that would be cruel +to him, and worse for you." + +"I know. His father has consented; they think I am wrong. My son +thinks I am wrong. But I can't! I can't!" In her suppressed tones +sounded the ancient wail of women--mothers crying for their sons +sacrificed in war. For a few moments neither of them spoke. It was +hard for Mary to break the silence. Her friend sat at her side +withdrawn and still; then she lifted her eyes to the picture of +herself and the children and spoke again, only breathing the words: +"Peter Junior--my beautiful oldest boy--he is the last--the others are +all gone--three of them." + +"Peter Junior is splendid. I thought so last evening as I saw him +coming up the path. I took it home to myself--what I should feel, and +what I would think if he were my son. Somehow we women are so +inconsistent and foolish. I knew if he were my son, I never could give +my consent to his going, never in the world,--but there! I would be so +proud of him for doing just what your boy has done; I would look up +to him in admiration, and be so glad that he was just that kind of a +man!" + +Hester Craigmile turned and looked steadily in her friend's eyes, but +did not open her lips, and after a moment Mary continued:-- + +"To have one's sons taken like these--is--is different. We know they +are safe with the One who loved little children; we know they are safe +and waiting for us. But to have a boy grow into a young man like Peter +Junior--so straight and fine and beautiful--and then to have him come +and say: 'I'm going to help save our country and will die for it if I +must!' Why, my heart would grow big with thanksgiving that I had +brought such an one into the world and reared him. I--What would I do! +I couldn't tell him he might go,--no,--but I'd just take him in my +arms and bless him and love him a thousand times more for it, so he +could go away with that warm feeling all about his heart; and +then--I'd just pray and hope the war might end soon and that he might +come back to me rewarded, and--and--still good." + +"That's it. If he would,--I don't distrust my son,--but there are +always things to tempt, and if--if he were changed in that way, or if +he never came back,--I would die." + +"I know. We can't help thinking about ourselves and how we are +left--or how we feel--" Mary hesitated and was loath to go on with +that train of thought, but her friend caught her meaning and rose in +silence and paced the room a moment, then returned. + +"It is easy to talk in that way when one has not lost," she said. + +"I know it seems so, but it is not easy, Hester Craigmile. It is +hard--so hard that I came near staying at home this morning. It seemed +as if I could not--could not--" + +"Yes, what I said was bitter, and it wasn't honest. You were good to +come to me--and what you have said is true. It has helped me; I think +it will help me." + +"Then good-by. I'll go now, but I'll come again soon." She left the +shadow sitting there with the basket of fruit and flowers at her side +unnoticed and forgotten, and stepped quietly out of the darkened room +into the sunlight and fresh air. + +"I do wish I could induce her to go out a little--or open up her +house. I wish--" Mary Ballard said no more, but shut her lips tightly +on her thoughts, untied the mare, and drove slowly away. + +Hester Craigmile stood for a moment gazing on the picture of her +little sons, then for an hour or more wandered up and down over her +spacious home, going from room to room, mechanically arranging and +rearranging the chairs and small articles on the mantels and tables. +Nothing was out of place. No dust or disorder anywhere, and there was +the pity of it. If only a boy's cap could be found lying about, or +books left carelessly where they ought not to be! One closed door she +passed again and again. Once she laid her hand on the knob, but passed +on, leaving it still unopened. At last she turned, and, walking +swiftly down the long hall, entered the room. + +There the blinds were closed and the curtains drawn, and everything +set in as perfect order as in the parlor below. She sat down in a +chair placed back against the wall and folded her hands in her lap. +No, it was not so hard for Mary Ballard. It would not be, even if she +had a son old enough to go. Mary had work to do. + +On the wall above Hester's head was one of the portraits which helped +to establish the family dignity of the Craigmiles. If the blinds had +been open, one could have seen it in sharp contrast to the pale moth +of a woman who sat beneath it. The painting, warm and rich in tone, +was of a dame in a long-bodiced dress. She held a fan in her hand and +wore feathers in her powdered hair. Her eyes gazed straight across the +room into those of a red-coated soldier who wore a sword at his side +and gold on his shoulders. Yes, there had been soldiers in the family +before Peter Junior's time. + +This was Peter Junior's room, but the boy was there no longer. He had +come home from college one day and had entered it a boy, and then he +came out of it and down to his mother, dressed in his new uniform--a +man. Now he entered it no more, for he stayed at the camp over on the +high bluff of the Wisconsin River. He was wholly taken up with his new +duties there, and his room had been set in order and closed as if he +were dead. + +Sitting there, Hester heard the church clock peal out the hour of +twelve, and started. Soon she would hear the front door open and shut, +and a heavy tread along the lower hall, and she would go down and sit +silently at the table opposite her husband, they two alone. There +would be silence, because there would be nothing to say. He loved her +and was tender of her, but his word was law, and in all matters he was +dictator, lawmaker, and judge, and from his decisions there was no +appeal. It never occurred to him that there ever need be. So Hester +Craigmile, reserved and intense, closed her lips on her own thoughts, +which it seemed to her to be useless to utter, and let them eat her +heart out in silence. + +At the moment expected she heard the step on the floor of the +vestibule, and the door opened, but it was not her husband's step +alone that she heard. Surely it was Peter Junior's and his cousin's. +Were they coming to dinner? But no word had been sent. Hester stepped +out of the room and stood at the head of the stairs waiting. She did +not wish to go down and meet her son before the others, and if he did +not find her below, he would know where to look for her. + +Peter Senior was an Elder in the Presbyterian Church, and he was +always addressed as Elder, even by his wife and son. On the street he +was always Elder Craigmile. She heard the men enter the dining room +and the door close after them, but still she waited. The maid would +have to be told to put two more places at the table, but Hester did +not move. The Elder might attend to that. Presently she heard quick +steps returning and knew her son was coming. She went to meet him and +was clasped in his arms, close and hard. + +"You were waiting for me here? Come, mother, come." He stroked her +smooth, dark hair, and put his cheek to hers. It was what she needed, +what her heart was breaking for. She could even let him go easier +after this. Sometimes her husband kissed her, but only when he went a +journey or when he returned, a grave kiss of farewell or greeting; but +in her son's clasp there was something of her own soul's pent-up +longing. + +"You'll come down, mother? Rich came home with me." + +"Yes, I heard his voice. I am glad he came." + +"See here, mother! I know what you are doing. This won't do. Every one +who goes to war doesn't get killed or go to the bad. Look at that old +redcoat up in my room. He wasn't killed, or where would I be now? I'm +coming back, just as he did. We are born to fight, we Craigmiles, and +father feels it or he never would have given his consent." + +Slowly they went down the long winding flight of stairs--a flight with +a smooth banister down which it had once been Peter Junior's delight +to slide when there was no one nigh to reprove. Now he went down with +his arm around his slender mother's waist, and now and then he kissed +her cheek like a lover. + +The Elder looked up as they entered, with a slight wince of +disapproval, the only demonstration of reproof he ever gave his wife, +which changed instantly to as slight a smile, as he noticed the faint +color in her cheek, and a brighter light in her eyes than there was at +breakfast. He and Richard were both seated as they entered, but they +rose instantly, and the Elder placed her chair with all the manner of +his forefathers, a courtesy he never neglected. + +Hester Craigmile forced herself to converse, and tried to smile as if +there were no impending gloom. It was here Mary Ballard's influence +was felt by them all. She had helped her friend more than she knew. + +"I'm glad to see you, Richard; I was afraid I might not." + +"Oh, no, Aunt Hester. I'd never leave without seeing you. I went into +the bank and the Elder asked me to dinner and I jumped at the +chance." + +"This is your home always, you know." + +"And it's good to think of, too, Aunt Hester." + +She looked at her son and then her nephew. "You are so like in your +uniforms I would not know you apart on the street in the dark," she +said. Richard shot a merry glance in his uncle's eyes, then only +smiled decorously with him and Peter Junior. + +"I wish you'd visit the camp and see us drill. We go like clockwork, +Peter and I. They call us the twins." + +"There is a very good reason for that, for your mother and I were +twins, and you resemble her, while Peter Junior resembles me," said +the Elder. + +"Yes," said Hester, "Peter Junior looks like his father;" but as she +glanced at her son she knew his soul was hers. + +Thus the meal passed in quiet, decorous talk, touching on nothing +vital, but holding a smoldering fire underneath. The young men said +nothing about the fact that the regiment had been called to duty, and +soon the camp on the bluff would be breaking up. They dared not touch +on the past, and they as little dared touch on the future--indeed +there might be no future. So they talked of indifferent things, and +Hester parted with her nephew as if they were to meet again soon, +except that she called him back when he was halfway down the steps and +kissed him again. As for her son, she took him up to his room and +there they stayed for an hour, and then he came out and she was left +in the house alone. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +LEAVE-TAKING + + +Early in the morning, while the earth was still a mass of gray shadow +and mist, and the sky had only begun to show faint signs of the flush +of dawn, Betty, awake and alert, crept softly out of bed, not to +awaken Martha, who slept the sleep of utter weariness at her side. +Martha had returned only the day before from her visit to her +grandfather's, a long carriage ride away from Leauvite. + +Betty bathed hurriedly, giving a perfunctory brushing to the tangled +mass of curls, and getting into her clothing swiftly and silently. She +had been cautioned the night before by her mother not to awaken her +sister by getting up at too early an hour, for she would be called in +plenty of time to drive over with the rest to see the soldiers off. +But what if her mother should forget! So she put on her new white +dress and gathered a few small parcels which she had carefully tied up +the night before, and her hat and little white linen cape, and taking +her shoes in her hand, softly descended the stairs. + +"Betty, Betty," her mother spoke in a sleepy voice from her own room +as the child crept past her door; "why, my dear, it isn't time to get +up yet. We shan't start for hours." + +"I heard Peter Junior say they were going to strike camp at daybreak, +and I want to see them strike it. You don't need to get up. I can go +over there alone." + +"Why, no, child! Mother couldn't let you do that. They don't want +little girls there. Go back to bed, dear. Did you wake Martha?" + +"Oh, mother. Can't I go downstairs? I don't want to go to bed again. +I'll be very still." + +"Will you lie on the lounge and try to go to sleep again?" + +"Yes, mother." + +Mary Ballard turned with a sigh and presently fell asleep, and Betty +softly continued her way and obediently lay down in the darkened room +below; but sleep she could not. At last, having satisfied her +conscience by lying quietly for a while, she stole to the open door, +for in that peaceful spot the Ballards slept with doors and windows +wide open all through the warm nights. Oh, but the world was cool and +mysterious, and the air was sweet! Little rustling noises made her +feel as if strange beings were stirring; above her head were soft +chirpings, and somewhere a bird was calling an undulating, long-drawn +note, low and sweet, like a tone drawn from her father's violin. + +Betty sat on the edge of the porch and put on her shoes, and then +walked down the path to the gate. The white peonies and the iris +flowers were long since gone, and on the Harvest apple trees and the +Sweet Boughs the fruit hung ripening. All Betty's life long she never +forgot this wonderful moment of the breaking of day. She listened for +sounds to come to her from the camp far away on the river bluff, but +none were heard, only the restless moving of her grandfather's team +taking their early feed in the small pasture lot near by. + +How fresh everything smelled! And the sky! Surely it must be like +this in heaven! It must be heaven showing through, while the world +slept. She was glad she had awakened early so she might see it,--she +and God and the angels, and all the wild things of earth. + +Slowly everything around her grew plainer, and long rays of color, +faintly pink, streamed up into the sky from the eastern horizon; then +suddenly some pale gray, floating clouds above her head blossomed into +a wonderful rose laid upon a sea of gold, then gradually turned +shell-pink, then faded through changing shades to daytime clouds of +white. She wondered if the soldiers saw it, too. They were breaking +camp now, surely, for it was day. Still she swung on the gate and +dreamed, until a voice roused her. + +"So Betty sleeps all night on the gate like a chicken on the fence." A +pair of long arms seized her and lifted her high in the air to a pair +of strong shoulders. Then she was tossed about and her cheeks rubbed +red against grandfather Clide's stubby beard, until she laughed aloud. +"What are you doing here on the gate?" + +"I was watching the sky. I think God looked through and smiled, for +all at once it blossomed. Now the colors are gone." + +Grandfather Clide set her gently on her feet and stood looking gravely +down on her for a moment. "So?" he said. + +"The soldiers are striking camp over there, and then they are going to +march to the square, and then every one is to see them form and +salute--and then they are to march to the station, and--and--then--and +then I don't know what will be--I think glory." + +Her grandfather shook his head, his thoughtful face half smiling and +half grave. He took her hand. "Come, we'll see what Jack and Jill are +up to." He led her to the pasture lot and the horses came and thrust +their heads over the fence and whinnied. "See? They want their oats." +Then Betty was lifted to old Jack's bare back and grandfather led him +by the forelock to the barn, while Jill followed after. + +"Did Jack ever 'fall down and break his crown,' grandfather?" + +"No, but he ran away once on a time." + +"Oh, did Jill come running after?" + +"That she did." + +The sun had but just cast his first glance at High Knob, where the +camp was, and Mary Ballard was hastily whipping up batter for +pancakes, the simplest thing she could get for breakfast, as they were +to go early enough to see the "boys" at the camp before they formed +for their march to the town square. The children were to ride over in +the great carriage with grandfather and grandmother Clide, while +father and mother would take Bobby with them in the carryall. It was +an arrangement liked equally by the three small children and the +well-content grandparents. + +Betty came to the house, clinging to her grandfather's hand. He drew +the large rocking-chair from the kitchen--where winter and summer it +occupied a place by the window, that Bertrand in his moments of rest +and leisure might sit and read the war news aloud to his wife as she +worked--out to a cool grass plot by the door, so that he might still +be near enough to chat with his daughter, while enjoying the morning +air. + +Betty found tidy little Martha, fresh and clean as a rosebud, +stepping busily about, setting the table with extra places and putting +the chairs around. Filled with self-condemnation at the sight of her +sister's helpfulness, she dashed upstairs to do her part in getting +all neat for the day. First she coaxed naughty little Jamie, who, in +his nightshirt, was out on the porch roof fishing, dangling his shoe +over the edge by its strings tied to his father's cane, to return and +be hustled into his trousers--funny little garments that came almost +to his shoe tops--and to stand still while "sister" washed his face +and brushed his curly red hair into a state of semi-orderliness. + +Then there was Bobby to be kissed and coaxed, and washed and dressed, +and told marvelous tales to beguile him into listening submission. +"Mother, mayn't I put Bobby's Sunday dress on him?" called Betty, from +the head of the stairs. + +"Yes, dear, anything you like, but hurry. Breakfast is almost ready;" +then to Martha, "Leave the sweeping, deary, and run down to the spring +for the cream." To her father, Mary explained: "The little girls are a +great help. Betty manages to do for the boys without irritating them. +Now we'll eat while the cakes are hot. Come, Bertrand." + +It was a grave mission and a sorrowful one, that early morning ride to +say good-by to those youthful volunteers. The breakfast conversation +turned on the subject with subdued intensity. Mary Ballard did not +explain herself,--she was too busy serving,--but denounced the war in +broad terms as "unnecessary and iniquitous," thus eliciting from her +husband his usual exclamation, when an aphorism of more than ordinary +daring burst from her lips: "Mary! why, Mary! I'm astonished!" + +"Every one regards it from a different point of view," said his wife, +"and this is my point." It was conclusive. + +Grandfather Clide turned sideways, leaned one elbow on the table in a +meditative way he had, and spoke slowly. Betty gazed up at him in +wide-eyed attention, while Mary poured the coffee and Martha helped +her mother by passing the cakes. Bobby sat close to his comfortable +grandmother, who seemed to be giving him all her attention, but who +heard everything, and was ready to drop a quiet word of significance +when applicable. + +"If we bring the question down to its primal cause," said grandfather, +"if we bring it down to its primal cause, Mary is right; for the cause +being iniquitous, of course, the war is the same." + +"What is 'primal cause,' grandfather?" asked Betty. + +"The thing that began it all," said grandfather, regarding her +quizzically. + +"I don't agree with your conclusion," said Bertrand, pausing to put +sirup on Jamie's cakes, after repeated demands therefor. "If the cause +be evil, it follows that to annihilate the cause--wipe it out of +existence--must be righteous." + +"In God's good time," said grandmother Clide, quietly. + +"God's good time, in my opinion, seems to be when we are forced to a +thing." Grandfather lifted one shaggy eyebrow in her direction. + +"At any rate, and whatever happens," said Bertrand, "the Union must be +preserved, a nation, whole and undivided. My father left England for +love of its magnificent ideals of government by the people. Here is to +be the vast open ground where all nations may come and realize their +highest possibilities, and consequently this nation must be held +together and developed as a whole in all its resources, and not cut up +into small, ineffective, quarrelsome factions. To allow that would +mean the ruin of a colossal scheme for universal progress." + +Mary brought her husband's coffee and put it beside his plate, as he +was too absorbed to take it, and as she did so placed her hand on his +shoulder with gentle pressure and their eyes met for an instant. Then +grandfather Clide took up the thread. + +"Speaking of your father makes me think of my father, your old +grandfather Clide, Mary. He fought with his father in the Revolutionary +War when he was a lad no more than Peter Junior's age--or less. He lived +through it and came to be a judge of the supreme court of New York, and +helped to frame the constitution of that State, too. I used to hear +him say, when I was a mere boy,--and he would bring his fist down on +the table with an emphasis that made the dishes rattle, for all he +averred that he never used gesticulation to aid his oratory,--he used to +say,--I remember his words, as if it were but yesterday,--'Slavery is a +crime which we, the whole nation, are accountable for, and for which we +will be held accountable. If we as a nation will not do away with it by +legislation or mutual compact justly, then the Lord will take it into +his own hands and wipe it out with blood. He may be patient for a long +while, and give us a good chance, but if we wait too long,--it may +not be in my day--it may not be in yours,--he will wipe it out with +blood!' and here was where he used to make the dishes rattle." + +"Maybe, then, this is the Lord's good time," said grandmother. + +"I believe in preserving the Union at any cost, slavery or no +slavery," said Bertrand. + +"The bigger and grander the nation, the more rottenness, if it's +rotten at heart. I believe it better--even at the cost of war--to wipe +out a national crime,--or let those who want slavery take themselves +out of it." + +Betty began to quiver through all her little system of high-strung +nerves and sympathies. The talk was growing heated, and she hated to +listen to excited arguments; yet she gazed and listened with +fascinated attention. + +Bertrand looked up at his father-in-law. "Why, father! why, father! +I'm astonished! I fail to see how permitting one tremendous evil can +possibly further any good purpose. To my mind the most tremendous evil +that could be perpetrated on this globe--the thing that would do more +to set all progress back for hundreds of years, maybe--would be to +break up this Union. Here in this country now we are advancing at a +pace that covers the centuries of the past in leaps of a hundred years +in one. Now cut this land up into little, caviling factions, and where +are we? Why, the very motto of the republic would be done away +with--'In Union there is strength.' I tell you slavery is a sort of +Delilah, and the nation--if it is divided--will be like Sampson with +his locks shorn." + +"Well, war is here," said Mary, "and we must send off our young men to +the shambles, and later on fill up our country with the refuse of +Europe in their stead. It will be a terrible blood-letting for both +North and South, and it will be the best blood on both sides. I'm as +sorry for the mothers down there as I am for ourselves. Did you get +the apples, Bertrand? We'd better start, to be there at eight." + +"I put them in the carryall, my dear, Sweet Boughs and Harvest apples. +The boys will have one more taste before they leave." + +"Father, we want to carry some. Put some in the carriage too," said +Martha. + +"Yes, father. We want to eat some while we are on the way." + +"Why, Jamie, they are for the soldiers; they're not for us," cried +Betty, in horror. To eat even one, it seemed to her, would be greed +and robbery. + +In spite of the gravity of the hour to the older ones, the occasion +took on an air of festivity to the children. In grandfather's +dignified old family carriage Martha sat with demure elation on the +back seat at her grandmother's side, wearing her white linen cape, and +a wide-brimmed, low-crowned hat of Neapolitan straw, with a blue +ribbon around the crown, and a narrow one attached to the front, the +end of which she held in her hand to pull the brim down to shade her +eyes as was the fashion for little girls of the day. She felt well +pleased with the hat, and held the ribbon daintily in her shapely +little hand. + +At her feet was the basket of apples, and with her other hand she +guarded three small packages. Grandmother wore a gray, changeable +silk. The round waist fitted her plump figure smoothly, and the skirt +was full and flowing. Her bonnet was made of the same silk shirred on +rattan, and was not perched on the top of her head, but covered it +well and framed her sweet face with a full, white tulle ruching set +close under the brim. + +Grandfather, up in front, drove Jack and Jill, who, he said, were +"feeling their oats." Betty did not wonder, for oats are sharp and +must prick their stomachs. She sat with grandfather,--he had promised +she should the night before,--and Jamie was tucked in between them. He +ought to have been in behind with grandmother, but his scream of +rebellion as he was lifted in brought instant yielding from Betty, +when grandfather interfered and took them both. But when Jamie +insisted on holding the reins, grandfather grew firm, and when screams +again began, his young majesty was lifted down and placed in the road +to remain until instant obedience was promised, after which he was +restored to the coveted place and away they went. + +Betty's white linen cape blew out behind and her ribbons flew like +blue butterflies all about her hat. She forgot to hold down the brim, +as polite little girls did who knew how to wear their Sunday clothes. +She, too, held three small packages in her lap. For days, ever since +Peter Junior and Richard Kildene had taken tea with them in their new +uniforms, the little girls had patiently sewed to make the articles +which filled these packages. + +Mary Ballard had planned them. In each was a needle-book filled with +needles large enough to be used by clumsy fingers, a pin ball, a +good-sized iron thimble, and a case of thread and yarn for mending, +buttons of various sizes, and a bit of beeswax, molded in Mary +Ballard's thimble, to wax their linen thread. All were neatly packed +in a case of bronzed leather bound about with firm braid, and tucked +under the strap of the leather on the inside was a small pair of +scissors. It was all very compact and tied about with the braid. +Mother had done some of the hardest of the sewing, but for the most +part the stitches had been painstakingly put in by the children's own +fingers. + +The morning was cool, and the dust had been laid by a heavy shower in +the night. The horses held up their heads and went swiftly, in spite +of their long journey the day before. Soon they heard in the distance +the sound of the drum, and the merry note of a fife. Again a pang shot +through Betty's heart that she had not been a boy of Peter Junior's +age that she might go to war. She heaved a deep sigh and looked up in +her grandfather's face. It was a grizzled face, with blue eyes that +shot a kindly glance sideways at her as if he understood. + +When they drew near, the horses danced to the merry tune, as if they +would like to go, too. All the camp seemed alive. How splendid the +soldiers looked in their blue uniforms, their guns flashing in the +sun! Betty watched how their legs with the stripes on them seemed to +twinkle as they moved all together, marching in companies. Back and +forth, back and forth, they went, and the orders came to the children +short and abrupt, as the men went through their maneuvers. They saw +the sentinel pacing up and down, and wondered why he did it instead of +marching with the other men. All these questions were saved up to ask +of grandfather when they got home. They were too interested to do +anything but watch now. + +At last, very suddenly it seemed, the soldiers broke ranks and +scattered over the greensward, running hither and thither like ants. +Betty again drew a long breath. Now they were coming, the soldiers in +whom they were particularly interested. + +"Can they do what they please now?" she asked her grandfather. + +"Yes, for a while." + +All along the sentry line carriages were drawn up, for this hour from +eight till nine was given to the "boys" to see their friends for the +last time in many months, maybe years, maybe forever. As they had come +from all over the State, some had no friends to meet them, but guests +were there in crowds, and every man might receive a handshake whether +he was known or not. All were friends to these young volunteers. + +Bertrand Ballard was known and loved by all the youths. Some from the +village, and others from the country around, had been in the way of +coming to the Ballard home simply because the place was made an +enjoyable center for them. Some came to practice the violin and others +to sing. Some came to try their hand at sketching and painting and +some just to hear Bertrand talk. All was done for them quite +gratuitously on his part, and no laugh was merrier than his. Even the +chore boy came in for a share of the Ballards' kindly help, sitting at +Mary Ballard's side in the long winter evenings, and conning lessons +to patch up an education snatched haphazard and hardly come by. + +Here comes one of them now, head up, smiling, and happy-go-lucky. +"Bertrand, here comes Johnnie. Give him the apples and let him +distribute them. Poor boy! I'm sorry he's going; he's too easily led," +said Mary. + +"Oh! Johnnie, Johnnie Cooper! I've got something for you. We made +them. Mother helped us," cried Martha. Now the children were out of +the carriage and running about among their friends. + +Johnnie Cooper snatched Jamie from the ground and threw him up over +his head, then set him down again and took the parcel. Then he caught +Martha up and set her on his shoulder while he peeped into the +package. + +"Stop, Johnnie. Set me down. I'm too big now for you to toss me up." +Her arms were clasped tightly under his chin as he held her by the +feet. Slowly he let her slide to the ground and thrust the little case +in his pocket, and stooping, kissed the child. + +"I'll think of you and your mother when I use this," he said. + +"And you'll write to us, won't you, Johnnie?" said Mary. "If you +don't, I shall think something is gone wrong with you." He knew what +she meant, and she knew he knew. "There are worse things than bullets, +Johnnie." + +"Never you worry for me, Mrs. Ballard. We're going down for business, +and you won't see me again until we've licked the 'rebs.'" He held her +hand awkwardly for a minute, then relieved the tension by carrying off +the two baskets of apples. "I know the trees these came from," he +said, and soon a hundred boys in blue were eating Bertrand's choicest +apples. + +"Here come the twins!" said some one, as Peter Junior and Richard +Kildene came toward them across the sward. Betty ran to meet them and +caught Richard by the hand. She loved to have him swing her in long +leaps from the ground as he walked. + +"See, Richard, I made this for you all myself--almost. I put C in the +corner so it wouldn't get mixed with the others, because this I made +especially for you." + +"Did you? Why didn't you put R in the corner if you meant it for me? I +think you meant this for Charley Crabbe." + +"No, I didunt." Betty spoke most emphatically. "Martha has one for +him. I put C because--you'll see when you open it. Everything's bound +all round with my very best cherry-colored hair ribbon, to make it +very special, and that is what C is for. All the rest are brown, and +this is prettier, and it won't get mixed with Peter Junior's." + +"Ah, yes. C is for cherry--Betty's hair ribbon; and the gold-brown +leather is for Betty's hair. Is that it?" + +"Yep." + +"Haven't I one, too?" asked Peter Junior. + +"Yep. We made them just alike, and you can sew on buttons and +everything." + +Thus the children made the leave-taking less somber, to the relief of +every one. + +Grandfather and grandmother Clide had friends of their own whom they +had come all the forty miles to see,--neighbor boys from many of the +farms around their home, and their daughter-in-law's own brother, who +was like a son to them. There he stood, lithe and strong and genial, +and, alas! too easy-going to be safe among the temptations of the +camp. + +Quickly the hour passed and the call came to form ranks for the march +to the town square, where speeches were to be made and prayers were to +be read before the march to the station. + +Our little party waited until the last company had left the camp +ground and the excited children had seen them all and heard the sound +of the fife and drum to their last note and beat as the "boys in blue" +filed past them and off down the winding country road among the trees. +Nothing was said by the older ones of what might be in the future for +those gallant youths--yes, and for the few men of greater years with +them--as they wound out of sight. It was better so. Bobby fell asleep +in Mary Ballard's arms as they drove back, and a bright tear fell from +her wide-open, far-seeing eyes down on his baby cheek. + +It was no lack of love for his son that kept Elder Craigmile away at +the departure of the boys from their camp on the bluff. He had +virtually said his say and parted from his son when he gave his +consent to his going in the first place. To him war meant sacrifice, +and the parting with sons, at no matter what cost. The dominant idea +with him was ever the preservation of the Union. At nine o'clock as +usual that morning he had entered the bank, and a few minutes later, +when the troops formed on the square, he came out and took his +appointed place on the platform, as one of the speakers, and offered a +closing prayer for the confounding of the enemy after the manner of +David of old--then he descended and took his son's hand, as he stood +in the ranks, with his arm across the boy's shoulder, looked a moment +in his eyes; then, without a word, he turned and reentered the bank. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +THE PASSING OF TIME + + +It was winter. The snow was blowing past the windows in blinding +drifts, and the road in front of the Ballards' home was fast filling +to the tops of the fences. A bright wood-fire was burning in the great +cookstove, which had been brought into the living room for warmth and +to economize steps, as all the work of the household devolved on Mary +and little Betty, since Martha spent the week days at the Deans in the +village in order to attend the high school. + +Mary gazed anxiously now and then through the fast-frosting window +panes on the opaque whiteness of the storm without, where the trees +tossed their bare branches weirdly, like threatening gray phantoms, +grotesque and dimly seen through the driving snow. It was Friday +afternoon and still early, and brave, busy little Martha always came +home on Fridays after school to help her mother on Saturdays. + +"Oh, I hope Martha hasn't started," said Mary. "Look out, Bertrand. +This is the wildest storm we have had this year." + +"Mrs. Dean would never allow her to set out in this storm, I'm sure," +said Bertrand. "I cautioned her yesterday when I was there never to +start when the weather seemed like a blizzard." + +Bertrand had painted in his studio above as long as the light +remained, and now he was washing his brushes, carefully swishing the +water out of them and drawing each one between his lips to shape it +properly before laying it down. Mary laid the babe in her arms in its +crib, and rocked it a moment while she and Bertrand chatted. + +A long winter and summer had passed since the troops marched away from +Leauvite, and now another winter was passing. For a year and a bit +more, little Janey, the babe now being hushed to sleep, had been a +member of the family circle. Thus it was that Mary Ballard seldom went +to the village, and Betty learned her lessons at home as best she +could, and tended the baby and helped her mother. But Bertrand and his +wife had plenty to talk about; for he went out and saw their friends +in the village, led the choir on Sundays, taught the Bible class, +heard all the news, and talked it over with Mary. + +Thus, in one way or another, all the new books found their way into +the Ballards' home, were read and commented on, even though books were +not written so much for commercial purposes then as now, and their +writers were looked up to with more respect than criticism. The +_Atlantic Monthly_ and _Littell's Living Age_, _Harper's Magazine_, +and the _New York Tribune_ also brought up a variety of subjects for +discussion. Now and then a new poem by Whittier, or Bryant, or some +other of the small galaxy of poets who justly were becoming the +nation's pride, would appear and be read aloud to Mary as she prepared +their meals, or washed the dishes or ironed small garments, while +Betty listened with intent eyes and ears, as she helped her mother or +tended the baby. + +That afternoon, while the storm soughed without, the cow and horse +were comfortably quartered in their small stable, which was banked +with straw to keep out the cold. Indoors, Jamie was whittling behind +the warm cookstove over a newspaper spread to catch the chips, while +Bobby played quietly in a corner with two gray kittens and a worsted +ball. Janey was asleep in the crib which Betty jogged now and then +while she knit on a sock for the soldiers,--Mary and the two little +girls were always knitting socks for the soldiers these days in their +spare moments and during the long winter evenings,--Mary was kneading +white loaves of bread with floury hands, and Bertrand sat close beside +the window to catch the last rays of daylight by which to read the war +news. + +Bertrand always read the war news first,--news of battles and lists of +wounded and slain and imprisoned, and saddest of all, lists of the +missing,--following closely the movements of their own company of +"boys" from Leauvite. Mary listened always with a thought of the +shadow in the banker's home, and the mother there, watching and +waiting for the return of her boy. Although their own home was safe, +the sorrow of other homes, devastated and mourning, weighed heavily +upon Mary Ballard, and she needed to listen to the stirring editorials +of the _Tribune_, which Bertrand read with dramatic intensity, to +bolster up her faith in the rightness of this war between men who +ought to be brothers in their hopes and ambitions for the national +life of their great country. + +"I suppose it is too great a thing to ask--that such a tremendous and +mixed nation as ours should be knit together for the good of all men +in a spirit of brotherly love--but what a thing to ask for! What a +thing to try for! If I were a man, I would pray that I might gain +influence over my fellows just for that--just--for that," said Mary. + +"Ah," replied her husband, with fond optimism, "you need not say 'If I +were a man,' for that. It is the women who have the influence; don't +you know that, Mary?" + +Mary looked down at her work, an incredulous smile playing about her +lips. + +"Well, my dear?" Bertrand loved a response. + +"Well, Bertrand? Men do like to talk about our 'sweet influence,' +don't they?" Then she laughed outright. + +"But, Mary--but, Mary, it is true. Women do more with their influence +than men can do with their guns," and Bertrand really meant what he +said. Dusky shadows filled the room, but if the light had been +stronger, he would have seen that little ironical smile still playing +about his wife's lips. + +"Did you see Judge Logan again about those Waupaca lots?" + +Bertrand wondered what the lots had to do with the subject, but +suffered the digression patiently, for the feminine mind was not +supposed to be coherent. "Yes, my love; I saw him yesterday." + +"What did you do about them? I hope you refused." + +"No, my dear. I thought best not. He showed me very conclusively that +in time they will be worth more--much more--than the debt." + +"Then why did he offer them to you for the debt? The portrait you +painted for him will be worth more, too, in time, than the debt. You +remember when you asked me what I thought, I said we needed the money +more now." + +"Yes, I remember; but this plan is a looking toward the future. I +didn't think it wise to refuse." + +Mary said nothing, but went out, returning presently with two lighted +candles. Bertrand was replenishing the fire. Had he been looking at +her face with the light of the candles on it as she carried them, he +would have noticed that little smile about her lips. + +"I'm very glad we brought the bees in yesterday," he said. "This storm +would have made it impossible to do it to-day, and we should have lost +them." + +"How about those lectures, dear? The 'boys' are all gone now, and you +won't have them to take up your time evenings, so you can easily +prepare them. They will take you into the city now and then, and that +will keep you in touch with the world outside this village." Bertrand +had been requested to give a series of lectures on art in one of the +colleges in the city. He had been well pleased and had accepted, but +later had refused because of certain dictatorship exercised by the +Board, which he felt infringed on his province of a suitable selection +of subjects. He was silent for a moment. Again Mary had irrelevantly +and abruptly changed the subject of conversation. Where was the +connection between bees and lectures? "I really wish you would, dear," +urged Mary. + +"You still wish it after the affront the Board has given me?" + +"I know, but what do they know about art? I would give the lectures if +it was only to be able--incidentally--to teach them something. Be a +little conciliatory, dear." + +"I will make no concessions. If I give the lectures, I must be allowed +to select my courses. It is my province." + +"Did you see Elder Craigmile about it?" + +"I did." + +"And what did he say?" + +"He seemed to think the Board was right." + +"I knew he would. You remember I asked you not to go to him about it, +and that was why." + +"Why did you think so? He assumes to be my friend." + +"Because people who don't know anything about art always are satisfied +with their own opinions. They don't know anything to upset them. He +knows more than some of them, but how much is that? Enough to know +that he owns some fine paintings; but you taught him their value, now, +didn't you?" Bertrand smiled, but said nothing, and his wife +continued. "Prepare the lectures, dear, for my sake. I love to know +that you are doing such work." + +"I can't. The action of the Board is an insult to my intelligence. +What are you smiling about?" + +"About you, dear." + +"Mary, why, Mary! I--" + +But Mary only smiled the more. "You love my irrelevance and +inconsistency, you say,--" + +"I love any weakness that is yours, Mary. What are you keeping back +from me?" + +"The weakness that is mine, dear." Again Mary laughed outright. "It +would be useless to tell you--or to try to explain. I love you, isn't +that enough?" + +Bertrand thought it ought to be, but was not sure, and said so. Then +Mary laughed again, and he kissed her, shaking his head dubiously, and +took up his violin for solace. Thus an hour passed; then Betty set the +table for supper, and the long evening followed like many another +evening, filled with the companionship only comfortably married +people know, while Bertrand read from the poets. + +Since, with a man's helplessness in such matters, he could not do +the family mending, or knit for the soldiers, or remodel old garments +into new, it behooved him to render such tasks pleasant for the busy +hand and brain that must devise and create and make much out of little +for economy's sake; and this Bertrand did to Mary's complete +satisfaction. + +Evenings like these were Betty's school, and they seemed all the +schooling she was likely to get, for the family funds were barely +sufficient to cover the expenses of one child at a time. But, as Mary +said, "It's not so bad for Betty to be kept at home, for she will read +and study, anyway, because she likes it, and it won't hurt her to +learn to be practical as well;" and no doubt Mary was right. + +Bertrand was himself a poet in his appreciation and fineness of +choice, and he read for Mary with all the effectiveness and warmth of +color that he would put into a recitation for a large audience, +carried on solely by his one sympathetic listener and his love for +what he read; while Betty, in her corner close to the lamp behind her +father's chair, listened unnoticed, with eager soul, rapt and +uplifted. + +As Bertrand read he commented. "These men who are writing like this +are doing for this country what the Lake Poets did for England. They +are making true literature for the nation, and saving it from +banality. They are going to live. They will be classed some day with +Wordsworth and all the rest of the best. Hear this from James Russell +Lowell. It's about a violin, and is called 'In the Twilight.' It's +worthy of Shelley." And Bertrand read the poem through, while Mary +let her knitting fall in her lap and listened. He loved to see her +listen in that way. + +"Read again the verse that begins: 'O my life.' I seem to like it +best." And he read it over:-- + + "O my life, have we not had seasons + That only said, Live and rejoice? + That asked not for causes and reasons, + But made us all feeling and voice? + When we went with the winds in their blowing, + When Nature and we were peers, + And we seemed to share in the flowing + Of the inexhaustible years? + Have we not from the earth drawn juices + Too fine for earth's sordid uses? + Have I heard, have I seen + All I feel, all I know? + Doth my heart overween? + Or could it have been + Long ago?" + +"And the next, Bertrand. I love to hear them over again." And he +read:-- + + "Sometimes a breath floats by me, + An odor from Dreamland sent, + That makes the ghost seem nigh me + Of a splendor that came and went, + Of a life lived somewhere, I know not + In what diviner sphere, + Of memories that stay not and go not, + Like music heard once by an ear + That cannot forget or reclaim it, + A something so shy, it would shame it + To make it a show, + A something too vague, could I name it, + For others to know, + As if I had lived it or dreamed it, + As if I had acted or schemed it, + Long ago!" + +"And the last verse, father. I like the last best," cried Betty, +suddenly. + +"Why, my deary. I thought you were gone to bed." + +"No, mother lets me sit up a little while longer when you're reading. +I like to hear you." And he read for her the last verse:-- + + "And yet, could I live it over, + This life that stirs my brain, + Could I be both maiden and lover, + Moon and tide, bee and clover, + As I seem to have been, once again, + Could I but speak it and show it, + This pleasure more sharp than pain, + That baffles and lures me so, + The world should once more have a poet, + Such as it had + In the ages glad, + Long ago!" + +Then, wishing to know more of the secret springs of his little +daughter's life, he asked: "Why do you love that stanza best, Betty, +my dear?" + +Betty blushed crimson to the roots of her hair, for what she carried +in her heart was too precious to tell, but she meant to be a poet. +Even then, in the pocket of her calico dress lay a little book and a +stubbed lead pencil, and in the book was already the beginning of her +great epic. Her father had said the epic was a thing of the past, that +in the future none would be written, for that it was a form of +expressions that belonged to the world's youth, and that age brought +philosophy and introspection, but not epics. + +She meant to surprise her father some day with this poem. The great +world was so full of mystery--of seductive beauty and terror and of +strange, enticing charm! She saw and felt it always. Even now, in the +driving, whirling storm without, in the darkness of her chamber, or +when she looked through the frosted panes into the starry skies at +midnight, always it was there all about her,--a something unexpressed, +unseen, but close--close to her,--the mystery which throbbed through +all her small being, and which she was one day to find out and +understand and put into her great epic. + +She thought over her father's question, hardly knowing why she liked +that last stanza best. She slowly wound up her ball of yarn and thrust +the needles through it, and dropped it into her mother's workbasket +before she replied; then, taking up her candle, she looked shyly in +her father's eyes. + +"Because I like where it says: 'This pleasure more sharp than pain, +That baffles and lures me so.'" Then she was gone, hurrying away lest +they should question her further and learn about the little book in +her pocket. + +Thus time passed with the Ballards, many days swiftly flying, laden +with a fair share of sweetness and pleasure, and much of harassment +and toil, but in the main bringing happiness. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +THE END OF THE WAR + + +It was three years after the troops marched away from High Knob +encampment before either Peter Junior or Richard Kildene were again in +Leauvite, and then only Peter returned, because he was wounded, and +not that he was unwilling to enlist again, as did Richard and many of +the boys, when their first term of service was ended. He returned with +the brevet of a captain, for gallant conduct in the encounter in which +he received his wound, but only a shadow of the healthy, earnest boy +who had stood in the ranks on the town square of Leauvite three years +before; yet this very fact brought life and hope to his waiting +mother, now that she had the blessed privilege of nursing him back to +strength. + +It seemed as though her long period of mourning ended when Peter +Junior, pallid in his blue uniform, his hair darkened and matted with +the dampness caused by weakness and pain, was borne in between the +white columns of his father's house. When the news reached him that +his son was lying wounded in a southern hospital, the Elder had, for +the first time in many, many years, followed an impulse without +pausing to consider his act beforehand. He left the bank on the +instant and started for the scene of battles, only hurrying home to +break the news first to his wife. Yielding to a rare tenderness, he +touched her hair as he kissed her, and enjoined on her to remember +that their son was not slain, but by a merciful Providence was only +wounded and might be spared to them. She must thank the Lord and be +ready to nurse him back to life. + +Why Providence should be thus merciful to their son rather than to +many another son, the good Elder did not pause to consider. Possibly +he thought it no more than just that the prayers of the righteous +should be answered by a supernatural intervention between their sons +and the bullets of the enemy. His ideas on this point were no doubt +vague at the best, but certain it is that he returned from his long +and difficult journey to the seat of strife after his boy, with a +clearer notion of what war really was, and a more human sympathy for +those who go and suffer, and, as might be anticipated with those of +his temperament, an added bitterness against those whom he felt were +to blame for the conflict. + +When Peter Junior left his home, his father had enjoined on him to go, +not in the spirit of bitterness and enmity, but as an act of duty, to +teach a needed lesson; for surely the Lord was on the side of the +right, and was using the men of the North to teach this needed lesson +to those laboring in error. Ah! it is a very different point of view +we take when we suffer, instead of merely moralizing on the suffering +of others; especially we who feel that we know what is right, and lack +in great part the imagination to comprehend the other man's viewpoint. +To us of that cast of mind there is only one viewpoint and that is our +own, and only a bodily departure to the other man's hilltop or valley, +as the case may be, will open the eyes and enlarge the understanding +to the extent of even allowing our fellows to see things in another +light from our own. + +In this instance, while the Elder's understanding had been decidedly +enlarged, it had been in but one direction, and the effect had not +been to his spiritual benefit, for he had seen only the suffering of +his own side, and, being deficient in power to imagine what might be, +he had taken no charitable thought for the other side. Instead, a +feeling of hatred had been stirred within him,--a feeling he felt +himself justified in and therefore indulged and named: "Righteous +Indignation." + +The Elder's face was stern and hard as he directed the men who bore +his boy on the litter where to turn, and how to lift it above the +banister in going up the stair so as not to jar the young man, who was +too weak after the long journey to do more than turn his eyes on his +mother's face. + +But that mother's face! It seemed to him he had never seen it so +radiant and charming, for all that her hair had grown silvery white in +the three years since he had last kissed her. He could not take his +eyes from it, and besought her not to leave his side, even when the +Elder bade her go and not excite him, but allow him to rest. + +No sooner was her son laid on his own bed in his old room than she +began a series of gentle ministrations most sweet to the boy and to +herself. But the Elder had been told that all he needed now was rest +and absolute quiet, and the surgeon's orders must be carried out +regardless of all else. Hester Craigmile yielded, as always, to the +Elder's will, and remained without, seated close beside her son's +door, her hands, that ached to serve, lying idle in her lap, while the +Elder brought him his warm milk and held it to his lips, lifting his +head to drink it, and then left him with the command to sleep. + +"Don't go in for an hour at least," he enjoined on his wife as he +passed her and took his way to the bank, for it was too early for +closing, and there would still be time for him to look into his +affairs a bit. Thus for the banker the usual routine began. + +Not so for Hester Craigmile. Joy and life had begun for her. She had +her boy again--quite to herself when the Elder was away, and the tears +for very happiness came to her eyes and dropped on her hands +unchecked. Had the Elder been there he would have enjoined upon her to +be controlled and she would have obeyed, but now there was no need, +and she wept deliciously for joy while she still sat outside the door +and listened. Intense--eager--it seemed almost as if she could hear +him breathe. + +"Mother!" Hark! Did he speak? "Mother!" It was merely a breath, but +she heard and went swiftly to him. Kneeling, she clasped him, and her +tears wet his cheek, but at the same time they soothed him, and he +slept. It was thus the Elder found them when he returned from the +bank, both sweetly sleeping. He did not take his wife away for fear of +waking his son, nevertheless he was displeased with her, and when they +met at table that evening, she knew it. + +The whole order of the house was changed because of Peter Junior's +return. Blinds, windows, and doors were thrown open at the direction +of the physician, that he might be given all the air and sunlight it +was possible to admit; else he would never gain strength, for so long +had he lived in the open air, in rain and sun, that he had need now of +every help nature could give. + +A bullet had struck him in the hip and glanced off at a peculiar +angle, rendering his recovery precarious and long delayed, and causing +the old doctor to shake his head with the fear that he must pass the +rest of his life a cripple. Still, normal youth is buoyant and +vigorous and mocks at physicians' fears, and after a time, what with +heart at rest, with loving and unceasing care on his mother's part, +and rigorous supervision on his father's, Peter Junior did at length +recover sufficiently to be taken out to drive, and began to get back +the good red blood in his veins. + +During this long period of convalescence, Peter Junior's one anxiety +was for his cousin Richard. Rumors had reached him that his comrade +had been wounded and taken prisoner, yet nothing definite had been +heard, until at last, after much writing, he learned Richard's +whereabouts, and later that he had been exchanged. Then, too ill and +prison-worn to go back to his regiment, he appeared one day, slowly +walking up the village street toward the banker's house. + +There he was welcomed and made much of, and the two young men spent a +while together happily, the best of friends and comrades, still filled +with enthusiasm, but with a wider knowledge of life and the meaning of +war. These weeks were few and short, and soon Richard was back in the +army. Peter Junior, envying him, still lay convalescing and only able +with much difficulty to crawl to the carriage for his daily drive. + +His mother always accompanied him on these drives, and the very first +of them was to the home of the Ballards. It was early spring, the air +was biting and cool, and Peter was unable to alight, but Mary and her +husband came to them where they waited at the gate and stood long, +talking happily. Jamie and Bobby followed at their heels and peered up +curiously at the wounded soldier, but Betty was seized with a rare +moment of shyness that held her back. + +Dear little Betty! She had grown taller since Peter Junior had taken +that last tea at the Ballards. No longer care free, the oldest but +one, she had taken many of her mother's burdens upon her young +shoulders, albeit not knowing that they were burdens, since they were +wholly acts of love and joyously done. She was fully conscious of her +advancing years, and took them very seriously, regarding her acts with +a grave and serene sense of their importance. She had put back the +wild hair that used to fly about her face until her father called her +"An owl in an ivy bush" and her mother admonished her that her "head +was like a mop." Now, being in her teens, she wore her dresses longer +and never ran about barefooted, paddling in the brook below the +spring, although she would like to do so; still she was child enough +to run when she should walk, and to laugh when some would sigh. + +Her thoughts had been romantically active regarding Peter Junior, how +he would look, and how splendid and great he was to have been a real +soldier and come home wounded--to have suffered and bled for his +country. And Richard, too, was brave and splendid. He must have been +in the very front of the battle to have been taken prisoner. She +wondered a little if he remembered her, but not much, for how could +men with great work to do, like fighting and dying for their country, +stop to think of a little girl who was still in short dresses when +they had seen her last? + +Then, when the war was ended at last, there was Richard returned and +stopping at his uncle's. In the few short visits he made at the +Ballards' he greeted Betty as of old, as he would greet a little +sister of whom he was fond, and she accepted his frank, old-time +brotherliness in the same spirit, gayly and happily, revealing but +little of herself, and holding a slight reserve in her manner which +seemed to him quite delightful and maidenly. Then, all too suddenly, +he was gone again, but in his heart he carried a memory of her that +made a continual undercurrent in his thoughts. + +And now Betty's father and mother were actually talking with Peter +Junior at their very gate. Impulse would have sent her flying to meet +him, but that new, self-conscious shyness stayed her feet, for he was +one to be approached with reverence. He was afflicted with no romantic +shyness with regard to her, however. He quite forgot her, indeed, +although he did ask in a general way after the children and even +mentioned Martha in particular, as, being the eldest, she was best +remembered. So Betty did not see Peter Junior this time, but she stood +where she could see the top of the carriage from her bedroom window, +whither she had fled, and she could see the blue sleeve of his coat as +he put out his arm to take her mother's hand at parting. That was +something, and she listened with beating heart for the sound of his +voice. Ah, little he dreamed what a tumult he had raised in the heart +of that young being whose imagination had been so stirred by all that +she had read and heard of war, and the part taken in it by their own +young men of Leauvite. That Peter Junior had come home brevetted a +captain for his bravery crowned him with glory. All that day Betty +went about with dreams in her head, and coursing through them was the +voice of the wounded young soldier. + +At last, with the slow march of time, came the proclamation of peace, +and the nation so long held prostrate--a giant struggling against +fetters of its own forging, blinded and strangling in its own +blood--reared its head and cried out for the return of Hope, groping +on all sides to gather the divine youth to its arms, when, as a last +blow, dealt by a wanton hand, came the death of Lincoln. + +Then it was that the nation recoiled and bowed itself for a time, +beaten and crushed--both North and South--and vultures gathered at the +seat of conflict and tore at its vitals and wrangled over the spoils. +Then it was that they who had sowed discord stooped to reap the +Devil's own harvest,--a woeful, bitter, desperate time, when more +enmity and deep rancor was bred and treasured up for future sorrow +than during all the years of the honest and active strife of the war. + +In the very beginning that first news of the firing on Fort Sumter +flew through the North like a tragic cry, and men felt a sense of doom +hanging over the nation. Bertrand Ballard heard it and walked +sorrowfully home to his wife, and sat long with bowed head, brooding +and silent. Neighbor Wilcox heard it, and, leaving his business, +entered his home and called his household together with the servants +and held family worship--a service which it was his custom to hold +only on the Sabbath--and earnestly prayed for the salvation of the +country, and that wisdom might be granted its rulers, after which he +sent his oldest son to fight for the cause. Elder Craigmile heard it, +and consented that his last and only son should enter the ranks and +give his life, if need be, for the saving of the nation. Still, +tempering all this sorrow and anxiety was the chance for action, and +the hope of victory. + +But now, in this later time, when the strength of the nation had been +wasted, when victory itself was dark with mourning for sons slain, the +loss of the one wise leader to whom all turned with uplifted hearts +seemed the signal for annihilation; and then, indeed, it appeared that +the prophecy of Mary Ballard's old grandfather had been fulfilled and +the curse of slavery had not only been wiped out with blood, but that +the greater curse of anarchy and misrule had taken its place to still +further scourge the nation. + +Mary Ballard's mother, while scarcely past her prime, was taken ill +with fever and died, and immediately upon this blow to the dear old +father who was not yet old enough by many years to be beyond his +usefulness to those who loved and depended on him, came the tragic +death of Lincoln, whom he revered and in whom all his hopes for the +right adjustment of the nation's affairs rested. Under the weight of +the double calamity he gave up hope, and left the world where all +looked so dark to him, almost before the touch of his wife's hand had +grown cold in his. + +"Father died of a broken heart," said Mary, and turned to her husband +and children with even more intensity of devotion. "For," she said, +"after all, the only thing in life of which we can be perfectly sure +is our love for each other. A grave may open at our feet anywhere at +any time, and only love oversteps it." + +With such an animating spirit as this, no family can be wholly sad, +and though poverty pinched them at times, and sorrow had bitterly +visited them, with years and thrift things changed. Bertrand painted +more pictures and sold them; the children were gay and vigorous and +brought life and good times to the home, and the girls grew up to be +womanly, winsome lasses, light-hearted and good to look upon. + +Enough of the war and the evils thereof has been said and written and +sung. Animosity is dead, and brotherhood and mutual service between +the two opposing factions of one great family have taken the place of +strife. Useless now to say what might have been, or how otherwise that +terrible time of devastation and sorrow could have been avoided. +Enough to know that at last as a nation, whole and undivided, we may +pull together in the tremendous force of our united strength, and that +now we may take up the "White Man's Burden" and bear it to its +magnificent conclusion to the service of all mankind and the glory of +God. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +A NEW ERA BEGINS + + +Bertrand Ballard's studio was at the top of his house, with a high +north window and roughly plastered walls of uncolored sand, left as +Bertrand himself had put the plaster on, with his trowel marks over +the surface as they happened to come, and the angles and projections +thereof draped with cobwebs. + +When Peter Junior was able to leave his home and get about a little on +his crutches, he loved to come there and rest and spend his idle +hours, and Bertrand found pleasure in his companionship. They read +together, and sang together, and laughed together, and no sound was +more pleasant to Mary Ballard's ears than this same happy laughter. +Peter had sorely missed the companionship of his cousin, for, at the +close of the war, no longer a boy and unwilling to be dependent and +drifting, Richard had sought out a place for himself in the work of +the world. + +First he had gone to Scotland to visit his mother's aunts. There he +found the two dear old ladies, sweetly observant of him, willing to +tell him much of his mother, who had been scarcely younger than the +youngest of them, but discreetly reticent about his father. From this +he gathered that for some reason his father was under a cloud. Yet he +did not shrink from trying to learn from them all they knew about him, +and for what reason they spoke as if to even mention his name was an +indiscretion. It was really little they knew, only that he had gravely +displeased their nephew, Peter Craigmile, who had brought Richard up, +and who was his mother's twin brother. + +"But why did Uncle Peter have to bring me up? You say he quarreled +with my father?" + +"Weel, ye see, ye'r mither was dead." It was Aunt Ellen, the elder by +twenty years, who told him most about it, she who spoke with the +broadest Scotch. + +"Was my father a bad man, that Uncle 'Elder' disliked him so?" + +"Weel now, I'd no say that; he was far from that to be right fair to +them both--for ye see--ye'r mither would never have loved him if he'd +been that--but he--he was an Irishman, and ye'r Uncle Peter could +never thole an Irishman, and he--he--fair stole ye'r mither from us +a'--an--" she hesitated to continue, then blurted out the real horror. +"Your Uncle Peter kenned he had ance been in the theayter, a sort o' +an actor body an' he couldna thole that." + +But little was to be gained with all his questioning, and what he +could learn seemed no more than that his father had done what any man +might be expected to do if some one stood between him and the girl he +loved; so Richard felt that there must be something unknown to any one +but his uncle that had turned them all against his father. Why had his +father never appeared to claim his son? Why had he left his boy to be +reared by a man who hated the boy's father? It was a strange thing to +do, and it must be that his father was dead. + +At this time Richard was filled with ambitions,--fired by his early +companionship with Bertrand Ballard,--and thought he would go to +France and become an artist;--to France, the Mecca of Bertrand's +dreams--he desired of all things to go there for study. But of all +this he said nothing to any one, for where was the money? He would +never ask his uncle for it, and now that he had learned that he had +been all his young life really a dependent on the bounty of his Uncle +Peter, he could no longer accept his help. He would hereafter make his +own way, asking no favors. + +The old aunts guessed at his predicament, and offered to give him for +his mother's sake enough to carry him through the first year, but he +would not allow them to take from their income to pay his bills. No, +he would take his way back to America, and find a place for himself in +the new world; seek some active, stirring work, and save money, and +sometime--sometime he would do the things his heart loved. He often +thought of Betty, the little Betty who used to run to meet him and say +such quaint things; some day he would go to her and take her with him. +He would work first and do something worthy of so choice a little +mortal. + +Thus dreaming, after the manner of youth, he went to Ireland, to his +father's boyhood home. He found only distant relatives there, and +learned that his father had disposed of all he ever owned of Irish +soil to an Englishman. A cousin much older than himself owned and +still lived on the estate that had been his grandfather Kildene's, and +Richard was welcomed and treated with openhearted hospitality. But +there, also, little was known of his father, only that the peasants on +the estate remembered him lovingly as a free-hearted gentleman. + +Even that little was a relief to Richard's sore heart. Yes, his father +must be dead. He was sorry. He was a lonely man, and to have a +relative who was his very own, as near as a father, would be a great +deal. His cousin, Peter Junior, was good as a friend, but from now on +they must take paths that diverged, and that old intimacy must +naturally change. His sweet Aunt Hester he loved, and she would fill +the mother's place if she could, but it was not to be. It would mean +help from his Uncle Peter, and that would mean taking a place in his +uncle's bank, which had already been offered him, but which he did not +want, which he would not accept if he did want it. + +So, after a long and happy visit at his cousin Kildene's, in +Ireland, he at last left for America again, and plunged into a new, +interesting, and vigorous life, one that suited well his energetic +nature. He found work on the great railway that was being built across +the plains to the Pacific Coast. He started as an engineer's +assistant, but soon his talent for managing men caused his employers +to put him in charge of gangs of workmen who were often difficult and +lawless. He did not object; indeed he liked the new job better than +that he began with. He was more interested in men than materials. + +The life was hard and rough, but he came to love it. He loved the +wide, sweeping prairies, and, later on, the desert. He liked to lie +out under the stars,--often when the men slept under tents,--his gun +at his side and his thoughts back on the river bluffs at Leauvite. He +did a lot of dreaming and thinking, and he never forgot Betty. He +thought of her as still a child, although he was expecting her to grow +up and be ready for him when he should return to her. He had a vague +sort of feeling that all was understood between them, and that she was +quietly becoming womanly, and waiting for him. + +Peter Junior might have found other friends in Leauvite had he sought +them out, but he did not care for them. His nature called for what he +found in Bertrand's studio, and he followed the desire of his heart +regardless of anything else, spending all the time he could reasonably +filch from his home. And what wonder! Richard would have done the same +and was even then envying Peter the opportunity, as Peter well knew +from his cousin's letters. There was no place in the village so +fascinating and delightful as this little country home on its +outskirts, no conversation more hopeful and helpful than Bertrand's, +and no welcome sweeter or kinder than Mary Ballard's. + +One day, after Richard had gone out on the plains with the engineers +of the projected road, Peter lay stretched on a long divan in the +studio, his head supported by his hand as he half reclined on his +elbow, and his one crutch--he had long since discarded the other--within +reach of his arm. His violin also lay within reach, for he had been +playing there by himself, as Bertrand had gone on one of his rare +visits to the city a hundred miles away. + +Betty Ballard had heard the wail of his violin from the garden, where +she had been gathering pears. That was how she knew where to find him +when she quickly appeared before him, rosy and flushed from her run to +the house and up the long flight of stairs. + +As Peter lay there, he was gazing at the half-finished copy he had +been making of the head of an old man, for Peter had decided, since in +all probability he would be good for no active work such as Richard +had taken up, that he too would become an artist, like Bertrand +Ballard. To have followed his cousin would have delighted his heart, +for he had all the Scotchman's love of adventure, but, since that was +impossible, nothing was more alluring than the thought of fame and +success as an artist. He would not tie himself to Leauvite to get it. +He would go to Paris, and there he would do the things Bertrand had +been prevented from doing. Poor Bertrand! How he would have loved the +chance Peter Junior was planning for himself as he lay there dreaming +and studying the half-finished copy. + +Suddenly he beheld Betty, standing directly in front of the work, +extending to him a folded bit of paper. "Here's a note from your +father," she cried. + +Looking upon her thus, with eyes that had been filled with the aged, +rugged face on the canvas, Betty appealed to Peter as a lovely vision. +He had never noticed before, in just this way, her curious charm, but +these months of companionship and study with Bertrand had taught him +to see beauty understandingly, and now, as she stood panting a little, +with breath coming through parted lips and hair flying almost in the +wild way of her childhood, Peter saw, as if it were a revelation, that +she was lovely. He raised himself slowly and reached for the note +without taking his eyes from her face. + +He did not open the letter, but continued to look in her eyes, at +which she turned about half shyly. "I heard your violin; that's how I +knew you were up here. Oh! Have you been painting on it again?" + +"On my violin? No, I've been playing on it." + +"No! Painting on the picture of your old man. I think you have it too +drawn out and thin. He's too hollow there under the cheek bone." + +"Is he, Miss Critic? Well, thank your stars you're not." + +"I know. I'm too fat." She rubbed her cheek until it was redder than +ever. + +"What are you painting your cheeks for? There's color enough on them +as they are." + +She made a little mouth at him. "I could paint your old man as well as +that, I know." + +"I know you could. You could paint him far better than that." + +She laughed, quickly repentant. "I didn't say that to be horrid. I +only said it for fun. I couldn't." + +"And I know you could." He rose and stood without his crutch, looking +down on her. "And you're not 'too long drawn out,' are you? See? You +only come up to--about--here on me." He measured with his hand a +little below his chin. + +"I don't care. You're not so awfully tall." + +"Very well, have it so. That only makes you the shorter." + +"I tell you I don't care. You'd better stop staring at me, if I'm so +little, and read your letter. The man's waiting for it. That's why I +ran all the way up here." By this it may be seen that Betty had lost +all her awe of the young soldier. Maybe it left her when he doffed his +uniform. "Here's your crutch. Doesn't it hurt you to stand alone?" She +reached him the despised prop. + +"Hurt me to stand alone? No! I'm not a baby. Do you think I'm likely +to grow up bow-legged?" he thundered, taking it from her hand without +a thank you, and glaring down on her humorously. "You're a bit cruel +to remind me of it. I'm going to walk with a cane hereafter, and next +thing you know you'll see me stalking around without either." + +"Why, Peter Junior! I'd be so proud of that crutch I wouldn't leave it +off for anything! I'd always limp a little, even if I didn't use it. +Cruel? I was complimenting you." + +"Complimenting me? How?" + +"By reminding you that you had been brave--and had been a soldier--and +had been wounded for your country--and had been promoted--and--" + +But Peter drowned her voice with uproarious laughter, and suddenly +surprised himself as well as her by slipping his arm around her waist +and stopping her lips with a kiss. + +Betty was surprised but not shocked. She knew of no reason why Peter +should not kiss her even though it was not his custom to treat her +thus. In Betty's home, demonstrative expressions of affection were as +natural as sunlight, and why should not Peter like her? Therefore it +was Peter who was shocked, and embarrassed her with his sudden +apology. + +"I don't care if you did kiss me. You're just like my big brother--the +same as Richard is--and he often used to kiss me." She was trying to +set Peter at his ease. "And, anyway, I like you. Why, I supposed of +course you liked me--only naturally not as much as I liked you." + +"Oh, more! Much more!" he stammered tremblingly. He knew in his heart +that there was a subtle difference, and that what he felt was not what +she meant when she said, "I like you." "I'm sure it is I who like you +the most." + +"Oh, no, it isn't! Why, you never even used to see me. And I--I used +to gaze on you--and be so romantic! It was Richard who always saw me +and played with me. He used to toss me up, and I would run away down +the road to meet him. I wonder when he's coming back! I wish he'd +come. Why don't you read your father's letter? The man's waiting, you +know." + +"Ah, yes. And I suppose Dad's waiting, too. I wonder why he wrote me +when he can see me every day!" + +"Well, read it. Don't stand there looking at it and staring at me. Do +you know how you look? You look as if it were a message from the king, +saying: 'You are remanded to the tower, and are to have your head +struck off at sundown.' That's the way they did things in the olden +days." She turned to go. + +"Stay here until I see if you are right." He dropped on the divan and +made room for her at his side. + +"All right! That's what I wanted to do, but I thought it wouldn't be +polite to be curious." + +"But you wouldn't be polite anyway, you know, so you might as well +stay. M-m-m. I'm remanded to the tower, sure enough. Father wants me +to meet him in the director's room as soon as banking hours are over. +Fine old Dad! He wouldn't think of infringing on banking hours for any +private reasons unless the sky were falling, and even then he would +save the bank papers first. See here--Betty--er--never mind. I'll tell +you another time." + +"Please tell me now! What is it? Something dreadful, Peter Junior?" + +"I wasn't thinking about this; it--it's something else--" + +"About what?" + +"About you." + +"Oh, then it is no consequence. I want to hear what's in the letter. +Why did you tell me to stay if you weren't going to tell me what's in +it?" + +"Nothing. We have had a little difference of opinion, my father and I, +and he evidently wants to settle it out of hand his way, by summoning +me in this official manner to appear before him at the bank." + +"I know. He thinks you are idling away your time here trying to paint +pictures, and he wishes to make a respectable banker of you." She +reached over and began picking the strings of his violin. + +"You musn't finger the strings of a violin that way." + +"Why not? I want to see if I can pick out 'The Star Spangled Banner' +on it. I can on the flute, father's old one; he lets me." + +"Because you'll get them oily." + +She spread out her two firm little hands. "My fingers aren't greasy!" +she cried indignantly; "that's pear juice on them." + +Peter Junior's gravity turned to laughter. "Well, I don't want pear +juice on my strings. Wait, you rogue, I'm going to kiss you again." + +"No, you're not, you old hobble-de-hoy. You can't catch me." When she +was halfway down the stairs, she called back, "The man's waiting." + +"Coward! Coward!" he called after her, "to run away from a poor old +cripple and then call him names." He thrust the letter into his +pocket, and seizing his crutch began deliberately and carefully to +descend the stairs, with grave, set face, not unlike his father's. + +"Catch, Peter Junior," called Betty from the top of the pear tree as +he passed down the garden path, and tossed him a pear which he caught, +then another and another. "There! No, don't eat them now. Put them in +your desk, and next month they'll be just as sweet!" + +"Will they? Just like you? I'll be even with you yet--when I catch +you." + +"You'll get pear juice on your strings. There are lots of nice girls +in the village for you to kiss. They'll do just as well as me." + +"Good girl. Good grammar. Good-by." He waved his hand toward Betty, +and turned to the waiting servant. "You go on and tell the Elder I'm +coming right along," he said, and hopped off down the road. It was +only lately he had begun to take long walks or hops like this, with +but one crutch, but he was growing frantic to be fairly on his two +feet again. The doctor had told him he never would be, but he set his +square chin, and decided that the doctor was wrong. More than ever +to-day, with the new touch of little pear-stained fingers on his +heart, he wanted to walk off like other men. + +Now he tried to use his lame leg as much as possible. If only he might +throw away the crutch and walk with a cane, it would be something +gained. With one hand in his pocket he crushed his father's letter +into a small wad, then tossed it in the air and caught it awhile, then +put it back in his pocket and hobbled on. + +The atmosphere had the smoky appearance of the fall, and the sweet +haze of Indian summer lay over the landscape, the horizon only faintly +outlined through it. Peter Junior sniffed the air. He wondered if the +forests in the north were afire. Golden maple leaves danced along on +the path before him, whirled hither and thither by the light breeze, +and the wild asters and goldenrod powdered his dark trousers with +pollen as he brushed them in passing. All the world was lovely, and he +appreciated it as he had never been able to do before. Bertrand's +influence had permeated his thoughts and widened thus his reach of +happiness. + +He entered the bank just at the closing hour, and the staid, faithful +old clerks nodded to him as he passed through to the inner room, where +he found his father awaiting him. He dropped wearily into a swivel +chair before the great table and placed his crutch at his feet; wiping +the perspiration from his forehead, he leaned forward, and rested his +elbows on the table. + +The young man's wan look, for the walk had taxed his strength, +reminded his father of the day he had brought the boy home wounded, +and his face relaxed. + +"You are tired, my son." + +"Oh, no. Not very. I have been more so." Peter Junior smiled a +disarming smile as he looked in his father's face. "I've tramped many +a mile on two sound feet when they were so numb from sheer weariness +that I could not feel them or know what they were doing. What did you +want to say to me, father?" + +"Well, my son, we have different opinions, as you know, regarding your +future." + +"I know, indeed." + +"And a father's counsel is not to be lightly disposed of." + +"I have no intention of doing so, father." + +"No, no. But wait. You have been loitering the day at Mr. Ballard's? +Yes." + +"I have nothing else to do, father,--and--" Peter Junior's smile +again came to the rescue. "It isn't as though I were in doubtful +company--I--there are worse places here in the village where I +might--where idle men waste their time." + +"Ah, yes. But they are not for you--not for you, my son." The Elder +smiled in his turn, and lifted his brows, then drew them down and +looked keenly at his son. The afternoon sunlight streamed through the +high western window and fell on the older man's face, bringing it into +strong relief against the dark oak paneling behind him, and as Peter +Junior looked on his father he received his second revelation that +day. He had not known before what a strong, fine old face his father's +was, and for the second time he surprised himself, when he cried +out:-- + +"I tell you, father, you have a magnificent head! I'm going to make a +portrait of you just as you are--some day." + +The Elder rose with an indignant, despairing downward motion of the +hands and began pacing the floor, while Peter Junior threw off +restraint and laughed aloud. The laughter freed his soul, but it sadly +irritated the Elder. He did not like unusual or unprecedented things, +and Peter Junior was certainly not like himself, and was acting in an +unprecedented manner. + +"You have now regained a fair amount of strength and have reached an +age when you should think seriously of what you are to do in life. As +you know, it has always been my intention that you should take a place +here and fit yourself for the responsibilities that are now mine, but +which will some day devolve on you." + +Peter Junior raised his hand in protest, then dropped it. "I mean to +be an artist, father." + +"Faugh! An artist? Look at your friend, Bertrand Ballard. What has he +to live on? What will he have laid by for his old age? How has he +managed to live all these years--he and his wife? Miserable +hand-to-mouth existence! I'll see my son trying to emulate him! You'll +be an artist? And how will you support a wife if you ever have one? +You mean to marry some day?" + +"I mean to marry Betty Ballard," said Peter Junior, with a rugged set +of his jaw. + +Again the Elder made that despairing downward thrust with his open +hands. "Take a wife who has nothing, and a career which brings in +nothing, and live on what your father has amassed for you, and leave +your sons nothing--a pretty way for you to carry on the work I have +begun for you--to--establish an honorable family--" + +"Father, father, I mean to do all I can to please you. I'll be always +dutiful--and honorable--but you must leave me my manhood. You must +allow me to choose my own path in life." + +The Elder paced the floor a few moments longer, then resumed his chair +opposite his son, and, leaning back, looked across the table at his +boy, meditatively, with half-closed eyes. At last he said, "We'll take +this matter to the Lord, and leave it in his hands." + +Then Peter Junior cried out upon him: "No, no, father; spare me that. +It only means that you'll state to the Lord what is your own way, and +pray to have it, and then be more than ever convinced that it is the +Lord's way." + +"My son, my son!" + +"It's so, father. I'm willing to ask for guidance of the Lord, but I'm +not willing to have you dictate to the Lord what--what I must do, and +so whip me in line with the scourge of prayer." Peter Junior paused, +as he looked in his father's face and saw the shocked and sorrowful +expression there instead of the passionate retort he expected. "I am +wrong to talk so, father; forgive me; but--have patience a little. God +gave to man the power of choice, didn't he?" + +"Certainly. Through it all manner of evil came into the world." + +"And all manner of good, too. I--a man ought not to be merely an +automaton, letting some one else always exercise that right for him. +Surely the right of choice would never have been given us if it were +not intended that each man should exercise it for himself. One who +does not is good for nothing." + +"There is the command you forget; that of obedience to parents." + +"But how long--how long, father? Am I not man enough to choose for +myself? Let me choose." + +Then the Elder leaned forward and faced his son as his son was facing +him, both resting their elbows on the table and gazing straight into +each other's eyes; and the old man spoke first. + +"My father founded this bank before I was born. He came from Scotland +when he was but a lad, with his parents, and went to school and +profited by his opportunities. He was of good family, as you know. +When he was still a very young man, he entered a bank in the city as +clerk, and received only ten dollars a week for his services, but he +was a steady, good lad, and ambitious, and soon he moved higher--and +higher. His father had taken up farming, and at his death, being an +only son, he converted the farm, all but the homestead, which we still +own, and which will be yours, into capital, and came to town and +started this bank. When I was younger than you, my son, I went into +the bank and stood at my father's right hand, as I wish you--for your +own sake--to do by me. We are a set race--a determined race, but we +are not an insubordinate race, my son." + +Peter Junior was silent for a while; he felt himself being beaten. +Then he made one more plea. "It is not that I am insubordinate father, +but, as I see it, into each generation something enters, different +from the preceding one. New elements are combined. In me there is that +which my mother gave me." + +"Your mother has always been a sweet woman, yielding to the judgment +of her husband, as is the duty of a good wife." + +"I know she was brought up and trained to think that her duty, but I +doubt if you really know her heart. Did you ever try to know it? I +don't believe you understood what I meant by the scourge of prayer. +She would have known. She has lived all these years under that lash, +even though it has been wielded by the hand of one she loves--by one +who loves her." He paused a second time, arrested by his father's +expression. At first it was that of one who is stunned, then it +slowly changed to one of rage. For once the boy had broken through +that wall of self-control in which the Elder encased himself. Slowly +the Elder rose and leaned towering over his son across the table. + +"I tell you that is a lie!" he shouted. "Your mother has never +rebelled. She has been an obedient, docile woman. It is a lie!" + +Peter Junior made no reply. He also rose, and taking up his crutch, +turned toward the door. There he paused and looked back, with flashing +eyes. His lip quivered, but he held himself quiet. + +"Come back!" shouted his father. + +"I have told you the truth, father." He still stood with his hand on +the door. + +"Has--has--your mother ever said anything to you to give you reason to +insult me this way?" + +"No, never. We can't talk reasonably now. Let me go, and I'll try to +explain some other time." + +"Explain now. There is no other time." + +"Mother is sacred to me, father. I ought not to have dragged her into +this discussion." + +The Elder's lips trembled. He turned and walked to the window and +stood a moment, silently looking out. At last he said in a low voice: +"She is sacred to me also, my son." + +Peter Junior went back to his seat, and waited a while, with his head +in his hands; then he lifted his eyes to his father's face. "I can't +help it. Now I've begun, I might as well tell the truth. I meant what +I said when I spoke of the different element in me, and that it is +from my mother. You gave me that mother. I know you love her, and you +know that your will is her law, as you feel that it ought to be. But +when I am with her, I feel something of a nature in her that is not +yours. And why not? Why not, father? There is that of her in me that +makes me know this, and that of you in me that makes me understand +you. Even now, though you are not willing to give me my own way, it +makes me understand that you are insisting on your way because you +think it is for my good. But nothing can alter the fact that I have +inherited from my mother tastes that are not yours, and that entitle +me to my manhood's right of choice." + +"Well, what is your choice, now that you know my wish?" + +"I can't tell you yet, father. I must have more time. I only know what +I think I would like to do." + +"You wish to talk it over with your mother?" + +"Yes." + +"She will agree with me." + +"Yes, no doubt; but it's only fair to tell her and ask her advice, +especially if I decide to leave home." + +The Elder caught his breath inwardly, but said no more. He recognized +in the boy enough of himself to know that he had met in him a power of +resistance equal to his own. He also knew what Peter Junior did not +know, that his grandfather's removal to this country was an act of +rebellion against the wishes of his father. It was a matter of family +history he had thought best not to divulge. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +MARY BALLARD'S DISCOVERY + + +Peter Junior's mind was quite made up to go his own way and leave home +to study abroad, but first he would try to convert his father to his +way of thinking. Then there was another thing to be done. Not to +marry, of course; that, under present conditions, would never do; but +to make sure of Betty, lest some one come and steal into her heart +before his return. + +After his talk with his father in the bank he lay long into the night, +gazing at the shadowed tracery on his wall cast by the full harvest +moon shining through the maple branches outside his window. The leaves +had not all fallen, and in the light breeze they danced and quivered, +and the branches swayed, and the shadows also swayed and danced +delicately over the soft gray wall paper and the red-coated old +soldier standing stiffly in his gold frame. Often in his waking dreams +in after life he saw the moving shadows silently swaying and dancing +over gray and red and gold, and often he tried to call them out from +the past to banish things he would forget. + +Long this night he lay planning and thinking. Should he speak to Betty +and tell her he loved her? Should he only teach her to think of him, +not with the frank liking of her girlhood, so well expressed to him +that very day, but with the warm feeling which would cause her cheeks +to redden when he spoke? Could he be sure of himself--to do this +discreetly, or would he overstep the mark? He would wait and see what +the next day would bring forth. + +In the morning he discarded his crutch, as he had threatened, and +walked out to the studio, using only a stout old blackthorn stick he +had found one day when rummaging among a collection of odds and ends +in the attic. He thought the stick was his father's and wondered why +so interesting a walking stick--or staff; it could hardly be called a +cane, he thought, because it was so large and oddly shaped--should be +hidden away there. Had his father seen it he would have recognized it +instantly as one that had belonged to his brother-in-law, Larry +Kildene, and it would have been cut up and used for lighting fires. +But it had been many years since the Elder had laid eyes on that +knobbed and sturdy stick, which Larry had treasured as a rare thing in +the new world, and a fine antique specimen of a genuine blackthorn. It +had belonged to his great-grandfather in Ireland, and no doubt had +done its part in cracking crowns. + +Betty, kneading bread at a table before the kitchen window, spied +Peter Junior limping wearily up the walk without his crutch, and ran +to him, dusting the flour from her hands as she came. + +"Lean on me. I won't get flour on your coat. What did you go without +your crutch for? It's very silly of you." + +He essayed a laugh, but it was a self-conscious one. "I'm not going to +use a crutch all my lifetime; don't you think it. I'm very well off +without, and almost myself again. I don't need to lean on you--but I +will--just for fun." He put his arm about her and drew her to him. + +"Stop, Peter Junior. Don't you see you're getting flour all over your +clothes?" + +"I like flour on my clothes. It will do for stiffening." He raised her +hand and kissed her wrist where there was no flour. + +"You're not leaning on me. You're just acting silly, and you can +hardly walk, you're so tired! Coming all this way without your crutch. +I think you're foolish." + +"If you say anything more about that crutch, I'll throw away my cane +too." He dropped down on the piazza and drew her to the step beside +him. + +"I must finish kneading the bread; I can't sit here. You rest in the +rocker awhile before you go up to the studio. Father's up there. He +came home late last night after we were all in bed." She returned to +her work, and after a moment called to him through the open window. +"There's going to be a nutting party to-morrow, and we want you to go. +We're going out to Carter's grove; we've got permission. Every one's +going." + +Peter Junior rubbed the moisture from his hair and shook his head. He +must get nearer her, but it was always the same thing; just a happy +game, with no touch of sentiment--no more, he thought gloomily, than +if she were his sister. + +"What are you all going there for?" + +"Why, nuts, goosey; didn't I say we were going nutting?" + +"I don't happen to want nuts." No, he wanted her to urge and coax him +to go for her sake, but what could he say? + +He left his seat, took the side path around to the kitchen door, and +drew up a chair to the end of the table where she deftly manipulated +the sweet-smelling dough, patting it, and pulling it, and turning it +about until she was ready to put the shapely balls in the pans, +holding them in her two firm little hands with a slight rolling motion +as she slipped each loaf in its place. It had never occurred to Peter +Junior that bread making was such an interesting process. + +"Why do you fuss with it so? Why don't you just dump it in the pan any +old way? That's the way I'd do." But he loved to watch her pink-tipped +fingers carefully shaping the loaves, nevertheless. + +"Oh--because." + +"Good reason." + +"Well--the more you work it the better it is, just like everything +else; and then--if you don't make good-looking loaves, you'll never +have a handsome husband. Mother says so." She tossed a stray lock from +her eyes, and opening the oven door thrust in her arm. "My, but it's +hot! Why do you sit here in the heat? It's a lot nicer on the porch in +the rocker. Mother's gone to town--and--" + +"I'd rather sit here with you--thank you." He spoke stiffly and +waited. What could he say; what could he do next? She left him a +moment and quickly returned with a cup of butter. + +"You know--I'd stop and go out in the cool with you, Peter, but I must +work this dough I have left into raised biscuit; and then I have to +make a cake for to-morrow--and cookies--there's something to do in +this house, I tell you! How about to-morrow?" + +"I don't believe I'd better go. All the rest of the world will be +there, and--" + +"Only our little crowd. When I said everybody, you didn't think I +meant everybody in the whole world, did you? You know us all." + +"Do you want me to go? There'll be enough others--" + +She tossed her head and gave him a sidelong glance. "I always ask +people to go when I don't want them to." + +He rose at that and stood close to her side, and, stooping, looked in +her eyes; and for the first time the color flamed up in her face +because of him. "I say--do you want me to go?" + +"No, I don't." + +But the red he had brought into her cheeks intoxicated him with +delight. Now he knew a thing to do. He seized her wrists and turned +her away from the table and continued to look into her eyes. She +twisted about, looking away from him, but the burning blush made even +the little ear she turned toward him pink, and he loved it. His +discretion was all gone. He loved her, and he would tell her now--now! +She must hear it, and slipping his arm around her, he drew her away +and out to the seat under the old silver-leaf poplar tree. + +"You're acting silly, Peter Junior,--and my bread will all spoil and +get too light,--and my hands are all covered with flour, and--" + +"And you'll sit right here while I talk to you a bit, if the bread +spoils and gets too light and everything burns to a cinder." She +started to run away from him, and his peremptory tone changed to +pleading. "Please, Betty, dear! just hear me this far. I'm going away, +Betty, and I love you. No, sit close and be my sweetheart. Dear, it +isn't the old thing. It's love, and it's what I want you to feel for +me. I woke up yesterday, and found I loved you." He held her closer +and lifted her face to his. "You must wake up, too, Betty; we can't +play always. Say you'll love me and be my wife--some day--won't you, +Betty?" + +She drooped in his arms, hanging her head and looking down on her +floury hands. + +"Say it, Betty dear, won't you?" + +Her lip quivered. "I don't want to be anybody's wife--and, anyway--I +liked you better the other way." + +"Why, Betty? Tell me why." + +"Because--lots of reasons. I must help mother--and I'm only seventeen, +and--" + +"Most eighteen, I know, because--" + +"Well, anyway, mother says no girl of hers shall marry before she's of +age, and she says that means twenty-one, and--" + +"That's all right. I can wait. Kiss me, Betty." But she was silent, +with face turned from him. Again he lifted her face to his. "I say, +kiss me, Betty. Just one? That was a stingy little kiss. You know I'm +going away, and that is why I spoke to you now. I didn't dare go +without telling you this first. You're so sweet, Betty, some one might +find you out and love you--just as I have--only not so deeply in love +with you--no one could--but some one might come and win you away from +me, and so I must make sure that you will marry me when you are of age +and I come back for you. Promise me." + +"Where?--why--Peter Junior! Where are you going?" Betty removed his +arm from around her waist and slipped to her own end of the seat. +There, with hands folded decorously in her lap, with heightened color +and serious eyes, she looked shyly up at him. He had never seen her +shy before. Always she had been merry and teasing, and his heart was +proud that he had wrought such a miracle in her. + +"I am going to Paris. I mean to be an artist." He leaned toward her +and would have taken her in his arms again, but she put his hands +away. + +"Will your father let you do that?" Her eyes widened with surprise, +and the surprise nettled him. + +"I don't know. He's thinking about it. Anyway, a man must decide for +himself what his career will be, and if he won't let me, I'll earn the +money and go without his letting me." + +"Wouldn't that be the best way, anyway?" + +"What do you mean? To go without his consent?" + +"Of course not--goosey." She laughed and was herself again, but he +liked her better the other way. "To earn the money and then go. +It--it--would be more--more as if you were in earnest." + +"My soul! Do you think I'm not in earnest? Do you think I'm not in +love with you?" + +Instantly she was serious and shy again. His heart leaped. He loved to +feel his power over her thus. Still she tantalized him. "I'm not +meaning about loving me. That's not the question. I mean it would look +more as if you were in earnest about becoming an artist." + +"No. The real question is, Do you love me? Will you marry me when I +come back?" She was silent and he came nearer. "Say it. Say it. I must +hear you say it before I leave." Her lips trembled as if she were +trying to form the words, and their eyes met. + +"Yes--if--if--" + +Then he caught her to him, and stopped her mouth with kisses. He did +not know himself. He was a man he had never met the like of, and he +gloried in himself. It seemed as if he heard bells ringing out in joy. +Then he looked up and saw Mary Ballard's eyes fixed on him. + +"Peter Junior--what are you doing?" Her voice shook. + +"I--I'm kissing Betty." + +"I see that." + +"We are to be married some day--and--" + +"You are precipitate, Peter Junior." + +Then Betty did what every woman does when her lover is blamed, no +matter how earnestly she may have resisted him before. She went +completely over to his side and took his part. + +"He's going away, mother. He's going away to be gone--perhaps for +years; and I've--I've told him yes, mother,--so it isn't his fault." +Then she turned and fled to her own room, and hid her flaming face in +the pillow and wept. + +"Sit here with me awhile, Peter Junior, and we'll talk it all over," +said Mary. + +He obeyed her, and looking squarely in her eyes, manfully told her his +plans, and tried to make her feel as he felt, that no love like his +had ever filled a man's heart before. At last she sent him up to the +studio to tell her husband, and she went in and finished Betty's task, +putting the bread--alas! too light by this time--in the oven, and +shaping the raised biscuit which Betty had left half-finished. + +Then she paused a moment to look out of the window down the path +where the boys and little Janey would soon come tumbling home from +school, hot and hungry. A tear slowly coursed down her cheek, and, +following the curves, trembled on the tip of her chin. She brushed it +away impatiently. Of course it had to come--that was what life must +bring--but ah! not so soon--not so soon. Then she set about +preparations for dinner without Betty's help. That, too, was what it +would mean--sometime--to go on doing things without Betty. She gave a +little sigh, and at the instant an arm was slipped about her waist, +and she turned to look in Bertrand's eyes. + +"Is it all right, Mary?" + +"Why--yes--that is--if they'll always love each other as we have. I +think it ought not to be too definite an engagement, though, until his +plans are more settled. What do you think?" + +"You are right, no doubt. I'll speak to him about that." Then he +kissed her warm, flushed cheek. "I declare, it makes me feel as Peter +Junior feels again, to have this happen." + +"Ah, Bertrand! You never grew up--thank the Lord!" Then Mary laughed. +After all, they had been happy, and why not Betty and Peter? Surely +the young had their rights. + +Bertrand climbed back to the studio where Peter Junior was pacing +restlessly back and forth, and again they talked it all over, until +the call came for dinner, when Peter was urged to stay, but would not. +No, he would not see Betty again until he could have her quite to +himself. So he limped away, feeling as if he were walking on air in +spite of his halting gait, and Betty from her window watched him pass +down the path and off along the grassy roadside. Then she went down to +dinner, flushed and grave, but with shining eyes. Her father kissed +her, but nothing was said, and the children thought nothing of it, for +it was quite natural in the family to kiss Betty. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +THE BANKER'S POINT OF VIEW + + +There was no picnic and nutting party the next day, owing to a +downpour of rain. Betty had time to think quietly over what had +happened the day before and her mind misgave her. What was it that so +filled her heart and mind? That so stirred her imagination? Was it +romance or love? She wished she knew how other girls felt who had +lovers. Was it easy or hard for them to say yes? Should a girl let her +lover kiss her the way Peter Junior had done? Some of the questions +which perplexed her she would have liked to ask her mother, but in +spite of their charming intimacy she could not bring herself to speak +of them. She wished she had a friend with a lover, and could talk it +all over with her, but although she had girl friends, none of them had +lovers, and to have one herself made her feel much older than any of +them. + +So Betty thought matters out for herself. Of course she liked Peter +Junior--she had always liked him--and he was masterful--and she had +always known she would marry a soldier--and one who had been wounded +and been brave--that was the kind of a soldier to love. But she was +more subdued than usual and sewed steadily on gingham aprons for +Janey, making the buttonholes and binding them about the neck with +contrasting stuff. + +"Anyway, I'm glad there is no picnic to-day. The boys may eat up the +cookies, and I didn't get the cake made after all," she said to her +mother, as she lingered a moment in the kitchen and looked out of the +window at the pouring rain. But she did not see the rain; she saw +again a gray-clad youth limping down the path between the lilacs and +away along the grassy roadside. + +Well, what if she had said yes? It was all as it should be, according +to her dreams, only--only--he had not allowed her to say what she had +meant to say. She wished her mother had not happened to come just then +before she could explain to Peter Junior; that it was "yes" only if +when he came back he still wanted her and still loved her, and was +sure he had not made a mistake about it. It was often so in books. Men +went away, and when they returned, they found they no longer loved +their sweethearts. If such a terrible thing should happen to her! Oh, +dear! Or maybe he would be too honorable to say he no longer loved +her, and would marry her in spite of it; and she would find out +afterward, when it was too late, that he loved some one else; that +would be very terrible, and they would be miserable all their lives. + +"I don't think I would let the boys eat up the cookies, dear; it may +clear off by sundown, and be fine to-morrow, and they'll be all as +glad as to go to-day. You make your cake." + +"But Martha's coming home to-morrow night, and I'd rather wait now +until Saturday; that will be only one day longer, and it will be more +fun with her along." Betty spoke brightly and tried to make herself +feel that no momentous thing had happened. She hated the constraint of +it. "By that time Peter Junior will think that he can go, too. He's +so funny!" She laughed self-consciously, and carried the gingham +aprons back to her room. + +"Bless her dear little heart." Mary Ballard understood. + +Peter Junior also profited by the rainy morning. He had a long hour +alone with his mother to tell her of his wish to go to Paris; and her +way of receiving his news was a surprise to him. He had thought it +would be a struggle and that he would have to argue with her, setting +forth his hopes and plans, bringing her slowly to think with +quiescence of their long separation: but no. She rose and began to +pace the floor, and her eyes grew bright with eagerness. + +"Oh, Peter, Peter!" She came and placed her two hands on his shoulders +and gazed into his eyes. "Peter Junior, you are a boy after my own +heart. You are going to be something worth while. I always knew you +would. It is Bertrand Ballard who has waked you up, who has taught you +to see that there is much outside of Leauvite for a man to do. I'm not +objecting to those who live here and have found their work here; it is +only that you are different. Go! Go!--It is--has your father--have you +asked his consent?" + +"Oh, yes." + +"Has he given it?" + +"I think he is considering it seriously." + +"Peter Junior, I hope you won't go without it--as you went once, +without mine." Never before had she mentioned it to him, or recalled +to his mind that terrible parting. + +"Why not, mother? It would be as fair to him now as it was then to +you. It would be fairer; for this is a question of progress, and then +it was a matter of life and death." + +"Ah, that was different, I admit. But I never could retaliate, or seem +to, even in the smallest thing. I don't want him to suffer as I +suffered." + +It was almost a cry for pity, and Peter Junior wondered in his heart +at the depth of anguish she must have endured in those days, when he +had thrust the thought of her opposition to one side as merely an +obstacle overcome, and had felt the triumph of winning out in the +contest, as one step toward independent manhood. Now, indeed, their +viewpoints had changed. He felt almost a sense of pique that she had +yielded so joyously and so suddenly, although confronted with the +prospect of a long separation from him. Did she love him less than in +the past? Had his former disregard of her wishes lessened even a +trifle her mother love for him? + +"I'm glad you can take the thought of my going as you do, mother." He +spoke coldly, as an only son may, but he was to be excused. He was +less spoiled than most only sons. + +"In what way, my son?" + +"Why--in being glad to have me go--instead of feeling as you did +then." + +"Glad? Glad to have you go? It isn't that, dear. Understand me. I'm +sorry I spoke of that old time. It was only to spare your father. You +see we look at things differently. He loves to have us follow out his +plans. It is almost--death to him to have to give up; and with me--it +was not then as it is now. I don't like to think or speak of that +time." + +"Don't, mother, don't!" cried Peter, contritely. + +"But I must to make you see this as you should. It was love for you +then that made me cling to you, and want to hold you back from going; +just the same it is love for you now that makes me want you to go out +and find your right place in the world. I was letting you go then to +be shot at--to suffer fatigue, and cold, and imprisonment, who could +know, perhaps to be cruelly killed--and I did not believe in war. I +suppose your father was the nobler in his way of thinking, but I could +not see it his way. Angels from heaven couldn't have made me believe +it right; but it's over. Now I know your life will be made broader by +going, and you'll have scope, at least, to know what you really wish +to do with yourself and what you are worth, as you would not have, to +sit down in your father's bank, although you would be safer there, no +doubt. But you went through all the temptations of the army safely, +and I have no fear for you now, dear, no fear." + +Peter Junior's heart melted. He took his mother in his arms and +stroked her beautiful white hair. "I love you, mother, dear," was all +he could say. Should he tell her of Betty now? The question died in +his heart. It was too much. He would be all hers for a little, nor +intrude the new love that she might think divided his heart. He +returned to the question of his father's consent. "Mother, what shall +I do if he will not give it?" + +"Wait. Try to be patient and do what he wishes. It may help him to +yield in the end." + +"Never! I know Dad better than that. He will only think all the more +that he is in the right, and that I have come to my senses. He never +takes any viewpoint but his own." His mother was silent. Never would +she open her lips against her husband. "I say, mother, naturally I +would rather go with his consent, but if he won't give it--How long +must a man be obedient just for the sake of obedience? Does such +bondage never end? Am I not of age?" + +"I will speak to him. Wait and see. Talk it over with him again to-day +after banking hours." + +"I--I--have something I must--must do to-day." He was thinking he +would go out to the Ballards' in spite of the rain. + +The dinner hour passed without constraint. In these days Peter Junior +would not allow the long silences to occur that used often to cast a +gloom over the meals in his boyhood. He knew that in this way his +mother would sadly miss him. It was the Elder's way to keep his +thoughts for the most part to himself, and especially when there was +an issue of importance before him. It was supposed that his wife could +not take an interest in matters of business, or in things of interest +to men, so silence was the rule when they were alone. + +This time Peter Junior mentioned the topic of the wonderful new +railroad that was being pushed across the plains and through the +unexplored desert to the Pacific. + +"The mere thought of it is inspiring," said Hester. + +"How so?" queried the Elder, with a lift of his brows. He deprecated +any thought connecting sentiment with achievement. Sentiment was of +the heart and only hindered achievement, which was purely of the +brain. + +"It's just the wonder of it. Think of the two great oceans being +brought so near together! Only two weeks apart! Don't they estimate +that the time to cross will be only two weeks?" + +"Yes, mother, and we have those splendid old pioneers who made the +first trail across the desert to thank for its being possible. It +isn't the capitalists who have done this. It's the ones who had faith +in themselves and dared the dangers and the hardships. They are the +ones I honor." + +"They never went for love of humanity. It was mere love of wandering +and migratory instinct," said his father, grimly. + +Peter Junior laughed merrily. "What did old grandfather Craigmile pull +up and come over to this country for? They had to cross in sailing +vessels then and take weeks for the journey." + +"Progress, my son, progress. Your grandfather had the idea of +establishing his family in honorable business over here, and he did +it." + +"Well, I say these people who have been crossing the plains and +crawling over the desert behind ox teams in 'prairie schooners' for +the last twenty or thirty years, braving all the dangers of the +unknown, have really paved the way for progress and civilization. The +railroad is being laid along the trail they made. Do you know +Richard's out there at the end of the line--nearly?" + +"He would be likely to be. Roving boy! What's he doing there?" + +"Poor boy! He almost died in that terrible southern prison. He was the +mere shadow of himself when he came home," said Hester. + +"The young men of the present day have little use for beaten paths and +safe ways. I offered him a position in the bank, but no--he must go to +Scotland first to make the acquaintance of our aunts. If he had been +satisfied with that! But no, again, he must go to Ireland on a fool's +errand to learn something of his father." The Elder paused and bit his +lip, and a vein stood out on his forehead. "He's never seen fit to +write me of late." + +"Of course such a big scheme as this road across the plains would +appeal to a man like Richard. He's doing very well, father. I wouldn't +be disturbed about him." + +"Humph! I might as well be disturbed about the course of the Wisconsin +River. I might as well worry over the rush of a cataract. The lad has +no stability." + +"He never fails to write to me, and I must say that he was considered +the most dependable man in the regiment." + +"What is he doing? I should like to see the boy again." Hester looked +across at her son with a warm, loving light in her eyes. + +"I don't know exactly, but it's something worth while, and calls for +lots of energy. He says they are striking out into the dust and alkali +now--right into the desert." + +"And doesn't he say a word about when he is coming back?" + +"Not a word, mother. He really has no home, you know. He says Scotland +has no opening for him, and he has no one to depend on but himself." + +"He has relatives who are fairly well to do in Ireland." + +The Elder frowned. "So I've heard, and my aunts in Scotland talked of +making him their heir, when I was last there." + +"He knows that, father, but he says he's not one to stand round +waiting for two old women to die. He says they're fine, decorous old +ladies, too, who made a lot of him. I warrant they'd hold up their +hands in horror if they knew what a rough life he's leading now." + +"How rough, my son? I wish he'd make up his mind to come home." + +"There! I told him this is his home; just as much as it is mine. I'll +write him you said that, mother." + +"Indeed, yes. Bless the boy!" + +The Elder looked at his wife and lifted his brows, a sign that it was +time the meal should close, and she rose instantly. It was her habit +never to rise until the Elder gave the sign. Peter Junior walked down +the length of the hall at his father's side. + +"What Richard really wished to do was what I mentioned to you +yesterday for myself. He wanted to go to Paris and study, but after +visiting his great-aunts he saw that it would be too much. He would +not allow them to take from their small income to help him through, so +he gave it up for the time being; but if he keeps on as he is, it is +my opinion he may go yet. He's making good money. Then we could be +there together." + +The Elder made no reply, but stooped and drew on his india-rubber +overshoes,--stamping into them,--and then got himself into his +raincoat with sundry liftings and hunchings of his shoulders. Peter +Junior stood by waiting, if haply some sort of sign might be given +that his remark had been heeded, but his father only carefully +adjusted his hat and walked away in the rain, setting his feet down +stubbornly at each step, and holding his umbrella as if it were a +banner of righteousness. The younger man's face flushed, and he turned +from the door angrily; then he looked to see his mother's eyes fixed +on him sadly. + +"At least he might treat me with common decency. He need not be rude, +even if I am his son." He thought he detected accusation of himself +in his mother's gaze and resented it. + +"Be patient, dear." + +"Oh, mother! Patient, patient! What have you got by being patient all +these years?" + +"Peace of mind, my son." + +"Mother--" + +"Try to take your father's view of this matter. Have you any idea how +hard he has worked all his life, and always with the thought of you +and your advancement, and welfare? Why, Peter Junior, he is bound up +in you. He expected you would one day stand at his side, his mainstay +and help and comfort in his business." + +"Then it wasn't for me; it was for himself that he has worked and +built up the bank. It's his bank, and his wife, and his son, and his +'Tower of Babel that he has builded,' and now he wants me to bury +myself in it and worship at his idolatry." + +"Hush, Peter. I don't like to rebuke you, but I must. You can twist +facts about and see them in a wrong light, but the truth remains that +he has loved you tenderly--always. I know his heart better than +you--better than he. It is only that he thinks the line he has taken a +lifetime to lay out for you is the best. He is as sure of it as that +the days follow each other. He sees only futility in the way you would +go. I have no doubt his heart is sore over it at this moment, and that +he is grieving in a way that would shock you, could you comprehend +it." + +"Enough said, mother, enough said. I'll try to be fair." + +He went to his room and stood looking out at the rain-washed earth and +the falling leaves. The sky was heavy and drab. He thought of Betty +and her picnic and of how gay and sweet she was, and how altogether +desirable, and the thought wrought a change in his spirit. He went +downstairs and kissed his mother; then he, too, put on his rubber +overshoes and shook himself into his raincoat and carefully adjusted +his hat and his umbrella. Then with the assistance of the old +blackthorn stick he walked away in the rain, limping, it is true, but +nevertheless a younger, sturdier edition of the man who had passed out +before him. + +He found Betty alone as he had hoped, for Mary Ballard had gone to +drive her husband to the station. Bertrand was thinking of opening a +studio in the city, at his wife's earnest solicitation, for she +thought him buried there in their village. As for the children--they +were still in school. + +Thus it came about that Peter Junior spent the rest of that day with +Betty in her father's studio. He told Betty all his plans. He made +love to her and cajoled her, and was happy indeed. He had a winsome +way, and he made her say she loved him--more than once or twice--and +his heart was satisfied. + +"We'll be married just as soon as I return from Paris, and you'll not +miss me so much until then?" + +"Oh, no." + +"Ah--but--but I hope you will--you know." + +"Of course I shall! What would you suppose?" + +"But you said no." + +"Naturally! Didn't you wish me to say that?" + +"I wanted you to tell the truth." + +"Well, I did." + +"There it is again! I'm afraid you don't really love me." + +She tilted her head on one side and looked at him a moment. "Would you +like me to say I don't want you to go to Paris?" + +"Not that, exactly; but all the time I'm gone I shall be longing for +you." + +"I should hope so! It would be pretty bad if you didn't." + +"Now you see what I mean about you. I want you to be longing for me +all the time, until I return." + +"All right. I'll cry my eyes out, and I'll keep writing for you to +come home." + +"Oh, come now! Tell me what you will do all the time." + +"Oh, lots of things. I'll paint pictures, too, and--I'll write--and +help mother just as I do now; and I'll study art without going to +Paris." + +"Will you, you rogue! I'd marry you first and take you with me if it +were possible, and you should study in Paris, too--that is, if you +wished to." + +"Wouldn't it be wonderful! But I don't know--I believe I'd rather +write than paint." + +"I believe I'd rather have you. They say there are no really great +women artists. It isn't in the woman's nature. They haven't the +strength. Oh, they have the delicacy and all that; it's something else +they lack." + +"Humph! It's rather nice to have us lacking in one thing and another, +isn't it? It gives you men something to do to discover and fill in the +lacks." + +"I know one little lady who lacks in nothing but years." + +Betty looked out of the window and down into the yard. "There is +mother driving in. Let's go down and have cookies and milk. I'm sure +you need cookies and milk." + +"I'll need anything you say." + +"Very well, then, you'll need patience if ever you marry me." + +"I know that well enough. Stop a moment. Kiss me before we go down." +He caught her in his arms, but she slipped away. + +"No, I won't. You've had enough kisses. I'll always give you one when +you come, hereafter, and one when you go away, but no more." + +"Then I shall come very often." He laughed and leaned upon her instead +of using his stick, as they slowly descended. + +Mary Ballard was chilled after her long drive in the rain, and Betty +made her tea. Then, after a pleasant hour of chat and encouragement +from the two sweet women, Peter Junior left them, promising to go to +the picnic and nutting party on Saturday. It would surely be pleasant, +for the sky was already clearing. Yes, truly a glad heart brings +pleasant prognostications. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +THE NUTTING PARTY + + +Peter Junior made no attempt the next day to speak further to his +father about his plans. It seemed to him better that he should wait +until his wise mother had talked the matter over with the Elder. +Although he put in most of the day at the studio, painting, he saw +very little of Betty and thought she was avoiding him out of girlish +coquetry, but she was only very busy. Martha was coming home and +everything must be as clean as wax. Martha was such a tidy housekeeper +that she would see the least lack and set to work to remedy it, and +that Betty could not abide. In these days Martha's coming marked a +semimonthly event in the home, for since completing her course at the +high school she had been teaching in the city. Bertrand would return +with her, and then all would have to be talked over,--just what he had +decided to do, and why. + +In the evening a surprise awaited the whole household, for Martha +came, accompanied not only by her father, but also by a young +professor in the same school where she taught. Mary Ballard greeted +him most kindly, but she felt things were happening too rapidly in her +family. Jamie and Bobby watched the young man covertly yet eagerly, +taking note of his every movement and intonation. Was he one to be +emulated or avoided? Only little Janey was quite unabashed by him, and +this lightened his embarrassment greatly and helped him to the ease +of manner he strove to establish. + +She led him out to the sweet-apple tree, and introduced him to the +calf and the bantams, and invited him to go with them nutting the next +day. "We're all going in a great, big picnic wagon. Everybody's going +and we'll have just lots of fun." And he accepted, provided she would +sit beside him all the way. + +Bobby decided at this point that he also would befriend the young man. +"If you're going to sit beside her all the way, you'll have to be +lively. She never sits in one place more than two minutes. You'll have +to sit on papa's other knee for a while, and then you'll have to sit +on Peter Junior's." + +"That will be interesting, anyway. Who's Peter Junior?" + +"Oh, he's a man. He comes to see us a lot." + +"He's the son of Elder Craigmile," explained Martha. + +"Is he going, too, Betty?" + +"Yes. The whole crowd are going. It will be fun. I'm glad now it +rained Thursday, for the Deans didn't want to postpone it till +to-morrow, and then, when it rained, Mrs. Dean said it would be too +wet to try to have it yesterday; and now we have you. I wanted all the +time to wait until you came home." + +That night, when Martha went to their room, Betty followed her, and +after closing the door tightly she threw her arms around her sister's +neck. + +"Oh, Martha, Martha, dear! Tell me all about him. Why didn't you let +us know? I came near having on my old blue gingham. What if I had? +He's awfully nice looking. Is he in love with you? Tell me all about +it. Does he make love to you? Oh, Martha! It's so romantic for you to +have a lover!" + +"Hush, Betty, some one will hear you. Of course he doesn't make love +to me!" + +"Why?" + +"I wouldn't let him." + +"Martha! Why not? Do you think it's bad to let a young man make love +to you?" + +"Betty! You mustn't talk so loud. Everything sounds so through this +house. It would mortify me to death." + +"What would mortify you to death: to have him make love to you or to +have someone hear me?" + +"Betty, dear!" + +"Well, tell me all about him--please! Why did he come out with you?" + +"You shouldn't always be thinking about love-making--and--such things, +Betty, dear. He just came out in the most natural way, just because +he--he loves the country, and he was talking to me about it one day +and said he'd like to come out some Friday with me--just about asked +me to invite him. So when father called at the school yesterday for +me, I introduced them, and he said the same thing to father, and of +course father invited him over again, and--and--so he's here. That's +all there is to it." + +"I bet it isn't. How long have you known him?" + +"Why, ever since I've been in the school, naturally." + +"What does he teach?" + +"He has higher Latin and beginners' Greek, and then he has charge of +the main room when the principal goes out." + +Betty pondered a little, sitting on the floor in front of her sister. +"You have such a lovely way of doing your hair. Is that the way to do +hair nowadays--with two long curls hanging down from one side of the +coil? You wind one side around the back knot, and then you pin the +other up and let the ends hang down in two long curls, don't you? I'm +going to try mine that way; may I?" + +"Of course, darling! I'll help you." + +"What's his name, Martha? I couldn't quite catch it, and I did not +want to let him know I thought it queer, so wouldn't ask over." + +"His name is Lucien Thurbyfil. It's not so queer, Betty." + +"Oh, you pronounce it T'urbyfil, just as if there were no 'h' in it. +You know I thought father said Mr. Tubfull--or something like that, +when he introduced him to mother, and that was why mother looked at +him in such an odd way." + +The two girls laughed merrily. "Betty, what if you hadn't been a dear, +and had called him that! And he's so very correct!" + +"Oh, is he? Then I'll try it to-morrow and we'll see what he'll do." + +"Don't you dare! I'd be so ashamed I'd sink right through the floor. +He'd think we'd been making fun of him." + +"Then I'll wait until we are out in the woods, for I'd hate to have +you make a hole in the floor by sinking through it." + +"Betty! You'll be good to-morrow, won't you, dear?" + +"Good? Am I not always good? Didn't I scrub and bake and put flowers +all over the ugly what-not in the corner of the parlor, and get the +grease spot out of the dining room rug that Jamie stepped butter +into--and all for you--without any thought of any Mr. Tubfull or any +one but you? All day long I've been doing it." + +"Of course you did, and it was perfectly sweet; and the flowers and +mother looked so dear--and Janey's hands were clean--I looked to see. +You know usually they are so dirty. I knew you'd been busy; but Betty, +dear, you won't be mischievous to-morrow, will you? He's our guest, +you know, and you never were bashful, not as much as you really ought +to be, and we can't treat strangers just as we do--well--people we +have always known, like Peter Junior. They wouldn't understand it." + +But the admonition seemed to be lost, for Betty's thoughts were +wandering from the point. "Hasn't he ever--ever--made love to you?" +Martha was washing her face and neck at the washstand in the corner, +and now she turned a face very rosy, possibly with scrubbing, and +threw water over her naughty little sister. "Well, hasn't he ever put +his arm around you or--or anything?" + +"I wouldn't let a man do that." + +"Not if you were engaged?" + +"Of course not! That wouldn't be a nice way to do." + +"Shouldn't you let a man kiss you or--or--put his arm around you--or +anything--even when he's trying to get engaged to you?" + +"Of course not, Betty, dear. You're asking very silly questions. I'm +going to bed." + +"Well, but they do in books. He did in 'Jane Eyre,' don't you +remember? And she was proud of it--and pretended not to be--and very +much touched, and treasured his every look in her heart. And in the +books they always kiss their lovers. How can Mr. Thurbyfil ever be +your lover, if you never let him even put his arm around you?" + +"Betty, Betty, come to bed. He isn't my lover and he doesn't want to +be and we aren't in books, and you are getting too old to be so +silly." + +Then Betty slowly disrobed and bathed her sweet limbs and at last +crept in beside her sister. Surely she had not done right. She had let +Peter Junior put his arm around her and kiss her, and that even before +they were engaged; and all yesterday afternoon he had held her hand +whenever she came near, and he had followed her about and had kissed +her a great many times. Her cheeks burned with shame in the darkness, +not that she had allowed this, but that she had not been as bashful as +she ought. But how could she be bashful without pretending? + +"Martha," she said at last, "you are so sweet and pretty, if I were +Mr. Thurbyfil, I'd put my arm around you anyway, and make love to +you." + +Then Martha drew Betty close and gave her a sleepy kiss. "No you +wouldn't, dear," she murmured, and soon the two were peacefully +sleeping, Betty's troubles quite forgotten. Still, when morning came, +she did not confide to her sister anything about Peter Junior, and she +even whispered to her mother not to mention a word of the affair to +any one. + +At breakfast Jamie and Bobby were turbulent with delight. All outings +were a joy to them, no matter how often they came. Martha was neat and +rosy and gay. Lucien Thurbyfil wanted to help her by wiping the +dishes, but she sent him out to the sweet-apple tree with a basket, +enjoining him to bring only the mellow ones. "Be sure to get enough. +We're all going, father and mother and all." + +"It's very nice of your people to make room for me on the wagon." + +"And it's nice of you to go." + +"I see Peter Junior. He's coming," shouted Bobby, from the top of the +sweet-apple tree. + +"Who does he go with?" asked Martha. + +"With us. He always does," said Betty. "I wonder why his mother and +the Elder never go out for any fun, the way you and father do!" + +"The Elder always has to be at the bank, I suppose," said Mary +Ballard, "and she wouldn't go without him. Did you put in the salt and +pepper for the eggs, dear?" + +"Yes, mother. I'm glad father isn't a banker." + +"It takes a man of more ability than I to be a banker," said Bertrand, +laughing, albeit with concealed pride. + +"We don't care if it does, Dad," said Jamie, patronizingly. "When I +get through the high school, I'm going to hire out to the bank." He +seized the lunch basket and marched manfully out to the wagon. + +"I thought Peter Junior always went with Clara Dean. He did when I +left," said Martha, in a low voice to Betty, as they filled bottles +with raspberry shrub, and with cream for the coffee. "Did you tie +strings on the spoons, dear? They'll get mixed with the Walters' if +you don't. You remember theirs are just like ours." + +"Oh, I forgot. Why, he likes Clara a lot, of course, but I guess they +just naturally expected him to go with us. They and the Walters have +a wagon together, anyway, and they wouldn't have room. We have one all +to ourselves. Hello, Peter Junior! Mr. Thurbyfil, this is Mr. +Junior." + +"Happy to meet you, Mr. Junior," said the correct Mr. Thurbyfil. The +boys laughed uproariously, and the rest all smiled, except Betty, who +was grave and really seemed somewhat embarrassed. + +"What is it?" she asked. + +"Mr. Thurbyfil, this is Mr. Craigmile," said Martha. "You introduced +him as Mr. Junior, Betty." + +"I didn't! Well, that's because I'm bashful. Come on, everybody, +mother's in." So they all climbed into the wagon and began to find +their places. + +"Oh, father, have you the matches? The bottles are on the kitchen +table," exclaimed Martha. + +"Don't get down, Mr. Ballard," said Lucien. "I'll get them. It would +never do to forget the bottles. Now, where's the little girl who was +to ride beside me?" and Janey crawled across the hay and settled +herself at her new friend's side. "Now I think we are beautifully +arranged," for Martha was on his other side. + +"Very well, we're off," and Bertrand gathered up the reins and they +started. + +"There they are. There's the other wagon," shouted Bobby. "We ought to +have a flag to wave." + +Then Lucien, the correct, startled the party by putting his two +fingers in his mouth and whistling shrilly. + +"They have such a load I wish Clara could ride with us," said Betty. +"Peter Junior, won't you get out and fetch her?" + +So they all stopped and there were greetings and introductions and +much laughing and joking, and Peter Junior obediently helped Clara +Dean down and into the Ballards' wagon. + +"Clara, Mr. Thurbyfil can whistle as loud as a train, through his +fingers, he can. Do it, Mr. Thurbyfil," said Bobby. + +"Oh, I can do that," said Peter Junior, not to be outdone by the +stranger, and they all tried it. Bertrand and his wife, settled +comfortably on the high seat in front, had their own pleasure together +and paid no heed to the noisy crew behind them. + +What a day! Autumn leaves and hazy distances, soft breezes and +sunlight, and miles of level road skirting woods and open fields where +the pumpkins lay yellow among the shocks of corn, and where the fence +corners were filled with flaming sumac, with goldenrod and purple +asters adding their softer coloring. + +It was a good eight miles to Carter's woods, but they bordered the +river where the bluffs were not so high, and it would be possible to +build a fire on the river bank with perfect safety. Bertrand had +brought roasting ears from his patch of sweet corn, and as soon as +they arrived at their chosen grove, he and Mary leisurely turned their +attention to the preparing of the lunch with Mrs. Dean and Mrs. +Walters, leaving to the young people the gathering of the nuts. + +Mrs. Dean, a slight, wiry woman, who acted and talked easily and +unceasingly, spread out a fresh linen cloth and laid a stone on each +corner to hold it down, and then looked into each lunch basket in +turn, to acquaint herself with its contents. + +"I see you brought cake and cookies and jam, Mrs. Ballard, besides all +the corn and cream--you always do too much, and all your own work to +look after, too. Well, I brought a lot of ham sandwiches and that +brown bread your husband likes so much. I always feel so proud when +Mr. Ballard praises anything I do; he's so clever it makes me feel as +if I were really able to do something. And you're so clever too. I +don't know how it is some folks seem to have all the brains, and then +there's others--good enough--but there! As I tell Mr. Dean, you can't +tell why it is. Now where are the spoons? Every one brings their own, +of course; yes, here are yours, Mrs. Walters. It's good of you to +think of that sweet corn, Mr. Ballard.--Oh, he's gone away; well, +anyway, we're having a lot more than we can eat, and all so good and +tempting. I hope Mr. Dean won't overeat himself; he's just a boy at a +picnic, I always have to remind him--How?" + +"Did you bring the cups for the coffee?" It was Mrs. Walters who +interrupted the flow of Mrs. Dean's eloquence. She was portly and +inclined to brevity, which made her a good companion for Mrs. Dean. + +"I had such a time with my jell this summer, and now this fall my +grape jell's just as bad. This is all running over the glasses. There, +I'll set it on this paper. I do hate to see a clean cloth all spotted +with jell, even if it is a picnic when people think it doesn't make +any difference. I see Martha has a friend. Well, that's nice. I wish +Clara cared more for company; but, there, as I tell Mr. Dean--Oh, yes! +the cups. Clara, where are the cups? Oh, she's gone. Well, I'm sure +they're in that willow basket. I told Clara to pack towels around them +good. I do hate to see cups all nicked up; yes, here they are. It's +good of you to always tend the coffee, Mrs. Walters; you know just how +to make it. I tell Mr. Dean nobody ever makes coffee like you can at a +picnic. Now, if it's ready, I think everything else is; well, it soon +will be with such a fire, and the corn's not done, anyway. Do you +think the sun'll get round so as to shine on the table? I see it's +creeping this way pretty fast, and they're all so scattered over the +woods there's no telling when we will get every one here to eat. I see +another tablecloth in your basket, Mrs. Ballard. If you'll be good +enough to just hold that corner, we can cover everything up good, so, +and then I'll walk about a bit and call them all together." And the +kindly lady stepped briskly off through the woods, still talking, +while Mrs. Ballard and Mrs. Walters sat themselves down in the shade +and quietly watched the coffee and chatted. + +It was past the noon hour, and the air was drowsy and still. The +voices and laughter of the nut gatherers came back to them from the +deeper woods in the distance, and the crackling of the fire where +Bertrand attended to the roasting of the corn near by, and the gentle +sound of the lapping water on the river bank came to them out of the +stillness. + +"I wonder if Mr. Walters tied the horses good!" said his wife. "Seems +as if one's got loose. Don't you hear a horse galloping?" + +"They're all there eating," said Mary, rising and looking about. "Some +one's coming, away off there over the bluff; see?" + +"I wonder, now! My, but he rides well. He must be coming here. I hope +there's nothing the matter. It looks like--it might be Peter Junior, +only he's here already." + +"It's--it's--no, it can't be--it is! It's--Bertrand, Bertrand! Why, +it's Richard!" cried Mary Ballard, as the horseman came toward them, +loping smoothly along under the trees, now in the sunlight and now in +the shadow. He leaped from the saddle, and, throwing the rein over a +knotted limb, walked rapidly toward them, holding out a hand to each, +as Bertrand and Mary hurried forward. + +"I couldn't let you good folks have one of these fine old times +without me." + +"Why, when did you come? Oh, Richard! It's good to see you again," +said Mary. + +"I came this morning. I went up to my uncle's and then to your house +and found you all away, and learned that you were here and my twin +with you, so here I am. How are the children? All grown up?" + +"Almost. Come and sit down and give an account of yourself to Mary, +while I try to get hold of the rest," said Bertrand. + +"Mrs. Dean has gone for them, father. Mrs. Walters, the coffee's all +right; come and sit down here and let's visit until the others come. +You remember Richard Kildene, Mrs. Walters?" + +"Since he was a baby, but it's been so long since I've seen you, +Richard. I don't believe I'd have known you unless for your likeness +to Peter Junior. You look stronger than he now. Redder and browner." + +"I ought to. I've been in the open air and sun for weeks. I'm only +here now by chance." + +"A happy chance for us, Richard. Where have you been of late?" asked +Bertrand. + +"Out on the plains--riding and keeping a gang of men under control, +for the most part, and pushing the work as rapidly as possible." He +tossed back his hair with the old movement Mary remembered so well. +"Tell me about the children, Martha and Betty; both grown up? Or still +ready to play with a comrade?" + +"They're all here to-day. Martha's teaching in the city, but Betty's +at home helping me, as always. The boys are getting such big fellows, +and little Janey's as sweet as all the rest." + +"There! That's Betty's laugh, I know. I'd recognize it if I heard it +out on the plains. I have, sometimes--when a homesick fit gets hold of +me out under the stars, when the noise of the camp has subsided. A +good deal of that work is done by the very refuse of humanity, you +know, a mighty tough lot." + +"And you like that sort of thing, Richard?" asked Mary. "I thought +when you went to your people in Scotland, you might be leading a very +different kind of life by now." + +"I thought so, too, then; but I guess for some reasons this is best. +Still, I couldn't resist stealing a couple of days to run up here and +see you all. I got off a carload of supplies yesterday from Chicago, +and then I wired back to the end of the line that I'd be two days +later myself. No wonder I followed you out here. I couldn't afford to +waste the precious hours. I say! That's Betty again! I'll find them +and say you're hungry, shall I?" + +"Oh, they're coming now. I see Martha's pink dress, and there's Betty +in green over there." + +But Richard was gone, striding over the fallen leaves toward the spot +of green which was Betty's gingham dress. And Betty, spying him, +forgot she was grown up. She ran toward him with outstretched arms, +as of old--only--just as he reached her, she drew back and a wave of +red suffused her face. She gave him one hand instead of both, and +called to Peter Junior to hurry. + +"Well, Betty Ballard! I can't jump you along now over stocks and +stones as I used to. And here's everybody! Why, Jamie, what a great +man you are! I'll have to take you back with me to help build the new +road. And here's Bobby; and this little girl--I wonder if she +remembers me well enough to give me a kiss? I have nobody to kiss me +now, when I come back. That's right. That's what Betty used to do. +Why, hello! here's Clara Dean, and who's this? John Walters? So you're +a man, too! Mr. Dean, how are you? And Mrs. Dean! You don't grow any +older anyway, so I'll walk with you. Wait until I've pounded this old +chap a minute. Why didn't I write I was coming? Man, I didn't know it +myself. I'm under orders nowadays. To get here at all I had to steal +time. So you're graduated from a crutch to a cane? Good!" + +Every one exclaimed at once, while Richard talked right on, until they +reached the riverside where the lunch was spread; and then the babble +was complete. + +That night, as they all drove home in the moonlight, Richard tied his +horse to the rear of the Ballards' wagon and rode home seated on the +hay with the rest. He placed himself where Betty sat on his right, and +the two boys crowded as close to him as possible on his left. Little +Janey, cuddled at Betty's side, was soon fast asleep with her head in +her sister's lap, while Lucien Thurbyfil was well pleased to have +Martha in the corner to himself. Peter Junior sat near Betty and +listened with interest to his cousin, who entertained them all with +tales of the plains and the Indians, and the game that supplied them +with many a fine meal in camp. + +"Say, did you ever see a real herd of wild buffalo just tearing over +the ground and kicking up a great dust and stampeding and everything?" +said Jamie. + +"Oh, yes. And if you are out there all alone on your pony, you'd +better keep away from in front of them, too, or you'd be trampled to +death in a jiffy." + +"What's stampeding?" said Bobby. + +So Richard explained it, and much more that elicited long breaths of +interest. He told them of the miles and miles of land without a single +tree or hill, and only a sea of grass as far as the eye could reach, +as level as Lake Michigan, and far vaster. And how the great railway +was now approaching the desert, and how he had seen the bones of men +and cattle and horses bleaching white, lying beside their broken-down +wagons half buried in the drifting sand. He told them how the trail +that such people had made with so much difficulty stretched far, far +away into the desert along the very route, for the most part, that the +railroad was taking, and answered their questions so interestingly +that the boys were sorry when they reached home at last and they had +to bid good-night to Peter Junior's fascinating cousin, Richard. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +BETTY BALLARD'S AWAKENING + + +Mary and Bertrand always went early to church, for Bertrand led the +choir, and it was often necessary for him to gather the singers +together and try over the anthem before the service. Sometimes the +rector would change the hymns, and then the choir must have one little +rehearsal of them. Martha and Mr. Thurbyfil accompanied them this +morning, and Betty and the boys were to walk, for four grown-ups with +little Janey sandwiched in between more than filled the carryall. + +In these days Betty no longer had to wash and dress her brothers, but +there were numerous attentions required of her, such as only growing +boys can originate, and "sister" was as kind and gay in helping them +over their difficulties as of old. So, now, as she stepped out of her +room all dressed for church in her white muslin with green rose sprigs +over it, with her green parasol, and her prayer book in her hand, +Bobby called her. + +"Oh, Sis! I've broken my shoe string and it's time to start." + +"I have a new one in my everyday shoes, Bobby, dear; run upstairs and +take it out. They're just inside the closet door. Wait a minute, +Jamie; that lock stands straight up on the back of your head. Can't +you make it lie down? Bring me the brush. You look splendid in your +new trousers. Now, you hurry on ahead and leave this at the Deans'. +It's Clara's sash bow. I found it in the wagon after they left last +night. Run, she may want to wear it to church.--Yes, Bobby, dear, I +sent him on, but you can catch up. Have you a handkerchief? Yes, I'll +follow in a minute." + +And the boys rushed off, looking very clean in their Sunday clothing, +and very old and mannish in their long trousers and stiff hats. Betty +looked after them with pride, then she bethought her that the cat had +not had her saucer of milk, and ran down to the spring to get it, +leaving the doors wide open behind her. The day was quite warm enough +for her to wear the summer gown, and she was very winsome and pretty +in her starched muslin, with the delicate green buds sprayed over it. +She wore a green belt, too, and the parasol she was very proud of, for +she had bought it with her own chicken money. It was her heart's +delight. Betty's skirt reached nearly to the ground, for she was quite +in long dresses, and two little ruffles rippled about her feet as she +ran down the path to the spring. But, alas! As she turned away after +carefully fastening the spring-house door, the cat darted under her +feet; and Betty stumbled and the milk streamed down the front of her +dress and spattered her shoes--and if there was anything Betty liked, +it was to have her shoes very neat. + +"Oh, Kitty! I hate your running under my feet that way all the time." +Betty was almost in tears. She set the saucer down and tried to wipe +off the milk, while the cat crouched before the dish and began +drinking eagerly and unthankfully, after the manner of cats. + +Some one stood silently watching her from the kitchen steps as she +walked slowly up the path, gazing down on the ruin of the pretty +starched ruffles. + +"Why, Richard!" was all she said, for something came up in her throat +and choked her. She waited where she stood, and in his eyes, her +aspect seemed that of despair. Was it all for the spilled milk? + +"Why, Betty dear!" He caught her and kissed her and laughed at her and +comforted her all at once. "Not tears, dear? Tears to greet me? You +didn't half greet me last evening, and I came only to see you. Now you +will, where there's no one to see and no one to hear? Yes. Never mind +the spilled milk, you know better than that." But Betty lay in his +arms, a little crumpled wisp of sorrow, white and still. + +"Away off there in Cheyenne I got to thinking of you, and I went to +headquarters and asked to be sent on this commission just to get the +chance to run up here and tell you I have been waiting all these years +for you to grow up. You have haunted me ever since I left Leauvite. +You darling, your laughing face was always with me, on the march--in +prison--and wherever I've been since. I've been trying to keep myself +right--for you--so I might dare some day to take you in my arms like +this and tell you--so I need not be ashamed before your--" + +"Oh, Richard, wait!" wailed Betty, but he would not wait. + +"I've waited long enough. I see you are grown up before I even dreamed +you could be. Thank heaven I came now! You are so sweet some one would +surely have won you away from me--but no one can now--no one." + +"Richard, why didn't you tell me this when you first came home from +the war--before you went to Scotland? I would--" + +"Not then, sweetheart; I couldn't. I didn't even know then I would +ever be worth the love of any woman; and--you were such a child +then--I couldn't intrude my weariness--my worn-out self on you. I was +sick at heart when I got out of that terrible prison; but now it is +all changed. I am my own man now, dependent on no one, and able to +marry you out of hand, Betty, dear. After you've told me something, +I'll do whatever you say, wait as long as you say. No, no! Listen! +Don't break away from me. You don't hate me as you do the cat. I +haven't been running under your feet all the time, have I, dear? +Listen. See here, my arms are strong now. They can hold you forever, +just like this. I've been thinking of you and dreaming of you and +loving you through these years. You have never been out of my mind nor +out of my heart. I've kept the little housewife you made me and bound +with your cherry-colored hair ribbon until it is in rags, but I love +it still. I love it. They took everything I had about me at the +prison; but this--they gave back to me. It was the only thing I begged +them to leave me." + +Poor little Betty! She tried to speak and tried again, but she could +not utter a word. Her mouth grew dry and her knees would not support +her. Richard was so big and strong he did not feel her weight, and +only delighted in the thought that she resigned herself to him. +"Darling little Betty! Darling little Betty! You do understand, don't +you? Won't you tell me you do?" + +But she only closed her eyes and lay quite still. She longed to lift +her arms and put them about his neck, and the effort not to do so +only crushed her spirit the more. Now she knew she was bad, and +unworthy such a great love as this. She had let Peter Junior kiss her, +and she had told him she loved him--and it was nothing to this. She +was not good; she was unworthy, and all the angels in heaven could +never bring her comfort any more. She was so still he put his cheek to +hers, and it seemed as if she moaned, and that without a sound. + +"Have I hurt you, Betty, dear?" + +"Oh, no, Richard, no." + +"Do you love me, sweet?" + +"Yes, Richard, yes. I love you so I could die of loving you, and I +can't help it. Oh, Richard, I can't help it." + +"It's asking too much that you should love me so, and yet that's what +my selfish, hungry heart wants and came here for." + +"Take your face away, Richard; stop. I must talk if it kills me. I +have been so bad and wicked. Oh, Richard, I can't tell you how wicked. +Let me stand by myself now. I can." She fought back the tears and +turned her face away from him, but when he let go of her, in her +weakness she swayed, and he caught her to him again, with many +repeated words of tenderness. + +"If you will take me to the steps, Richard, and bring me a glass of +water, I think I can talk to you then. You remember where things are +in this house?" + +Did he remember? Was there anything he had forgotten about this +beloved place? He brought her the water and she made him sit beside +her, but not near, only that she need not look in his eyes. + +"Richard, I thought something was love--that was not--I didn't know. +It was only liking--and--and now I--I've been so wrong--and I want to +die--Oh, I want to die! No, don't. Do you want to make me sin again? +Oh, Richard, Richard! If you had only come before! Now it is too +late." She began sobbing bitterly, and her small frame shook with her +grief. + +He seized her wrists and his hand trembled. She tried to cover her +face with her hands, but he took them down and held them. + +"Betty, what have you done? Tell me--tell me quick." + +Then she turned her face toward him, wet with tears. "Have pity on me, +Richard. Have pity on me, Richard, for my heart is broken, and the +thing that hurts me most is that it will hurt you." + +"But it wasn't yesterday when I came to you out there in the woods. I +heard you laughing, and you ran to meet me as happy as ever--" + +"You did not hear me laugh once again after you came and looked in my +eyes there in the grove. It was in that instant that my heart began to +break, and now I know why. Go back to Cheyenne. Go far away and never +think of me any more. I am not worthy of you, anyway. I have let you +hold me in your arms and kiss me when I ought not. Oh, I have been so +bad--so bad! Let me hide my face. I can't look in your eyes any +more." + +But he was cruel. He made her look in his eyes and tell him all the +sorrowful truth. Then at last he grew pitiful again and tried brokenly +to comfort her, to make her feel that something would intervene to +help them, but in his heart he knew that his cause was lost, and his +hopes burned within him, a heap of smoldering coals dying in their own +ashes. + +He had always loved Peter Junior too well to blame him especially as +Peter could not have known what havoc he was making of his cousin's +hopes. It had all been a terrible mischance, and now they must make +the best of it and be brave. Yet a feeling of resentment would creep +into his heart in spite of his manful resolve to be fair to his +cousin, and let nothing interfere with their lifelong friendship. In +vain he told himself that Peter had the same right as he to seek +Betty's love. Why not? Why should he think himself the only one to be +considered? But there was Betty! And when he thought of her, his soul +seemed to go out of him. Too late! Too late! And so he rose and walked +sorrowfully away. + +When Mary Ballard came home from church, she found her little daughter +up in her room on her knees beside her bed, her arms stretched out +over the white counterpane, asleep. She had suffered until nature had +taken her into her own soothing arms and put her to sleep through +sheer weakness. Her cheeks were still burning and her eyelids red from +weeping. Mary thought her in a fever, and gently helped her to remove +the pretty muslin dress and got her to bed. + +Betty drew a long sigh as her head sank back into the pillow. "My head +aches; don't worry, mother, dear." She thought her heart was closed +forever on her terrible secret. + +"Mother'll bring you something for it, dear. You must have eaten +something at the picnic that didn't agree with you." She kissed +Betty's cheek, and at the door paused to look back on her, and a +strange misgiving smote her. + +"I can't think what ails her," she said to Martha. "She seems to be +in a high fever. Did she sleep well last night?" + +"Perfectly, but we talked a good while before we went to sleep. +Perhaps she got too tired yesterday. I thought she seemed excited, +too. Mrs. Walters always makes her coffee so strong." + +Peter Junior came in to dinner, buoyant and happy. He was disappointed +not to see Betty, and frankly avowed it. He followed Mary into the +kitchen and begged to be allowed to go up and speak to Betty for only +a minute, but Mary thought sleep would be the best remedy and he would +better leave her alone. He had been to church with his father, and all +through the morning service as he sat at his father's side he had +meditated how he could persuade the Elder to look on his plans with +some degree of favor--enough at least to warrant him in going on with +them and trust to his father's coming around in time. + +Neither he nor Richard were at the Elder's at dinner, and the meal +passed in silence, except for a word now and then in regard to the +sermon. Hester thought continually of her son and his hopes, but as +she glanced from time to time in her husband's face she realized that +silence on her part was still best. Whenever the Elder cleared his +throat and looked off out of the window, as was his wont when about to +speak of any matter of importance, her heart leaped and her eyes gazed +intently at her plate, to hide the emotion she could not restrain. Her +hands grew cold and her lips tremulous, but still she waited. + +It was the Elder's custom to sleep after the Sunday's dinner, which +was always a hearty one, lying down on the sofa in the large parlor, +where the closed blinds made a pleasant somberness. Hester passed the +door and looked in on him, as he lay apparently asleep, his long, bony +frame stretched out and the muscles of his strong face relaxing to a +softness they sometimes assumed when sleeping. Her heart went out to +him. Oh, if he only knew! If she only dared! His boy ought to love +him, and understand him. If they would only understand! + +Then she went up into Peter Junior's room and sat there where she +had sat seven years before--where she had often sat since--gazing +across at the red-coated old ancestor, her hands in her lap, her +thoughts busy with her son's future even as then. If all the others +had lived, would the quandary and the struggle between opposing +wills have been as great for each one as for this sole survivor? +Where were those little ones now? Playing in happy fields and +waiting for her and the stern old man who also suffered, but knew not +how to reveal his heart? Again and again the words repeated +themselves in her heart mechanically: "Wait on the Lord--Wait on the +Lord," and then, again, "Oh, Lord, how long?" + +Peter Junior returned early from the Ballards', since he could not see +Betty, leaving the field open for Martha and her guest, much to the +guest's satisfaction. He went straight to the room occupied by Richard +whenever he was with them, but no Richard was there. His valise was +all packed ready for his start on the morrow, but there was no line +pinned to the frame of the mirror telling Peter Junior where to find +him, as was Richard's way in the past. With a fleeting glance around +to see if any bit of paper had been blown away, he went to his own +room and there he found his mother, waiting. In an instant that long +ago morning came to his mind, and as then he went swiftly to her, +and, kneeling, clasped her in his arms. + +"Are you worried, mother mine? It's all right. I will be careful and +restrained. Don't be troubled." + +Hester clasped her boy's head to her bosom and rested her face against +his soft hair. For a while the silence was deep and the moments burned +themselves into the young man's soul with a purifying fire never to be +forgotten. Presently she began speaking to him in low, murmuring +tones: "Your father is getting to be an old man, Peter, dear, and I--I +am no longer young. Our boy is dear to us--the dearest. In our +different ways we long only for what is best for you. If only it might +be revealed to you and us alike! Many paths are good paths to walk in, +and the way may be happy in any one of them, for happiness is of the +spirit. It is in you--not made for you by circumstances. We have been +so happy here, since you came home wounded, and to be wounded is not a +happy thing, as you well know; but it seemed to bring you and me +happiness, nevertheless. Did it not, dear?" + +"Indeed yes, mother. Yes. It gave me a chance to have you to myself a +lot, and that ought to make any man happy, with a mother like you. And +now--a new happiness came to me, the other day, that I meant to speak +of yesterday and couldn't after getting so angry with father. It +seemed like sacrilege to speak of it then, and, besides, there was +another feeling that made me hesitate." + +"So you are in love with some one, Peter?" + +"Yes, mother. How did you guess it?" + +"Because only love is a feeling that would make you say you could not +speak of it when your heart is full of anger. Is it Betty, dear?" + +"Yes, mother. You are uncanny to read me so." + +She laughed softly and held him closer. "I love Betty, too, Peter. You +will always be gentle and kind? You will never be hard and stern with +her?" + +"Mother! Have I ever been so? Can't you tell by the way I have always +acted toward you that I would be tender and kind? She will be +myself--my very own. How could I be otherwise?" + +Again Hester smiled her slow, wise smile. "You have always been +tender, Peter, but you have always gone right along and done your own +way, absolutely. The only reason there has not been more friction +between you and your father has been that you have been tactful; also +you have never seemed to desire unworthy things. You have been a good +son, dear: I am not complaining. And the only reason why I have +never--or seldom--felt hurt by your taking your own way has been that +my likings have usually responded to yours, and the thing I most +desired was that you should be allowed to take your own way. It is +good for a man to be decided and to have a way of his own: I have +liked it in you. But the matter still stands that it has always been +your way and never any one's else that you have taken. I can see you +being stern even with a wife you thought you wholly loved if her will +once crossed yours." + +Peter Junior was silent and a little hurt. He rose and paced the room. +"I can't think I could ever cross Betty, or be unkind. It seems +preposterous," he said at last. + +"Perhaps it might never seem to you necessary. Peter, boy, listen. You +say: 'She will be myself--my very own.' Now what does that mean? Does +it mean that when you are married, her personality will be merged in +yours, and so you two will be one? If so, you will not be completed +and rounded out, and she will be lost in you. A man does not reach his +full manhood to completion until he has loved greatly and truly, and +has found the one who is to complete him. At best, by ourselves, we +are never wholly man or wholly woman until this great soul completion +has taken place in us. Then children come to us, and our very souls +are knit in one, and still the mystery goes on and on; never are we +completed by being lost--either one--in the will or nature of the +other; but to make the whole and perfect creature, each must retain +the individuality belonging to himself or herself, each to each the +perfect and equal other half." + +Peter Junior paused in his walk and stood for a moment looking +down on his mother, awed by what she revealed to him of her inner +nature. "I believe you have done this, mother. You have kept your +own individuality complete, and father doesn't know it." + +"Not yet, but my hand will always be in his, and some day he will +know. You are very like him, and yet you understand me as he never +has, so you see how our oneness is wrought out in you. That which you +have in you of your father is good and strong: never lose it. The day +may come when you will be glad to have had such a father. Out in the +world men need such traits; but you must not forget that sometimes it +takes more strength to yield than to hold your own way. Yes, it takes +strength and courage sometimes to give up--and tremendous faith in +God. There! I hear him walking about. Go down and have your talk with +him. Remember what I say, dear, and don't get angry with your father. +He loves you, too." + +"Have you said anything to him yet about--me--mother?" + +"No. I have decided that it will be better for you to deal with him +yourself--courageously. You'll remember?" + +Peter Junior took her again in his arms as she rose and stood beside +him, and kissed her tenderly. "Yes, mother. Dear, good, wise mother! +I'll try to remember all. It would have been easier for you, maybe, if +ever father's mother had said to him the things you have just said to +me." + +"Life teaches us these things. If we keep an open mind, so God fills +it." + +She stood still in the middle of the room, listening to his rapid +steps in the direction of the parlor. Then Hester did a thing very +unusual for her to do of a Sunday. She put on her shawl and bonnet and +walked out to see Mary Ballard. + +No one ever knew what passed between Peter Junior and his father in +that parlor. The Elder did not open his lips about it either at home +or at the bank. + +That Sunday evening some one saw Peter Junior and his cousin walking +together up the bluff where the old camp had stood, toward the sunset. +The path had many windings, and the bluff was dark and brown, and the +two figures stood out clear and strong against the sky of gold. That +was the last seen of either of the young men in the village. The one +who saw them told later that he knew they were "the twins" because one +of them walked with a stick and limped a little, and that the other +was talking as if he were very much in earnest about something, for he +was moving his arm up and down and gesticulating. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +MYSTERIOUS FINDINGS + + +Monday morning Elder Craigmile walked to the bank with the stubborn +straightening of the knees at each step that always betokened +irritation with him. Neither of the young men had appeared at +breakfast, a matter peculiarly annoying to him. Peter Junior he had +not expected to see, as, owing to his long period of recovery, he had +naturally been excused from rigorous rules, but his nephew surely +might have done that much out of courtesy, where he had always been +treated as a son, to promote the orderliness of the household. It was +unpardonable in the young man to lie abed in the morning thus when a +guest in that home. It was a mistake of his wife to allow Peter Junior +a night key. It induced late hours. He would take it from him. And as +for Richard--there was no telling what habits he had fallen into +during these years of wandering. What if he had come home to them with +a clear skin and laughing eye! Was not the "heart of man deceitful +above all things and desperately wicked"? And was not Satan abroad in +the world laying snares for the feet of wandering youths? + +It was still early enough for many of the workmen to be on their way +to their day of labor with their tin dinner pails, and among them Mr. +Walters passed him, swinging his pail with the rest, although he was +master of his own foundry and employed fifty men. He had always gone +early to work, and carried his tin pail when he was one of the +workmen, and he still did it from choice. He, too, was a Scotchman of +a slightly different class from the Elder, it is true, but he was a +trustee of the church, and a man well respected in the community. + +He touched his hat to the Elder, and the Elder nodded in return, but +neither spoke a word. Mr. Walters smiled after he was well past. "The +man has a touch of the indigestion," he said. + +When the Elder entered his front door at noon, his first glance was at +the rack in the corner of the hall, where, on the left-hand hook, +Peter Junior's coat and hat had hung when he was at home, ever since +he was a boy. They were not there. The Elder lifted his bushy brows +one higher than the other, then drew them down to their usual straight +line, and walked on into the dining room. His wife was not there, but +in a moment she entered, looking white and perturbed. + +"Peter!" she said, going up to her husband instead of taking her place +opposite him, "Peter!" She laid a trembling hand on his arm. "I +haven't seen the boys this morning. Their beds have not been slept +in." + +"Quiet yourself, lass, quiet yourself. Sit and eat in peace. 'Evil +communications corrupt good manners,' but when doom strikes him, he'll +maybe experience a change of heart." The Elder spoke in a tone not +unkindly. He seated himself heavily. + +Then his wife silently took her place at the table and he bowed his +head and repeated the grace to which she had listened three times a +day for nearly thirty years, only that this time he added the request +that the Lord would, in his "merciful kindness, strike terror to the +hearts of all evildoers and turn them from their way." + +When the silent meal was ended, Hester followed her husband to the +door and laid a detaining hand on his arm. He stood and looked down on +that slender white hand as if it were something that too sudden a +movement would joggle off, and she did not know that it was as if she +had laid her hand on his very heart. "Peter, tell me what happened +yesterday afternoon. You should tell me, Peter." + +Then the Elder did an unwonted thing. He placed his hand over hers and +pressed it harder on his arm, and after an instant's pause he stooped +and kissed her on the forehead. + +"I spoke the lad fair, Hester, and made him an offer, but he would +none of it. He thinks he is his own master, but I have put him in the +Lord's hands." + +"Has he gone, Peter?" + +"Maybe, but the offer I made him was a good one. Comfort your heart, +lass. If he's gone, he will return. When the Devil holds the whip, he +makes a hard bargain, and drives fast. When the boy is hard pressed, +he will be glad to return to his father's house." + +"Richard's valise is gone. The maid says he came late yesterday after +I was gone, and took it away with him." + +"They are likely gone together." + +"But Peter's things are all here. No, they would never go like that +and not bid me good-by." + +The Elder threw out his hands with his characteristic downward gesture +of impatience. "I have no way of knowing, more than you. It is no +doubt that Richard has become a ne'er-do-weel. He felt shame to tell +us he was going a journey on the Sabbath day." + +"Oh, Peter, I think not. Peter, be just. You know your son was never +one to let the Devil drive; he is like yourself, Peter. And as for +Richard, Peter Junior would never think so much of him if he were a +ne'er-do-weel." + +"Women are foolish and fond. It is their nature, and perhaps that is +how we love them most, but the men should rule, for their own good. A +man should be master in his own house. When the lad returns, the door +is open to him. That is enough." + +With a sorrowful heart he left her, and truth to tell, the sorrow was +more for his wife's hurt than for his own. The one great tenderness of +his life was his feeling for her, and this she felt rather than knew; +but he believed himself absolutely right and that the hurt was +inevitable, and for her was intensified by her weakness and fondness. + +As for Hester, she turned away from the door and went quietly about +her well-ordered house, directing the maidservant and looking +carefully over her husband's wardrobe. Then she did the same for Peter +Junior's, and at last, taking her basket of mending, she sat in the +large, lace-curtained window looking out toward the west--the +direction from which Peter Junior would be likely to come. For how +long she would sit there during the days to come--waiting--she little +knew. + +She was comforted by the thought of the talk she had had with him the +day before. She knew he was upright, and she felt that this +quarrel--if it had been a quarrel--with his father would surely be +healed; and then, there was Betty to call him back. The love of a girl +was a good thing for a man. It would be stronger to draw him and hold +him than love of home or of mother; it was the divine way for +humanity, and it was a good way, and she must be patient and wait. + +She was glad she had gone without delay to Mary Ballard. The two women +were fond of each other, and the visit had been most satisfactory. +Betty she had not seen, for the maiden was still sleeping the long, +heavy sleep which saves a normal healthy body from wreck after severe +emotion. Betty was so young--it might be best that matters should wait +awhile as they were. + +If Peter Junior went to Paris now, he would have to earn his own way, +of course, and possibly he had gone west with Richard where he could +earn faster than at home. Maybe that had been the grounds of the +quarrel. Surely she would hear from him soon. Perhaps he had taken +their talk on Sunday afternoon as a good-by to her; or he might yet +come to her and tell her his plans. So she comforted herself in the +most wholesome and natural way. + +Richard's action in taking his valise away during her absence and +leaving no word of farewell for her was more of a surprise to her. But +then--he might have resented the Elder's attitude and sided with his +cousin. Or, he might have feared he would say things he would +afterwards regret, if he appeared, and so have taken himself quietly +away. Still, these reasons did not wholly appeal to her, and she was +filled with misgivings for him even more than for her son. + +Peter Junior she trusted absolutely and Richard she loved as a son; +but there was much of his father in him, and the Irish nature was +erratic and wild, as the Elder said. Where was that father now? No +one knew. It was one of the causes for anxiety she had for the boy +that his father had been lost to them all ever since Richard's birth +and his wife's death. He had gone out of their lives as completely as +a candle in a gale of wind. She had mothered the boy, and the Elder +had always been kind to him for his own dead sister's sake, but of the +father they never spoke. + +It was while Hester Craigmile sat in her western window, thinking her +thoughts, that two lads came hurrying down the bluff from the old camp +ground, breathless and awed. One carried a straw hat, and the other a +stout stick--a stick with an irregular knob at the end. It was Larry +Kildene's old blackthorn that Peter Junior had been carrying. The +Ballards' home was on the way between the bluff and the village, and +Mary Ballard was standing at their gate watching for the children from +school. She wished Jamie to go on an errand for her. + +Mary noticed the agitation of the boys. They were John Walters and +Charlie Dean--two chums who were always first to be around when there +was anything unusual going on, or to be found. It was they who +discovered the fire in the foundry in time to have it put out. It was +they who knew where the tramps were hiding who had been stealing from +the village stores, and now Mary wondered what they had discovered. +She left the gate swinging open and walked down to meet them. + +"What is it, boys?" + +"We--we--found these--and--there's something happened," panted the +boys, both speaking at once. + +She took the hat of white straw from John's hand. "Why! This is Peter +Junior's hat! Where did you find it?" She turned it about and saw +dark red stains, as if it had been grasped by a bloody hand--finger +marks of blood plainly imprinted on the rim. + +"And this, Mrs. Ballard," said Charlie, putting Peter Junior's stick +in her hand, and pointing to the same red stains sunken into the knob. +"We think there's been a fight and some one's been hit with this." + +She took it and looked at it in a dazed way. "Yes. He was carrying +this in the place of his crutch," she said, as if to herself. + +"We think somebody's been pushed over the bluff into the river, Mrs. +Ballard, for they's a hunk been tore out as big as a man, from the +edge, and it's gone clean over, and down into the river. We can see +where it is gone. And it's an awful swift place." + +She handed the articles back to the boys. + +"Sit down in the shade here, and I'll bring you some sweet apples, and +if any one comes by, don't say anything about it until I have time to +consult with Mr. Ballard." + +She hurried back and passed quickly around the house, and on to her +husband, who was repairing the garden fence. + +"Bertrand, come with me quickly. Something serious has happened. I +don't want Betty to hear of it until we know what it is." + +They hastened to the waiting boys, and together they slowly climbed +the long path leading to the old camping place. Bertrand carried the +stick and the hat carefully, for they were matters of great moment. + +"This looks grave," he said, when the boys had told him their story. + +"Perhaps we ought to have brought some one with us--if anything--" +said Mary. + +"No, no; better wait and see, before making a stir." + +It was a good half hour's walk up the hill, and every moment of the +time seemed heavily freighted with foreboding. They said no more until +they reached the spot where the boys had found the edge of the bluff +torn away. There, for a space of about two feet only, back from the +brink, the sparse grass was trampled, and the earth showed marks of +heels and in places the sod was freshly torn up. + +"There's been something happened here, you see," said Charlie Dean. + +"Here is where a foot has been braced to keep from being pushed over; +see, Mary? And here again." + +"I see indeed." Mary looked, and stooping, picked something from the +ground that glinted through the loosened earth. She held it on her +open palm toward Bertrand, and the two boys looked intently at it. Her +husband did not touch it, but glanced quickly into her eyes and then +at the boys. Then her fingers closed over it, and taking her +handkerchief she tied it in one corner securely. + +"Did you ever see anything like it, boys?" she asked. + +"No, ma'am. It's a watch charm, isn't it? Or what?" + +"I suppose it must be." + +"I guess the fellah that was being pushed over must 'a' grabbed for +the other fellah's watch. Maybe he was trying to rob him." + +"Let's see whether we can find anything else," said John Walters, +peering over the bluff. + +"Don't, John, don't. You may fall over. It might have been a fall, and +one of them might have been trying to save the other, you know. He +might have caught at him and pulled this off. There's no reason why we +should surmise the worst." + +"They might ha' been playing--you know--wrestling--and it might 'a' +happened so," said Charlie. + +"Naw! They'd been big fools to wrestle so near the edge of the bluff +as this," said the practical John. "I see something white way down +there, Mrs. Ballard. I can get it, I guess." + +"But take care, John. Go further round by the path." + +Both boys ran along the bluff until they came to a path that led down +to the river. "Do be careful, boys!" called Mary. + +"Now, let me see that again, my dear," and Mary untied the handkerchief. +"Yes, it is what I thought. That belonged to Larry Kildene. He got it +in India, although he said it was Chinese. He was a year in the +British service in India. I've often examined it. I should have known +it anywhere. He must have left it with Hester for the boy." + +"Poor Larry! And it has come to this. I remember it on Richard's chain +when he came out there to meet us in the grove. Bertrand, what shall +we do? They must have been here--and have quarreled--and what has +happened! I'm going back to ask Betty." + +"Ask Betty! My dear! What can Betty know about it?" + +"Something upset her terribly yesterday morning. She was ill and with +no cause that I could see, and I believe she had had a nervous +shock." + +"But she seemed all right this morning,--a little pale, but otherwise +quite herself." Bertrand turned the little charm over in his hand. +"He thought it was Chinese because it is jade, but this carving is +Egyptian. I don't think it is jade, and I don't think it is Chinese." + +"But whatever it is, it was on Richard's chain Saturday," said Mary, +sadly. "And now, what can we do? On second thought I'll say nothing to +Betty. If a tragedy has come upon the Craigmiles, it will also fall on +her now, and we must spare her all of it we can, until we know." + +A call came to them from below, and Bertrand hastily handed the charm +back to his wife, and she tied it again in her handkerchief. + +"Oh, Bertrand, don't go near that terrible brink. It might give way. +I'm sure this has been an accident." + +"But the stick, Mary, and the marks of blood on Peter Junior's hat. +I'm afraid--afraid." + +"But they were always fond of each other. They have been like +brothers." + +"And quarrels between brothers are often the bitterest." + +"But we have never heard of their quarreling, and they were so glad to +see each other Saturday. And you know Peter Junior was always +possessed to do whatever Richard planned. They were that way about +enlisting, you remember, and everything else. What cause could Richard +have against Peter Junior?" + +"We can't say it was Richard against Peter. You see the stick was +bloody, and it was Peter's. We must offer no opinion, no matter what +we think, for the world may turn against the wrong one, and only time +will tell." + +They both were silent as the boys came panting up the bank. "Here's a +handkerchief. It was what I saw. It was caught on a thorn bush, and +here--here's Peter Junior's little notebook, with his name--" + +"This is Peter's handkerchief. P. C. J. Hester Craigmile embroidered +those letters." Mary's eyes filled with tears. "Bertrand, we must go +to her. She may hear in some terrible way." + +"And the book, where was that, John?" + +"It was lying on that flat rock. John had to crawl along the ledge on +his belly to get it; and here, I found this lead pencil," cried +Charlie, excited and important. + +"'Faber No. 2.' Yes, this was also Peter's." Bertrand shut it in the +notebook. "Mary, this looks sinister. We'd better go down. There's +nothing more to learn here." + +"Maybe we'll find the young men both safely at home." + +"Richard was to leave early this morning." + +"I remember." + +Sadly they returned, and the two boys walked with them, gravely and +earnestly propounding one explanation after another. + +"You'd better go back to the house, Mary, and I'll go on to the +village with the boys. We'll consult with your father, John; he's a +thoughtful man, and--" + +"And he's a coroner, too--" said John. + +"Yes, but if there's nobody found, who's he goin' to sit on?" + +"They don't sit on the body, they sit on the jury," said John, with +contempt. + +"Don't I know that? But they've got to find the body, haven't they, +before they can sit on anything? Guess I know that much." + +"Now, boys," said Bertrand, "this may turn out to be a very grave +matter, and you must keep silent about it. It won't do to get the town +all stirred up about it and all manner of rumors afloat. It must be +looked into quietly first, by responsible people, and you must keep +all your opinions and surmises to yourselves until the truth can be +learned." + +"Don't walk, Bertrand; take the carryall, and these can be put under +the seat. Boys, if you'll go back there in the garden, you'll find +some more apples, and I'll fetch you out some cookies to go with +them." The boys briskly departed. "I don't want Betty to see them, and +we'll be silent until we know what to tell her," Mary added, as they +walked slowly up the front path. + +Bertrand turned off to the stable, carrying the sad trophies with him, +and Mary entered the house. She looked first for Betty, but no Betty +was to be found, and the children were at home clamoring for something +to eat. They always came home from school ravenously hungry. Mary +hastily packed them a basket of fruit and cookies and sent them to +play picnic down by the brook. Still no Betty appeared. + +"Where is she?" asked Bertrand, as he entered the kitchen after +bringing up the carryall. + +"I don't know. She may have gone over to Clara Dean's. She spoke of +going there to-day. I'm glad--rather." + +"Yes, yes." + +A little later in the day, almost closing time at the bank, James +Walters and Bertrand Ballard entered and asked to see the Elder. They +were shown into the director's room, and found him seated alone at the +great table in the center. He pushed his papers one side and rose, +greeting them with his grave courtesy, as usual. + +Mr. Walters, a shy man of few words, looked silently at Mr. Ballard +to speak, while the Elder urged them to be seated. "A warm day for the +season, and very pleasant to have it so. We'll hope the winter may +come late this year." + +"Yes, yes. We wish to inquire after your son, Elder Craigmile. Is he +at home to-day?" + +"Ah, yes. He was not at home--not when I left this noon." The Elder +cleared his throat and looked keenly at his friend. "Is it--ahem--a +matter of business, Mr. Ballard?" + +"Unfortunately, no. We have come to inquire if he--when he was last at +home--or if his cousin--has been with you?" + +"Not Richard, no. He came unexpectedly and has gone with as little +ceremony, but my son was here on the Sabbath--ahem--He dined that day +with you, Mr. Ballard?" + +"He did--but--Elder, will you come with us? A matter with regard to +him and his cousin should be looked into." + +"It is not necessary for me to interfere in matters regarding my son +any longer. He has taken the ordering of his life in his own hands +hereafter. As for Richard, he has long been his own master." + +"Elder, I beg you to come with us. We fear foul play of some sort. It +is not a question now of family differences of opinion." + +The Elder's face remained immovable, and Bertrand reluctantly added, +"We fear either your son or his cousin, possibly both of them, have +met with disaster--maybe murder." + +A pallor crept over the Elder's face, and without a word further he +took his hat from a hook in the corner of the room, paused, and then +carefully arranged the papers he had pushed aside at their entrance +and placing them in his desk, turned the key, still without a word. At +the door he waited a moment with his hand on the knob, and with the +characteristic lift of his brows, asked: "Has anything been said to my +wife?" + +"No, no. We thought best to do nothing until under your direction." + +"Thank you. That's well. Whatever comes, I would spare her all I +can." + +The three then drove slowly back to the top of the bluff, and on the +way Bertrand explained to the Elder all that had transpired. "It +seemed best to Mary and me that you should look the ground over +yourself, before any action be taken. We hoped appearances might be +deceptive, and that you would have information that would set our +fears at rest before news of a mystery should reach the town." + +"Where are the boys who found these things?" + +Mr. Walters spoke, "My son was one of them, and he is now at home. +They are forbidden to speak to any one until we know more about it." + +Arrived at the top of the bluff the three men went carefully over the +ground, even descending the steep path to the margin of the river. + +"There," said Bertrand, "the notebook was picked up on that flat rock +which juts out from that narrow ledge. John Walters crawled along the +ledge to get it. The handkerchief was caught on that thorn shrub, +halfway up, see? And the pencil was picked up down here, somewhere." + +The Elder looked up to the top of the bluff and down at the rushing +river beneath, and as he looked he seemed visibly to shrink and become +in the instant an old man--older by twenty years. As they climbed back +again, his shoulders drooped and his breath came hard. As they neared +the top, Bertrand turned and gave him his aid to gain a firm footing +above. + +"Don't forget that we can't always trust to appearances," he urged. + +"Some heavy body--heavier than a clod of earth, has gone down there," +said the Elder, and his voice sounded weak and thin. + +"Yes, yes. But even so, a stone may have been dislodged. You can't be +sure." + +"Ay, the lads might have been wrestling in play--or the like--and sent +a rock over; it's like lads, that," hazarded Mr. Walters. + +"Wrestling on the Sabbath evening! They are men, not lads." + +Mr. Walters looked down in embarrassment, and the old man continued. +"Would a stone leave a handkerchief clinging to a thorn? Would it +leave a notebook thrown down on yonder rock?" The Elder lifted his +head and looked to the sky: holding one hand above his head he shook +it toward heaven. "Would a stone leave a hat marked with a bloody +hand--my son's hat? There has been foul play here. May the curse of +God fall on him who has robbed me of my son, be he stranger or my own +kin." + +His voice broke and he reeled backward and would have fallen over the +brink but for Bertrand's quickness. Then, trembling and bowed, his two +friends led him back to the carryall and no further word was spoken +until they reached the village, when the Elder said:-- + +"Will you kindly drive me to the bank, Mr. Ballard?" + +They did so. No one was there, and the Elder quietly unlocked the door +and carried the articles found on the bluff into the room beyond and +locked them away. Bertrand followed him, loath to leave him thus, and +anxious to make a suggestion. The Elder opened the door of a cupboard +recessed into the wall and laid the hat on a high shelf. Then he took +the stick and looked at it with a sudden awakening in his eyes as if +he saw it for the first time. + +"This stick--this blackthorn stick--accursed! How came it here? I +thought it had been burned. It was left years ago in my front hall +by--Richard's father. I condemned it to be burned." + +"Peter Junior was using that in place of his crutch, no doubt because +of its strength. He had it at my house, and I recognize it now as one +Larry brought over with him--" + +"Peter was using it! My God! My God! The blow was struck with this. It +is my son who is the murderer, and I have called down the curse of God +on him? It falls--it falls on me!" He sank in his chair--the same in +which he had sat when he talked with Peter Junior--and bowed his head +in his arms. "It is enough, Mr. Ballard. Will you leave me?" + +"I can't leave you, sir: there is more to be said. We must not be +hasty in forming conclusions. If any one was thrown over the bluff, it +must have been your son, for he was lame and could not have saved +himself. If he struck any one, he could not have killed him; for +evidently he got away, unless he also went over the brink. If he got +away, he must be found. There is something for you to do, Elder +Craigmile." + +The old man lifted his head and looked in Bertrand's face, pitifully +seeking there for help. "You are a good man, Mr. Ballard. I need your +counsel and help." + +"First, we will go below the rapids and search; the sooner the better, +for in the strong current there is no telling how far--" + +"Yes, we will search." The Elder lifted himself to his full height, +inspired by the thought of action. "We'll go now." He looked down on +his shorter friend, and Bertrand looked up to him, his genial face +saddened with sympathy, yet glowing with kindliness. + +"Wait a little, Elder; let us consider further. Mr. Walters--sit down, +Elder Craigmile, for a moment--Mr. Walters is capable, and he can +organize the search; for if you keep this from your wife, you must be +discreet. Here is something I haven't shown you before. It is the +charm from Richard's watch. It was almost covered with earth where +they had been struggling, and Mary found it. You see there is a +mystery--and let us hope whatever happened was an accident. The +evidences are so--so--mingled, that no one may know whom to blame." + +The Elder looked down on the charm without touching it, as it lay on +Bertrand's palm. "That belonged--" his lips twitched--"that belonged +to the man who took from me my twin sister. The shadow--forever the +shadow of Larry Kildene hangs over me." He was silent for some +moments, then he said: "Mr. Ballard, if, after the search, my son is +found to be murdered, I will put a detective on the trail of the man +who did the deed, and be he whom he may, he shall hang." + +"Hush, Elder Craigmile; in Wisconsin men are not hanged." + +"I tell you--be he whom he may--he shall suffer what is worse than to +be hanged, he shall enter the living grave of a life imprisonment." + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +CONFESSION + + +By Monday evening there were only two people in all the small town of +Leauvite who had not heard of the tragedy, and these were Hester +Craigmile and Betty Ballard. Mary doubted if it was wise to keep +Hester thus in ignorance, but it was the Elder's wish, and at his +request she went to spend the evening and if necessary the night with +his wife, to fend off any officious neighbor, while he personally +directed the search. + +It was the Elder's firm belief that his son had been murdered, yet he +thought if no traces should be found of Peter Junior, he might be able +to spare Hester the agony of that belief. He preferred her to think +her son had gone off in anger and would sometime return. He felt +himself justified in this concealment, fearing that if she knew the +truth, she might grieve herself into her grave, and his request to +Mary to help him had been made so pitifully and humbly that her heart +melted at the sight of the old man's sorrow, and she went to spend +those weary hours with his wife. + +As the Elder sometimes had meetings of importance to take him away of +an evening, Hester did not feel surprise at his absence, and she +accepted Mary's visit as one of sweet friendliness and courtesy +because of Peter's engagement to Betty. Nor did she wonder that the +visit was made without Bertrand, as Mary said he and the Elder had +business together, and she thought she would spend the time with her +friend until their return. + +That was all quite as it should be and very pleasant, and Hester +filled the moments with cheerful chat, showing Mary certain pieces of +cloth from which she proposed to make dainty garments for Betty, to +help Mary with the girl's wedding outfit. To Mary it all seemed like a +dream as she locked the sad secret in her heart and listened. Her +friend's sorrow over Peter Junior's disagreement with his father and +his sudden departure from the home was tempered by the glad hope that +after all the years of anxiety, she was some time to have a daughter +to love, and that her boy and his wife would live near them, and her +home might again know the sound of happy children's voices. The sweet +thoughts brought her gladness and peace of mind, and Mary's visit made +the dream more sure of ultimate fulfillment. + +Mary felt the Elder's wish lie upon her with the imperative force of a +law, and she did not dare disregard his request that on no account was +Hester to be told the truth. So she gathered all her fortitude and +courage to carry her through this ordeal. She examined the fine linen +that had been brought to Hester years ago from Scotland by Richard's +mother, and while she praised it she listened for steps without; the +heavy tread of men bringing a sorrowful and terrible burden. But the +minutes wore on, and no such sounds came, and the hour grew late. + +"They may have gone out of town. Bertrand said something about it, and +told me to stay until he called for me, if I stayed all night." Mary +tried to laugh over it, and Hester seized the thought gayly. + +"We'll go to bed, anyway, and your husband may just go home without +you when he comes." + +And after a little longer wait they went to bed, and Hester slept, but +Mary lay wakeful and fearing, until in the early morning, while it was +yet dark, she heard the Elder slowly climb the stairs and go to his +room. Then she also slept, hoping against hope, that they had found +nothing. + +Betty's pride and shame had caused her to keep her trouble to herself. +She knew Richard had gone forever, and she dreaded Peter Junior's next +visit. What should she do! Oh, what should she do! Should she tell +Peter she did not love him, and that all had been a mistake? She must +humble herself before him, and what excuse had she to make for all the +hours she had given him, and the caresses she had accepted? Ah! If +only she could make the last week as if it had never been! She was +shamed before her mother, who had seen him kiss her. She was ashamed +even in her own room in the darkness to think of all Peter Junior had +said to her, and the love he had lavished on her. Ought she to break +her word to him and beg him to forget? Ah! Neither he nor she could +ever forget. + +Her brothers had been forbidden to tell her a word of the reports that +were already abroad in the town, and now they were both in bed and +asleep, and little Janey was cuddled in Betty's bed, also in +dreamland. At last, when neither her father nor her mother returned +and she could bear her own thoughts no longer, she brought drawing +materials down from the studio and spread them out on the dining room +table. + +She had decided she would never marry any one--never. How could she! +But she would study in earnest and be an illustrator. If women could +never become great artists, as Peter Junior said, at least they might +illustrate books; and sometime--maybe--when her heart was not so sad, +she might write books, and she could illustrate them herself. Ah, that +would almost make up for what she must go without all her life. + +For a while she worked painstakingly, but all the time it seemed as +though she could hear Richard's voice, and the words he had said to +her Sunday morning kept repeating themselves over and over in her +mind. Then the tears fell one by one and blurred her work, until at +last she put her head down on her arms and wept. Then the door opened +very softly and Richard entered. Swiftly he came to her and knelt at +her side. He put his head on her knee, and his whole body shook with +tearless sobs he could not restrain. He was faint and weak. She could +not know the whole cause of his grief, and thought he suffered because +of her. She must comfort him--but alas! What could she say? How could +she comfort him? + +She put her trembling hand on his head and found the hair matted and +stiff. Then she saw a wound above his temple, and knew he was hurt, +and cried out: "You are hurt--you are hurt! Oh, Richard! Let me do +something for you." + +He clasped her in his arms, but still did not look up at her, and +Betty forgot all her shame, and her lessons in propriety. She lifted +his head to her bosom and laid her cheek upon his and said all the +comforting things that came into her heart. She begged him to let her +wash his wound and to tell her how he came by it. She forgot +everything, except that she loved him and told him over and over the +sweet confession. + +At last he found strength to speak to her brokenly. "Never love me any +more, Betty. I've committed a terrible crime--Oh, my God! And you will +hear of it Give me a little milk. I've eaten nothing since yesterday +morning, when I saw you. Then I'll try to tell you what you must +know--what all the world will tell you soon." + +He rose and staggered to a chair and she brought him milk and bread +and meat, but she would not let him talk to her until he had allowed +her to wash the wound on his head and bind it up. As she worked the +touch of her hands seemed to bring him sane thoughts in spite of the +horror of himself that possessed him, and he was enabled to speak more +coherently. + +"If I had not been crazed when I looked through the window and saw you +crying, Betty, I would never have let you see me or touch me again. +It's only adding one crime to another to come near you. I meant just +to look in and see if I could catch one glimpse of you, and then was +going to lose myself to all the world, or else give myself up to be +hung." Then he was silent, and she began to question him. + +"Don't! Richard. Hung? What have you done? What do you mean? When was +it?" + +"Sunday night." + +"But you had to start for Cheyenne early this morning. Where have you +been all day? I thought you were gone forever, dear." + +"I hid myself down by the river. I lay there all day, and heard them +talking, but I couldn't see them nor they me. It was a hiding place we +knew of when our camp was there--Peter Junior and I. He's gone. I did +it--I did it with murder in my heart--Oh, my God!" + +"Don't, Richard. You must tell me nothing except as I ask you. It is +not as if we did not love each other. What you have done I must help +you bear--as--as wives help their husbands--for I will never marry; +but all my life my heart will be married to yours." He reached for her +hands and covered them with kisses and moaned. "No, Richard, don't. +Eat the bread and meat I have brought you. You've eaten nothing for +two days, and everything may seem worse to you than it is." + +"No, no!" + +"Richard, I'll go away from you and leave you here alone if you don't +eat." + +"Yes, I must eat--not only now--but all the rest of my life, I must +eat to live and repent. He was my dearest friend. I taunted him and +said bitter things. I goaded him. I was insane with rage and at last +so was he. He struck me--and--and I--I was trying to push him over the +bluff--" + +Slowly it dawned on Betty what Richard's talk really meant. + +"Not Peter? Oh, Richard--not Peter!" She shrank from him, wide-eyed in +terror. + +"He would have killed me--for I know what was in his heart as well as +I knew what was in my own--and we were both seeing red. I've felt it +sometimes in battle, and the feeling makes a man drunken. A man will +do anything then. We'd been always friends--and yet we were drunken +with hate; and now--he--he is better off than I. I must live. Unless +for the disgrace to my relatives, I would give myself up to be +hanged. It would be better to take the punishment than to live in such +torture as this." + +The tears coursed fast down Betty's cheeks. Slowly she drew nearer +him, and bent down to him as he sat, until she could look into his +eyes. "What were you quarreling about, Richard?" + +"Don't ask me, darling Betty." + +"What was it, Richard?" + +"All my life you will be the sweet help to me--the help that may keep +me from death in life. To carry in my soul the remembrance of last +night will need all the help God will let me have. If I had gone away +quietly, you and Peter Junior would have been married and have been +happy--but--" + +"No, no. Oh, Richard, no. I knew in a moment when you came--" + +"Yes, Betty, dear, Peter Junior was good and faithful; and he might +have been able to undo all the harm I had done. He could have taught +you to love him. I have done the devil's work--and then I killed +him--Oh, my God! My God!" + +"How do you know you pushed him over? He may have fallen over. You +don't know it. He may have--" + +"Hush, dearest. I did it. When I came to myself, it was in the night; +and it must have been late, for the moon was set. I could only see +faintly that something white lay near me. I felt of it, and it was +Peter Junior's hat. Then I felt all about for him--and he was gone and +I crawled to the edge of the bluff--but although I knew he was gone +over there and washed by the terrible current far down the river by +that time, I couldn't follow him, whether from cowardice or weakness. +I tried to get on my feet and could not. Then I must have fainted +again, for all the world faded away, and I thought maybe the blow had +done for me and I might not have to leap over there, after all. I +could feel myself slipping away. + +"When I awoke, the sun was shining and a bird was singing just as if +nothing had happened, and I thought I had been dreaming an awful +dream--but there was the wound on my head and I was alive. Then I went +farther down the river and came back to the hiding place and crept in +there to wait and think. Then, after a long while, the boys came, and +I was terrified for fear they were searching for me. That is the +shameful truth, Betty. I feared. I never knew what fear was before. +Betty, fear is shameful. There I have been all day--waiting--for what, +I do not know; but it seemed that if I could only have one little +glimpse of you I could go bravely and give myself up. I will now--" + +"No, Richard; it would do no good for you to die such a death. It +would undo nothing, and change nothing. Peter was angry, too, and he +struck you, and if he could have his way he would not want you to die. +I say maybe he is living now. He may not have gone over." + +"It's no use, Betty. He went down. I pushed him into that terrible +river. I did it. I--I--I!" Richard only moaned the words in a whisper +of despair, and the horror of it all began to deepen and crush down +upon Betty. She retreated, step by step, until she backed against the +door leading to her chamber, and there she stood gazing at him with +her hand pressed over her lips to keep herself from crying out. Then +she saw him rise and turn toward the door without looking at her +again, his head bowed in grief, and the sight roused her. As the door +closed between them she ran and threw it open and followed him out +into the darkness. + +"I can't, Richard. I can't let you go like this!" She clung to him, +sobbing her heart out on his bosom, and he clasped her and held her +warm little body close. + +"I'm like a drowning man pulling you under with me. Your tears drown +me. I would not have entered the house if I had not seen you crying. +Never cry again for me, Betty, never." + +"I will cry. I tell you I will cry. I will. I don't believe you are a +murderer." + +"You must believe it. I am." + +"I loved Peter Junior and you loved him. You did not mean to do it." + +"I did it." + +"If you did it, it is as if I did it, too. We both killed him--and I +am a murderer, too. It was because of me you did it, and if you give +yourself up to be hung, I will give myself up. Poor Peter--Oh, +Richard--I don't believe he fell over." For a long moment she sobbed +thus. "Where are you going, Richard?" she asked, lifting her head. + +"I don't know, Betty. I may be taken and can go nowhere." + +"Yes, you must go--quick--quick--now. Some one may come and find you +here." + +"No one will find me. Cain was a wanderer over the face of the +earth." + +"Will you let me know where you are, after you are gone?" + +"No, Betty. You must never think of me, nor let me darken your life." + +"Then must I live all the rest of the years without even knowing where +you are?" + +"Yes, love. Put me out of your life from now on, and it will be enough +for me that you loved me once." + +"I will help you atone, Richard. I will try to be brave--and help +Peter's mother to bear it. I will love her for Peter and for you." + +"God's blessing on you forever, Betty." He was gone, striding away in +the darkness, and Betty, with trembling steps, entered the house. + +Carefully she removed every sign of his having been there. The bowl of +water, and the cloth from which she had torn strips to bind his head +she carried away, and the glass from which he had taken his milk, she +washed, and even the crumbs of bread which had fallen to the floor she +picked up one by one, so that not a trace remained. Then she took her +drawing materials back to the studio, and after kneeling long at her +bedside, and only saying: "God, help Richard, help him," over and +over, she crept in beside her little sister, and still weeping and +praying chokingly clasped the sleeping child in her arms. + +From that time, it seemed to Bertrand and Mary that a strange and +subtle change had taken place in their beloved little daughter; for +which they tried to account as the result of the mysterious +disappearance of Peter Junior. He was not found, and Richard also was +gone, and the matter after being for a long time the wonder of the +village, became a thing of the past. Only the Elder cherished the +thought that his son had been murdered, and quietly set a detective +at work to find the guilty man--whom he would bring back to +vengeance. + +Her parents were forced to acquaint Betty with the suspicious nature +of Peter's disappearance, knowing she might hear of it soon and be +more shocked than if told by themselves. Mary wondered not a little at +her dry-eyed and silent reception of it, but that was a part of the +change in Betty. + + + + +BOOK TWO + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +OUT OF THE DESERT + + +"Good horse. Good horse. Good boy. Goldbug--go it! I know you're +dying, but so am I. Keep it up a little while longer--Good boy." + +The young man encouraged his horse, while half asleep from utter +weariness and faint with hunger and thirst. The poor beast scrambled +over the rocks up a steep trail that seemed to have been long unused, +or indeed it might be no trail at all, but only a channel worn by +fierce, narrow torrents during the rainy season, now sun-baked and +dry. + +The fall rains were late this year, and the yellow plains below +furnished neither food nor drink for either man or beast. The herds of +buffalo had long since wandered to fresher spaces nearer the river +beds. The young man's flask was empty, and it was twenty-seven hours +since either he or his horse had tasted anything. Now they had reached +the mountains he hoped to find water and game if he could only hold +out a little longer. Up and still up the lean horse scrambled with +nose to earth and quivering flanks, and the young man, leaning forward +and clinging to his seat as he reeled like one drunken, still murmured +words of encouragement. "Good boy--Goldbug, go it. Good horse, keep it +up." + +All at once the way opened out on a jutting crest and made a sharp +turn to the right, and the horse paused on the verge so suddenly that +his rider lost his hold and fell headlong over into a scrub oak that +caught him and held him suspended in its tough and twisted branches +above a chasm so deep that the buzzards sailed on widespread wings +round and round in the blue air beneath him. + +He lay there still and white as death, mercifully unconscious, +while an eagle with a wild scream circled about and perched on a +lightning-blasted tree far above and looked down on him. + +For a moment the yellow horse swayed weakly on the brink, then feeling +himself relieved of his burden, he stiffened himself to a last great +effort and held on along the path which turned abruptly away from the +edge of the cliff and broadened out among low bushes and stunted +trees. Here again the horse paused and stretched his neck and bit off +the tips of the dry twigs near him, then turned his head and whinnied +to call his master, and pricked his ears to listen; but he only heard +the scream of the eagle overhead, and again he walked on, guided by an +instinct as mysterious and unerring as the call of conscience to a +human soul. + +Good old beast! He had not much farther to go. Soon there was a sound +of water in the air--a continuous roar, muffled and deep. The path +wound upward, then descended gradually until it led him to an open, +grassy space, bordered by green trees. Again he turned his head and +gave his intelligent call. Why did not his master respond? Why did he +linger behind when here was grass and water--surely water, for the +smell of it was fresh and sweet. But it was well he called, for his +friendly nicker fell on human ears. + +A man of stalwart frame, well built and spare, hairy and grizzled, but +ruddy with health, sat in a cabin hidden among the trees not forty +paces away, and prepared his meal of roasting quail suspended over the +fire in his chimney and potatoes baking in the ashes. + +He lifted his head with a jerk, and swung the quail away from the +heat, leaving it still suspended, and taking his rifle from its pegs +stood for a moment in his door listening. For months he had not heard +the sound of a human voice, nor the nicker of any horse other than his +own. He called a word of greeting, "Hello, stranger!" but receiving no +response he ventured farther from his door. + +Goldbug was eagerly grazing--too eagerly for his own good. The man +recognized the signs of starvation and led him to a tree, where he +brought him a little water in his own great tin dipper. Then he +relieved him of saddle and bridle and left him tied while he hastily +stowed a few hard-tack and a flask of whisky in his pocket, and taking +a lasso over his arm, started up the trail on his own horse. + +"Some poor guy has lost his way and gone over the cliff," he +muttered. + +The young man still lay as he had fallen, but now his eyes were open +and staring at the sky. Had he not been too weak to move he would have +gone down; as it was, he waited, not knowing if he were dead or in a +dream, seeing only the blue above him, and hearing only the scream of +the eagle. + +"Lie still. Don't ye move. Don't ye stir a hair. I'll get ye. Still +now--still." + +The big man's voice came to him as out of a great chasm, scarcely +heard for the roaring in his head, although he was quite near. His +arms hung down and one leg swung free, but his body rested easily +balanced in the branches. Presently he felt something fall lightly +across his chest, slip down to his hand, and then crawl slowly up his +arm to the shoulder, where it tightened and gripped. A vague hope +awoke in him. + +"Now, wait. I'll get ye; don't move. I'll have a noose around ye'r leg +next,--so." The voice had grown clearer, and seemed nearer, but the +young man could make no response with his parched throat. + +"Now if I hurt ye a bit, try to stand it." The man carried the long +loop of his lasso around the cliff and wound it securely around +another scrub oak, and then began slowly and steadily to pull, until +the young man moaned with pain,--to cry out was impossible. + +"I'll have ye in a minute--I'll have ye--there! Catch at my hand. Poor +boy, poor boy, ye can't. Hold on--just a little more--there!" Strong +arms reached for him. Strong hands gripped his clothing and lifted him +from the terrible chasm's edge. + +"He's more dead than alive," said the big man, as he strove to pour a +little whisky between the stranger's set teeth. "Well, I'll pack him +home and do for him there." + +He lifted his weight easily, and placing him on his horse, led the +animal to the cabin where he laid him in his own bunk. There, with +cool water, and whisky carefully administered, the big man restored +him enough to know that he was conscious. + +"There now, you'll come out of this all right. You've got a good body +and a good head, young man,--lie by a little and I'll give ye some +broth." + +The man took a small stone jar from a shelf and putting in a little +water, took the half-cooked quail from the fire, and putting it in the +jar set it on the coals among the ashes, and covered it. From time to +time he lifted the cover and stirred it about, sprinkling in a little +corn meal, and when the steam began to rise with savory odor, he did +not wait for it to be wholly done, but taking a very little of the +broth in a tin cup, he cooled it and fed it to his patient drop by +drop until the young man's eyes looked gratefully into his. + +Then, while the young man dozed, he returned to his own uneaten meal, +and dined on dried venison and roasted potatoes and salt. The big man +was a good housekeeper. He washed his few utensils and swept the +hearth with a broom worn almost to the handle. Then he removed the jar +containing the quail and broth from the embers, and set it aside in +reserve for his guest. Whenever the young man stirred he fed him again +with the broth, until at last he seemed to sleep naturally. + +Seeing his patient quietly sleeping, the big man went out to the +starving horse and gave him another taste of water, and allowed him to +graze a few minutes, then tied him again, and returned to the cabin. +He stood for a while looking down at the pallid face of the sleeping +stranger, then he lighted his pipe and busied himself about the cabin, +returning from time to time to study the young man's countenance. His +pipe went out. He lighted it again and then sat down with his back to +the stranger and smoked and gazed in the embers. + +The expression of his face was peculiarly gentle as he gazed. Perhaps +the thought of having rescued a human being worked on his spirit +kindly, or what not, but something brought him a vision of a pale +face with soft, dark hair waving back from the temples, and large gray +eyes looking up into his. It came and was gone, and came again, even +as he summoned it, and he smoked on. One watching him might have +thought that it was his custom to smoke and gaze and dream thus. + +At last he became aware that the stranger was trying to speak to him +in husky whispers. He turned quickly. + +"Feeling more fit, are you? Well, take another sup of broth. Can't let +you eat anything solid for a bit, but you can have all of the broth +now if you want it." + +As he stooped over him the young man's fingers caught at his shirt +sleeve and pulled him down to listen to his whispered words. + +"Pull me out of this--quickly--quickly--there's a--party--down +the--mountain--dying of thirst. Is this Higgins' Camp? I--I--tried to +get there for--for help." He panted and could say no more. + +The big man whistled softly. "Thought you'd get to Higgins' Camp? +You're sixty miles out of the way--or more,--twice that, way you've +come. You took the wrong trail and you've gone forty miles one way +when you should have gone as far on the other. I did it myself once, +and never undid it." + +The patient looked hungrily at the tin cup from which he had been +taking the broth. "Can you give me a little more?" + +"Yes, drink it all. It won't hurt ye." + +"I've got to get up. They'll die." He struggled and succeeded in +lifting himself to his elbow and with the effort he spoke more +strongly. "May I have another taste of the whisky? I'm coming +stronger now. I left them yesterday with all the food--only a +bit--and a little water--not enough to keep them alive much longer. +Yesterday--God help them--was it yesterday--or days ago?" + +The older man had a slow, meditative manner of speech as if he had +long been in the way of speaking only to himself, unhurried, and at +peace. "It's no use your trying to think that out, young man, and I +can't tell you. Nor you won't be able to go for them in a while. No." + +"I must. I must if I die. I don't care if I die--but they--I must go." +He tried again to raise himself, but fell back. Great drops stood out +on his forehead and into his eyes crept a look of horror. "It's +there!" he said, and pointed with his finger. + +"What's there, man?" + +"The eye. See! It's gone. Never mind, it's gone." He relaxed, and his +face turned gray and his eyes closed for a moment, then he said again, +"I must go to them." + +"You can't go. You're delirious, man." + +Then the stranger's lips twitched and he almost smiled. "Because I saw +it? I saw it watching me. It often is, and it's not delirium. I can +go. I am quite myself." + +That half smile on the young man's face was reassuring and appealing. +The big man could not resist it. + +"See here, are you enough yourself to take care of yourself, if I +leave you and go after them--whoever they are?" + +"Yes, oh, yes." + +"Will you be prudent--stay right here, eat very sparingly? Are they +back on the plain? If so, there is a long ride ahead of me, but my +horse is fresh. If they are not off the trail by which you came, I can +reach them." + +"I did not once leave the trail after--there was no other way I could +take." + +"Would they likely stay right where you left them?" + +"They couldn't move if they tried. Oh, my God--if I were only myself +again!" + +"Never waste words wishing, young man. I'll get them. But you must +give me your promise to wait here. Will you be prudent and wait?" + +"Yes, yes." + +"You'll be stronger before you know it, and then you'll want to leave, +you know, and go for them yourself. Don't do that. I'll give your +horse a bit more to eat and drink, and tie him again, then there'll be +no need for you to leave this bunk until to-morrow. I'm to follow the +trail you came up by, and not leave it until I come to--whoever it is? +Right. Do you give me your word, no matter how long gone I may be, not +to leave my place here until I return, or send?" + +"Oh, yes, yes." + +"Good. I'll trust you. There's a better reason than I care to give you +for this promise, young man. It's not a bad one." + +The big man then made his preparations rapidly, pausing now and then +to give the stranger instructions as to where to find provisions and +how to manage there by himself, and inquiring carefully as to the +party he was to find. He packed saddlebags with supplies, and water +flasks, and, as he moved about, continued to question and admonish. + +"By the time I get back you'll be as well as ever you were. A +couple of days--and you'll be fuming round instead of waiting in +patience--that's what I tell you. I'll fetch them--do you hear? +I'll do it. Now what's your name? Harry King? Harry King--very +well, I have it. And the party? Father and mother and daughter. Family +party. I see. Big fools, no doubt. No description needed, I guess. +Bird? Name Bird? No. McBride,--very good. Any name with a Mac to it +goes on this mountain--that means me. I'm the mountain. Any one I +don't want here I pack off down the trail, and _vice versa_." + +Harry King lay still and heard the big man ride away. He heard his own +horse stamping and nickering, and heaving a great sigh of relief his +muscles relaxed, and he slept soundly on his hard bed. For hours he +had fought off this terrible languor with a desperation born of terror +for those he had left behind him, who looked to him as their only +hope. Now he resigned their fate to the big man whose eyes had looked +so kindly into his, with a childlike feeling of rest and content. He +lay thus until the sun rose high in the heavens the next morning, when +he was awakened by the insistent neighing of his horse which had risen +almost to a cry of fear. + +"Poor beast. Poor beast," he muttered. His vocal chords seemed to have +stiffened and dried, and his attempt to call out to reassure the +animal resulted only in a hoarse croak. He devoured the meat of the +little quail left in the jar and drank the few remaining drops of +broth, then crawled out to look after the needs of his horse before +making further search for food for himself. He gathered all his little +strength to hold the frantic creature, maddened with hunger, and +tethered him where he could graze for half an hour, then fetched him +water as the big man had done, a little at a time in the great +dipper. + +After these efforts he rested, sitting in the doorway in the sun, and +then searched out a meal for himself. The big man's larder was well +stocked, and although Harry King did not appear to be a western man, +he was a good camper, and could bake a corn dodger or toss a flapjack +with a fair amount of skill. As he worked, everything seemed like a +dream to him. The murmuring of the trees far up the mountain side, the +distant roar of falling water that made him feel as if a little way +off he might find the sea, filled his senses with an impression of +unseen forces at work all about him, and the peculiar clearness and +lightness of the atmosphere made him feel as if he were swaying over +the ground and barely touching his feet to the earth, instead of +walking. He might indeed be in an enchanted land, were it not for his +hunger and the reality of his still hungry horse. + +After eating, he again stretched himself on the earth and again slept +until his horse awakened him. It was well. The sun was setting in the +golden notch of the hills, and once more he set himself to the same +task of laboriously giving his horse water and tethering him where the +grass was lush and green, then preparing food for himself, then +sitting in the doorway and letting the peace of the place sink into +his soul. + +The horror of his situation when the big man found him had made no +impression, for he had mercifully been unconscious and too stupefied +with weariness to realize it. He had even no idea of how he had come +to the cabin, or from which direction. Inertly he thought over it. A +trail seemed to lead away to the southwest. He supposed he must have +come by it, but he had not. It was only the path made by his rescuer +in going to and fro between his garden patch and his cabin. + +In the loneliness and peace of the dusk he looked up and saw the dome +above filled with stars, and all things were so vast and inexplicable +that he was minded to pray. The longing and the necessity of prayer +was upon him, and he stood with arms uplifted and eyes fixed on the +stars,--then his head sank on his breast and he turned slowly into the +cabin and lay down on the bunk with his hands pressed over his eyes, +and moaned. Far into the night he lay thus, unsleeping, now and again +uttering that low moan. Toward morning he again slept until far into +the day, and thus passed the first two days of his stay. + +Strength came to him rapidly as the big man had said, and soon he was +restlessly searching the short paths all about for a way by which he +might find the plain below. He did not forget the promise which had +been exacted from him to remain, no matter how long, until the big +man's return, but he wished to discover whence he might arrive, and +perhaps journey to meet him on the way. + +The first trail he followed led him to the fall that ever roared in +his ears. He stood amazed at its height and volume, and its wonderful +beauty. It lured him and drew him again and again to the spot from +which he first viewed it. Midway of its height he stood where every +now and then a little stronger breeze carried the fine mist of the +fall in his face. Behind him lay the garden, ever watered thus by the +wind-blown spray. Smoothly the water fell over a notch worn by its +never ceasing motion in what seemed the very crest of the mountain far +above him. Smoothly it fell into the rainbow mists that lost its base +in a wonderful iridescence of shadows and quivering, never resting +lights as far below him. + +He caught his breath, and remembered the big man's words. "You missed +the trail to Higgins' Camp a long way back. It's easily done. I did it +myself once, and never undid it." He could not choose but return over +and over to that spot. A wonderful ending to a lost trail for a lost +soul. + +The next path he followed took him to a living spring, where the big +man was wont to lead his own horse to water, and from whence he led +the water to his cabin in a small flume to always drip and trickle +past his door. It was at the end of this flume that Harry King had +filled the large dipper for his horse. Now he went back and washed +that utensil carefully, and hung it beside the door. + +The next trail he followed led by a bare and more forbidding route to +the place where the big man had rescued him, and he knew it must be +the one by which he had come. A sense of what had happened came over +him terrifyingly, and he shrank from the abyss, his body quivering and +his head reeling. He would not look down into the blue depth, knowing +that if he did so, by that way his sanity would leave him, but he +crawled cautiously around the projecting cliff and wandered down the +stony trail. Now and again he called, "Whoopee! Whoopee!" but only his +own voice came back to him many times repeated. + +Again and again he called and listened, "Whoopee! Whoopee!" and was +regretful at the thought that he did not even know the name of the man +who had saved him. Could he also save the others? The wild trail drew +him and fascinated him. Each day he followed a little farther, and +morning and evening he called his lonely cry, "Whoopee! Whoopee!" and +still was answered by the echo in diminuendo of his own voice. He +tried to resist the lure of that narrow, sun-baked, and stony descent, +which he felt led to the nethermost hell of hunger and burning thirst, +but always it seemed to him as if a cry came up for help, and if it +were not that he knew himself bound by a promise, he would have taken +his horse and returned to the horror below. + +Each evening he reasoned with himself, and repeated the big man's +words for reassurance: "I'll fetch them, do you hear? I'll fetch +them," and again: "I'm the mountain. Any one I don't want here I pack +off down the trail." Perhaps he had taken them off to Higgins' Camp +instead of bringing them back with him--what then? Harry King bowed +his head at the thought. Then he understood the lure of the trail. +What then? Why, then--he would follow--follow--follow--until he found +again the woman for whom he had dared the unknown and to whom he had +given all but a few drops of water that were needed to keep him alive +long enough to find more for her. He would follow her back into that +hell below the heights. But how long should he wait? How long should +he trust the man to whom he had given his promise? + +He decided to wait a reasonable time, long enough to allow for the big +man's going, and slow returning--long enough indeed for them to use up +all the provisions he had packed down to them, and then he would break +his promise and go. In the meantime he tried to keep himself sane by +doing what he found to do. He gathered the ripe corn in the big man's +garden patch and husked it and stored it in the shed which was built +against the cabin. Then he stored the fodder in a sort of stable built +of logs, one side of which was formed by a huge bowlder, or +projecting part of the mountain itself, not far from the spring, where +evidently it had been stored in the past, and where he supposed the +man kept his horse in winter. He judged the winters must be very +severe for the care with which this shed was covered and the wind +holes stopped. And all the time he worked each day seemed a month of +days, instead of a day of hours. + +At last he felt he was justified in trying to learn the cause of the +delay at least, and he baked many cakes of yellow corn meal and +browned them well on the hearth, and roasted a side of bacon whole as +it was, and packed strips of dried venison, and filled his water flask +at the spring. After a long hunt he found empty bottles which he +wrapped round with husks and filled also with water. These he purposed +to hang at the sides of his saddle. He had carefully washed and mended +his clothing, and searching among the big man's effects, he found a +razor, dull and long unused. He sharpened and polished and stropped +it, and removed a vigorous growth of beard from his face, before a +little framed mirror. To-morrow he would take the trail down into the +horror from which he had come. + +Now it only remained for him to look well to the good yellow horse and +sleep one more night in the friendly big man's bunk, then up before +the sun and go. + +The nights were cold, and he thought he would replenish the fire on +his hearth, for he always had the feeling that at any moment they +might come wearily climbing up the trail, famished and cold. Any night +he might hear the "Halloo" of the big man's voice. In the shed where +he had piled the husked corn lay wood cut in lengths for the +fireplace, and taking a pine torch he stooped to collect a few +sticks, when, by the glare of the light he held, he saw what he had +never seen in the dim daylight of the windowless place. A heavy iron +ring lay at his feet, and as he kicked at it he discovered that it was +attached to something covered with earth beneath. + +Impelled by curiosity he thrust the torch between the logs and removed +the earth, and found a huge bin of hewn logs carefully fitted and +smoothed on the inside. The cover was not fastened, but only held in +place by the weight of stones and earth piled above it. This bin was +half filled with finely broken ore, and as he lifted it in his hands +yellow dust sifted through his fingers. + +Quivering with a strange excitement he delved deeper, lifting the +precious particles by handfuls, feeling of it, sifting it between his +fingers, and holding the torch close to the mass to catch the dull +glow of it. For a long time he knelt there, wondering at it, dreaming +over it, and feeling of it. Then he covered it all as he had found it, +and taking the wood for which he had come, he replenished the fire and +laid himself down to sleep. + +What was gold to him? What were all the riches of the earth and of the +caves of the earth? Only one thought absorbed him,--the woman whom he +had left waiting for him on the burning plain, and a haunting memory +that would never leave him--never be stilled. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +THE BIG MAN'S RETURN + + +The night was bitter cold after a day of fierce heat. Three people +climbed the long winding trail from the plains beneath, slowly, +carefully, and silently. A huge mountaineer walked ahead, leading a +lean brown horse. Seated on the horse was a woman with long, pale +face, and deeply sunken dark eyes that looked out from under arched, +dark brows with a steady gaze that never wandered from some point just +ahead of her, not as if they perceived anything beyond, but more as if +they looked backward upon some terror. + +Behind them on a sorrel horse--a horse slenderer and evidently of +better stock than the brown--rode another woman, also with dark eyes, +now heavy lidded from weariness, and pale skin, but younger and +stronger and more alert to the way they were taking. Her face was +built on different lines: a smooth, delicately modeled oval, wide at +the temples and level of brow, with heavy dark hair growing low over +the sides of the forehead, leaving the center high, and the arch of +the head perfect. Trailing along in the rear a small mule followed, +bearing a pack. + +Sometimes the big man walking in front looked back and spoke a word of +encouragement, to which the younger of the two women replied in low +tones, as if the words were spoken under her breath. + +"We'll stop and rest awhile now," he said at last, and led the horse +to one side, where a level space made it possible for them to dismount +and stretch themselves on the ground to give their weary limbs the +needed relaxation. + +The younger woman slipped to the ground and led her horse forward to +where the elder sat rigidly stiff, declining to move. + +"It is better we rest, mother. The kind man asks us." + +"Non, Amalia, non. We go on. It is best that we not wait." + +Then the daughter spoke rapidly in their own tongue, and the mother +bowed her head and allowed herself to be lifted from the saddle. Her +daughter then unrolled her blanket and, speaking still in her own +tongue, with difficulty persuaded her mother to lie down on the +mountain side, as they were directed, and the girl lay beside her, +covering her tenderly and pillowing her mother's head on her arm. The +big man led the animals farther on and sat down with his back against +a great rock, and waited. + +They lay thus until the mother slept the sleep of exhaustion; then +Amalia rose cautiously, not to awaken her, and went over to him. Her +teeth chattered with the cold, and she drew a little shawl closer +across her chest. + +"This is a very hard way--so warm in the day and so cold in the night. +It is not possible that I sleep. The cold drives me to move." + +"You ought to have put part of that blanket over yourself. It's going +to be a long pull up the mountain, and you ought to sleep a little. +Walk about a bit to warm yourself and then try again to sleep." + +"Yes. I try." + +She turned docilely and walked back and forth, then very quietly crept +under the blanket beside her mother. He watched them a while, and when +he deemed she also must be sleeping, he removed his coat and gently +laid it over the girl. By that time darkness had settled heavily over +the mountain. The horses ceased browsing among the chaparral and lay +down, and the big man stretched himself for warmth close beside his +sorrel horse, on the stony ground. Thus in the stillness they all +slept; at last, over the mountain top the moon rose. + +Higher and higher it crept up in the sky, and the stars waned before +its brilliant whiteness. The big man roused himself then, and looked +at the blanket under which the two women slept, and with a muttered +word of pity began gathering weeds and brush with which to build a +fire. It should be a very small fire, hidden by chaparral from the +plains below, and would be well stamped out and the charred place +covered with stones and brush when they left it. Soon he had steeped a +pot of coffee and fried some bacon, then he quickly put out his fire +and woke the two women. The younger sprang up, and, finding his coat +over her, took it to him and thanked him with rapid utterance. + +"Oh, you are too kind. I am sorry you have deprive yourself of your +coat to put it over me. That is why I have been so warm." + +The mother rose and shook out her skirt and glanced furtively about +her. "It is not the morning? It is the moon. That is well we go +early." She drank the coffee hurriedly and scarcely tasted the bacon +and hard biscuit. "It is no toilet we have here to make. So we go more +quickly. So is good." + +"But you must eat the food, mother. You will be stronger for the long, +hard ride. You have not here to hurry. No one follows us here." + +"Your father may be already by the camp, Amalia--to bring us +help--yes. But of those men 'rouge'--if they follow and rob us--" + +The two women spoke English out of deference to the big man, and only +dropped into their own language or into fluent French when necessity +compelled them, or they thought themselves alone. + +"Ah, but those red men, mother, they do not come here, so the kind man +told us, for now they are also kind. Sit here and eat the biscuit. I +will ask him." + +She went over to where he stood by the animals, pouring a very little +water from the cans carried by the pack mule for each one. "They'll +have to hold out on this for the day, but they may only have half of +it now," he said. + +"What shall I do?" Amalia looked with wide, distressed eyes in his +face. "She believes it yet, that my father lives and has gone to the +camp for help. She thinks we go to him,--to the camp. How can I tell +her? I cannot--I dare not." + +"Let her think what satisfies her most. We can tell her as much as is +best for her to know, a little at a time, and there will be plenty of +time to do it in. We'll be snowed up on this mountain all winter." The +young woman did not reply, but stood perfectly still, gazing off into +the moonlit wilderness. "When people get locoed this way, the only +thing is to humor them and give them a chance to rest satisfied in +something--no matter what, much,--only so they are not hectored. No +mind can get well when it is being hectored." + +"Hectored? That is to mean--tortured? Yes, I understand. It is that we +not suffer the mind to be tortured?" + +"About that, yes." + +"Thank you. I try to comfort her. But it is to lie to her? It is not a +sin, when it is for the healing?" + +"I'm not authority on that, Miss, but I know lying's a blessing +sometimes." + +"If I could make her see the marvelous beauty of this way we go, but +she will not look. Me, I can hardly breathe for the wonder--yet--I do +not forget my father is dead." + +"I'm starting you off now, because it will not be so hard on either +you or the horses to travel by night, as long as it is light enough to +see the way. Then when the sun comes out hot, we can lie by a bit, as +we did yesterday." + +"Then is no fear of the red men we met on the plains?" + +"They're not likely to follow us up here--not at this season, and now +the railroad's going through, they're attracted by that." + +"Do they never come to you, at your home?" + +"Not often. They think I'm a sort of white 'medicine man'--kind of a +hoodoo, and leave me alone." + +She looked at him with mystification in her eyes, but did not ask what +he meant, and returned to her mother. + +"I have eaten. Now we go, is not?" + +"Yes, mother. The kind man says we go on, and the red men will not +follow us." + +"Good. I have afraid of the men 'rouge.' Your father knows not fear; +only I know it." + +Soon they were mounted and traveling up the trail as before, the +little pack mule following in the rear. No breeze stirred to make the +frosty air bite more keenly, and the women rode in comparative +comfort, with their hands wrapped in their shawls to keep them warm. +They did not try to converse, or only uttered a word now and then in +their own tongue. Amalia's spirit was enrapt in the beauty around and +above and below her, so that she could not have spoken more than the +merest word for a reply had she tried. + +The moonlight brought all the immediate surroundings into sharp +relief, and the distant hills in receding gradations seemed to be +created out of molten silver touched with palest gold. Above, the +vault of the heavens was almost black, and the stars were few, but +clear. Even the stones that impeded the horses' feet seemed to be made +of silver. The depths below them seemed as vast and black as the vault +above, except for the silver bath of light that touched the tops of +the gigantic trees at the bottom of the canyon around which they were +climbing. + +The silence of this vastness was as fraught with mystery as the scene, +and was broken only by the scrambling of the horses over the stones +and their heavy breathing. Thus throughout the rest of the night they +wended steadily upward, only pausing now and then to allow the animals +to breathe, and then on. At last a thing occurred to break the +stillness and strike terror to Amalia's heart. It had occurred once +the day before when the silence was most profound. A piercing cry rent +the air, that began in a scream of terror and ended in a long-drawn +wail of despair. + +Amalia slipped from her horse and stumbled over the rough ground to +her mother's side and poured forth a stream of words in her own +tongue, and clasped her arms about the rigid form that did not bend +toward her, but only sat staring into the white night as if her eye +perceived a sight from which she could not turn away. + +"Look at me, mother. Oh, try to make her look at me!" The big man +lifted her from the horse, and she relaxed into trembling. "There, it +is gone now. Walk with me, mother;" and the two walked for a while, +holding hands, and Amalia talked unceasingly in low, soothing tones. + +After a little time longer the moon paled and the stars disappeared, +and soon the sky became overspread with the changing coloring and the +splendor of dawn. Then the sun rose out of the glory, but still they +kept on their way until the heat began to overcome them. Then they +halted where some pines and high rocks made a shelter, but this time +the big man did not build a fire. He gave them a little coffee which +he had saved for them from what he had steeped during the night, and +they ate and rested, and the mother fell quickly into the sleep of +exhaustion, as before. + +Thus during the middle of the day they rested, Amalia and the big man +sometimes sleeping and sometimes conversing quietly. + +"I don't know why mother does this. I never knew her to until +yesterday. Father never used to let her look straight ahead of her as +she does now. She has always been very brave and strong. She has done +wonderful things--but I was not there. When troubles came on my +father, I was put in a convent--I know now it was to keep me from +harm. I did not know then why I was sent away from them, for my father +was not of the religion of the good sisters at the convent,--but now +I know--it was to save me." + +"Why did troubles come on your father?" + +"What he did I do not know, but I am very sure it was nothing wrong. +In my country sometimes men have to break the law to do right; my +mother has told me so. He was in prison a long time when I was living +in the convent, sheltered and cared for,--and mother--mother was +working all alone to get him out--all alone suffering." + +"How could they keep you there if she had to work so hard?" + +"My father had a friend. He was not of our country, and he was most +kind and good. I think he was of Scotland--or maybe of Ireland; I was +so little I do not know. He saved for my mother some of her money so +the government did not get it. I think my mother gave it to him, +once--before the trouble came. Maybe she knew it would come,--anyway, +so it was. I do not know if he was Irish, or of Scotland--but he must +have been a good man." + +"Been? Is he dead?" + +"Yes. It was of a fever he died. My mother told me. He gave us his +name, and to my father his papers to leave our country, for he knew he +would die, or my father never could have got out of the country. I +never saw him but once. When I saw you, I thought of him. He was grand +and good, as are you. My mother came for me at the convent in Paris, +and in the night we went to my father, and in the morning we went to +the great ship. We said McBride, and all was well. If we had said +Manovska when we took the ship, we would have been sent back and my +father would have been killed. In the prison we would have died. It +was hard to get on the ship, but when we got to this country, nobody +cared who got off." + +"How long ago was that?" + +"It was at the time of your great war we came. My mother wore the +dress of our peasant women, and I did the same." + +"And were you quite safe in this country?" + +"For a long time we lived very quietly, and we thought we were. But +after a time some one came, and father took him in, and then others +came, and went away again, and came again--I don't know why--they did +not tell me,--but this I know. Some one had a great enmity against my +father, and at last mother took me in the night to a strange place +where we knew no one, and then we went to another place--and to still +another. It was very wearisome." + +"What was your father's business?" + +"My father had no business. He was what you call a nobleman. He had +very much land, but he was generous and gave it nearly all away to his +poor people. My father was very learned and studied much. He made much +music--very beautiful--not for money--never for that. Only after we +came to this country did he so, to live. Once he played in a great +orchestra. It was then those men found him and came so often that he +had again to go away and hide. I think they brought him papers--very +important--to be sacredly guarded until a right time should come to +reveal them." + +"And you have no knowledge why he was followed and persecuted?" + +"I was so little at the beginning I do not know. If it was that in +his religion he was different,--or if he was trying to change in +the government the laws,--for we are not of Russia,--I know that when +he gave away his land, the other noblemen were very angry with him, +and at the court--where my father was sent by his people for +reasons--there was a prince,--I think it was about my mother he hated +my father so,--but for what--that I never heard. But he had my +father imprisoned, and there in the prison they--What was that +word,--hectored? Yes. In the prison they hectored him greatly--so +greatly that never more was he straight. It was very sad." + +"I don't think we would say hectored, for that. I think we would say +tortured." + +"Oh, yes. I see. To hector is of the mind, but torture is of the body. +It is that I mean--for they were very terrible to him. My mother was +there, and they made her look at it to bring him the more quickly to +tell for her sake what he would not for his own. I think when she +looks long before her at nothing, she is seeing again the tortures of +my father, and so she cries out in that terrible way. I think so." + +"What were they trying to get out of him?" + +Amalia looked up in his face with a puzzled expression for a moment. +"Get--out--of--him?" she asked. + +"I mean, what did they want him to tell?" + +"Ah, that I know not. It was never told. If they could find him, I +think they would try again to learn of him something which he only can +tell. I think if they could find my mother, they would now try to +learn from her what my father knew, but her lips are like the grave. +At that time he had told her nothing, but since then--when we were far +out in the wilderness--I do not know. I hope my mother will never be +found. Is it a very secret place to which we go?" + +"I might call it that--yes. I've lived there for twenty years and no +white man has found me yet, until the young man, Harry King, was +pitched over the edge of eternity and only saved by a--well--a +chance--likely." + +The young woman gazed at him wide-eyed, and drew in her breath. "You +saved him." + +"If he obeyed me--I did." + +"And all the twenty years were you alone?" + +"I always had a horse." + +"But for a companion--had you never one?" + +"Never." + +"Are you, too, a good man who has done a deed against the law of your +land?" + +The big man looked off a moment, then down at her with a little smile +playing about his lips. "I never did a deed against the law of any +land that I know of, but as for the good part--that's another thing. I +may be fairly good as goodness goes." + +"Goodnessgoes!" She repeated after him as if it were one word from +which she was trying to extract a meaning. "Was it then to flee from +the wicked world that you lived all the twenty years thus alone?" + +"Hardly that, either. To tell the truth, it may be only a habit with +me." + +"Will you forgive me that I asked? It was only that to me it has been +terrible to live always in hiding and fear. I love people, and desire +greatly to have kind people near me,--but of the world where my father +and mother lived, and at the court--and of the nobles, of all these I +am afraid." + +"Yes, yes. I fancy you were." A grim look settled about his mouth, +although his eyes twinkled kindly. He marveled to think how trustingly +they accompanied him into this wilderness--but then--poor babes! What +else could they do? "You'll be safe from all the courts and nobles in +the world where I'm taking you." + +"That is why my eyes do not weep for my father. He is now gone where +none can find him but God. It is very terrible that a good man should +always hide--hide and live in fear--always--even from his own kinsmen. +I understand some of the sorrows of the world." + +"You'll forget it all up there." + +"I will try if my mother recovers." She drew in her breath with a +little quivering catch. + +"We'll wake her now, and start on. It won't do to waste daylight any +longer." Secretly he was afraid that they might be followed by +Indians, and was sorry he had made the fire in the night, but he +reasoned that he could never have brought them on without such +refreshment. Women are different from men. He could eat raw bacon and +hard-tack and go without coffee, when necessary, but to ask women to +do so was quite another thing. + +For long hours now they traveled on, even after the moon had set, in +the darkness. It was just before the dawn, where the trail wound and +doubled on itself, that the sorrel horse was startled by a small +rolling stone that had been loosened on the trail above them. +Instantly the big man halted where they were. + +"Are you brave enough to wait here a bit by your mother's horse while +I go on? That stone did not loosen itself. It may be nothing but some +little beast,--if it were a bear, the horses would have made a fuss." + +He mounted the sorrel and went forward, leaving her standing on the +trail, holding the leading strap of her mother's horse, which tossed +its head and stepped about restlessly, trying to follow. She petted +and soothed the animal and talked in low tones to her mother. Then +with beating heart she listened. Two men's voices came down to +her--one, the big man's--and the other--yes, she had heard it before. + +"It is 'Arry King, mother. Surely he has come down to meet us," she +said joyfully. She would have hurried on, but bethought herself she +would better wait as she had been directed. Soon the big man returned, +looking displeased and grim. + +"Young chap couldn't wait. He gave me his promise, but he didn't keep +it." + +"It was 'Arry King?" He made no reply, and they resumed their way as +before. "It was long to wait, and nothing to do," she pleaded, +divining his mood. + +"I had good reasons, Miss. No matter. I sent him back. No need of him +here. We'll make it before morning now, and he will have the cabin +warm and hot coffee for us, if you can stand to go on for a goodish +long pull." + +A goodish long pull it surely was, in the darkness, but the women bore +up with courage, and their guide led them safely. The horse Amalia +rode, being his own horse, knew the way well. + +"Don't try to guide him; he'll take you quite safely," he called back +to her. "Let the reins hang." And in the dusk of early morning they +safely turned the curve where Harry King had fallen, never knowing the +danger. + +Harry King, standing in the doorway of the cabin, with the firelight +bright behind him, saw them winding down the trail and hurried +forward. They were almost stupefied with fatigue. He lifted the mother +in his arms without a word and carried her into the cabin and laid her +in the bunk, which he had prepared to receive her. He greeted Amalia +with a quiet word as the big man led her in, and went out to the +horses, relieved them of their burdens, and led them away to the shed +by the spring. Soon the big man joined him, and began rubbing down the +animals. + +"I will do this. You must rest," said Harry. + +"I need none of your help," he said, not surlily, as the words might +sound, but colorlessly. + +"I needed yours when I came here--or you saved me and brought me here, +and now whatever you wish I'll do, but for to-night you must take my +help. I'm not apologizing for what I did, because I thought it right, +but--" + +"Peace, man, peace. I've lived a long time with no man to gainsay me. +I'll take what comes now and thank the Lord it's no worse. We'll leave +the cabin to the women, after I see that they have no fright about it, +and we'll sleep in the fodder. There have been worse beds." + +"I have coffee on the hearth, hot, and corn dodgers--such as we used +to make in the army. I've made them often before." + +"Turn the beasts free; there isn't room for them all in the shed, and +I'll go get a bite and join you soon." + +So Harry King did not return to the cabin that night, much as he +desired to see Amalia again, but lay down on the fodder and tried to +sleep. His heart throbbed gladly at the thought of her safety. He had +not dared to inquire after her father. Although he had seen so little +of the big man he understood his mood, and having received such great +kindness at his hands, he was truly sorry at the invasion of his +peace. Undoubtedly he did not like to have a family, gathered from the +Lord only knew where, suddenly quartered on him for none knew how +long. + +The cabin was only meant for a hermit of a man, and little suited to +women and their needs. A mixed household required more rooms. He tried +to think the matter through and to plan, but the effort brought +drowsiness, and before the big man returned he was asleep. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +A PECULIAR POSITION + + +"Well, young man, we find ourselves in what I call a peculiar +position." + +A smile that would have been sardonic, were it not for a few lines +around the corners of his eyes which belied any sinister suspicion, +spread grimly across the big man's face as he stood looking down on +Harry King in the dusk of the unlighted shed. The younger man rose +quickly from the fodder where he had slept heavily after the fatigues +of the past day and night, and stood respectfully looking into the big +man's face. + +"I--I--realize the situation. I thought about it after I turned in +here--before you came down--or up--to this--ahem--bedroom. I can take +myself off, sir. And if there were any way--of relieving you +of--the--whole--embarrassment,--I--I--would do so." + +"Everything's quiet down at the cabin. I've been there and looked +about a bit. They had need of sleep. You go back to your bunk, and +I'll take mine, and we'll talk the thing over before we see them +again. As for your taking yourself off, that remains to be seen. I'm +not crabbed, that's not the secret of my life alone,--though you might +think it. I--ahem--ahem." The big man cleared his throat and stretched +his spare frame full length on the fodder where he had slept. With his +elbow on the bed of corn stalks he lifted his head on his hand and +gazed at Harry King, not dreamily as when he first saw him, but with +covert keenness. + +"Lie down in your place--a bit--lie down. We'll talk until we've +arrived at a conclusion, and it may be a long talk, so we may as well +be comfortable." + +Harry King went back to his own bunk and lay prone, his forehead +resting on his folded arms and his face hidden. "Very well, sir; I'll +do my best. We have to accept each other for the best there is in us, +I take it. You've saved my life and the life of those two women, and +we all owe you our grat--" + +"Go to, go to. It's not of that I'm wishing to speak. Let's begin at +the beginning, or, as near the beginning as we can. I've been standing +here looking at you while you were sleeping,--and last night--I mean +early this morning when I came up here, I--with a torch I studied your +face well and long. A man betrays his true nature when he is sleeping. +The lines of what he has been thinking and feeling show then when he +cannot disguise them by smiles or words. I'm old enough to be your +father--yes--so it might have been--and with your permission I'll talk +to you straight." + +Harry King lifted his head and looked at the other, then resumed his +former position. "Thank you," was all he said. + +"You've been well bred. You're in trouble. I ask you what is your true +name and what you have done?" + +The young man did not speak. He lay still as if he had heard nothing, +but the other saw his hands clinch into knotted fists and the muscles +of his arms grow rigid. His heart beat heavily and the blood roared +in his ears. At last he lifted his head and looked back at the big man +and spoke monotonously. + +"I gave you my name--all the name I have." His face was white in the +dim light and the lids drew close over his gray eyes. + +"You prefer to lie to me? I ask in good faith." + +"All the name I have is the one I gave you, Harry King." + +"And you will hold to the lie?" They looked steadily into each other's +eyes. The young man nodded. "And there was more I asked of you." + +Then the young man turned away from the keen eyes that had held him +and sat up in the fodder and clasped his knees with his hands and +looked straight out before him, regarding nothing--nothing but his own +thoughts. A strange expression crept over his face,--was it fear--or +was it an inward terror? Suddenly he put out his hand with a frantic +gesture toward the darkest corner of the place, "It's there," he cried +in a voice scarcely above a whisper, then hid his eyes and moaned. At +the sight, the big man's face softened. + +"Lad, lad, ye're in trouble. I saved your body as it hung over the +cliff--and the Lord only knows how ye were saved. I took ye home and +laid ye in my own bunk,--and looked on your face--and there my heart +cried on the Lord for the first time in many years. I had forsworn the +company of men, and of all women,--and the faith of my fathers had +died in me,--but there, as I looked on your face--the lost years came +back. And now--ye're only Harry King. Only Harry King." + +"That's all." The young man's lips set tightly and the cords of his +neck stood out. Nothing was lost to the eyes that watched him so +intently. + +"I had a son--once. I held him in my arms--for an hour--and then left +him forever. You have a face that reminds me of one--one I hated--and +it minds me of one I--I--loved,--of one I loved better than I loved +life." + +Then Harry King turned and gazed in the big man's eyes, and as he +gazed, the withdrawn, inward look left his own. He still sat clasping +his knees. "I can more easily tell you what I have done than I can +tell you my name. I have sworn never to utter it again." He was +weeping, but he hid his tears for very shame of them. + +The older man shook his head. "I've known sorrow, boy, but the lesson +of it, never. Men say there is a thing to be learned from sorrow, but +to me it has brought only rebellion and bitterness. So I've missed +the good of it because it came upon me through arrogance and +injustice--not my own. So now I say to you--if it was at the +expense of your soul I saved your life, it were better I had let +you go down. Lad,--you've brought me a softness,--it's like what a +man feels for a woman. I'm glad it's come back to me. It is good to +feel. I'd make a son of you,--but--for the truth's sake tell me a bit +more." + +"I had a friend and I killed him. I was angry and killed him. I have +left my name in his grave." Harry King rose and walked away and stood +shivering in the entrance of the shed. Then he came back and spoke +humbly. "Do with me what you will, but call me Harry King. I have +nothing on earth but the clothes on my body, and they are in rags. If +you have work for me to do, let me do it, in mercy. If not, let me go +back to the plains and die there." + +"How long ago was this?" + +"More--more than two years ago--yes, three--perhaps." + +"And where have you been?" + +"Knocking about--hiding. For a while I had work on the road they are +building--" + +"Road? What road?" + +"The new railroad across the continent." + +"Where, young man, where?" + +"From Chicago on. They got it as far as Cheyenne, but that was the +very place of all others where they would be apt to hunt for me. I got +news of a detective hanging about the camp, and I was sure he had come +there to track me. I had my wages and my clothes, and when I found +they had traced me there, I spent all I had for my horse and took my +pack and struck out over the plains." He paused and wiped the cold +drops from his forehead, then lifted his head with gathered courage. +"One day,--I found these people, nigh starving for both water and +food, and without strength to go where they could be provided for. +They, too, were refugees, I learned, and so I cast my lot with theirs, +and served them as best I could." + +"And now they have fallen to the two of us to provide for. You say, +give you work? I've lived here these twenty years and found work for +no man but myself. I've found plenty of that--just to keep alive, part +of the time. It's bad here in the winter--if the stores give out. Tell +me what you know of these women." + +"Where is the man?" + +"Dead. I found him dead before I reached them. I left him lying where +I found him, and pushed on--got there just in time. He wasn't three +hours away from them as a man walks. I made them as comfortable as I +could and saw that no Indians were about, nor had been, they said; so +I ventured back and made a grave for him as best I could, and told the +daughter only, for the old lady seemed out of her head. I don't know +what we can do with her if she gets worse. I don't know." As the big +man talked he noticed the younger one growing calmer and listening +intently. + +"Before I buried him I searched him and found a few papers--just +letters in a strange language, and from the feeling of his coat I +judged others were hid--sewed in it, so I fetched it back to her--the +young one. You thought I was long gone, and there was where you made +the blunder. How did you suppose I came by the pack mule and the other +horse?" + +"When I saw them, I knew you must have gone to Higgins' Camp and back, +but how could I know it before? You might have been in need of me, and +of food." + +"We'll say no more of it. Those men at the camp are beasts. I bought +those animals and paid gold for them. They wanted to know where I got +the gold. I told them where they'd never get it. They asked me ten +prices for those beasts, and then tried to keep me there until they +could clean me out and get hold of my knowledge. But I skipped away in +the night when they were all drunk and asleep. Then I had to make a +long detour to put them off the track if they should try to follow me, +and all that took time." + +The big man paused to fill and light his pipe. "And what next?" asked +Harry King. + +"Except for enough food and water to last us up the trail you came, I +packed nothing back to the wagon, and so had room to bring a few of +their things up here, and there may be some of your own among +them--they said something about it. We hauled the wagon as far as a +good place to hide it, in a wash, could be found, and we covered +it--and our tracks. But there was nothing left in it but a few of +their utensils, unless the box they did not open contained something. +It was left in the wagon. That was the best I could do with only the +help of the young woman, and she was too weak to do much. It may lie +there untouched for ten years unless a rain scoops it out, and that's +not likely. + +"I showed the young woman as we came along where her father lay, and +as we came to a halt a bit farther on, she went back, while her mother +slept, and knelt there praying for an hour. I doubt any good it did +him, but it comforted her heart. It's a good religion for a woman, +where she does not have to think things out for herself, but takes a +priest's word for it all. And now they're here, and you're here, and +my home is invaded, and my peace is gone, and may the Lord help me--I +can't." + +Harry King looked at him a moment in silence. "Nor can I--help--but to +take myself off." + +"Take yourself off! And leave me alone with two women? I who have +foresworn them forever! How do you know but that they may each be +possessed by seven devils? But there! It isn't so bad. As long as they +stay you'll stay. It was through you they are here, and close on to +winter,--and if it was summer, it would be as bad to send them away +where they would have no place to stay and no way to live. Lad, the +world's hard on women. I've seen much." + +Harry King went again and stood in the open entrance of the shed and +waited. The big man saw that he had succeeded in taking the other's +mind off himself, and had led him to think of others, and now he +followed up the advantage toward confidence that he had thus gained. +He also came to the entrance and laid his kindly hand on the younger +man's shoulder, and there in the pale light of that cloudy fall +morning, standing in the cool, invigorating air, with the sound of +falling water in their ears, the two men made a compact, and the end +was this. + +"Harry King, if you'll be my son, I'll be your father. My boy would be +about your age--if he lives,--but if he does, he has been taught to +look down on me--on the very thought of me." He cast a wistful glance +at the young man's face as he spoke. "From the time I held him in my +arms, a day-old baby, I've never seen him, and it may be he has never +heard of me. He was in good hands and was given over for good reasons, +to one who hated my name and my race--and me. For love of his mother I +did this. It was all I could do for her; I would have gone down into +the grave for her. + +"I, too, have been a wanderer over the face of the earth. At first I +lived in India--in China--anywhere to be as far on the other side of +the earth from her grave and my boy, as I vowed I would, but I've kept +the memory of her sweet in my heart. You need not fear I'll ask again +for your name. Until you choose to give it I will respect your +wish,--and for the rest--speak of it when you must--but not before. I +have no more to ask. You've been well bred, as I said, and that's +enough for me. You're more than of age--I can see that--but it's my +opinion you need a father. Will you take me?" + +The young man drew in his breath sharply through quivering lips, and +made answer with averted head: "Cain! Cain and the curse of Cain! Can +I allow another to share it?" + +"Another shares it and you have no choice." + +"I will be more than a son. Sons hurt their fathers and accept all +from them and give little. You lifted me out of the abyss and brought +me back to life. You took on yourself the burden laid on me, to save +those who trusted me, knowing nothing of my crime,--and now you drag +my very soul from hell. I will do more than be your son--I will give +you the life you saved. Who are you?" + +Then the big man gave his name, making no reciprocal demand. What +mattered a name? It was the man, by whatever name, he wanted. + +"I am an Irishman by birth, and my name is Larry Kildene. If you'll go +to a little county not so far from Dublin, but to the north, you'll +find my people." + +He was looking away toward the top of the mountain as he spoke, and +was seeing his grandfather's house as he had seen it when a boy, and +so he did not see the countenance of the young man at his side. Had he +done so, he would not have missed knowing what the young man from that +moment knew, and from that moment, out of the love now awakened in his +heart for the big man, carefully concealed, giving thanks that he had +not told his name. + +For a long minute they stood thus looking away from each other, while +Harry King, by a mighty effort, gained control of his features, and +his voice. Then although white to the lips, he spoke quietly: "Harry +King--the murderer--be the son of Larry Kildene--Larry Kildene--I--to +slink away in the hills--forever to hide--" + +"No more of that. I'll show you a new life. Give me your hand, Harry +King." And the young man extended both hands in a silence through +which no words could have been heard. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +ADOPTING A FAMILY + + +As the two men walked down toward the cabin they saw Amalia standing +beside the door in the sunlight which now streamed through a rift in +the clouds, gazing up at the towering mountain and listening to the +falling water. She spied them and came swiftly to them, extending both +hands in a sweet, gracious impulsiveness, and began speaking rapidly +even before she reached them. + +"Ah! So beautiful is your home! It is so much that I would say to you +of gratitude in my heart--it is like a river flowing swiftly to tell +you--Ah! I cannot say it all--and we come and intrude ourselves upon +you thus that you have no place where to go for your own sleeping--Is +not? Yes, I know it. So must we think quickly how we may unburden you +of us--my mother and myself--only that she yet is sleeping that +strange sleep that seems still not like sleep. Let me that I serve +you, sir?" + +Larry Kildene looked on her glowing, upturned face, gathering his +slower wits for some response to her swift speech, while she turned to +the younger man, grasping his hands in the same manner and not ceasing +the flow of her utterance. + +"And you, at such severe labor and great danger, have found this noble +man, and have sent him to us--to you do we owe what never can we +pay--it is thus while we live must we always thank you in our hearts. +And to this place--so _won-n-der-ful_--Ah! Beautiful like heaven--Is +not? Yes, and the sweet sound always in the air--like heaven and the +sound of wings--to stop here even for this night is to make those +sorrowful thoughts lie still and for a while speak nothing." + +As she turned from one to the other, addressing each in turn, warm +lights flashed in her eyes through tears, like stars in a deep pool. +Her dark hair rolled back from her smooth oval forehead in heavy +coils, and over her head and knotted under her perfect chin, outlining +its curve, was a silken peasant handkerchief with a crimson border of +the richest hue, while about the neck of her colorless, closely fitted +gown was a piece of exquisite hand-wrought lace. She stood before +them, a vision from the old world, full of innate ladyhood, simple as +a peasant, at once appealing and dominating, impulsive, yet shy. Her +beautiful enunciation, her inverted and quaintly turned English, alive +with poetry, was typical of her whole personality, a sweet and strange +mixture of the high-bred aristocrat and the simple directness and +strength of the peasant. + +The two men made stumbling and embarrassed replies. That tender and +beautiful quality of chivalry toward women, belonging by nature to +undefiled manhood, was awakened in them, and as one being, not two, +they would have laid their all at her feet. This, indeed, they +literally did. The small, one-room cabin, which had so long served for +Larry Kildene's palace, was given over entirely to the two women, and +the men made their own abode in the shed where they had slept. + +This they accomplished by creating a new room, by extending the +roof-covered space Larry had used for his stable and the storing of +fodder, far enough along under the great overhanging rock to allow of +comfortable bunks, a place to walk about, and a fireplace also. The +labor involved in the making of this room was a boon to Harry King. + +Upon the old stone boat which Larry had used for a similar purpose he +hauled stones gathered from the rock ledge and built therewith a +chimney, and with the few tools in the big man's store he made seats +out of hewn logs, and a rude table. This work was left to him by the +older man purposely, while he occupied himself with the gathering in +of the garden stuff for themselves and for the animals. A matter that +troubled his good heart not a little was that of providing for the +coming winter enough food supply for his suddenly acquired family. Of +grain and fodder he thought he had enough for animals kept in +idleness, as he still had stores gathered in previous years for his +own horse. But for these women, he must not allow them to suffer the +least privation. + +It was not the question of food alone that disturbed him. At last he +laid his troubles before Harry King. + +"You know, lad, it won't be so long before the snow will be down on +us, and I'm thinking what shall we do with them when the long winter +days set in." He nodded his head toward the cabin. "It's already +getting too cold for them to sit out of doors as they do. I should +have windows in my cabin--if I could get the glass up here. They can't +live there in the darkness, with the snow banked around them, with +nothing to use their fingers on as women like to do. Now, if they had +cloth or thread--but what use had I for such things? They're not +among my stores. I did not lay out to make it a home for women. The +mother will get farther and farther astray with her dreams if she has +nothing to do such as women like." + +"I think we should ask them--or ask Amalia, she is wise. Have you +enough to keep them on--of food?" + +"Of food, yes. Such as it is. No flour, but plenty of good wheat and +corn. I always pound it up and bake it, but it is coarse fare for +women. There's plenty of game for the hunting, and easy got, but it's +something to think about we'll need, else we'll all go loony." + +"You have lived long here alone and seem sound of mind,--except for--" +Harry King smiled, "except for a certain unworldliness that would pass +for lunacy in the world below these heights." + +"Let alone, son. I've usually had my own way for these years and have +formed the habit, but I've had my times. At the best it's a sort of +lunacy that takes a man away from his fellows, especially an Irishman. +Maybe you'll discover for yourself before we part--but it's not to the +point now. I'm asking you how we can keep the mother from brooding and +the daughter happy? She's asking to be sent away to earn money for her +mother. She thinks she can take her mother with her to the nearest +place on that new railroad you tell me of, and so on to some town. I +tell her, no. And if she goes, and leaves her mother here--bless +you--what would we do with her? Why, the woman would go yonder and +jump over the cliff." + +"Oh, it would never do to listen to her. It would never do for her to +try living in a city earning her bread--not while--" Harry King paused +and turned a white, drawn face toward the mountain. Larry watched +him. "I can do nothing." He threw out his hands with a sudden downward +movement. "I, a criminal in hiding! My manhood is of no avail! My +God!" + +"Remember, lad, the women have need of you right here. I'm keeping you +on this mountain at my valuation, not yours. I have need of you, and +your past is not to intrude in this place, and when you go out in the +world again, as you will, when the right time comes, you'll know how +to meet--and face--your life--or death, as a man should. + +"Hold yourself with a firm hand, and do the work of the days as they +come. It's all the Lord gives us to do at any time. If I only had +books--now,--they would help us,--but where to get them--or how? We'll +even go and ask the women, as you advise." + +They all ate together in the little cabin, as was their habit, a meal +prepared by Amalia, and carefully set out with all the dishes the +cabin afforded: so few that there were not enough to serve all at +once, but eked out by wooden blocks, and small lace serviettes taken +from Amalia's store of linen. At noon one day Larry Kildene spoke his +anxieties for their welfare, and cleverly managed to make the theme a +gay one. + +"Where's the use in adopting a family if you don't get society out of +them? The question I ask is, when the winter shuts us in, what are we +going to do for sport--work--what you will? It's indoor sport I'm +meaning, for Harry and I have the hunting and providing in the +daytime. No, never you ask me what I was doing before you came. I was +my own master then--" + +"And now you are ours? That is good, Sir Kildene. You have to say +what to do, and me, I accept to do what you advise. Is not?" + +Amalia turned to Larry and smiled, and whenever Amalia smiled, her +mother would smile also, and nod her head as if to approve, although +she usually sat in silence. + +"Yours to command," said Larry, bowing. + +"He's master of us all, but it's yours to direct, Lady Amalia." + +"Oh, me, Mr. 'Arry. It is better for me I make for you both sufficient +to eat, so all goes well. I think I have heard men are always pleased +of much that is excellent to eat and drink." + +"Now, listen. We have only a short time before the heavy snows will +come down on us, and then there will be no chance whatever to get +supplies of any sort before spring. How far is the road completed now, +Harry?" + +"It should be well past Cheyenne by now. They must be working toward +Laramie rapidly. If--if--you think best, I will go down and get +supplies--whatever can be found there." + +"No. I have a plan. There's enough for one man to do here finishing +the jobs I have laid out, but one of us can very well be spared, and +as you have wakened me from my long sleep, and stirred my old bones to +life, and as I know best how to travel in this region, I'll take the +mule along, and go myself. I have a fancy for traveling by rail again. +You ladies make out a list of all you need, and I'll fill the order, +in so far as the stations have the articles. If I can't find the right +things at one station, I may at another, even if I go back East for +them." + +"Ah, but, Sir Kildene, it is that we have no money. If but we could +get from the wagon the great box, there have we enough of things to +give us labor for all the winter. It is the lovely lace I make. A +little of the thread I have here, but not sufficient for long. So, +too, there is my father's violin. It made me much heart pain to leave +it--for me, I play a little,--and there is also of cloth such as men +wear--not of great quantity--but enough that I can make for +you--something--a little--maybe, Mr. 'Arry he like well some good +shirt of wool--as we make for our peasant--Is not?" Harry looked down +on his worn gray shirt sleeves, then into her eyes, and on the instant +his own fell. She took it for simple embarrassment, and spoke on. + +"Yes. To go with us and help us so long and terrible a way, it has +made very torn your apparel." + +"It makes that we improve him, could we obtain the box," said the +mother, speaking for the first time that day. Her voice was so deep +and full that it was almost masculine, but her modulations were +refined and most agreeable. + +Amalia laughed for very gladness that her mother at last showed enough +interest in what was being said to speak. + +"Ah, mamma, to improve--it is to make better the mind--the heart--but +of this has Mr. 'Arry no need. Is not, Sir Kildene? I call you always +Sir as title to nobleness of character. We have, in our country, to +inherit title, but here to make it of such character. It is well, I +think so." + +Poor Larry Kildene had his own moment of embarrassment, but with her +swift appreciation of their moods she talked rapidly on, leaving the +compliment to fall as it would, and turning their thoughts to the +subject in hand. "But the box, mamma, it is heavy, and it is far down +on the terrible plain. If that you should try to obtain it, Sir +Kildene: Ah, I cannot!--Even to think of the peril is a hurt in my +heart. It must even lie there." + +"And the men 'rouge'--" + +"Yes. Of the red men--those Indian--of them I have great fear." + +"The danger from them is past, now. If the road is beyond Cheyenne, it +must have reached Laramie or nearly so, and they would hang around the +stations, picking up what they can, but the government has them in +hand as never before. They would not dare interfere with white men +anywhere near the road. I've dreamed of a railroad to connect the two +oceans, but never expected to see it in my lifetime. I've taken a +notion to go and see it--just to look at it,--to try to be reconciled +to it." + +"Reconciled? It is to like it, you mean--Sir Kildene? Is it not +_won-n-derful_--the achievement?" + +"Oh, yes, the achievement, as you say. But other things will follow, +and the plains will no longer keep men at bay. The money grabbers will +pour in, and all the scum of creation will flock toward the setting +sun. Then, too, I shall hate to see the wild animals that have their +own rights killed in unsportsmanlike manner, and annihilated, as they +are wherever men can easily reach them. Men are wasteful and bad. I've +seen things in the wild places of the earth--and in the places where +men flock together in hoards--and where they think they are most +civilized, and the result has been what you see here,--a man living +alone with a horse for companionship, and the voice of the winds and +the falling water to fill his soul. Go to. Go to." + +Larry Kildene rose and stood a moment in the cabin door, then +sauntered out in the sun, and off toward the fall. He had need to +think a while alone. His companions knew this necessity was on him, +and said nothing--only looked at each other, and took up the question +of their needs for the winter. + +"Mr. 'Arry, is it possible to reach with safety a station? I mean is +time yet to go and return before the snows? Here are no deadly wolves +as in my own country--but is much else to make dangerous the way." + +"There must be time or he would not propose it. I don't know about the +snows here." + +"I have seen that Sir Kildene drinks with most pleasure the coffee, +but is little left--or not enough for all--to drink it. My mother and +I we drink with more pleasure the tea, and of tea we ourselves have a +little. It is possible also I make of things more palatable if I have +the sugar, but is very little here. I have searched well, the foods +placed here. Is it that Sir Kildene has other places where are such +articles?" + +"All he has is in the bins against the wall yonder." + +"Here is the key he gave me, and I have look well, but is not enough +to last but for one through all the months of winter. Ah, poor man! We +have come and eat his food like the wolves of the wild country at +home, is not? I have make each day of the coffee for him, yes, a good +drink, and for you not so good--forgive,--but for me and my mother, +only to pretend, that it might last for him. It is right so. We have +gone without more than to have no coffee, and this is not privation. +To have too much is bad for the soul." + +Amalia's mother seemed to have withdrawn herself from them and +sat gazing into the smoking logs, apparently not hearing their +conversation. Harry King for the second time that day looked in +Amalia's eyes. It was a moment of forgetfulness. He had forbidden +himself this privilege except when courtesy demanded. + +"You forgive--that I put--little coffee in your drink?" + +"Forgive? Forgive?" + +He murmured questioningly as if he hardly comprehended her meaning, as +indeed he did not. His mind was going over the days since first he saw +her, toiling to gather enough sagebrush to cook a drop of tea for her +father, and striving to conceal from him that she, herself, was taking +none, and barely tasting her hard biscuit that there might be enough +to keep life in her parents. As she sat before him now, in her worn, +mended, dark dress with the wonderful lace at the throat, and her thin +hands lying on the crimson-bordered kerchief in her lap,--her fingers +playing with the fringe, he still looked in her eyes and murmured, +"Forgive?" + +"Ah, Mr. 'Arry, your mind is sleeping and has gone to dream. Listen to +me. If one goes to the plain, quickly he must go. I make with haste +this naming of things to eat. It is sad we must always eat--eat. In +heaven maybe is not so." She wandered a moment about the cabin, then +laughed for the second time. "Is no paper on which to write." + +"There is no need of paper; he'll remember. Just mention them over. +Coffee,--is there any tea beside that you have?" + +"No, but no need. I name it not." + +"Tea is light and easily brought. What else?" + +"And paper. I ask for that but for me to write my little romance of +all this--forgive--it is for occupation in the long winter. You also +must write of your experiences--perhaps--of your history of--of--You +like it not? Why, Mr. 'Arry! It is to make work for the mind. The mind +must work--work--or die. The hands--well. I make lace with the +hands--but for the mind is music--or the books--but here are no +books--good--we make them. So, paper I ask, and of crayon--Alas! It is +in the box! What to do?" + +"Listen. We'll have that box, and bring it here on the mountain. I'll +get it." + +"Ah, no! No. Will you break my heart?" She seized his arm and looked +in his eyes, her own brimming with tears. Then she flung up her arms +in her dramatic way, and covered her eyes. "I can see it all so +terrible. If you should go there and the Indian strike you dead--or +the snow come too soon and kill you with the cold--in the great drift +lying white--all the terrible hours never to see you again--Ah, no!" + +In that instant his heart leaped toward her and the blood roared in +his ears. He would have clasped her to him, but he only stood rigidly +still. "Hands off, murderer!" The words seemed shouted at him by his +own conscience. "I would rather die--than that you should not have +your box," was all he said, and left the cabin. He, too, had need to +think things out alone. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +LARRY KILDENE'S STORY + + +"Man, but this is none so bad--none so bad." + +Larry Kildene sat on a bench before a roaring fire in the room added +on to the fodder shed. The chimney which Harry King had built, +although not quite completed to its full height, was being tried for +the first time, as the night was too cold for comfort in the long, low +shed without fire, and the men had come down early this evening to +talk over their plans before Larry should start down the mountain in +the morning. They had heaped logs on the women's fire and seen that +all was right for them, and with cheerful good-nights had left them to +themselves. + +Now, as they sat by their own fire, Harry could see Amalia by hers, +seated on a low bench of stone, close to the blazing torch of pine, so +placed that its smoke would be drawn up the large chimney. It was all +the light they had for their work in the evenings, other than the +firelight. He could see her fingers moving rapidly and mechanically at +some pretty open-work pattern, and now and then grasping deftly at the +ball of fine white thread that seemed to be ever taking little leaps, +and trying to roll into the fire, or out over the cabin floor. She +used a fine, slender needle and seemed to be performing some delicate +magic with her fingers. Was she one of the three fates continually +drawing out the thread of his life and weaving therewith a charmed +web? And if so--when would she cease? + +"It's a good job and draws well." + +"The chimney? Yes, it seems to." Harry roused himself and tried to +close his mind against the warm, glowing picture. "Yes--yes. It draws +well. I'm inclined to be a bit proud, although I never could have done +it if you had not given me the lessons." + +"It's art, my boy. To build a good fireplace is just that. Did you +ever think that the whole world--and the welfare of it--centers just +around that;--the fireplace and the hearth--or what stands for it in +these days--maybe a little hole in the wall with a smudge of coal in +it, as they have in the towns--but it's the hearth and the cradle +beside it--and--the mother." + +Larry's voice died almost to a whisper, and his chin dropped on his +breast, and his eyes gazed on the burning logs; and Harry, sitting +beside him, gazed also at the same logs, but the pictures wrought in +the alchemy of their souls were very different. + +To Harry it was a sweet, oval face--a flush from the heat of the fire +more on the smooth cheek that was toward it than on the other, and +warm flame flashes in the large eyes that looked up at him from time +to time, while the slender figure bent a little forward to see the +better, as the wonderful hands kept up the never ceasing motion. A +white linen cloth spread over her lap cast a clearer, more rosy light +under her chin and brought out the strength of it and the delicate +curves of it, which Harry longed even to dare to look upon in the +rarest stolen intervals, without the clamor and outcry in his heart. +It was always the same--the cry of Cain in the wilderness. Would God +it might some day cease! What to him might be the hearth fire and the +cradle, and the mother, that the big man should dwell on them thus? +What had they meant in Larry Kildene's life, he who had lived for +twenty years the life of a hermit, and had forsworn women forever, as +he said? + +"I tell ye, lad, there's a thing I would say to you--before I leave, +but it's sore to touch upon." Harry made a deprecating gesture. "No, +it's best I tell you. I--I'll come back--never fear--it's my plan to +come back, but in this life you may count on nothing for a surety. +I've learned that, and to prove it, look at me. I made sure, never +would I open my heart again to think on my fellow beings, but as +aliens to my life, and I've lived it out for twenty years, and thought +to hold out to the end. I held the Indians at bay through their +superstitions, and they would no more dare to cross my path with +hostile intent than they would dare take their chances over that fall +above there. Where did I put my pipe? I can't seem to find things as I +did in the cabin." + +"Here it is, sir. I placed that stone further out at the end of the +chimney on purpose for it, and in this side I've left a hole for your +tobacco. I thought I was very clever doing that." + +"And we'd be fine and cozy here in the winter--if it wer'n't for the +women--a--a--now I'm blundering. I'd never turn them out if they lived +there the rest of their days. But to have a lad beside me as I might +have had--if you'd said, 'Here it is, father,' but now, it would have +have been music to me. You see, Harry, I forswore the women harder +than I did the men, and it's the longing for the son I held in my +arms an hour and then gave up, that has lived in me all these years. +The mother--gone--The son I might have had." + +"I can't say that--to you. I have a curse on me, and it will stay +until I have paid for my crime. But I'll be more to you than sons are +to their fathers. I'll be faithful to you as a dog to his master, and +love you more. I'll live for you even with the curse on me, and if +need be, I'll die for you." + +"It's enough. I'll ask you no more. Have you no curiosity to hear what +I have to tell you?" + +"I have, indeed I have. But it seems I can't ask it--unless I'm able +to return your confidence. To talk of my sorrow only deepens it. It +drives me wild." + +"You'll have it yet to learn, that nothing helps a sorrow that can't +be helped like bearing it. I don't mean to lie down under it like a +dumb beast--but just take it up and bear it. That's what you're doing +now, and sometime you'll be able to carry it, and still laugh now and +again, when it's right to laugh--and even jest, on occasion. It's been +done and done well. It's good for a man to do it. The lass down there +at the cabin is doing it--and the mother is not. She's living in the +past. Maybe she can't help it." + +"When I first came on them out there in the desert, she seemed brave +and strong. He was a poor, crippled man, with enormous vitality and a +leonine head. The two women adored him and lived only for him, and he +never knew it. He lived for an ideal and would have died for it. He +did not speak English as well as they. I used to wish I could +understand him, for he had a poet's soul, and eyes like his +daughter's. He seemed to carry some secret with him, and no doubt was +followed about the world as he thought he was. Fleeing myself, I could +not know, but from things the mother has dropped, they must have seen +terrible times together, she and her husband." + +"A wonderful deal of poetry and romance always clung to the names of +Poland and Hungary for me. When I was young, our part of the world +thrilled at the name of Kosciuszko and Kossuth. I'd give a good deal +to know what this man's secret was. All those old tales of mystery, +like 'The Man with the Iron Mask,' and stories of noblemen spirited +away to Siberia, of men locked for many years in dungeons, like the +'Prisoner of Chillon,' which fired the fancy and genius of Byron +and sent him to fight for the oppressed, used to fill my dreams." +Larry talked on as if to himself. It seemed as if it were a habit +formed when he had only himself with whom to visit, and Harry was +interested. + +"Now, to almost come upon a man of real ideals and a secret,--and just +miss it. I ought to have been out in the world doing some work worth +while--with my miserable, broken life--Boy! I knew that man McBride! I +knew him for sure. We were in college together. He left Oxford to go +to Russia, wild with the spirit of adventure and something more. He +was a dreamer--with a practical turn, too. There, no doubt, he met +these people. I judge this Manovska must have been in the diplomatic +service of Poland, from what Amalia told us. Have you any idea whether +that woman sitting there all day long rapt in her own thoughts knows +her husband's secret? Is it a thing any one now living would care to +know?" + +"Indeed, yes. They lived in terror of the prince who hounded him over +the world. The mother trusted no one, but Amalia told me--enough--all +she knows herself. I don't know if the mother has the secret or not, +but at least she guesses it. The poor man was trying to live until he +could impart his knowledge to the right ones to bring about an +upheaval that would astonish the world. It meant revolution, whatever +it was. Amalia imagines it was to place a Polish king on the throne of +Russia, but she does not know. She told me of stolen records of a +Polish descendant of Catherine II of Russia. She thinks they were +brought to her father after he came to this country." + +"If he had such knowledge or even thought he had, it was enough to set +them on his track all his life; the wonder is that he was let to live +at all." + +"The mother never mentioned it, but Amalia told me. We talked more +freely out in the desert. That remarkable woman walked at her +husband's side over all the terrible miles to Siberia, and through her +he escaped,--and of the horrors of those years she never would speak, +even to her daughter. It's not to be wondered at that her mind is +astray. It's only a wonder that she is for the most part so calm." + +"Well, the grave holds many a mystery, and what a fascination a +mystery has for humanity, savage or civilized! I've kept the Indians +at bay all this time by that means. They fear--they know not what, and +the mystery holds them. Now, for ourselves, I leave you for a little +while in charge of--the women--and of all my possessions." Larry, +gazing into the blazing logs, smiled. "You may not think so much of +them, but it's not so little now. Talk about lunacy--man, I +understand it. I've been a lunatic--for--ever since I made a find here +in this mountain." + +He paused and mused a while, and Harry's thoughts dwelt for the time +on his own find in the wing of the cabin, where the firewood was +stored. The ring and the chest--he had not forgotten them, but by no +means would he mention them. + +"You may wonder why I should tell you this, but when I'm through, +you'll know. It all came about because of a woman." Larry Kildene cast a +sidelong glance at Harry, and the glance was keen and saw more than the +younger man dreamed. "It's more often so than any other way--almost always +because of a woman. Her name may be anything--Mary--Elizabeth,--but, a +woman. This one's name was Katherine. Not like the Katherine of +Shakespeare, but the sweetest--the tenderest mother-woman the Lord ever +gave to man. I see her there in the fire. I've seen her there these many +years. Well, she was twin sister to the man who hated me. He hated +me--for why, I don't know--perhaps because he never could influence +me. He would make all who cared for him bow before his will. + +"When I first saw her, she lived in his home. He was a banker of +means,--not wholly of his own getting, but partly so. His father was a +man of thrift and saving--anyway, he came to set too much store by +money. Sometimes I think he might have been jealous of me because I +had the Oxford training, and wished me to feel that wealth was a +greater thing to have. Scotchmen think more of education than we of +Ireland. It's a good thing, of course, but I'd never have looked down +on him because he went lacking it. But for some indiscretion maybe I +would have had money, too. It was spent too lavishly on me in my +youth. But no. I had none--only the experience and the knowledge of +what it might bring. + +"Well, it came about that I came to America to gain the money I +lacked, and having learned a bit, in spite of Oxford and the schools, +of a practical nature, I took a position in his bank. All was very +well until I met her. Now there were the rosy cheeks and the dark hair +for you! She looked more like an Irish lass than a Scotch one. But +they're not so different, only that the Irish are for the most part +comelier. + +"Now this banker had a very sweet wife, and she was kind to the Irish +lad and welcomed him to her house. I'm thinking she liked me a bit--I +liked her at all events. She welcomed me to her house until she was +forbid. It was after they forbid me the house that I took to walking +with Katherine, when all thought she was at Sunday School or visiting +a neighbor, or even--at the last--when no other time could be +stolen--when they thought her in bed. We walked there by the river +that flows by the town of Leauvite." + +Again Larry Kildene paused and shot a swift glance at the young man +at his side, and noted the drawn lids and blanched face, but he kept +on. "In the moonlight we walked--lad--the ground there is holy now, +because she walked upon it. We used to go to a high bluff that +made a sheer fall to the river below--and there we used to stand and +tell each other--things we dreamed--of the life we should live +together--Ah, that life! She has spent it in heaven. I--I--have +spent the most of it here." He did not look at Harry King again. His +voice shook, but he continued. "After a time her brother got to +know about it, and he turned me from the bank, and sent her to live +with his father's sisters in Scotland. + +"Kind old ladies, but unmarried, and too old for such a lass. How +could they know the heart of a girl who loved a man? It was I who knew +that. What did her brother know--her own twin brother? Nothing, +because he could see only his own thoughts, never hers, and thought +his thoughts were enough for wife or girl. I tell you, lad, men err +greatly in that, and right there many of the troubles of life step in. +The old man, her father, had left all his money to his son, but with +the injunction that she was to be provided for, all her days, of his +bounty. It's a mean way to treat a woman--because--see? She has no +right to her thoughts, and her heart is his to dispose of where he +wills--not as she wills--and then comes the trouble. + +"I ask you, lad, if you loved a girl as fine as silk and as tender as +a flower you could crush in your hand with a touch ungentle, and you +saw one holding her with that sort of a touch,--even if it was meant +in love,--I'll not be unjust, he loved her as few love their +sisters--but he could not grasp her thus; I ask you what would you +do?" + +"If I were a true man, and had a right to my manhood, I would take +her. I'd follow her to the ends of the earth." + +"Right, my son--I did that. I took the little money I had from my +labor at the bank--all I had saved, and I went bravely to those two +old women--her aunts, and they turned me from their door. It was what +they had been enjoined to do. They said I was after the money and +without conscience or thrift. With the Scotch, often, the confusion is +natural between thrift and conscience. Ah, don't I know! If a man is +prosperous, he may hold out his hand to a maid and say 'Come,' and all +her relatives will cry 'Go,' and the marriage bells will ring. If he +is a happy Irishman with a shrunken purse, let his heart be loving and +true and open as the day, they will spurn him forth. For food and +raiment will they sell a soul, and for household gear will they clip +the wings of the little god, and set him out in the cold. + +"But the arrow had entered Katherine's heart, and I knew and bided my +time. They saw no more of me, but I knew all her goings and comings. I +found her one day on the moor, with her collie, and her cheeks had +lost their color, and her gray eyes looked in my face with their tears +held back, like twin lakes under a cloud before a storm falls. I took +her in my arms, and we kissed. The collie looked on and wagged his +tail. It was all the approval we ever got from the family, but he was +a knowing dog. + +"Well, then we walked hand in hand to a village, and it was near +nightfall, and we went straight to a magistrate and were married. I +had a little coin with me, and we stayed all night at an inn. There +was a great hurrying and scurrying all night over the moors for her, +but we knew naught of it, for we lay sleeping in each other's arms as +care free and happy as birds. If she wept a little, I comforted her. +In the morning we went to the great house where the aunts lived in the +town, and there, with her hand in mine, I told them, and the storm +broke. It was the disgrace of having been married clandestinely by a +magistrate that cut them most to the heart; and yet, what did they +think a man would do? And they cried upon her: 'We trusted you. We +trusted you.' And all the reply she made was: 'You thought I'd never +dare, but I love him.' Yes, love makes a woman's heart strong. + +"Well, then, nothing would do, but they must have in the minister and +see us properly married. After that we stayed never a night in their +house, but I took her to Ireland to my grandfather's home. It was a +terrible year in Ireland, for the poverty was great, and while my +grandfather was well-to-do, as far as that means in Ireland, it was +very little they had that year for helping the poor." Larry Kildene +glanced no more at Harry King, but looked only in the fire, where the +logs had fallen in a glowing heap. His pipe was out, but he still held +it in his hand. + +"It was little I could do. I had my education, and could repeat poems +and read Latin, but that would not feed hungry peasant children. I +went out on the land and labored with the men, and gave of my little +patrimony to keep the old folks, but it was too small for them all, so +at last I yielded to Katherine's importunities, and she wrote to her +brother for help--not for her and me, mind you. + +"It was for the poor in Ireland she wrote, and she let me read it. It +was a sweet letter, asking forgiveness for her willfulness, yet saying +she must even do the same thing again if it were to do over again. She +pleaded only for the starving in the name of Christ. She asked only if +a little of that portion which should be hers might be sent her, and +that because he was her only brother and twin, and like part of her +very self--she turned it so lovingly--I never could tell you with what +skill--but she had the way--yes. But what did it bring? + +"He was a canny, canny Scot, although brought up in America. Only for +the times when his mother would take him back to Aberdeen with my +Katherine for long visits, he never saw Scotland, but what's in the +blood holds fast through life. He was a canny Scot. It takes a time +for letters to go and come, and in those days longer than now, when in +two weeks one may reach the other side. The reply came as speedily as +those days would admit, and it was carefully considered. Ah, Peter was +a clever man to bring about his own way. Never a word did he say about +forgiveness. It was as if no breach had ever been, but one thing I +noticed that she thought must be only an omission, because of the more +important things that crowded it out. It was that never once did he +mention me any more than if I had never existed. He said he would send +her a certain sum of money--and it was a generous one, that is but +just to admit--if when she received it she would take another sum, +which he would also send, and return to them. He said his home was +hers forever if she wished, and that he loved her, and had never had +other feeling for her than love. Upon this letter came a long time of +pleading with me--and I was ever soft--with her. She won her way. + +"'We will both go, Larry, dear,' she said. 'I know he forgot to say +you might come, too. If he loves me as he says, he would not break my +heart by leaving you out.' + +"'He sends only enough for one--for you,' I said. + +"'Yes, but he thinks you have enough to come by yourself. He thinks +you would not accept it--and would not insult you by sending more.' + +"'He insults me by sending enough for you, dear. If I have it for me, +I have it for you--most of all for you, or I'm no true man. If I have +none for you--then we have none.' + +"'Larry, for love of me, let me go--for the gulf between my twin +brother and me will never be passed until I go to him.' And this was +true enough. 'I will make them love you. Hester loves you now. She +will help me.' Hester was the sweet wife of her brother. So she clung +to me, and her hands touched me and caressed me--lad, I feel them now. +I put her on the boat, and the money he sent relieved the suffering +around me, and I gave thanks with a sore heart. It was for them, our +own peasantry, and for her, I parted with her then, but as soon as I +could I sold my little holding near my grandfather's house to an +Englishman who had long wanted it, and when it was parted with, I took +the money and delayed not a day to follow her. + +"I wrote to her, telling her when and where to meet me in the little +town of Leauvite, and it was on the bluff over the river. I went to a +home I knew there--where they thought well of me--I think. In the +evening I walked up the long path, and there under the oak trees at +the top where we had been used to sit, I waited. She came to me, +walking in the golden light. It was spring. The whip-poor-wills called +and replied to each other from the woods. A mourning dove spoke to its +mate among the thick trees, low and sad, but it is only their way. I +was glad, and so were they. + +"I held her in my arms, and the river sang to us. She told me all over +again the love in her heart for me, as she used to tell it. Lad! There +is only one theme in the world that is worth telling. There is only +one song in the universe that is worth singing, and when your heart +has once sung it aright, you will never sing another. The air was soft +and sweet around us, and we stayed until a town clock struck twelve; +then I took her back, and, as she was not strong, part of the way I +carried her in my arms. I left her at her brother's door, and she went +into the shadows there, and I was left outside,--all but my heart. She +had been home so short a time--her brother was not yet reconciled, but +she said she knew he would be. For me, I vowed I would make money +enough to give her a home that would shame him for the poverty of his +own--his, which he thought the finest in the town." + +For a long time there was silence, and Larry Kildene sat with his head +drooped on his breast. At last he took up the thread where he had left +it. "Two days later I stood in the heavy parlor of that house,--I +stood there with their old portraits looking down on me, and my heart +was filled with ice--ice and fire. I took what they placed in my arms, +and it was--my--little son, but it might have been a stone. It weighed +like lead in my arms, that ached with its weight. Might I see her? No. +Was she gone? Yes. I laid the weight on the pillow held out to me for +it, and turned away. Then Hester came and laid her hand on my arm, but +my flesh was numb. I could not feel her touch. + +"'Give him to me, Larry,' she was saying. 'I will love him like my +own, and he will be a brother to my little son.' And I gave him into +her arms, although I knew even then that he would be brought up to +know nothing of his father, as if I had never lived. I gave him into +her arms because he had no mother and his father's heart had gone out +of him. I gave him into her arms, because I felt it was all I could +do to let his mother have the comfort of knowing that he was not +adrift with me--if they do know where she is. For her sake most of all +and for the lad's sake I left him there. + +"Then I knocked about the world a while, and back in Ireland I could +not stay, for the haunting thought of her. I could bide nowhere. Then +the thought took me that I would get money and take my boy back. A +longing for him grew in my heart, and it was all the thought I had, +but until I had money I would not return. I went to find a mine of +gold. Men were flying West to become rich through the finding of mines +of gold, and I joined them. I tried to reach a spot that has since +been named Higgins' Camp, for there it was rumored that gold was to be +found in plenty, and missed it. I came here, and here I stayed." + +Now the big man rose to his feet, and looked down on the younger one. +He looked kindly. Then, as if seized and shaken by a torrent of +impulses which he was trying to hold in check, he spoke tremulously +and in suppressed tones. + +"I longed for my son, but I tell you this, because there is a strange +thing which grasps a man's soul when he finds gold--as I found it. I +came to love it for its own sake. I lived here and stored it up--until +I am rich--you may not find many men so rich. I could go back and buy +that bank that was Peter Craigmile's pride--" His voice rose, but he +again suppressed it. "I could buy that pitiful little bank a hundred +times over. And she--is--gone. I tried to keep her and the remembrance +of her in my mind above the gold, but it was like a lunacy upon me. At +the last--until I found you there on the verge of death--the gold was +always first in my mind, and the triumph of having it. I came to +glory in it, and I worked day after day, and often in the night by +torches, and all I gathered I hid, and when I was too weary to work, I +sat and handled it and felt it fall through my fingers. + +"A woman in England--Miss Evans, by name, only she writes under the +name of a man, George Eliot--has written a tale of a poor weaver who +came to love his little horde of gold as if it were alive and human. +It's a strong tale, that. A good one. Well, I came to understand what +the poor little weaver felt. Summer and winter, day and night, week +days and Sundays--and I was brought up to keep the Sunday like a +Christian should--all were the same to me, just one long period for +the getting together of gold. After a time I even forgot what I wanted +the gold for in the first place, and thought only of getting it, more +and more and more. + +"This is a confession, lad. I tremble to think what would have been on +my soul had I done what I first thought of doing when that horse of +yours called me. He was calling for you--no doubt, but the call came +from heaven itself for me, and the temptation came. It was, to stay +where I was and know nothing. I might have done that, too, if it were +not for the selfish reasons that flashed through my mind, even as the +temptation seized it. It was that there might be those below who were +climbing to my home--to find me out and take from me my gold. I knew +there were prospectors all over, seeking for what I had found, and how +could I dare stay in my cabin and be traced by a stray horse wandering +to my door? Three coldblooded, selfish murders would now be resting on +my soul. It's no use for a man to shut his eyes and say 'I didn't +know.' It's his business to know. When you speak of the 'Curse of +Cain,' think what I might be bearing now, and remember, if a man +repents of his act, there's mercy for him. So I was taught, and so I +believe. + +"When I looked in your face, lying there in my bunk, then I knew that +mercy had been shown me, and for this, here is the thing I mean to do. +It is to show my gold and the mine from which it came to you--" + +"No, no! I can't bear it. I must not know." Harry King threw up his +hands as if in fright and rose, trembling in every limb. + +"Man, what ails you?" + +"Don't. Don't put temptation in my way that I may not be strong enough +to resist." + +"I say, what ails you? It's a good thing, rightly used. It may help +you to a way out of your trouble. If I never return--I will, mind +you,--but we never know--if not, my life will surely not have been +spent for naught. You, now, are all I have on earth besides the gold. +It was to have been my son's, and it is yours. It might as well have +been left in the heart of the mountain, else." + +"Better. The longer I think on it, the more I see that there is no +hope for me, no true repentance,--" Again that expression on Harry +King's face filled Larry's heart with deep pity. An inward terror +seemed to convulse his features and throw a pallor as of age and years +of sorrow into his visage. Then he continued, after a moment of +self-mastery: "No true repentance for me but to go back and take the +punishment. For this winter I will live here in peace, and do for +Madam Manovska and her daughter what I can, and anything I can do for +you,--then I must return and give myself up. The gold only holds out +a worldly hope to me, and makes what I must do seem harder. I am +afraid of it." + +"I'll make you a promise that if I return I'll not let you have it, +but that it shall be turned to some good work. If I do not return, it +will rest on your conscience that before you make your confession, you +shall see it well placed for a charity. You'll have to find the +charity, I can't say what it should be offhand now, but come with me. +I must tell some man living my secret, and you're the only one. +Besides--I trust you. Surely I do." + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +THE MINE--AND THE DEPARTURE + + +Larry Kildene went around behind the stall where he kept his own horse +and returned with a hollow tube of burnt clay about a foot long. Into +this he thrust a pine knot heavy with pitch, and, carrying a bunch of +matches in his hand, he led the way back of the fodder. + +"I made these clay handles for my torches myself. They are my +invention, and I am quite proud of them. You can hold this burning +knot until it is quite consumed, and that's a convenience." He stooped +and crept under the fodder, and then Harry King saw why he kept more +there than his horse could eat, and never let the store run low. It +was to conceal the opening of a long, low passage that might at first +be taken for a natural cave under the projecting mass of rock above +them, which formed one side and part of the roof of the shed. +Quivering with excitement, although sad at heart, Harry King followed +his guide, who went rapidly forward, talking and explaining as he +went. Under his feet the way was rough and made frequent turns, and +for the most part seemed to climb upward. + +"There you see it. I discovered a vein of ore back there at the place +we entered, and assayed it and found it rich, and see how I worked +it out! Here it seemed to end, and then I was still sane enough to +think I had enough gold for my life; I left the digging for a +while, and went to find my boy. I learned that he was living and had +gone into the army with his cousin, and I knew we would be of little +use to each other then, but reasoned that the time was to come when +the war would be over, and then he would have to find a place for +himself, and his father's gold would help. However it was--I saw I +must wait. Sit here a bit on this ledge, I want to tell you, but not +in self-justification, mind you, not that. + +"I had been in India, and had had my fill of wars and fighting. I +had no mind to it. I went off and bought stores and seed, and +thought I would make more of my garden and not show myself again in +Leauvite until my boy was back. It was in my thought, if the lad +survived the army, to send for him and give him gold to hold his +head above--well--to start him in life, and let him know his +father,--but when I returned, the great madness came on me. + +"I had built the shed and stabled my horse there, and purposely +located my cabin below. The trail up here from the plain is a blind +one, because of the wash from the hills at times, and I didn't fear +much from white men,--still I concealed my tracks like this. Gold +often turns men into devils." + +He was silent for a time, and Harry King wondered much why he had made +no further effort to find his son before making to himself the offer +he had, but he dared not question him, and preferred to let Larry take +his own way of telling what he would. As if divining his thought Larry +said quietly: "Something held me back from going down again to find my +son. The way is long, and in the old way of traveling over the plains +it would take a year or more to make the journey and return here, and +somehow a superstition seized me that my boy would set out sometime to +find me, and I would make the way easy for him to do it. And here on +the mountain the years slip by like a long sleep." + +He began moving the torch about to show the walls of the cave in which +they sat, and as he did so he threw the light strongly on the young +man's face, and scrutinized it sharply. He saw again that terrible +look of sadness as if his soul were dying within him. He saw great +drops of sweat on his brow, and his eyes narrowed and fixed, and he +hurried on with the narrative. He could not bear the sight. + +"Now here, look how this hole widens out? Here was where I prospected +about to find the vein again, and there is where I took it up. All +this overhead is full of gold. Think what it would mean if a man had +the right apparatus for getting it out--I mean separating it! I only +took what was free; that is, what could be easily freed from the +quartz. Sometimes I found it in fine nuggets, and then I would go +wild, and work until I was so weak I could hardly crawl back to the +entrance. I often lay down here and slept with fatigue before I could +get back and cook my supper." + +As they went on a strange roaring seemed gradually to fill the +passage, and Harry spoke for the first time since they had entered. He +feared the sound of his own voice, as though if he began to speak, he +might scream out, or reveal something he was determined to hide. He +thought the roaring sound might be in his own ears from the surging of +blood in his veins and the tumultuous beating of his heart. + +"What is it I hear? Is my head right?" + +"The roaring? Yes, you're all right. I thought when I was working +here and slowly burrowing farther and farther that it might be the +lack of air, and tried to contrive some way of getting it from the +outside. I thought all the time that I was working farther into the +mountain, and that I would have to stop or die here like a rat in a +hole. But you just wait. You'll be surprised in a minute." + +Then Harry laughed, and the laugh, unexpected to himself, woke him +from the trancelike feeling that possessed him, and he walked more +steadily. "I've been being more surprised each minute. Am I in +Aladdin's cave--or whose is it?" + +"Only mine. Just one more turn here and then--! It was not in the +night I came here, and it was not all at once, as you are coming--hold +on! Let me go in front of you. The hole was made gradually, until, one +morning about ten o'clock, a great mass of rock--gold bearing, I tell +you--rich in nuggets--I was crazed to lose it--fell out into space, +and there I stood on the very verge of eternity." + +They rounded the turn as he talked, and Larry Kildene stood forward +under the stars and waved the torch over his head and held Harry back +from the edge with his other hand. The air over their heads was sweet +and pure and cold, and full of the roar of falling water. They could +see it in a long, vast ribbon of luminous whiteness against the black +abyss--moving--and waving--coming out from nothingness far above them, +and reaching down to the nethermost depths--in that weird gloom of +night--into nothingness again. + +Harry stepped back, and back, into the hole from which they had +emerged, and watched his companion stand holding the torch, which lit +his features with a deep red light until he looked as if he might be +the very alchemist of gold--red gold--and turning all he looked upon +into the metal which closes around men's hearts. The red light flashed +on the white ribbon of water, and this way and that, as he waved it +around, on the sides of the passage behind him, turning each point of +projecting rock into red gold. + +"Do you know where we are? No. We're right under the fall--right +behind it. No one can ever see this hole from the outside. It is as +completely hidden as if the hand of the Almighty were stretched over +it. The rush of this body of water always in front of it keeps the air +in the passage always pure. It's wonderful--wonderful!" + +He turned to look at Harry, and saw a wild man crouched in the +darkness of the passage, glaring, and preparing to leap. He seized and +shook him. "What ails you, man? Hold on. Hold on. Keep your head, I +say. There! I've got you. Turn about. Now! It's over now. That's +enough. It won't come again." + +Harry moaned. "Oh, let me go. Let me get away from it." + +The big man still gripped him and held him with his face toward the +darkness. "Tell me what you see," he commanded. + +Still Harry moaned, and sank upon his knees. "Lord, forgive, +forgive!" + +"Tell me what you see," Larry still commanded. He would try to break +up this vision seeing. + +"God! It is the eye. It follows me. It is gone." He heaved a great +sigh of relief, but still remained upon his knees, quivering and weak. +"Did you see it? You must have seen it." + +"I saw nothing, and you saw nothing. It's in your brain, and your +brain is sick. You must heal it. You must stop it. Stand now, and +conquer it." + +Harry stood, shivering. "I wanted to end it. It would have been so +easy, and all over so soon," he murmured. + +"And you would die a coward, and so add one more crime to the first. +You'd shirk a duty, and desert those who need you. You'd leave me in +the lurch, and those women dependent on me--wake up--" + +"I'm awake. Let's go away." Harry put his hand to his forehead and +wiped away the cold drops that stood out like glistening beads of +blood in the red light of the torch. + +Larry grieved for him, in spite of the harshness of his words and +tone, and taking him by the elbow, he led him kindly back into the +passage. + +"Don't trouble about me now," Harry said at last. "You've given me a +thought to clutch to--if you really do need me--if I could believe +it." + +"Well, you may! Didn't you say you'd do for me more than sons do +for their fathers? I ask you to do just that for me. Live for me. It's +a hard thing to ask of you, for, as you say, the other would be +easier, but it's a coward's way. Don't let it tempt you. Stand to +your guns like a man, and if the time comes and you can't see things +differently, go back and make your confession and die the death--as +a brave man should. Meantime, live to some purpose and do it +cheerfully." Larry paused. His words sank in, as he meant they should. +He guided Harry slowly back to the place from which they had diverged, +his arm across the younger man's shoulder. + +"Now I've more to show you. When I saw what I had done, I set myself +to find another vein, and see this large room? I groveled all about +here, this way and that. A year of this, see. It took patience, and in +the meantime I went out into the world--as far as San Francisco, and +wasted a year or more; then back I came. + +"I tell you there is a lure in the gold, and the mountains are powers +of peace to a man. It seemed there was no other place where I could +rest in peace of mind. The longing for my son was on me,--but the war +still raged, and I had no mind for that,--yet I was glad my boy was +taking his part in the world out of which I had dropped. For one thing +it seemed as if he were more my own than if he lived in Leauvite on +the banker's bounty. I would not go back there and meet the contempt +of Peter Craigmile, for he never could forget that I had taken his +sister out of hand, and she gone--man--it was all too sad. How did I +know how my son had been taught to think on me? I could not go back +when I would. + +"His name was Richard--my boy's. If he came alive from the army I do +not know,--See? Here is where I found another vein, and I have +followed it on there to the end of this other branch of the passage, +and not exhausted it yet. Here's maybe another twenty years' work for +some man. Now, wasn't it a great work for one man alone, to tunnel +through that rock to the fall? No one man needs all that wealth. I've +often thought of Ireland and the poverty we left there. If I had my +boy to hearten me, I could do something for them now. We'll go back +and sleep, for it's the trail for me to-morrow, and to go and come +quickly, before the snow falls. Come!" + +They returned in silence to the shed. The torch had burned well down +into the clay handle, and Larry Kildene extinguished the last sparks +before they crept through the fodder to their room in the shed. The +fire of logs was almost out, and the place growing cold. + +"You'll find the gold in a strong box made of hewn logs, buried in the +ground underneath the wood in the addition to the cabin. There's no +need to go to it yet, not until you need money. I'll show you how I +prepare it for use, in the morning. I do it in the room I made there +near the fall. It's the most secret place a man ever had for such +work." + +Larry stretched himself in his bunk and was soon sleeping soundly. Not +so the younger man. He could not compose himself after the excitement +of the evening. He tossed and turned until morning found him weary and +worn, but with his troubled mind more at rest than it had been for +many months. He had fought out his battle, at least for the time +being, and was at peace. + +Harry King rose and went out into the cold morning air and was +refreshed. He brought in a large handful of pine cones and made a +roaring fire in the chimney he had built, before Larry roused himself. +Then he, too, went out and surveyed the sky with practiced eye. + +"Clear and cool--that argues well for me. If it were warm, now, I'd +hardly like to start. Sometimes the snow holds off for weeks in this +weather." + +They stood in the pallid light of the early morning an hour before the +sun, and the wind lifted Larry's hair and flapped his shirt sleeves +about his arms. It was a tingling, sharp breeze, and when they +returned to the cave, where they went for Harry's lesson in smelting, +the old man's cheeks were ruddy. + +The sun had barely risen when the lesson was over, and they descended +for breakfast. Amalia had all ready for them, and greeted Larry from +the doorway. + +"Good morning, Sir Kildene. You start soon. I have many good things to +eat all prepare to put in your bag, and when you sit to your dinner on +the long way, it is that you must think of Amalia and know that she +says a prayer to the sweet Christ, that he send his good angels to +watch over you all the way you go. A prayer to follow you all the way +is good, is not?" Amalia's frank and untrammeled way of referring to +Divinity always precipitated a shyness on Larry,--a shyness that +showed itself in smiles and stammering. + +"Good--good--yes. Good, maybe so." Harry had turned back to bring down +Larry's horse and pack mule. "Now, while we eat,--Harry will be down +soon, we won't wait for him,--while we eat, let me go over the things +I'm to find for you down below. I must learn the list well by heart, +or you may send me back for the things I've missed bringing." + +As they talked Amalia took from her wrist a heavy bracelet of gold, +and from a small leather bag hidden in her clothing, a brooch of +emeralds, quaintly set and very precious. Her mother sat in one of her +trancelike moods, apparently seeing nothing around her, and Amalia +took Larry to one side and spoke in low tones. + +"Sir Kildene, I have thought much, and at last it seems to me right to +part with these. It is little that we have--and no money, only these. +What they are worth I have no knowledge. Mother may know, but to her I +say nothing. They are a memory of the days when my father was noble +and lived at the court. If you can sell them--it is that this brooch +should bring much money--my father has told me. It was saved for my +dowry, with a few other jewels of less worth. I have no need of dowry. +It is that I never will marry. Until my mother is gone I can well care +for her with the lace I make,--and then--" + +"Lass, I can't take these. I have no knowledge of their worth--or--" +He knew he was saying what was not true, for he knew well the value of +what she laid so trustingly in his palm, and his hand quivered under +the shining jewels. He cleared his throat and began again. "I say, I +can't take jewels so valuable over the trail and run the risk of +losing them. Never! Put them by as before." + +"But how can I ask of you the things I wish? I have no money to return +for them, and none for all you have done for my mother and me. Please, +Sir Kildene, take of this, then, only enough to buy for our need. It +is little to take. Do not be hard with me." She pleaded sweetly, +placing one hand under his great one, and the other over the jewels, +holding them pressed to his palm. "Will you go away and leave my heart +heavy?" + +"Look here, now--" Again he cleared his throat. "You put them by until +I come back, and then--" + +But she would not, and tying them in her handkerchief, she thrust them +in the pocket of his flannel shirt. + +"There! It is not safe in such a place. Be sure you take care, Sir +Kildene. I have many thoughts in my mind. It is not all the money of +these you will need now, and of the rest I may take my mother to a +large city, where are people who understand the fine lace. There I may +sell enough to keep us well. But of money will I need first a little +to get us there. It is well for me, you take these--see? Is not?" + +"No, it is not well." He spoke gruffly in his effort to overcome his +emotion. "Where under heaven can I sell these?" + +"You go not to the great city?" she asked sadly. "How must we then so +long intrude us upon you! It is very sad." She clasped her hands and +looked in his eyes, her own brimming with tears; then he turned away. +Tears in a woman's eyes! He could not stand it. + +"See here. I'll tell you what I'll do. If that railroad is through +anywhere--so--so--I can reach San Francisco--" He thought he knew that +to be an impossibility, and that she would be satisfied. "I say--if +it's where I can reach San Francisco, I'll see what can be done." He +cleared his throat a great many times, and stood awkwardly, hardly +daring to move with the precious jewels in his pocket. "See here. +They'll joggle out of here. Can't you--" + +She turned on him radiantly. "You may have my bag of leather. In that +will they be safe." + +She removed the string from her neck and by it pulled the small +embossed case from her bosom, shook out the few rings and unset stones +left in it, and returned the larger jewels to it, and gave it into his +hand, still warm from its soft resting place. At the same moment Harry +arrived, leading the animals. He lifted his head courageously and his +eyes shone as with an inspiration. + +"Will you let me accompany you a bit of the way, sir? I'd like to go." +Larry accepted gladly. He knew then what he would do with Amalia's +dowry. "Then I'll bring Goldbug. Thank you, Amalia, yes. I'll drink my +coffee now, and eat as I ride." He ran back for his horse and soon +returned, and then drank his coffee and snatched a bite, while Amalia +and Larry slung the bags of food and the water on the mule and made +all ready for the start. As he ate, he tried to arouse and encourage +the mother, but she remained stolid until they were in the saddle, +when she rose and followed them a few steps, and said in her deep +voice: "Yes, I ask a thing. You will find Paul, my 'usband. Tell him +to come to me--it is best--no more,--I cannot in English." Then +turning to her daughter she spoke volubly in her own tongue, and waved +her hand imperiously toward the men. + +"Yes, mamma. I tell all you say." Amalia took a step away from the +door, and her mother returned to her seat by the fire. + +"It is so sad. My mother thinks my father is returned to our own +country and that you go there. She thinks you are our friend Sir +McBride in disguise, and that you go to help my father. She fears you +will be taken and sent to Siberia, and says tell my father it is +enough. He must no more try to save our fatherland: that our noblemen +are full of ingratitude, and that he must return to her and live +hereafter in peace." + +"Let be so. It's a saving hallucination. Tell her if I find your +father, I will surely deliver the message." And the two men rode away +up the trail, conversing earnestly. + +Larry Kildene explained to Harry about the jewels, and turned them +over to his keeping. "I had to take them, you see. You hide them in +that chamber I showed you, along with the gold bars. Hang it around +your neck, man, until you get back. It has rested on her bosom, and +if I were a young man like you, that fact alone would make it sacred +to me. It's her dowry, she said. I'd sooner part with my right hand +than take it from her." + +"So would I." Harry took the case tenderly, and hid it as directed, +and went on to ask the favor he had accompanied Larry to ask. It was +that he might go down and bring the box from the wagon. + +"Early this morning, before I woke you, I led the brown horse you +brought the mother up the mountain on out toward the trail; we'll find +him over the ridge, all packed ready, and when I ran back for my +horse, I left a letter written in charcoal on the hearth there in the +shed--Amalia will be sure to go there and find it, if I don't return +now--telling her what I'm after and that I'll only be gone a few days. +She's brave, and can get along without us." Larry did not reply at +once, and Harry continued. + +"It will only take us a day and a half to reach it, and with your +help, a sling can be made of the canvas top of the wagon, and the two +animals can 'tote it' as the darkies down South say. I can walk back +up the trail, or even ride one of the horses. We'll take the tongue +and the reach from the wagon and make a sort of affair to hang to the +beasts, I know how it can be done. There may not be much of value in +the box, but then--there may be. I see Amalia wishes it of all things, +and that's enough for--us." + +Thus it came that the two women were alone for five days. Madam +Manovska did not seem to heed the absence of the two men at first, and +waited in a contentment she had not shown before. It would seem that, +as Larry had said, there was saving in her hallucination, but Amalia +was troubled by it. + +"Mother is so sure they will bring my father back," she thought. She +tried to forestall any such catastrophe as she feared by explaining +that they might not find her father or he might not return, even if he +got her message, not surely, for he had always done what he thought +his duty before anything else, and he might think it his duty to stay +where he could find something to do. + +When Harry King did not return that night, Amalia did as he had +laughingly suggested to her, when he left, "You'll find a letter out +in the shed," was all he said. So she went up to the shed, and there +she lighted a torch, and kneeling on the stones of the wide hearth, +she read what he had written for her. + + "To the Lady Amalia Manovska: + + "Mr. Kildene will help me get your box. It will not be hard, for + the two of us, and after it is drawn out and loaded I can get up + with it myself and he can go on. I will soon be with you again, + never fear. Do not be afraid of Indians. If there were any danger, + I would not leave you. There is no way by which they would be + likely to reach you except by the trail on which we go, and we + will know if they are about before they can possibly get up the + trail. I have seen you brave on the plains, and you will be as + brave on the mountain top. Good-by for a few days. + + "Yours to serve you, + "Harry King." + +The tears ran fast down her cheeks as she read. "Oh, why did I speak +of it--why? He may be killed. He may die of this attempt." She threw +the torch from her into the fireplace, and clasping her hands began to +pray, first in English her own words, then the prayers for those in +peril which she had learned in the convent. Then, lying on her face, +she prayed frantically in her own tongue for Harry's safety. At last, +comforted a little, she took up the torch and, flushed and tearful, +walked down in the darkness to the cabin and crept into bed. + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +ALONE ON THE MOUNTAIN + + +For the first two days of Harry King's absence Madam Manovska relapsed +into a more profound melancholy, and the care of her mother took up +Amalia's time and thoughts so completely as to give her little for +indulging her own anxiety for Harry's safety. Strangely, she felt no +fear for themselves, although they were thus alone on the mountain +top. She had a sense of security there which she had never felt in the +years since she had been taken from the convent to share her parents' +wanderings. She made an earnest effort to divert and arouse her mother +and succeeded until Madam Manovska talked much and volubly in Polish, +and revealed more of the thoughts that possessed her in the long hours +of brooding than she had ever told Amalia before. It seemed that she +confidently expected the return of the men with her husband, and that +the message she had sent by Larry Kildene would surely bring him. The +thought excited her greatly, and Amalia found it necessary to keep +continual watch lest she wander off down the trail in the direction +they had taken, and be lost. + +For a time Amalia tried to prevent Madam Manovska from dwelling on the +past, until she became convinced that to do so was not well, since it +only induced the fits of brooding. She then decided to encourage her +mother to speak freely of her memories, rather than to keep them +locked in her own mind. It was in one of these intervals of +talkativeness that Amalia learned the cause of that strange cry that +had so pierced her heart and startled her on the trail. + +They had gone out for a walk, as the only means of inducing her mother +to sleep was to let her walk in the clear air until so weary as to +bring her to the point of exhaustion. This time they went farther than +Amalia really intended, and had left the paths immediately about the +cabin, and climbed higher up the mountain. Here there was no trail and +the way was rough indeed, but Madam Manovska was in one of her most +wayward moods and insisted on going higher and farther. + +Her strength was remarkable, but it seemed to be strength of will +rather than of body, for all at once she sank down, unable to go +forward or to return. Amalia led her to the shade of a great gnarled +tree, a species of fir, and made her lie down on a bed of stiff, +coarse moss, and there she pillowed her mother's head on her lap. +Whether it was something in the situation in which she found herself +or not, her mother began to tell her of a time about which she had +hitherto kept silent. It was of the long march through heat and cold, +over the wildest ways of the earth to Siberia, at her husband's side. + +She told how she had persisted in going with him, even at the cost of +dressing in the garb of the exiles from the prisons and pretending to +be one of the condemned. Only one of the officers knew her secret, who +for reasons of humanity--or for some other feeling--kept silence. She +carried her child in her arms, a boy, five months old, and was allowed +to walk at her husband's side instead of following on with the other +women. She told how they carried a few things on their backs, and how +one and another of the men would take the little one at intervals to +help her, and how long the marches were when the summer was on the +wane and they wished to make as much distance as possible before they +were delayed by storms and snow. + +Then she told how the storms came at last, and how her baby fell ill, +and cried and cried--all the time--and how they walked in deep snow, +until one and another fell by the way and never walked farther. She +told how some of the weaker ones were finally left behind, because +they could get on faster without them, but that the place where they +were left was a terrible one under a cruel man, and that her child +would surely have died there before the winter was over, and that when +she persisted in keeping on with her husband, they beat her, but at +last consented on condition that she would leave her baby boy. Then +how she appealed to the officer who knew well who she was and that she +was not one of the condemned, but had followed her husband for love, +and to intercede for him when he would have been ill-treated; and that +the man had allowed her to have her way, but later had demanded as his +reward for yielding to her, that she no longer belong to her husband, +but to him. + +Looking off at the far ranges of mountains with steady gaze, she told +of the mountains they had crossed, and the rushing, terrible rivers; +and how, one day, the officer who had been kind only that he might be +more cruel, had determined to force her to obedience, and how he grew +very angry--so angry that when they had come to a trail that was +well-nigh impassable, winding around the side of a mountain, where was +a fearful rushing river far below them, and her baby cried in her +arms for cold and hunger, how he had snatched the child from her and +hurled it over the precipice into the swift water, and how she had +shrieked and struck him and was crazed and remembered no more for +days, except to call continually on God to send down curses on that +officer's head. She told how after that they were held at a certain +station for a long time, but that she was allowed to stay by her +husband only because the officer feared the terrible curses she had +asked of God to descend on that man, that he dared no more touch her. + +Then Amalia understood many things better than ever before, and grew +if possible more tender of her mother. She thought how all during that +awful time she had been safe and sheltered in the convent, and her +life guarded; and moreover, she understood why her father had always +treated her mother as if she were higher than the angels and with the +courtesy and gentleness of a knight errant. He had bowed to her +slightest wish, and no wonder her mother thought that when he received +her request to return to her, and give up his hope, he would surely +come to her. + +More than ever Amalia feared the days to come if she could in no way +convince her mother that it was not expedient for her father to return +yet. To say again that he was dead she dared not, even if she could +persuade Madam Manovska to believe it; for it seemed to her in that +event that her mother would give up all interest in life, and die of a +broken heart. But from the first she had not accepted the thought of +her husband's death, and held stubbornly to the belief that he had +joined Harry King to find help. He had, indeed, wandered away from +them a few hours after the young man's departure and had been unable +to find his way back, and, until Larry Kildene came to them, they had +comforted themselves that the two men were together. + +Much more Madam Manovska told her daughter that day, before she slept; +and Amalia questioned her more closely than she had ever done +concerning her father's faith. Thereafter she sat for a long time on +the bank of coarse moss and pondered, with her mother's head pillowed +on her lap. The sun reached the hour of noon, and still the mother +slept and the daughter would not waken her. + +She took from the small velvet bag she always carried with her, a +crisp cake of corn meal and ate to satisfy her sharp hunger, for the +keen air and the long climb gave her the appetite belonging to the +vigorous health which was hers. They had climbed that part of the +mountain directly behind the cabin, and from the secluded spot where +they sat she could look down on it and on the paths leading to it; +thankful and happy that at last they were where all was so safe, no +fear of intrusion entered her mind. Even her first anxiety about the +Indians she had dismissed. + +Now, as her eyes wandered absently over the far distance and dropped +to the nearer hills, and on down to the cabin and the patch of +cultivated ground, what was her horror to see three figures stealing +with swift, gliding tread toward the fodder shed from above, where was +no trail, only such rough and wild hillside as that by which she and +her mother had climbed. The men seemed to be carrying something slung +between them on a pole. With long, gliding steps they walked in single +file as she had seen the Indians walk on the plains. + +She drew in her breath sharply and clasped her hands in supplication. +Had those men seen them? Devoutly she prayed that they might not look +up toward the heights where she and her mother sat. As they continued +to descend she lost sight of them among the pines and the undergrowth +which was more vigorous near the fall, and then they appeared again +and went into the cabin. She thought they must have been in the fodder +shed when she lost sight of them, and now she waited breathlessly to +see them emerge from the cabin. For an hour she sat thus, straining +her eyes lest she miss seeing them when they came forth, and fearing +lest her mother waken. Then she saw smoke issuing from the cabin +chimney, and her heart stopped its beating. What! Were they preparing +to stay there? How could her mother endure the cold of the mountain +all night? + +Then she began to consider how she might protect her mother after the +sun had gone from the cold that would envelop them. Reasoning that as +long as the Indians stayed in the cabin they could not be seen by +them, she looked about for some projecting ledge under which they +might creep for the night. Gently she lifted her mother's head and +placed it on her own folded shawl, and, with an eye ever on the cabin +below, she crept further up the side of the mountain until she found a +place where a huge rock, warmed by the sun, projected far out, and +left a hollow beneath, into which they might creep. Frantically she +tore off twigs of the scrubby pines around them, and made a fragrant +bed of pine needles and moss on which to rest. Then she woke her +mother. + +Sane and practical on all subjects but the one, Madam Manovska roused +herself to meet this new difficulty with the old courage, and climbed +with Amalia's help to their wild resting place without a word of +complaint. There she sat looking out over the magnificent scene +before her with her great brooding eyes, and ate the coarse corn cake +Amalia put in her hands. + +She talked, always in Polish or in French, of the men "rouge," and +said she did not wonder they came to so good a place to rest, and that +she would give thanks to the great God that she and her daughter were +on the mountain when they arrived. She reminded Amalia that if she had +consented to return when her daughter wished, they would now have been +in the cabin with those terrible men, and said that she had been +inspired of God to stay long on the mountain. Contentedly, then, she +munched her cake, and remarked that water would give comfort in the +eating of it, but she smiled and made the best of the dry food. Then +she prayed that her husband might be detained until the men were +gone. + +Amalia gave her mother the water that was left in the bottle she had +brought with her, and lamented that she had saved so little for her. +"It was so bad, not to save more for my mamma," she cried, giving the +bottle with its lowered contents into her mother's hand. "I go to +watch, mamma mine. Soon will I return." + +Amalia went back to her point of vantage, where she could see all +about the cabin and shed. Still the smoke poured from the chimney, and +there was no sign of red men without. It was a mountain sheep they had +carried, slung between them, and now they dressed and cooked a portion +of it, and were gorging themselves comfortably before the fire, with +many grunts of satisfaction at the finding of the formidable owner of +the premises absent. They were on their way to Laramie to trade and +sell game, and it was their intention to leave a portion of their +mutton with Larry Kildene; for never did they dare venture near him +without bringing a propitiatory offering. + +The sun had set and the cold mists were blowing across from the fall +and closing around the cabin like a veil of amethystine dye, when +Amalia saw them moving about the cabin door as if preparing to depart. +Her heart rose, and she signaled her mother, but no. They went indoors +again, and she saw them no more. In truth they had disputed long as to +whether it was best to leave before the big man's return, or to remain +in their comfortable quarters and start early, before day. It was the +conference that drew them out, and they had made ready to start at a +moment's notice if he should return in the night. But as the darkness +crept on and Larry Kildene did not appear they stretched themselves +before the fire and slept, and the two women on the mountain, hungry +and cold, crept under the mother's cloak and lay long into the night, +shivering and listening, couched on the pine twigs Amalia had spread +under the ledge of rock. At last, clasped in each other's arms, they +slept, in spite of fear and cold, for very weariness. + +Amalia woke next morning to the low murmuring of a voice. It was her +mother, kneeling in the pine needles, praying at her side. She waited +until the prayer was ended, then she rose and went out from the +sheltered hollow where they lay. "I will look a little, mamma. Wait +for me." + +She gazed down on the cabin, but all was still. The amethystine veil +had not lifted, and no smoke came from the chimney. She crept back to +her mother's side, and they sat close for warmth, and waited. When the +sun rose and the clouds melted away, all the earth smiled up at them, +and their fears seemed to melt away with the clouds. Still they did +not venture out where they thought they might be spied from below, and +time passed while they watched earnestly for the sight of moving +figures, and still no smoke appeared from the cabin. + +Higher and higher the sun climbed in the sky, yet they could not bring +themselves to return. Hunger pressed them, and Amalia begged her +mother to let her go a little nearer to listen, but she would not. So +they discussed together in their own tongue and neither would allow +the other to venture below, and still no smoke issued from the +chimney. + +At last Amalia started and pressed her hand to her heart. What did she +see far along on the trail toward the desert? Surely, a man with two +animals, climbing toward the turn. Her eyes danced for gladness as she +turned a flushed face toward her mother. + +"Look, mamma! Far on,--no--there! It is--mamma mine--it is 'Arry +King!" The mere sight of him made her break out in English. "It is +that I must go to him and tell him of the Indian in the cabin before +he arrive. If he come on them there, and they kill him! Oh, let me go +quickly." At the thought of him, and the danger he might meet, all her +fears of the men "rouge" returned upon her, and she was gone, passing +with incredible swiftness over the rough way, to try to intercept him +before he could reach the cabin. + +But she need not have feared, for the Indians were long gone. Before +daybreak they had passed Harry where he rested in the deep dusk of the +morning, without knowing he was near. With swift, silent steps they +had passed down the trail, taking as much of Larry Kildene's corn as +they could carry, and leaving the bloody pelt of the sheep and a very +meager share of the mutton in exchange. Hungry and footsore, yet eager +and glad to have come home successfully, Harry King walked forward, +leading his good yellow horse, his eyes fixed on the cabin, and +wondering not a little; for he, too, saw that no smoke was issuing +from the chimney. + +He hastened, and all Amalia's swiftness could not bring her to him +before he reached his goal. He saw first the bloody pelt hanging +beside the door, and his heart stood still. Those two women never +could have done that! Where were they? He dropped the leading strap, +leaving the weary horses where they stood, and ran forward to enter +the cabin and see the evidence of Indians all about. There were the +clean-picked bones of their feast and the dirt from their feet on +Amalia's carefully kept floor. The disorder smote him, and he ran out +again in the sun. Looking this way and that, he called and listened +and called again. Why did no answer reach him? Poor Amalia! In her +haste she had turned her foot and now, fainting with pain, and with +fear for him, she could not find her voice to reply. + +He thought he heard a low cry. Was it she? He ran again, and now he +saw her, high above him, a dark heap on the ground. Quickly he was by +her side, and, kneeling, he gathered her in his arms. He forgot all +but that she was living and that he held her, and he kissed her white +face and her lips, and said all the tender things in his heart. He did +not know what he was saying. He only knew that he could feel her heart +beat, and that she was opening her eyes, and that with quivering arms +she clasped his neck, and that her tears wet his cheek, and that, over +and over, her lips were repeating his name. + +"'Arry--'Arry King! You are come back. Ah, 'Arry King, my heart cry +with the great gladness they have not killed you." + +All in the same instant he bethought himself that he must not caress +her thus. Yet filled with a gladness he could not fathom he still +clung to her and still murmured the words he meant never to speak to +her. One thing he could do. One thing sweet and right to do. He could +carry her to the cabin. How could she reach it else? His heart leaped +that he had at least that right. + +"No, 'Arry King. You have walk the long, hard way, and are very +weary." But still he carried her. + +"Put me down, 'Arry King." Then he obeyed her, and set her gently +down. "I am too great a burden. See, thus? If you help me a little--it +is that I may hop--It is better, is not?" + +She smiled in his face, but he only stooped and lifted her again in +his arms. "You are not a burden, Amalia. Put your arms around my neck, +and lean on me." + +She obeyed him, and he could say no more for the beating of his heart. +Carefully and slowly he made his way, setting his feet cautiously +among the stones that obstructed his path. Madam Manovska from her +heights above saw how her daughter was being carried, and, guessing +the trouble, snatched up the velvet bag Amalia had dropped in her +haste, flung her cloak about her, and began to thread her way down, +slowly and carefully; for, as she said to herself, "We must not both +break the bones at one time." + +To Harry it seemed no sound was ever sweeter than Amalia's low voice +as she coaxed him brokenly to set her down and allow her to walk. + +"This is great foolishness, 'Arry King, that you carry me. Put me down +that you rest a little." + +"I can't, Amalia." + +"You have walk all the long trail--I saw you walk--and lead those +horse, for only to bring our box. How my heart can thank you is not +possible. 'Arry King, you are so weary--put me down." + +"I can't, Amalia," again was all he said. So he held her, comforting +his heart that he had this right, until he drew near the cabin, and +there Amalia saw the pelt of the sheep hung upon the wall of the +cabin, pitifully dangling, bloody and ragged. Strangely, at the sight +quite harmless, yet gruesome, all her fortitude gave way. With a cry +of terror she hid her face and clung to him. + +"No, no. I cannot go there--not near it--no!" + +"Oh, you brave, sweet woman! It is only a skin. Don't look at it, +then. You have been frightened. I see how you have suffered. Wait. +There--no, don't put your foot to the ground. Sit on this hillock +while I take it away." + +But she only clung to him the more, and sobbed convulsively. "I am +afraid--'Arry King. Oh, if--if--they are there still! Those Indian! Do +not go there." + +"But they are gone; I have been in and they are not there. I won't +take you into that place until I have made it fit for you again. Sit +here awhile. Amalia Manovska,--I can't see you weep." So tenderly he +spoke her name, with quivering lips, reverently. With all his power he +held himself and would dare no more. If only once more he might touch +her lips with his--only once in his renunciation--but no. His +conscience forbade him. Memory closed upon him like a deadening cloud +and drenched his hurt soul with sorrow. He rose from stooping above +her and looked back. + +"Your mother is coming. She will be here in a moment and then I will +set that room in order for you, and--" his voice shook so that he was +obliged to pause. He stooped again to her and spoke softly: "Amalia +Manovska, stop weeping. Your tears fall on my heart." + +"Ah, what have happen, to you--to Amalia--? Those terrible men +'rouge'!" cried Madam Manovska, hurrying forward. + +"Oh, Madam, I am glad you have come. The Indians are gone, never fear. +Amalia has hurt her foot. It is very painful. You will know what to do +for her, and I will leave her while I make things more comfortable in +there." + +He left them and ran to the cabin, and hastily taking the hideous pelt +from the wall, hid it, and then set himself to cleaning the room and +burning the litter of bones and scraps left from the feast. It was +horrible--yes, horrible, that they should have had such a fright, and +alone there. Soon he went back, and again taking her in his arms, +unresisted now, he laid her on the bunk, then knelt and removed her +worn shoe. + +"Little worn shoe! It has walked many a mile, has it not? Did you +think to ask Larry Kildene to bring you new ones?" + +"No, I forgot my feet." She laughed, and the spell of tears was +broken. The long strain of anxiety and fear and then the sudden +release had been too much. Moreover, she was faint with hunger. +Without explanation Harry King understood. He looked to the mother for +help and saw that a change had come over her. Roused from her apathy +she was preparing food, and looking from her to Amalia, they exchanged +a glance of mutual relief. + +"How it is beautiful to see her!" Amalia spoke low. "It is my hurt +that is good for her mind. I am glad of the hurt." + +He sat with the shoe in his hand. "Will you let me bind your ankle, +Amalia? It will grow worse unless something is done quickly." He spoke +humbly, as one beseeching a favor. + +"Now it is already better, you have remove the shoe." How he loved her +quaint, rapid speech! "Mamma will bind it, for you have to do for +those horse and the mule. I know--I have seen--to take them to drink +and eat, and take from them the load--the burden. It is the box--for +that have you risk your life, and the gladness we feel to again have +it is--is only one greater--and that is to have you again with us. Oh, +what a sorrow and terror--if you had not come--I can never make you +know. When I see those Indian come walking after each other so as they +go--my heart cease to beat--and my body become like the ice--for the +fear. When fearing for myself, it is bad, but when for another it is +much--much--more terrible. So have I found it." + +Her mother came then to attend to her hurt, interrupting Amalia's flow +of speech, and Harry went out to the animals, full of care and +misgiving. What now could he do? How endure the days to come with +their torture of repression? How shield her from himself and his +love--when she so freely gave? What middle course was possible, +without making her suffer? + +That afternoon all the events of his journey were told to them as they +questioned him keenly, and he learned by little words and looks +exchanged between them how great had been their anxiety for him, and +of their night of terror on the mountain. But now that it was past and +they were all unhurt except for Amalia's accident, they made light of +it. He dragged in the box, and before he left them that night he +prepared Larry's gun, and told Amalia to let nothing frighten her. + +"Don't leave the bunk, nor put your foot to the ground. Fire the gun +at the slightest disturbance, and I will surely hear. I have another +in the shed. Or I will roll myself in my blanket, and sleep outside +your door. Yes, I will do that." + +Then the mother turned on him and spoke in her deep tones: "Go to your +bed, 'Arry King, and sleep well. You have need. We asked of the good +God your safety, and our fear is gone. Good night." + +"Good-night." + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +THE VIOLIN + + +While Amalia lay recovering from the sprained ankle, which proved to +be a serious hurt, Madam Manovska continued to improve. She took up +the duties which had before occupied Amalia only, and seemed to grow +more cheerful. Still she remained convinced that Larry Kildene would +return with her husband, and her daughter's anxiety as to what might +be the outcome, when the big man should arrive alone, deepened. + +Harry King guardedly and tenderly watched over the two women. Every +day he carried Amalia out in the sun to a sheltered place, where she +might sit and work at the fascinating lace with which her fingers +seemed to be only playing, yet which developed into webs of most +intricate design, even while her eyes were not fixed upon it, but were +glancing about at whatever interested her, or up in his face, as she +talked to him impulsively in her fluent, inverted English. + +Amalia was not guarded; she was lavish with her interest in all he +said, and in her quick, responsive, and poetic play of fancy--ardent +and glowing--glad to give out from her soul its best to this man who +had befriended her father in their utmost need and who had saved her +own and her mother's life. She knew always when a cloud gathered over +his spirit, and made it her duty to dispel such mists of some +possible sad memory by turning his thoughts to whatever of beauty she +found around them, or in the inspiration of her own rich nature. + +To avoid disquieting her by the studied guardedness of his manner, +Harry employed himself as much of the time as possible away from the +cabin, often in providing game for the winter. Larry Kildene had +instructed him how to cure and dry the meat and to store it and also +how to care for the skins, but because of the effect of that sight of +the bloody sheep's pelt on Amalia, he never showed her a poor little +dead creature, or the skin of one. He brought her mother whatever they +required of food, carefully prepared, and that was all. + +He constructed a chair for her and threw over it furs from Larry +Kildene's store, making it soft and comfortable thereby. He made also +a footstool for the hurt ankle to rest upon, and found a beautiful +lynx skin with which to cover her feet. The back of the chair he made +high, and hinged it with leather to the seat, arranging it so that by +means of pegs it might be raised or lowered. Without lumber, and with +the most simple tools, he sawed and hewed the logs, and lacking nails +he set it together with pegs, but what matter? It was comfortable, and +in the making of it he eased his heart by expressing his love without +sorrowful betrayal. + +Amalia laughed as she sat in it, one day, close to the open door, +because the air was too pinching cold for her to be out. She laughed +as she put her hands in the soft fur and drew her fingers through it, +and looked up in Harry's face. + +"You are thinking me so foolish, yes, to have about me the skins of +poor little killed beasts? Yet I weeped all those tears on your coat +because to see the other--yes,--hanging beside the door. It is so we +are--is not?" + +"I'm glad enough you're not consistent. It would be a blot on your +character." + +"But for why, Mr. 'Arry?" + +"Oh, I couldn't stand it." + +Again she laughed. "How it is very peculiar--that reason you give. Not +to stand it! Could you then to sit it?" But Harry only laughed and +looked away from her. She laid her face against the soft fur. "Good +little animals--to give me your life. But some time you would +die--perhaps with sorrow of hunger and age, and the life be for +nothing. This is better." + +"There you're right. Let me draw you back in the room and close the +door. It will freeze to-night, I'm thinking." + +"Oh, not yet, please! I have yet to see the gloryful sky of the west. +Last evening how it was beautiful! To-night it will be more lovely to +look upon for the long line of little cloud there on which the red of +the sun will burn like fire in the heaven over the mountain." + +"You must enjoy the beauty, Amalia, and then pray that there may be no +snow. It looks like it, and we want the snow to hold off until Larry +comes back." + +"We pray, always, my mamma and I. She that he come back quickly, and +me--I pray that he come back safely--but to be soon--it is such terror +to me." + +"Larry will find a way out of the difficulty. He will have an excuse +all thought out for your mother. I am more anxious about the snow with +a sunset sky like that, but I don't know anything about this region." + +"Mr. 'Arry, so very clever you are in making things, can you help me +to one more thing? I like very much to have the sticks for lame +walking,--what you call--the crutch? Yes. I have for so long time +spoken only the Polish that I forget me greatly the English. You must +talk to me much, and make me reproof of my mistakes. Do you know for +why I like the crutch? It is that I would go each day--many times to +see the water fall down. Ah, how that is beautiful! In the sun, or +early in the morning, or in the night, always beautiful!" + +"You shall have the crutches, Amalia, and until I get them made, I +will carry you to the fall each day. Come, I will take you there now. +I will wrap these furs around you, and you shall see the fall in the +evening light." + +"No, 'Arry King. To-morrow I will try to ride on the horse if you will +lift me up on him. I will let you do this. But you may not carry me as +you have done. I am now so strong. You may make me the crutch, yes." +Of all things he wished her to let him carry her to the fall, but her +refusal was final, and he set about making the crutches immediately. + +Through the evening he worked on them, and at nightfall the next day +he brought them to her. As he came down from his shed, carrying the +crutches proudly, he heard sweet, quavering tones in the air wafted +intermittently. The wind was still, and through the evening hush the +tones strengthened as he drew nearer the cabin, until they seemed to +wrap him in a net of interwoven cadences and fine-spun threads of +quivering melody--a net of sound, inclosing his spirit in its +intricate mesh of sweetness. + +He paused and breathed deeply, and turned this way and that, as if he +would escape but found no way; then he walked slowly on. At the door +of the cabin he paused again. The firelight shone through from +underneath, and a fine thread of golden light sifted through the latch +of the door and fell on the hand that held Amalia's crutches. He +looked down on the spot of light dancing over his hand as if he were +dazed by it. Very gently he laid the crutches across the threshold, +and for a long time stood without, listening, his head bowed as if he +were praying. + +It was her father's violin, the one she had wept at leaving behind +her. What was she playing? Strange, old-world melodies they seemed, +tossed into the air, now laughing, now wailing like sorrowing women +voices. Oh, the violin in her hands! Oh, the rapture of hearing it, as +her soul vibrated through it and called to him--called to him!--But he +would not hear the call. He turned sorrowfully and went down again to +the shed and there he lay upon his face and clasped his hands above +his head and whispered her name. It was as if his heart were beating +itself against prison walls and the clasped hands were stained with +blood. + +He rose next morning, haggard and pale. The snow was +falling--falling--softly and silently. It fell like lead upon his +heart, so full of anxiety was he for the good friend who might even +then be climbing up the trail. Madam Manovska observed his drawn face, +and thought he suffered only from anxiety and tried to comfort him. +Amalia also attempted to cover her own anxiety by assurances that the +good St. Christopher who watches over travelers would protect Larry +Kildene, because he knew so well how many dangers there were, and that +he, who had carried the Christ with all his burden of sorrows could +surely keep "Sir Kildene" even through the snows of winter. In spite +of an inherent and trained disbelief in all supposed legends, +especially as tenets of faith, Harry felt himself comforted by her +talk, yet he could not forbear questioning her as to her own faith in +them. + +"Do you truly believe all that, Amalia?" + +"All--that--? Of what--Mr. 'Arry?" She seemed truly mystified. + +"I mean those childish legends of the saints you often quote?" + +Amalia laughed. "You think I have learn them of the good sisters in my +convent, and is no truth in them?" + +"Why--I guess that's about it. Did your father believe them?" + +"Maybe no. But my father was 'devoue'--very--but he had a very wide +thought of God and man--a thought reaching far out--to--I find it very +hard to explain. If but you understood the French, I could tell +you--but for me, I have my father's faith and it makes me glad to play +in my heart with these legends--as you call them." + +He gave her a quick, appealing glance, then turned his gaze away. "Try +to explain. Your English is beautiful." + +"If you eat your breakfast, then will I try." + +"Yes, yes, I will. You say he had faith reaching far out--to where--to +what?" + +"He said there would never be rest in all the universe until we find +everywhere God,--living--creating--moving forever in the--the--all." +She held out her hands and extended her arms in an encompassing +movement indescribably full of grace. + +"You mean he was a pantheist?" + +"Oh, no, no. That is to you a horror, I see, but it was not that." +She laughed again, so merrily that Harry laughed, too. But still he +persisted, "Amalia--never mind what your father thought; tell me your +own faith." + +Then she grew grave, "My faith is--just--God. In the all. +Seeing--feeling--knowing--with us--for us--never away--in the deep +night of sorrow--understanding. In the far wilderness--hearing. In the +terror and remorse of the heart--when we weep for sin--loving. It is +only one thing in all the world to learn, and that is to learn all +things, just to reach out the mind, and touch God--to find his love in +the heart and so always live in the perfect music of God. That is the +wonderful harmony--and melody--and growth--of each little soul--and of +all peoples, all worlds,--Oh, it is the universe of love God gives to +us." + +For a while they were silent, and Madam Manovska began to move about +the cabin, setting the things in order. She did not seem to have taken +any interest in their talk. Harry rose to go, but first he looked in +Amalia's eyes. + +"The perfect Music of God?" He said the words slowly and questioningly. + +"You understand my meaning?" + +"I can't say. Do you?" + +She quickly snatched up her violin which lay within reach of her arm. +"I can better show you." She drew a long chord, then from it wandered +into a melody, sweet and delicate; then she drew other chords, and on +into other melodies, all related; then she began to talk again. "It is +only on two strings I am playing--for hear? the others are now souls +out of the music of God--listen--" she drew her bow across the +discordant strings. "How that is terrible! So God creates great and +beautiful laws--" she went back into the harmony and perfect melody, +and played on, now changing to the discordant strain, and back, as she +talked--"and gives to all people power to understand, but not through +weakness--but through longing and searching with big earnestness of +purpose, and much desire. Who has no care and desire for the music of +God, strikes always those wrong notes, and all suffer as our ears +suffer with the bad sounds. So it is, through long desiring, and +living, always a little and a little more perceiving, reaching out the +hand to touch in love our brothers and sisters on the earth,--always +with patience learning to find in our own souls the note that strikes +in harmony with the great thought of God--and thus we understand and +live in the music of God. Ah, it is hard for me to say it--but it is +as if our souls are given wings--wings--that reach--from the gold of +the sun--even to the earth at our feet, and we float upon that great +harmony of love like upon a wonderful upbearing sea, and never can we +sink, and ever all is well--for we live in the thought of God." + +"Amalia--Amalia--How about sin, and the one who--kills--and the ones +who hate--and the little children brought into the world in sin--" +Harry's voice trembled, and he bowed his head in his hands. + +"Never is anything lost. They are the ones who have not yet +learned--they have not found the key to God's music. Those who find +must quickly help and give and teach the little children--the little +children find so easily the key--but to all the strings making +horrible discord on the earth--we dare not shut our ears and hide--so +do the sweet, good sisters in the convent. They do their little to +teach the little children, but it is always to shut their ears. But +the Christ went out in the world, not with hands over his ears, but +outreached to his brothers and sisters on the earth. But my father--my +father! He turned away from the church, because he saw they had not +found the true key to God's music--or I mean they kept it always hid, +and covered with much--how shall I say--with much drapery--and golden +coverings, that the truth--that is the key--was lost to sight. It was +for this my father quarreled with--all that he thought not the truth. +He believed to set his people free both from the world's oppression +and from their own ignorance, and give to them a truth uncovered. Oh, +it set his old friends in great discord more than ever--for they could +not make thus God's music. And so they rose up and threw him in +prison, and all the terrible things came upon him--of the world. My +mother must have been very able through love to drag him free from +them, even if they did pursue. It was the conflict of discord he felt +all his life, and now he is free." + +Suddenly the mother's deep tones sounded through the cabin with a +finality that made them both start. "Yes. Now he is free--and yet will +he bring them to--know. We wait for him here. No more must he go to +Poland. It is not the will of God." + +Still Harry was not satisfied. "But if you think all these great +thoughts--and you do--I can't see how you can quote those legends as +if you thought them true." + +"I quote them, yes, because I love them, and their poetry. Through all +beauty--all sweetness--all strength--God brings to us his thought. +This I believe. I believe the saints lived and were holy and good, +loving the great brotherhood. Why may not they be given the work of +love still to do? It is all in the music of God, that they live, and +make happy, and why should I believe that it is now taken from them to +do good? Much that I think lies deep in my heart, and I cannot tell it +in words." + +"Nor can I. But my thoughts--" For an instant Amalia, looking at him, +saw in his face the same look of inward fear--or rather of despair +that had appalled Larry, but it went as quickly as it appeared, and +she wondered afterward if she had really seen it, or if it was a +strange trick of the firelight in the windowless cabin. + +"And your thoughts, Mr. 'Arry?" + +"They are not to be told." Again he rose to go, and stood and looked +down on her, smiling. "I see you have already tried the crutches." + +"Yes. I found them in the snow, before the door. How I got there? I +did hop. It was as if the good angels had come in the night. I wake +and something make me all glad--and I go to the door to look at the +whiteness, and then I am sorry, because of Sir Kildene, then I see +before me--while that I stand on one foot, and hop--hop--hop--so, I +see the crutch lie in the snow. Oh, Mr. 'Arry, now so pale you are! It +is that you have worked in the night to make them--Is not? That is +sorrowful to me. But now will I do for you pleasant things, because I +can move to do them on these, where before I must always sit +still--still--Ah, how that is hard to do! One good thing comes to me +of this hurt. It makes the old shoes to last longer. How is it never +to wear out shoes? Never to walk in them." + +Harry laughed. "We'll have to make you some moccasins." + +"And what is moccasins? Ah, yes, the Indian shoe. I like them well, so +soft they must be, and so pretty with the beads. I have seen once such +shoes on one little Indian child. Her mother made them." + +Then Harry made her try the crutches to be sure they were quite right, +and, seeing that they were a little too long, he measured them with +care, and carried them back to the shed, and there he shortened them +and polished them with sand and a piece of flint, until he succeeded +in making a very workmanlike job of them. + +At noon he brought them back, and stood in the doorway a moment beside +her, looking out through the whiteness upon the transformed world. In +spite of what that snow might mean to Larry Kildene, and through him +to them, of calamity, maybe death, a certain elation possessed Harry. +His body was braced to unusual energy by the keen, pure air, and his +spirit enthralled and lifted to unconscious adoration by the vast +mystery of a beauty, subtle and ethereal in its hushed eloquence. From +the zenith through whiteness to whiteness the flakes sifted from the +sky like a filmy bride's veil thrown over the blue of the farthest and +highest peaks, and swaying soft folds of lucent whiteness upon the +earth--the trees--and upon the cabin, and as they stood there, closing +them in together--the very center of mystery, their own souls. Again +the passion swept through him, to gather her in his arms, and he held +himself sternly and stiffly against it, and would have said something +simple and common to break the spell, but he only faltered and looked +down on his hands spread out before her, and what he said was: "Do you +see blood on them?" + +"Ah, no. Did you hurt your hand to cause blood on them, and to make +those crutch for me?" she cried in consternation. + +"No, no. It's nothing. I have not hurt my hand. See, there's no blood +on the crutches." He glanced at them as she leaned her weight on them +there at his side, with a feeling of relief. It seemed as if they must +show a stain, yet why should it be blood? "Come in. It's too cold for +you to stand in the door with no shawl. I mean to put enough wood in +here to last you the rest of the day--and go--" + +"Mr. 'Arry! Not to leave us? No, it is no need you go--for why?" + +Her terror touched him. "No, I would not go again and leave you and +your mother alone--not to save my soul. As you say, there is no +need--as long as it is so still and the clouds are thin the snow will +do little harm. It would be the driving, fine snow and the drifts that +would delay him." + +"Yes, snow as we have it in the terrible Russia. I know such snow +well," said Madam Manovska. + +They went in and closed the door, and sat down to eat. The meal was +lighted only by the dancing flames from the hearth, and their faces +glowed in the fitful light. Always the meals were conducted with a +certain stately ceremony which made the lack of dishes, other than the +shaped slabs of wood sawn from the ends of logs--odd make-shifts +invented by Harry, seem merely an accident of the moment, while the +bits of lace-edged linen that Amalia provided from their little store +seemed quite in harmony with the air of grace and gentleness that +surrounded the two women. It was as if they were using a service of +silver and Sevres, and to have missed the graciousness of their +ministrations, now that he had lived for a little while with them, +would have been sorrow indeed. + +He even forgot that he was clothed in rags, and wore them as if they +were the faultless garments of a prince. It was only when he was alone +that he looked down on them and sighed. One day he had come to the +cabin to ask if he might take for a little while a needle and thread, +but when he got there, the conversation wandered to discussion of the +writers and the tragedies of the various nations and of their poets, +and the needle and thread were forgotten. + +To-day, as the snow fell, it reminded Amalia of his need, and she +begged him to stay with them a little to see what the box he had +rescued for them contained. He yielded, and, taking up the violin, he +held it a moment to his chin as if he would play, then laid it down +again without drawing the bow across it. + +"Ah, Mr. 'Arry, it is that you play," cried Amalia, in delight. "I +know it. No man takes in his hand the violin thus, if he do not +play." + +"I had a friend once who played. No, I can't." He turned away from it +sadly, and she gently laid it back in its box, and caught up a piece +of heavy material. + +"Look. It is a little of this left. It is for you. My mother has much +skill to make garments. Let us sew for you the blouse." + +"Yes, I'll do that gladly. I have no other way to keep myself decent +before you." + +"What would you have? All must serve or we die." Madam Manovska spoke, +"It is well, Sir 'Arry King, you carry your head like one prince, for +I will make of you one peasant in this blouse." + +The two women laughed and measured him, and conferred volubly together +in their own tongue, and he went out from their presence feeling that +no prince had ever been so honored. They took also from their store +warm socks of wool and gave him. Sadly he needed them, as he realized +when he stepped out from their door, and the soft snow closed around +his feet, chilling them with the cold. + +As he looked up in the sky he saw the clouds were breaking, and the +sun glowed through them like a great pale gold moon, even though the +flakes continued to veil thinly the distance. His heart lightened and +he went back to the cabin to tell them the good news, and to ask them +to pray for clear skies to-morrow. Having been reared in a rigidly +puritanic school of thought, the time was, when first he knew them, +that the freedom with which Amalia spoke of the Deity, and of the +Christ, and the saints, and her prayers, fell strangely upon his +unaccustomed ears. He was reserved religiously, and seemed to think +any mention of such topics should be made with bated breath, and the +utmost solemnity. Often it had been in his mind to ask her concerning +her beliefs, but his shyness on such themes had prevented. + +Now that he had asked her he still wondered. He was used to feel that +no one could be really devout, and yet speak so freely. Why--he could +not have told. But now he began to understand, yet it was but a +beginning. Could it be that she belonged to no church? Was it some +sect of which he had never heard to which they belonged? If so, it +must be a true faith, or it never could have upheld them through all +their wanderings and afflictions, and, as he pondered, he found +himself filled with a measure of the same trustful peace. During +their flight across the plains together he had come to rest in them, +and when his heart was too heavy to dare address the Deity in his own +words, it was balm to his hurt spirit to hear them at their devotions +as if thus God were drawn nearer him. + +This time, whether he might lay it to their prayers or no, his hopes +were fulfilled. The evening brought a clear sunset, and during the +next day the snow melted and soon was gone, and a breeze sprang up and +the clouds drifted away, and for several days thereafter the weather +continued clear and dry. + +Now often he brought his horse to the door, and lifted Amalia to the +saddle and walked at her side, fearing she might rest her foot too +firmly in the stirrup and so lose control of the horse in her pain. +Always their way took them to the falls. And always he listened while +Amalia talked. He allowed himself only the most meager liberty of +expression. Distant and cold his manner often seemed to her, but +intuitively she respected his moods, if moods they might be called: +she suspected not. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +THE BEAST ON THE TRAIL + + +A week after the first snowfall Larry Kildene returned. He had +lingered long after he should have taken the trail and had gone +farther than he had dreamed of going when he parted from his three +companions on the mountain top. All day long the snow had been +falling, and for the last few miles he had found it almost impossible +to crawl upward. Fortunately there had been no wind, and the snow lay +as it had fallen, covering the trail so completely that only Larry +Kildene himself could have kept it--he and his horse--yet not impeding +his progress with drifts to be tunneled through. + +Harry King had been growing more and more uneasy during the day, and +had kept the trail from the cabin to the turn of the cliff clear of +snow, but below that point he did not think it wise to go: he could +not, indeed. There, however, he stationed himself to wait through the +night, and just beyond the turn he built a fire, thinking it might +send a light into the darkness to greet Larry, should he happen to be +toiling through the snow. + +He did not arouse the fears of Amalia by telling her he meant to keep +watch all night on the cliff, but he asked her for a brew of Larry +Kildene's coffee--of which they had been most sparing--when he left +them after the evening meal, and it was given him without a thought, +as he had been all day working in the snow, and the request seemed +natural. He asked that he might have it in the great kettle in which +they prepared it, and carried it with him to the fodder shed. + +Darkness had settled over the mountain when, after an hour's rest, he +returned to the top of the trail and mended his fire and placed his +kettle near enough to keep the contents hot. Through half the night he +waited thus, sometimes walking about and peering into the obscurity +below, sometimes replenishing his fire, and sometimes just patiently +sitting, his arms clasped about his knees, gazing into space and +brooding. + +Many times had Harry King been lonely, but never had the awesomeness +of life and its mysterious leadings so impressed him as during this +night's vigil. Moses alone on the mountain top, carried there and left +where he might see into the promised land--the land toward which he +had been aided miraculously to lead his people, but which he might not +enter because of one sin,--one only transgression,--Elijah sitting +alone in the wilderness waiting for the revealing of God--waiting +heartbroken and weary, vicariously bearing in his own spirit regrets +and sorrows over the waywardness of his people Israel,--and John, the +forerunner--a "Voice crying in the wilderness 'Repent ye!'"--these +were not so lonely, for their God was with them and had led them by +direct communication and miraculous power; they were not lonely as +Cain was lonely, stained with a brother's blood, cast out from among +his fellows, hunted and haunted by his own guilt. + +Silence profound and indescribable reigned, while the great, soft +flakes continued to drift slowly down, silent--silent--as the grave, +and above and beneath and on all sides the same absolute neutrality +of tint, vague and soft; yet the reality of the rugged mountain even +so obscured and covered, remained; its cliffs and crags below, deadly +and ragged, and fearful to look down upon, and skirting its sides the +long, weary trail, up which at that very moment a man might be +toiling, suffering, even to the limit of death--might be giving his +life for the two women and the man who had come to him so suddenly out +of the unknown; strange, passing strange it all was. + +Again and again Harry rose and replenished the fire and stamped about, +shaking from his shoulders the little heaps of snow that had collected +there. The flames rose high in the still air and stained the snow +around his bonfire a rosy red. The redness of the fire-stained snow +was not more deep and vital than the red blood pulsing through his +heart. With all a strong man's virility and power he loved as only the +strong can love, and through all his brooding that undercurrent ran +like a swift and mighty river,--love, stronger than hate,--love, +triumphing over death,--love, deeper than hell,--love, lifting to the +zenith of heaven;--only two things seemed to him verities at that +moment, God above, and love within,--two overwhelming truths, terrible +in their power, all-consuming in their sweetness, one in their vast, +incomprehensible entity of force, beneficent, to be forever sought for +and chosen out of all the universe of good. + +The true meaning of Amalia's faith, as she had brokenly tried to +explain it to him, dawned on his understanding. God,--love, truth, and +power,--annihilating evil as light eats up darkness, drawing all into +the great "harmony of the music of God." + +Sitting there in the red light of the fire with the snow falling +around him, he knew what he must do first to come into the harmony. He +must take up his burden and declare the truth, and suffer the result, +no matter what it might be. Keen were all the impressions and visions +of his mind. Even while he could see Amalia sleeping in the cabin, and +could feel her soft breath on his cheek, could feel her in his +arms,--could hear her prayers for Larry Kildene's safety as at that +moment he might be coming to them,--he knew that the mighty river of +his love must be held back by a masterful will--must be dammed back +until its floods deepened into an ocean of tranquillity while he rose +above his loneliness and his fierce longing,--loving her, yet making +no avowal,--holding her in his heart, yet never disturbing her peace +of spirit by his own heart's tumult,--clinging to her night and day, +yet relinquishing her. + +And out of this resolution, against which his nature cried and beat +itself, he saw, serene, and more lonely than Moses or Elijah,--beautiful, +and near to him as his love, the Christ taken to the high places, even +the pinnacle of the temple--and the mountain peak, overlooking the +worlds and the kingdoms thereof, and turning from them all to look down +on him with a countenance of ineffable beauty--the love that dies not. + +He lifted his head. The visions were gone. Had he slept? The fire was +burning low and a long line was streaked across the eastern sky; a +line of gold, while still darkness rested below him and around him. +Again he built up the fire, and set the kettle closer. He stood out on +the height at the top of the trail and listened, his figure a black +silhouette against the dancing flames. He called, he shouted with all +his power, then listened. Did he hear a call? Surely it must be. He +plunged downward and called again, and again came the faint response. +In his hand he carried a long pole, and with it he prodded about in +the snow for sure footing and continued to descend, calling from time +to time, and rejoicing to hear the answering call. Yes, Larry Kildene +was below him in the obscurity, and now his voice came up to Harry, +long and clear. He had not far to go ere he saw the big man slowly +toiling upward through the dusk of dawn. He had dismounted, and the +weary animals were following behind. + +Thus Larry Kildene came back to his mountain. Exhausted, he still made +light of his achievement--climbing through day and night to arrive +before the snow should embank around him. He stood in the firelight +swaying with weariness and tasted the hot coffee and shook his +grizzled head and laughed. The animals came slowly on and stood close +to him, almost resting their noses on his shoulder, while Harry King +gazed on him with admiration. + +"Now if it weren't for the poor beasts, I'd lie down here by the fire +and sleep rather than take a step farther to-night. To-night? +Why--it's morning! Isn't it? I never thought we were so near the end. +If I hadn't seen the fire a long way down, I would have risked another +bivouac for the rest of the night. We might have lived through it--I +don't know, but this is better." He rubbed the nose of his panting +horse. "I shall drop to sleep if we don't move on." + +A thin blue smoke was rising from the chimney as they passed the +cabin, but Amalia, kneeling before the hearth, did not know they were +near. Harry wondered if Larry had forgotten the mother's hallucination +about her husband, yet forbore to mention it, thinking it best to get +him into his bunk first. But he had not forgotten. When Harry came +into the shed after stabling the horses, he found Larry sitting before +the chimney fire warming his knees and smoking. + +"Give me a little more of that coffee, Harry, and let's talk a bit +before I turn in for the day. There's the mother, now; she still +thinks as she did? I'll not see them until this evening--when I may +feel able to meet the question, and, lad, tell them what you please, +but--better not let the mother know I'm here until I can see her." + +"Then, if you'll go to bed now, I'll bring your food up. I'll tell +Amalia, of course." + +"I'm not hungry--only weary. Don't bother the women about food. After +a day and night of sleep I'll be quite fit again. Man! But it's good +to be back into the peace of the hills! I've been down where the waves +of civilization roar. Yes, yes; I'll go to my bunk after a bit. The +great menace to our tranquillity here for the winter is the mother." + +"But she has improved." + +"Good, good. How?" + +"She thinks of things around her--and--takes care of the cabin since +Amalia's hurt." + +"Hurt? How's that?" + +"She sprained her ankle--only, but enough to lay her up for a while." + +"I see. Shook her mother out of her dreams." + +"Not entirely. I think the improvement comes more from her firm +conviction that you are to bring her husband with you, and Amalia +agrees with me. If you have an excuse that will satisfy her--" + +"I see. She was satisfied in her mind that he was alive and would come +to her--I see. Keep her quiet until I wake up and then we'll find a +way out--if the truth is impossible. Now I'll sleep--for a day and a +night and a day--as long as I've been on that forced march. It was to +go back, or try to push through--or die--and I pushed through." + +"Don't sleep until I've brought you some hot broth. I'm sure they have +it down there." + +"I'll be glad of it, yes." + +But he could not keep awake. Before Harry could throw another log on +the fire he was asleep. Then Harry gently drew an army blanket over +him and went out to the stable. There he saddled his own horse and led +him toward the cabin. Before he reached it he saw Amalia coming to +meet him, hobbling on her crutch. She was bareheaded and the light of +morning was in her eyes. + +"Ah, 'Arry, 'Arry King! He has come. I see here marks of feet of +horses in the snow--is not? Is well? Is safe? Larry Kildene so noble +and kind! Yes. My mother? No, she prepares the food, and me, I shut +the door when I run out to see is it sun to-day and the terrible snow +no more falling. There I see the marks of horses, yes." She spoke +excitedly, and looked up in Harry's face with smiles on her lips and +anxious appeal in her eyes. + +"Throw down that crutch and lean on me. I'll lift you up--There! Now +we'll go back to the cabin and lead Goldbug around a bit, so his +tracks will cover the others and account for them. Then after +breakfast I'll take you to the top of the trail and tell you." + +She leaned down to him from her seat on the horse and put her hand on +his shoulder. "Is well? And you--you have not slept? No?" + +Looking up in her face so wonderful and beautiful, so filled with +tender solicitude for him, and her glowing eyes fixed on his, he was +covered with confusion even to scarcely comprehending what she said. +He took the hand from his shoulder and kissed the tips of her fingers, +then dropped it and walked on ahead, leading the horse. + +"I'm well, yes. Tired a bit, but, oh, yes! Larry Kildene? He's all +right. We'll go out on the trail and consult--what is best to do about +your mother--and say nothing until then." + +To Amalia a kiss on the finger tips meant no more than the usual +morning greeting in her own country, and she rode on undisturbed by +his demonstration, which he felt keenly and for which he would have +knelt and begged her pardon. Ever since his first unguarded moment +when he returned and found her fainting on the hillside, he had set +such rigid watch over his actions that his adoration had been +expressed only in service--for the most part silent and with averted +eyes. This aloofness she felt, and with the fineness of her nature +respected, letting her own play of imagination hover away from +intimate intrusion, merely lightening the somber relationship that +would otherwise have existed, like a breeze that stirs only the +surface of a deep pool and sets dancing lights at play but leaves the +depths undisturbed. + +Yet, with all her intuitiveness, she found him difficult and +enigmatic. An impenetrable wall seemed to be ever between them, +erected by his will, not hers; therefore she would not try by the +least suggestion of manner, or even of thought, to know why, nor would +she admit to her own spirit the hurt of it. The walled inclosure of +his heart was his, and she must remain without. To have attempted by +any art to get within the boundaries he had set she felt to be +unmaidenly. + +In spite of his strength and vigor, Harry was very weary. But less +from his long night's vigil than from the emotions that had torn him +and left his heart heavy with the necessity of covering always this +strong, elemental love that smoldered, waiting in abeyance until it +might leap into consuming flame. + +During the breakfast Harry sat silent, while the two women talked a +little with each other, speculating as to the weather, and rejoicing +that the morning was again clear. Then while her mother was occupied, +Amalia, unnoticed, gave him the broth to carry up to the shed, and +there, as Larry still slept, he set it near the fire that it might be +warm and ready for him should he wake during their absence. At the +cabin he brought wood and laid it beside the hearth, and looked about +to see if there were anything more he could do before he spoke. + +"Madam Manovska, Amalia and I are going up the trail a little way, and +we may be gone some time, but--I'll take good care of her." He smiled +reassuringly: "We mustn't waste the sunny days. When Mr. Kildene +returns, you also must ride sometimes." + +"Ah, yes. When? When? It is long--very long." + +"But, maybe, not so long, mamma. Soon now must he come. I think it." + +They left her standing in the door as they went off up the trail, the +glistening snow making the world so dazzling in the sunlight, so +blinding to her eyes, used to the obscurity of the cabin, that the +many tracks past the door were unnoticed by her. In silence they +walked until they had almost reached the turn, when Amalia spoke. + +"Have you look, how I use but the one crutch, 'Arry King? Soon will I +again walk on my foot, very well. I have so many times to thank you. +Now of mamma we must speak. She thinks only, every day, every hour, of +my father. If we shall speak the truth to her--I do not know. What she +will do--we cannot tell. No. And it is well to keep her heart from too +much sorrow. For Sir Kildene, he must not be afflicted by us--my mamma +and I. We have take from him his house, and he is banish--all for us, +to make pleasant, and what we can do is little, so little--and if my +mamma sit always silent when we should be gay to each other and make +happy the days, is not good, and all his peace will be gone. Now talk +to me a little of your thoughts, 'Arry King." + +"My thoughts must be like yours, Amalia, if I would have them wise. +It's best to leave her as undisturbed as possible until spring. The +months will go by rapidly. He will not be troubled. Then we can take +her to some place, where I will see to it that you are cared for--" + +The horse suddenly stopped and settled back on his haunches and lifted +his head, looking wildly about. Harry sprang to the bridle, but he did +not try to get away, and only stood quivering and breathing loudly as +if in the direst fear, and leaned close to Harry for protection. + +"What ails you? Good horse." Harry petted and coaxed, but he refused +to move on, and showed every sign of frantic fear. "I can't think what +possesses him. He's afraid, but of what?" + +"There! There!" cried Amalia, pointing to the top of the trail at the +cliff. "It's the beast. I have read of it--so terrible! Ah!" + +"Surely. That's a mountain lion; Goldbug scented him before he rounded +the cliff. They're cowards; never fear." He shouted and flung his arm +in the air, but did not dare let the bridle rein go for fear the horse +would bolt with her. For a moment the beast stood regarding them, then +turned and trotted off in a leisurely fashion. + +"'Arry, take my hand one minute. I am like the horse, afraid. If that +animal had come when we were alone on the mountain in that night--it +is my heart that will not stand still." + +"Don't be afraid now. He's gone. He was hunting there where I was last +night, and no doubt he smells the horses that came up the mountain +early this morning. It is the snow that has driven him out of the +canyon to hunt for food." He let her cling to his hand and stood +quietly, petting and soothing the horse. + +"All night? 'Arry King, you were there all night? Why?" she shivered, +and, bending down, looked steadily in his eyes. + +"I had a fire. There was no danger. There is more danger for me in--" +he cut his words short. "Shall we go on now? Or would you rather turn +back?" + +She drew herself up and released his hand; still she trembled. "I will +be brave like you are brave. If you so desire, we go on." + +"You are really braver than I. Then we'll go a few steps farther." But +the horse would not go on. He snorted and quivered and pulled back. +Harry looked up at Amalia. She sat calmly waiting, but was very pale. +Then he yielded to the horse, and, turning, led him back toward the +cabin. She drew a long sigh of relief then, and glanced at him, and +they both laughed. + +"You see I am the coward, to only make believe I am not afraid. I am +very afraid, and now more than always will I be afraid when that you +go to hunt. 'Arry King, go no more alone." Her voice was low and +pleading. "There is much to do. I will teach you to speak the French, +like you have once said you wish to learn. Then is the book to write. +Is much to do that is very pleasant. But of those wild lions on the +hills, they are not for a man to fight alone." He restrained the +horse, and walked slowly at her side, his hand on the pommel of the +saddle, but did not speak. "You promise not? All night you stay in the +cold, where is danger, and how may I know you will not again do such a +thing? All is beautiful here, and great happiness may be if--if that +you do no tragedy." So sweetly did she plead he could no longer remain +silent. + +"There is only one happiness for me in life, Amalia, and that is +forbidden me. I have expiation to make before I may ask happiness of +heaven. You have been most patient with my silences--always--will you +be patient still--and--understand?" + +She drew in her breath sharply and turned her face away from him, and +for a moment was silent; then she spoke. Her voice was very low, and +very sweet. "What is right, that must be. Always." + +Then they spoke again of Madam Manovska, and Amalia opened her heart +to him as never before. It seemed as if she would turn his thoughts +from whatever sorrow might be hanging over him, and impress him with +the feeling that no matter what might be the cause of his reserve, or +what wrong he might have done, her faith in him remained unshaken. It +was a sweet return for his stammered confession. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +A DISCOURSE ON LYING + + +All day Larry Kildene slept, hardly waking long enough toward +nightfall to drink his broth, but the next day he was refreshed and +merry. + +"Leave Madam Manovska alone," he admonished Harry. "Take Amalia off +for another ride, and I'll go down to the cabin, and if there's a way +to set her mind at rest about her husband, I'll find it. I'd not be +willing to take an oath on what I may tell her, but it will be +satisfying, never fear." + +The ride was a short one, for the air was chill, and there were more +signs of snow, but when they returned to the cabin, they found Larry +seated by the fire, drinking a brew of Madam's tea and conversing +with her joyously about his trip and what he had seen of the new +railroad. It was curious how he had succeeded in bringing her to take +an interest in things quite alien to her. The very atmosphere of +the cabin seemed to be cleared by his presence, big, genial, and +all-embracing. Certainly nothing of the recluse appeared in his +demeanor. Only when they were alone in their own quarters did he +show occasionally a longing for the old condition of unmolested +tranquillity. To go to his dinner at a set hour, no matter how well +prepared it might be, annoyed him. + +"There's no reason in life why they should get a meal ready merely +because a timepiece says twelve o'clock. Let them wait until a man's +hungry," he would grumble. Then, arrived at the cabin, he would be all +courtesy and geniality. + +When Harry rallied him on his inconsistency, he gravely replied: "An +Irish gentleman is an Irish gentleman the world over, no matter where +you find him, in court, camp, or wilderness; it's all one to him. Why +do you think I brought that mirror you shave by all the way up the +mountain? Why, to have a body to look at now and again, and to +blarney, just that I might not forget the trick. What was the good of +that, do you ask? Look at yourself, man. You're a dour Scotchman, +that's what you are, and you keep your humor done up in a wet blanket, +and when it glints out of the corner of your eye a bit, you draw down +the corners of your mouth to belie it. What's the good of that, now? +The world's a rough place to walk in for the most part, especially for +women, and if a man carries a smile on his face and a bit of blarney +on the tip of his tongue, he smooths the way for them. Now, there's +Madam Manovska. What would you and Amalia have done to her? Driven her +clean out of her head with your bungling. In a case like hers you must +be very discreet, and lead her around, by the way she wants to go, to +a place of safety." + +Harry smiled. Since his avowal to Amalia of his determination to make +expiation for the crime that clouded his life, he had grown more +cheerful and less restrained in manner. He would accept the present +happiness, and so far as he could without wrong to her, he would fill +his hours with the joy of her companionship, and his love should +dominate him, and his heart should revel in the thought of her, and +her nearness to him; then when the spring should come and melt the +snowy barriers between him and the world below, he would go down and +make his expiation, drinking the bitter cup to the dregs. + +This happy imprisonment on the mountain top with these two refined +women and this kindly man with the friendly heart and splendid body +and brain, he deemed worth a lifetime spent more sordidly. Here and +now, he felt himself able to weigh true values, and learned that +the usual ambitions of mortals--houses and gear and places of +precedence--could become the end of existence only to those whose +desires had become distorted by the world's estimates. Now he +understood how a man might live for a woman's smile, or give his life +for the touch of her hand, and how he might hunger for the pressing +of children's lips to his own. The warm friendships of life grew to +their true proportions in the vast scheme of things, as he looked in +the big man's eyes and answered his kindly banter. + +"I see. It takes a genius to be a discreet and wise liar. Amalia's +lacking there--for me, I might learn. Now pocket your blarney long +enough to tell me why you called me a Scotchman." + +"How would I know the difference between a broncho and a mule? By the +earmarks, boy. I've lived in the world long enough to know men. If +there be only a drop of Scotch blood in a man, he shows it. Like the +mule he brays at the wrong time, or he settles back and stands when he +should go forward. Oh, there's many a sign to enlighten the wise." + +He rose and knocked the ashes from his pipe and thrust it in his +pocket and began to look over his pack, which had not been opened. Two +good-sized sacks hung on either side of the pack mule had held most +of his purchases, all carefully tied in separate bundles. The good man +had not been sparing of his gold. Since he had so long exiled himself, +having no use for what he had accumulated, he had now reveled in +spending. + +"We're to live like lords and ladies, now, Harry. I've two silver +plates, and they're for the ladies. For us, we'll eat off the tin as +before. And silver mugs for their drink. See? I would have got them +china but it's too likely to break. Now, here's a luxury I've brought, +and it was heavy to carry, too. Here's twenty-four panes of glass. I +carried them, twelve on each side of my horse, like that, slung so, +see? That's two windows of two sash each, and six panes to a sash. Oh, +they're small, but see what a luxury for the women to do their pretty +work by. And there's work for you, to be making the sash. I've done my +share of that sort of thing in building the cabin for you, and +then--young man--I'll set you to digging out the gold. That's work +that'll put the worth of your body to the test, and the day will come +when you'll need it." + +"I doubt my ever having much need of gold, but whatever you set me at +I'll do to the best of my ability." + +"You may have your doubts, but I have none. Men are like bees; they +must ever be laying by something, even if they have no use for it." As +Larry talked he continued to sort over his purchases, and Harry looked +on, astounded at their variety and number. + +While apparently oblivious of the younger man's interest, and absorbed +in his occupation, whistling, and turning the bundles over in his +hands as he tallied them off, he now and then shot a keen glance in +his companion's face. He had noticed the change in Harry, and was +alert to learn the cause. He found him more talkative, more eager and +awake. He suspected Harry had passed through some mental crisis, but +of what nature he was at a loss to determine. Certainly it had made +him a more agreeable companion than the gloom of his former manner. + +"I'll dig for the gold, indeed I will, but I'd like to go on a hunt +now and then. I'd like a shot at the beast we saw sniffing over the +spot where I sat all night waiting for you to appear. It will no +longer be safe for Amalia to wander about alone as she did before she +hurt her ankle." + +"The creature was after sheep. He'll find his prey growing scarcer now +that the railroad is so near. In ten years or less these mountain +sheep will be extinct. That's the result of civilization, my boy." + +"I'd like to shoot this panther, though." + +"We'll have to set a bait for him--and that means a deer or a sheep +must go. We'll do it soon, too." + +"You've reconciled Madam Manovska to your coming home without her +husband! I didn't think it possible. Give me a lesson in diplomacy, +will you?" + +"Wait till I light my pipe. Now. First, you must know there are several +kinds of lying, and you must learn which kinds are permissible--and +otherwise." With his pipe between his teeth, Larry stood, a mock +gravity about his mouth, and a humorous twinkle in his eyes, while he +looked down on Harry, and told off the lies on his fingers. + +"First, there's the fool's lie--you'll know it because there's no +purpose in it, and there's the rogue's lie,--and as we're neither +fools nor rogues we'll class them both as--otherwise; then there's +the lie of pride, and, as that goes along with the fool's lie, we'll +throw it out with the--otherwise--and the coward's lie also goes with +the otherwise." Larry shook his fingers as if he tossed the four lies +off from their tips, and began again. "Now. Here's the friend's lie--a +man risks his soul to save a friend--good--or to help him out of +trouble--very well. And then there's the lover's lie, it's what a lad +tells his sweetheart--that goes along with what she tells him--and +comes by way of nature--" + +"Or you might class it along with your own blarney." + +"Let be, lad. I'm teaching you the diplomacy, now. Then there's the +lie of shame, and the lie of sorrow, wherein a man puts by, for his +own loved one's sake, or his self-respect, what's better covered; +that, too, comes by way of nature, even as a dog crawls away to die +alone, and we'll accept it. Now comes the lie of the man who would +tell a good tale for the amusement of his friends; very well, the +nature of man loves it, so we'll count it in, and along with it comes +a host of little lies like the sportsman's lie and the traveler's +lie--they all help to make life merry, and the world can ill do +without them. But now comes the lie of circumspection. You must learn +to lie it without lying. See? It's the lie of wisdom, and it's a very +subtle thing, and easily abused. If a man uses it for a selfish cause +and merely to pervert the truth, it's a black lie, and one of the very +worst. Or he may use it in a good cause, and it's fairly white. It +must be used with discrimination. That's the lie I used for the poor +Madam down there." + +"But what did you say?" + +"She says to me, 'And where is my 'usband?' I reply, 'Madam, your +husband is in a very safe and secret place,'--and that is true +enough--'where his enemies will never find him,'--and for all we know +that is also true. 'But I cannot understand why he did not come to me. +That is not like my 'usband.' 'No, Madam, it is not. But man must do +what he must, and the way was too long and arduous for his strength; +he could not take the long, weary climb.' And no more could he, true +enough. 'No, Madam, you cannot go to him, nor he come to you, for the +danger of the way and the wild beasts that are abroad looking for +food.' And what more true than that, for did not her daughter see one +hunting for food? + +"So she covers her face with her hand and rocks herself back and +forth, and now, lad, here's where the blarney comes in. It's to tell +her of the worth of her husband, and what a loss it would be to the +world if he were to die on the trail, and what he would suffer if he +thought she were unhappy, and then in the ardor of my speech comes the +straight lie. I told her that he was writing the story of his life and +that it was to be a great work which would bring about a tremendous +revolution of justice and would bring confusion to his enemies, until +at last she holds up her head proudly and speaks of his wonderful +intellect and goodness. Then she says: 'He cannot come to me, very +good. He is not strong enough--no. I go to him to-morrow.' Think of +that, man! What I had to meet, and it was all to go over again. I +would call it very circumspect lying and in a good cause, too, to +comfort the poor soul. I told her of the snow, and how surely she +would die by the way and make her husband very sad, he who was now +happy in the writing of his book, and that to do so would break his +heart and cause his own death,--while to wait until spring in peace +would be wiser, because she might then descend the mountain in perfect +safety. So now she sits sewing and making things no man understands +the use of. She showed me the blouse she has made for you. Now, that +is the best medicine for her sick brain. They're great women, these +two. If we must have women about, we're in luck to have women of their +quality." + +"We are, indeed." + +"I saw the women who follow the road as it creeps across the plains. +They're pitiful to see. If these had been like them, we'd have been +obliged to take them in just the same, but Lord be merciful to them, +I'm glad they're not on my mountain." Larry shook his ponderous, +grizzled head and turned again to his packages. "Since they love to +sew, they may be making things for themselves next. Look you! Here is +silk for gowns, for women love adornment, the best of them." + +Harry paused, his arms full of wood with which he was replenishing the +fire, and stared in amazement, as Larry unrolled a mass of changeable +satin wherein a deep cerise and green coloring shifted and shimmered +in the firelight. He held the rich material up to his own waist and +looked gravely down on the long folds that dropped to the floor and +coiled about his feet. "I told you we're to live like lords and ladies +now. Man! I'd like to see Amalia in a gown of this!" + +Harry dropped his wood on the fire and threw back his head and +laughed. He even lay down on the floor to laugh, and rolled about +until his head lay among the folds of satin. Then he sat up, and +taking the material between his fingers felt of it, while the big man +looked down on him, gravely discomfited. + +"And what did you bring for Madam Manovska?" + +"Black, man, black. I'm no fool, I tell you. I know what's discreet +for an elderly lady." Then they gravely and laboriously folded +together the yards of gorgeous satin. "And I'd have been glad of your +measure to get you the suit of clothes you're needing. Lacking it, I +got one for myself. But for me they're a bit too small. You'll maybe +turn tailor and cut them still smaller for yourself. Take them, and if +they're no fit, you'll laugh out of the other corner of your mouth." +The two men stood a moment sheepishly eying each other, while Harry +held the clothes awkwardly in his hands. + +"I--I--did need them." He choked a bit, and then laughed again. + +"So did I need them--yours and mine, too." Larry held up another suit, +"See here. Mine are darker, to keep you from thinking them yours. And +here are the buckskins for hunting. I used to make them for myself, +but they had these for sale, and I was by way of spending money, so I +bought them. Now, with the blouses the women have made for you, we're +decent." + +All at once it dawned on Harry what a journey the big man had made, +and he fairly shouted, "Larry Kildene, where have you been?" + +"I rode like the very devil for three days. When once I was started, I +was crazed to go--and see--Then I reached the end of the road from the +coast this way. Did you know they're building the road from both ways +at once? I didn't, for I never went down to get news of the cities, +and they might have put the whole thing through without my even +knowing of it, if you hadn't tumbled in on me and told me of it. + +"It stirred me up a bit. I left my horse in charge of one I thought I +might trust, and then took a train and rode over the new rails clean +through to San Francisco, and there I groveled around a day or two, +taking in the ways of men. They're doing big things. Now that the two +oceans are to be united by iron rails, great changes will come like +the wind,--the Lord knows when they will end! Now, the women will be +wanting us to eat, I'm thinking, and I'm not ready--but eat we must +when the hour comes, and we've done nothing this whole morning but +stand here and talk." + +Thus Larry grumbled as they tramped down to the cabin through the +snow, with the rolls of silk under his arm, and the silver plates in +his hand, while Harry carried the sack of coffee and the paper for +Amalia. As they neared the cabin the big man paused. + +"Take these things in for me, Harry. I--I--left something back in the +shed. Drop that coffee and I'll fetch it as I come along." + +"Now, what kind of a lie would you call that, sir, since it's your +courage you've left?" + +"Let be, let be. Can't you see I'm going back after it?" + +So Harry carried in the gifts and Larry went back for his "courage" +and donned his new suit of clothes to help him carry it, and then came +walking in with a jovial swagger, and accepted the mother's thanks and +Amalia's embrace with a marvelous ease, especially the embrace, with +which he seemed mightily pleased. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +AMALIA'S FETE + + +The winter was a cold one, and the snows fell heavily, but a way was +always kept open between the cabin and the fodder shed, and also by +great labor a space was kept cleared around the cabin and a part of +the distance toward the fall so that the women might not be walled in +their quarters by the snow. With plenty to occupy them all, the weeks +sped swiftly and pleasantly. Larry did a little trapping and hunting, +but toward midwinter the sport became dangerous, because of the depth +of the snow, and with the exception of stalking a deer now and then, +for fresh food, he and Harry spent the most of their time burrowing in +the mountain for gold. + +Amalia's crutches were gradually laid aside, until she ran about as +lightly as before, but even had she not been prevented by the snow she +would not have been allowed to go far away from the cabin alone. The +men baited and lay in wait for the panther, and at last shot him, but +Larry knew from long experience that when the snows were deep, +panthers often haunted his place, and their tracks were frequently +seen higher up the mountain where he was wont to hunt the mountain +sheep. + +Sometimes Harry King rode with Amalia where the wind had swept the way +bare, toward the bend in the trail, and would bring her back glowing +and happy from the exercise. Sometimes when the storms were fierce +without, and he suspected Larry longed for his old-time seclusion, he +sat in the cabin. At these times Amalia redeemed her promise to teach +him French. Few indeed were the books she had for help in giving these +lessons. One little unbound book of old sonnets and songs and a small +pamphlet of more modern poems that her father had loved, were all, +except his Bible, which, although it was in Polish, contained copious +annotations in her father's hand in French, and between the leaves of +which lay loose pages filled with concise and plainly written +meditations of his own. + +These Amalia loved and handled with reverence, and for Harry King they +had such vital interest that he learned the more rapidly that he might +know all they contained. He no longer wondered at her power and +breadth of thought. As he progressed he found in them a complete +system of ethics and religious faith. Their writer seemed to have +drawn from all sources intrinsically vital truths, and separated them +from their encumbering theologic verbiage and dogma, and had traced +them simply through to the great "Sermon on the Mount." In a few pages +this great man had comprised the deepest logic, and the sweetest and +widest theology, enough for all the world to live by, and enough to +guide nations in safety, if only all men might learn it. + +It was sufficient. He knew Amalia better, and more deeply he +reverenced and loved her. He no longer quivered when he heard her +mention the "Virgin" or when she spoke of the "Sweet Christ." It was +not what his old dogmatic ancestry had fled from as "Popery." It was +her simple, direct faith in the living Christ, which gave her eyes +their clear, far-seeing vision, and her heart its quick, responsive +intuition and understanding. She might speak of the convent where she +had been protected and loved, and taught many things useful and good, +other than legends and doctrines. She had learned how, through her +father's understanding and study, to gather out the good, and leave +the rest, in all things. + +And Harry learned his French. He was an apt scholar, and Larry fell in +line, for he had not forgotten the scholastic Latin and French of his +college days. He liked, indeed, to air his French occasionally, +although his accent was decidedly English, but his grammar was good +and a great help to Harry. Madam Manovska also enjoyed his efforts and +suggested that when they were all together they should converse in the +French alone, not only that they might help Harry, but also that they +might have a common language. It was to her and Amalia like their +native tongue, and their fluency for a time quite baffled Larry, but +he was determined not to be beaten, and when Harry faltered and +refused to go on, he pounded him on the back, and stirred him up to +try again. + +Although Amalia's convent training had greatly restricted her +knowledge of literature other than religious, her later years of +intimate companionship with her father, and her mother's truly +remarkable knowledge of the classics and fearless investigation of the +modern thought of her day, had enlarged Amalia's horizon; while her +own vivid imagination and her native geniality caused her to lighten +always her mother's more somber thought with a delicate and gracious +play of fancy that was at once fascinating and delightful. This, and +Harry's determination to live to the utmost in these weeks of respite, +made him at times almost gay. + +Most of all he reveled in Amalia's music. Certain melodies that she +said her father had made he loved especially, and sometimes she would +accompany them with a plaintive chant, half singing and half +recitation, of the sonnet which had inspired them, and which had been +woven through them. It was at these times that Larry listened with his +elbows on his knees and his eyes fixed on the fire, and Harry with his +eyes on Amalia's face, while the cabin became to him glorified with a +light, no longer from the flames, but with a radiance like that which +surrounded Dante's Beatrice in Paradise. + +Amalia loved to please Larry Kildene. For this reason, knowing the joy +he would take in it, and also because she loved color and light and +joy, and the giving of joy, she took the gorgeous silk he had brought +her, and made it up in a fashion of her own. Down in the cities, she +knew, women were wearing their gowns spread out over wide hoops, but +she made the dress as she knew they were worn at the time Larry had +lived among women and had seen them most. + +The bodice she fitted closely and shaped into a long point in front, +and the skirt she gathered and allowed to fall in long folds to her +feet. The sleeves she fitted only to her elbows, and gathered in them +deep lace of her own making--lace to dream about, and the creation of +which was one of those choice things she had learned of the good +sisters at the convent. About her neck she put a bertha, kerchiefwise, +and pinned it with a brooch of curiously wrought gold. Larry, "the +discreet and circumspect liar," thought of the emerald brooch she had +brought him to sell for her, and knowing how it would glow and blend +among the changing tints of the silk, he fetched it to her, explaining +that he could not sell it, and that the bracelet had covered all she +had asked him to purchase for her, and some to spare. + +She thanked him, and fastened it in her bodice, and handed the other +to her mother. "There, mamma, when we have make you the dress Sir +Kildene have brought you, you must wear this, for it is beautiful with +the black. Then we will have a fete. And for the fete, Sir Kildene, +you must wear the very fine new clothes you have buy, and Mr. 'Arry +will carry on him the fine new clothing, and so will we be all attire +most splendid. I will make for you all the music you like the best, +and mamma will speak then the great poems she have learned by head, +and Sir Kildene will tell the story he can relate so well of strange +happenings. Oh, it will be a fine, good concert we will make here--and +you, Mr. 'Arry, what will you do?" + +"I'll do the refreshments. I'll roast corn and make coffee. I'll be +audience and call for more." + +"Ah, yes! Encore! Encore! The artists must always be very much +praised--very much--so have I heard, to make them content. It is Sir +Kildene who will be the great artist, and you must cry 'Encore,' and +honor him greatly with such calls. Then will we have the pleasure to +hear many stories from him. Ah, I like to hear them." + +It was a strange life for Harry King, this odd mixture of finest +culture and high-bred delicacy of manner, with what appeared to be a +total absence of self-seeking and a simple enjoyment of everyday work. +He found Amalia one morning on her knees scrubbing the cabin floor, +and for the moment it shocked him. When they were out on the plains +camping and living as best they could, he felt it to be the natural +consequence of their necessities when he saw her washing their clothes +and making the best of their difficulties by doing hard things with +her own hands, but now that they were living in a civilized way, he +could not bear to see her, or her mother, doing the rough work. Amalia +only laughed at him. "See how fine we make all things. If I will not +serve for making clean the house, why am I? Is not?" + +"It doesn't make any difference what you do, you are always +beautiful." + +"Ah, Mr. 'Arry, you must say those compliments only in the French. It +is no language, the English, for those fine eloquences." + +"No, I don't seem to be able to say anything I mean, in French. It's +always a sort of make-believe talk with me. Our whole life here seems +a sort of dream,--as if we were living in some wonderful bubble that +will suddenly burst one day, and leave us floating alone in space, +with nothing anywhere to rest on." + +"No, no, you are mistake. Here is this floor, very real, and dirt on +it to be washed away,--from your boots, also very real, is not? Go +away, Mr. 'Arry, but come to-night in your fine clothing, for we have +our fete. Mamma has finish her beautiful new dress, and we will be +gay. Is good to be sometimes joyful, is not? We have here no care, +only to make happy together, and if we cannot do that, all is +somber." + +And that evening indeed, Amalia had her "fete." Larry told his best +stories, and Harry was persuaded to tell them a little of his life as +a soldier, and to sing a camp song. More than this he would not do, +but he brought out something he had been reserving with pride, a few +little nuggets of gold. During the weeks he had worked he had found +little, until the last few days, but happening to strike a vein of +ore, richer than any Larry had ever found, the two men were greatly +elated, and had determined to interest the women by melting some of it +out of the quartz in which it was bedded, and turning out for each a +golden bullet in Larry's mold. + +They heaped hard wood in the fireplace and the cabin was lighted most +gloriously. While they waited for the red coals to melt the gold, +Amalia took her violin and played and sang. It was nearly time for the +rigor of the winter to abate, but still a high wind was blowing, and +the fine snow was piling and drifting about the cabin, and even +sifting through the chinks around the window and door, but the storm +only made the brightness and warmth within more delightful. + +When Larry drew his crucible from the coals and poured the tiny +glowing stream into his molds, Amalia cried out with joy. "How that is +beautiful! How wonderful to dig such beauty from the dark ground down +in the black earth! Ah, mamma, look!" + +Then Larry pounded each one flat like a coin, and drilled through a +small hole, making thus, for each, a souvenir of the shining metal. +"This is from Harry's first mining," he said, "and it represents good, +hard labor. He's picked out a lot of worthless dirt and stone to find +this." + +Amalia held the little disk in her hand and smiled upon it. "I love so +this little precious thing. Now, Mr. 'Arry, what shall I play for you? +It is yours to ask--for me, to play; it is all I have." + +"That sonnet you played me yesterday. The last line is, '"Quelle est +donc cette femme?" et ne comprenda pas.'" + +"The music of that is not my father's best--but you ask it, yes." Then +she began, first playing after her own heart little dancing airs, gay +and fantastic, and at last slid into a plaintive strain, and recited +the accompaniment of rhythmic words. + + "Mon ame a son secret, ma vie a son mystere: + Un amour eternel en un moment concu. + Le mal est sans espoir, aussi j'ai du le taire + Et celle qui l'a fait n'en a jamais rien su." + +One minor note came and went and came again, through the melody, until +the last tones fell on that note and were held suspended in a +tremulous plaint. + + "Elle dira, lisant ces vers tout remplis d'elle: + 'Quelle est donc cette femme?' et ne comprendra pas." + +Without pause she passed into a quick staccato and then descended +to long-drawn tones, deep and full. "This is better, but I have never +played it for you because that it is Polish, and to make it in +English and so sing it is hard. You have heard of our great and good +general Kosciuszko, yes? My father loved well to speak of him and +also of one very high officer under him,--I speak his name for you, +Julian Niemcewicz. This high officer, I do not know how to say in +English his rank, but that is no matter. He was writer, and poet, +and soldier--all. At last he was exiled and sorrowful, like my +father,--sorrowful most of all because he might no more serve his +country. It is to this poet's own words which he wrote for his grave +that my father have put in music the cry of his sorrow. In Polish +is it more beautiful, but I sing it for you in English for your +comprehending." + + "O, ye exiles, who so long wander over the world, + Where will ye find a resting place for your weary steps? + The wild dove has its nest, and the worm a clod of earth, + Each man a country, but the Pole a grave!" + +It was indeed a cry of sorrow, the wail of a dying nation, and as +Amalia played and sang she became oblivious of all else a being +inspired by lofty emotion, while the two men sat in silence, wondering +and fascinated. The mother's eyes glowed upon her out of the obscurity +of her corner, and her voice alone broke the silence. + +"I have heard my Paul in the night of the desert where he made that +music, I have heard him so play and sing it, that it would seem the +stars must fall down out of the heavens with sorrow for it." + +Amalia smiled and caught up her violin again. "We will have no more of +this sad music this night. I will sing the wild song of the Ukraine, +most beautiful of all our country, alas, ours no more--Like that +other, the music is my father's, but the poem is written by a son of +the Ukraine--Zaliski." + +A melody clear and sweet dominated, mounting to a note of triumph. +Slender and tall she stood in the middle of the room. The firelight +played on the folds of her gown, bringing out its color in brilliant +flashes. She seemed to Harry, with her rich complexion and glowing +eyes, absorbed thus in her music, a type of human splendor, vigorous, +vivid, adorable. Mostly in Polish, but sometimes in English, she again +half sang, half chanted, now playing with the voice, and again +dropping to accompaniment only, while they listened, the mother in +the shadows, Larry gazing in the fire, and Harry upon her. + + "Me also has my mother, the Ukraine, + Me her son + Cradled on her bosom, + The enchantress." + +She ceased, and with a sigh dropped at her mother's feet and rested +her head on her mother's knee. + +"Tell us now, mamma, a poem. It is time we finish now our fete with +one good, long poem from you." + +"You will understand me?" Madam Manovska turned to Harry. "You do well +understand what once you have heard--" She always spoke slowly and +with difficulty when she undertook English, and now she continued +speaking rapidly to Amalia in her own tongue, and her daughter +explained. + +"Mamma says she will tell you a poem composed by a great poet, French, +who is now, for patriotism to his country, in exile. His name is +Victor Hugo. You have surely heard of him? Yes. She says she will +repeat this which she have by head, and because that it is not +familiar to you she asks will I tell it in English--if you so +desire?" + +Again Madam Manovska addressed her daughter, and Amalia said: "She +thinks this high mountain and the plain below, and that we are exile +from our own land, makes her think of this; only that the conscience +has never for her brought terror, like for Cain, but only to those who +have so long persecuted my father with imprisonment, and drive him so +far to terrible places. She thinks they must always, with never +stopping, see the 'Eye' that regards forever. This also must Victor +Hugo know well, since for his country he also is driven in exile--and +can see the terrible 'Eye' go to punish his enemies." + +Then Madam Manovska began repeating in her strong, deep tones the +lines:-- + + "Lorsque avec ses enfants vetus de peaux de betes, + Echevele, livide au milieu des tempetes, + Cain se fut enfui de devant Jehovah, + + "Comme le soir tombait, l'homme sombre arriva + Au bas d'une montagne en une grande plaine; + Sa femme fatiguee et ses fils hors d'haleine; + Lui dire: 'Couchons-nous sur la terre et dormons.'" + +"Oh, mamma, that is so sad, that poem,--but continue--I will make it +in English so well as I can, and for the mistakes--errors--of my +telling you will forgive? + +"This is the story of the terrible man, Cain, how he go with his +children all in the skins of animals dressed. His hairs so wild, his +face pale,--he runs in the midst of the storms to hide himself from +God,--and, at last, in the night to the foot of a mountain on a great +plain he arrive, and his wife and sons, with no breath and very tired, +say to him, let us here on the earth lie down and sleep." Thus, as +Madam Manovska recited, Amalia told the story in her own words, and +Harry King listened rapt and tense to the very end, while the fire +burned low and the shadows closed around them. + +"But Cain did not sleep, lying there by the mountain, for he saw +always in the far shadows the fearful Eye of the condemning power +fixed with great sorrow upon him. Then he cried, 'I am too near!' and +with trembling he awoke his children and his wife, and began to run +furiously into space. So for thirty days and thirty nights he walked, +always pale and silent, trembling, and never to see behind him, +without rest or sleeping, until they came to the shore of a far +country, named Assur. + +"'Now rest we here, for we are come to the end of the world and are +safe,' but, as he seated himself and looked, there in the same place +on the far horizon he saw, in the sorrowful heavens, the Eye. Then +Cain called on the darkness to hide him, and Jabal, his son, parent of +those who live in tents, extended about him on that side the cloth of +his tent, and Tsilla, the little daughter of his son, asked him, 'You +see now nothing?' and Cain replied, 'I see the Eye, encore!' + +"Then Jubal, his son, father of those who live in towns and blow upon +clarions and strike upon tambours, cried, 'I will make one barrier, I +will make one wall of bronze and put Cain behind it.' But even still, +Cain said, 'The Eye regards me always!' + +"Then Henoch said: 'I will make a place of towers so terrible that no +one dare approach to him. Build we a city of citadels. Build we a city +and there fasten--shut--close.' + +"Then Tubal Cain, father of men who make of iron, constructed one +city--enormous--superhuman; and while that he labored, his brothers in +the plain drove far away the sons of Enos and the children of Seth, +and put out the eyes of all who passed that way, and the night came +when the walls of covering of tents were not, and in their place were +walls of granite, every block immense, fastened with great nails of +iron, and the city seemed a city of iron, and the shadow of its towers +made night upon the plain, and about the city were walls more high +than mountains, and when all was done, they graved upon the door, +'Defense a Dieu d'entrer,' and they put the old father Cain in a tower +of stone in the midst of this city, and he sat there somber and +haggard. + +"'Oh, my father, the Eye has now disappeared?' asked the child, +Tsilla, and Cain replied: 'No, it is always there! I will go and live +under the earth, as in his sepulcher, a man alone. There nothing can +see me more, and I no more can see anything.' + +"Then made they for him one--cavern. And Cain said, 'This is well,' +and he descended alone under this somber vault and sat upon a seat in +the shadows, and when they had shut down the door of the cave, the Eye +was there in the tombs regarding him." + +Thus, seated at her mother's feet, Amalia rendered the poem as her +mother recited, while the firelight played over her face and flashed +in the silken folds of her dress. When she had finished, the fire was +low and the cabin almost in darkness. No one spoke. Larry still gazed +in the dying embers, and Harry still sat with his eyes fixed on +Amalia's face. + +"Victor Hugo, he is a very great man, as my 'usband have say," said +the mother at last. + +"Ah, mamma. For Cain,--maybe,--yes, the Eye never closed, but now have +man hope or why was the Christ and the Holy Virgin? It is the +forgiving of God they bring--for--for love of the poor human,--and who +is sorrowful for his wrong--he is forgive with peace in his heart, is +not?" + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + +HARRY KING LEAVES THE MOUNTAIN + + +When the two men bade Amalia and her mother good night and took their +way to the fodder shed, the snow was whirling and drifting around the +cabin, and the pathway was obliterated. + +"This'll be the last storm of the year, I'm thinking," said Larry. But +the younger man strode on without making a reply. He bent forward, +leaning against the wind, and in silence trod a path for his friend +through the drifted heaps. At the door of the shed he stood back to +let Larry pass. + +"I'll not go in yet. I'll tramp about in the snow a bit until--Don't +sit up for me--" He turned swiftly away into the night, but Larry +caught him by the arm and brought him back. + +"Come in with me, lad; I'm lonely. We'll smoke together, then we'll +sleep well enough." + +Then Harry went in and built up the fire, throwing on logs until the +shed was flooded with light and the bare rock wall seemed to leap +forward in the brilliance, but he did not smoke; he paced restlessly +about and at last crept into his bunk and lay with his face to the +wall. Larry sat long before the fire. "It's the music that's got in my +blood," he said. "Katherine could sing and lilt the Scotch airs like a +bird. She had a touch for the instrument, too." + +But Harry could not respond to his friend's attempted confidence in +the rare mention of his wife's name. He lay staring at the rough stone +wall close to his face, and it seemed to him that his future was +bounded by a barrier as implacable and terrible as that. All through +the night he heard the deep tones of Madam Manovska's voice, and the +visions of the poem passed through his mind. He saw the strange old +man, the murderer, Cain, seated in the tomb, bowed and remorseful, and +in the darkness still the Eye. But side by side with this somber +vision he saw the interior of the cabin, and Amalia, glowing and warm +and splendid in her rich gown, with the red firelight playing over +her, leaning toward him, her wonderful eyes fixed on his with a regard +at once inscrutable and sympathetic. It was as if she were looking +into his heart, but did not wish him to know that she saw so deeply. + +Towards morning the snow clouds were swept from the sky, and a late +moon shone out clear and cold upon a world carved crisply out of +molten silver. Unable longer to bear that waking torture, Harry King +rose and went out into the night, leaving his friend quietly sleeping. +He stood a moment listening to Larry's long, calm breathing; then +buttoning his coat warmly across his chest, he closed the shed door +softly behind him and floundered off into the drifts, without heeding +the direction he was taking, until he found himself on the brink of +the chasm where the river, sliding smoothly over the rocks high above +his head, was forever tumbling. + +There he stood, trembling, but not with cold, nor with cowardice, nor +with fatigue. Sanity had come upon him. He would do no untoward act to +hurt the three people who would grieve for him. He would bear the hurt +of forever loving in silence, and continue to wait for the open road +that would lead him to prison and disgrace, or maybe a death of shame. +He considered, as often before, all the arguments that continually +fretted him and tore his spirit; and, as before, he knew the only +course to follow was the hard one which took him back to Amalia, until +spring and the melting of the snows released him--to live near her, to +see her and hear her voice, even touch her hand, and feel his body +grow tense and hard, suffering restraint. If only for one moment he +might let himself go! If but once again he might touch her lips with +his! Ah, God! If he might say one word of love--only once before +leaving her forever! + +Standing there looking out upon the world beneath him and above him +bathed in the immaculate whiteness of the snow, and the moonlight over +all, he perceived how small an atom in the universe is one lone man, +yet how overwhelmingly great in his power to love. It seemed to him +that his love overtopped the hills and swept to the very throne of +God. He was exalted by it, and in this exaltation it was that he +trembled. Would it lift him up to triumph over remorse and death? + +He turned and plodded back the inevitable way. It was still +night--cold and silver-white. He was filled with energy born of great +renunciation and despair, and could only calm himself by work. If he +could only work until he dropped, or fight with the elements, it would +help him. He began clearing the snow from the ground around the cabin +and cut the path through to the shed; then he quietly entered and +found Larry still calmly sleeping as if but a moment had passed. +Finally, he secured one of the torches and made his way through the +tunnel to the place where Larry and he had found the quartz which they +had smelted in the evening. + +There he fastened the torch securely in a crevice, and began to swing +his pick and batter recklessly at the overhanging ledge. Never had he +worked so furiously, and the earth and stone lay all about him and +heaped at his feet. Deeper and deeper he fought and cut into the solid +wall, until, grimed with sweat and dirt, he sank exhausted upon the +pile of quartz he had loosened. Then he shoveled it to one side and +began again dealing erratic blows with his spent strength, until the +ledge hung dangerously over him. As it was, he reeled and swayed and +struck again, and staggered back to gather strength for another blow, +leaning on his pick, and this saved him from death; for, during the +instant's pause, the whole mass fell crashing in front of him, and he +went down with it, stunned and bleeding, but not crushed. + +Larry Kildene breakfasted and worked about the cabin and the shed half +the day before he began to wonder at the young man's absence. He fell +to grumbling that Harry had not fed and groomed his horse, and did the +work himself. Noon came, and Amalia looked in his face anxiously as he +entered and Harry not with him. + +"How is it that Mr. 'Arry have not arrive all this day?" + +"Oh, he's mooning somewhere. Off on a tramp I suppose." + +"Has he then his gun? No?" + +"No, but he's been about. He cleared away all the snow, and I saw he +had been over to the fall." Amalia turned pale as the shrewd old man's +eyes rested on her. "He came back early, though, for I saw footprints +both ways." + +"I hope he comes soon, for we have the good soup to-day, of the kind +Mr. 'Arry so well likes." + +But he did not come soon, and it was with much misgiving that Larry +set out to search for him. Finding no trails leading anywhere except +the twice trodden one to the fall, he naturally turned into the mine +and followed along the path, torch in hand, hallooing jovially as he +went, but his voice only returned to him, reverberating hollowly. +Then, remembering the ledge where they had last worked, and how he had +meant to put in props before cutting away any more, he ran forward, +certain of calamity, and found his young friend lying where he had +fallen, the blood still oozing from a cut above the temple, where it +had clotted. + +For a moment Larry stood aghast, thinking him dead, but quickly seeing +the fresh blood, he lifted the limp body and bound up the wound, and +then Harry opened his eyes and smiled in Larry's face. The big man in +his joy could do nothing but storm and scold. + +"Didn't I tell ye to do no more here until we'd the props in? I'm +thinking you're a fool, and that's what you are. If I didn't tell ye +we needed them here, you could have seen it for yourself--and here +you've cut away all underneath. What did you do it for? I say!" +Tenderly he gathered Harry in his arms and lifted him from the debris +and loosened rock. "Now! Are you hurt anywhere else? Don't try to +stand. Bear on me. I say, bear on me." + +"Oh, put me down and let me walk. I'm not hurt. Just a cut. How long +have you been here?" + +"Walk! I say! Yes, walk! Put your arm here, across my shoulder, so. +You can walk as well as a week-old baby. You've lost blood enough to +kill a man." So Larry carried him in spite of himself, and laid him in +his bunk. There he stood, panting, and looking down on him. "You're +heavier by a few pounds than when I toted you down that trail last +fall." + +"This is all foolishness. I could have made it myself--on foot," said +Harry, ungratefully, but he smiled up in the older man's face a +compensating smile. + +"Oh, yes. You can lie there and grin now. And you'll continue to lie +there until I let you up. It's no more lessons with Amalia and no more +violin and poetry for you, for one while, young man." + +"Thank God. It will help me over the time until the trail is open." +Larry stood staring foolishly on the drawn face and quivering, +sensitive lips. + +"You're hungry, that's what you are," he said conclusively. + +"Guess I am. I'm wretchedly sorry to make you all this trouble, +but--she mustn't come in here--you'll bring me a bite to eat--yes, I'm +hungry. That's what ails me." He drew a grimy hand across his eyes and +felt the bandage. "Why--you've done me up! I must have had quite a +cut." + +"I'll wash your face and get your coat off, and your boots, and make +you fit to look at, and then--" + +"I don't want to see her--or her mother--either. I'm just--I'm a bit +faint--I'll eat if--you'll fetch me a bite." + +Quickly Larry removed his outer clothing and mended the fire and then +left him carefully wrapped in blankets and settled in his bunk. When +he returned, he found him light-headed and moaning and talking +incoherently. Only a few words could he understand, and these remained +in his memory. + +"When I'm dead--when I'm dead, I say." And then, "Not yet. I can't +tell him yet.--I can't tell him the truth. It's too cruel." And again +the refrain: "When I'm dead--when I'm dead." But when Larry bent over +him and spoke, Harry looked sanely in his eyes and smiled again. + +"Ah, that's good," he said, sipping the soup. "I'll be myself again +to-morrow, and save you all this trouble. You know I must have +accomplished a good deal, to break off that ledge, and the gold fairly +leaped out on me as I worked." + +"Did you see it?" + +"No, but I knew it--I felt it. Shake my clothes and see if they aren't +full of it." + +"Was that what put you in such a frenzy and made a fool of you?" + +"Yes--no--no. It--it--wasn't that." + +"You know you were a fool, don't you?" + +"If telling me of it makes me know it--yes." + +"Eat a little more. Here are beans and venison. You must eat to make +up the loss. Why, man, I found you in a pool of blood." + +"Oh, I'll make it up. I'll make it up all too soon. I'm not to die so +easily." + +"You'll not make it up as soon as you think, young man. You may lose a +quart of blood in a minute, but it takes weeks to get it again," and +Harry King found his friend was right. + +That was the last snow of winter, as Larry had predicted, and when +Harry crawled out in the sun, the earth smelled of spring, and the +waterfall thundered in its downward plunge, augmented by the melting +snows of the still higher mountains. The noise of it was ever in their +ears, and the sound seemed fraught with a buoyant impulse and +inspiration--the whirl and rush of a tremendous force, giving a sense +of superhuman power. Even after he was really able to walk about and +help himself, Harry would not allow himself to see Amalia. He forbade +Larry to tell them how much he was improved, and still taxed his +friend to bring him up his meals, and sit by him, telling him the +tales of his life. + +"I'll wait on you here no longer, boy," said Larry, at last. "What in +life are you hiding in this shed for? The women think it strange of +you--the mother does, anyway,--you may never quite know what her +daughter thinks unless she wishes you to know, but I'm sure she thinks +strange of you. She ought to." + +"I know. I'm perfectly well and strong. The trail's open now, and I'll +go--I'll go back--where I came from. You've been good to me--I can't +say any more--now." + +"Smoke a pipe, lad, smoke a pipe." + +Harry took a pipe and laughed. "You're better than any pipe, but I'll +smoke it, and I'll go down, yes, I must, and bid them good-by." + +"And will you have nothing to tell me, lad, before you go?" + +"Not yet. After I've made my peace with the world--with the law--I'll +have a letter sent you--telling all I know. You'll forgive me. You +see, when I look back--I wish to see your face--as I see it +now--not--not changed towards me." + +"My face is not one to change toward you--you who have repented +whatever you've done that's wrong." + +That evening Harry King went down to the cabin and sat with his three +friends and ate with them, and told them he was to depart on the +morrow. They chatted and laughed and put restraint away from them, and +all walked together to watch the sunset from a crag above the cabin. +As they returned Madam Manovska walked at Harry's side, and as she +bade him good night she said in her broken English:-- + +"You think not to return--no? But I say to you--in my soul I know +it--yet will you return--we no more to be here--perhaps--but you--yes. +You will return." + +They stood a moment before the cabin, and the firelight streamed +through the open door and fell on Amalia's face. Harry took the +mother's hand as he parted from them, but he looked in Amalia's eyes. + +In the morning he appeared with his kit strapped on his back equipped +for walking. The women protested that he should not go thus, but he +said he could not take Goldbug and leave him below. "He is yours, +Amalia. Don't beat him. He's a good horse--he saved my life--or tried +to." + +"You know well it is my custom to beat animals. It is better you take +him, or I beat him severely." + +"I know it. But you see, I can't take him. Ride him for me, and--don't +let him forget me. Good-by!" + +He waved his hand and walked lightly away, and all stood in the +doorway watching him. At the top of a slight rise he turned again and +waved his hand, and was lost to their sight. Then Larry went back to +the shed and sat by the fire and smoked a lonely pipe, and the mother +began busily to weave at her lace in the cabin, closing the door, for +the morning air was chilly, and Amalia--for a moment she stood at the +cabin door, her hand pressed to her heart, her head bowed as if in +despair. Then she entered the cabin, caught up her silken shawl, and +went out. + +Throwing the shawl over her head she ran along the trail Harry had +taken, until she was out of breath, then she paused, and looked back, +hesitating, quivering. Should she go on? Should she return? + +"I will go but a little--little way. Maybe he stops a moment, if only +to--to--think a little," and she went on, hurrying, then moving more +slowly. She thought she might at least catch one more fleeting glimpse +of him as he turned the bend in the trail, but she did not. "Ah, he is +so quickly gone!" she sighed, but still walked on. + +Yes, so quickly gone, but he had stopped as she thought, to think a +little, beyond the bend, there where he had waited the long night in +the snow for Larry Kildene, there where he had sat like Elijah of old, +despairing, under the juniper tree. He felt weary and old and worn. He +thought his youth had gone from him forever, but what matter? What was +youth without hope? Youth, love, life, all were to be relinquished. He +closed his eyes to the wonder of the hills and the beauty before him, +yet he knew they were there with their marvelous appeal, and he sat +with bowed head. + +"'Arry! 'Arry King!" He raised his head, and there before him were all +that he had relinquished--youth, love, life. + +He ran and caught her to him, as one who is drowning catches at life. + +"You have leave me so coldly, 'Arry King." He pressed her cheek to +his. "You did not even speak to me a little." He kissed her lips. "You +have break my heart." He held her closer to his own. "Why have you +been so cold--like--like the ice--to leave me so hard--like--like--" + +"To save you from just this, Amalia. To save you from the touch of my +hand--this is the crime I have fought against." + +"No. To love is not crime." + +"To dare to love--with the curse on my head that I feel as Cain felt +it--is crime. In the Eye he saw it always--as I--I--see it. To touch +you--it is like bringing the crime and curse on you, and through your +beautiful love making you suffer for it. See, Amalia? It was all I +could do to go out of your life and say nothing." His voice trembled +and his hand quivered as it rested on her hair. "I sat here to fight +it. My heart--my heart that I have not yet learned to conquer--was +pulling me back to you. I was faint and old. I could walk no farther +until the fight was won. Oh, Amalia--Amalia! Leave me alone, with the +curse on my head! It is not yours." + +"No, and it is not yours. You have repent. I do not believe that poem +my mother is thinking so great. It is the terror of the ancient ones, +but to-day, no more. Take this. It is for you I bring it. I have wear +it always on my bosom, wear it now on yours." + +She quickly unclasped from her neck a threadlike chain of gold, and +drew from her bosom a small ivory crucifix, to which it was attached. +Reaching up, she clasped it around his neck, and thrust the cross in +his bosom. Then, thinking he meant to protest, she seized his hands +and held them, and her words came with the impetuous rush of her +thoughts. + +"No charm will help, Amalia. I killed my friend." + +"Ah, no, 'Arry King! Take this of me. It is not as you think for one +charm I give it. No. It is for the love of Christ--that you remember +and think of it. For that I wear it. For that I give it to you. If +you have repent, and have the Christ in your heart, so are you +high--lifted above the sin, and if they take you--if they put the iron +on your hands--Ah, I know, it is there you go to give yourself +up,--if they keep you forever in the prison, still forever are you +free. If they put you to the death to be satisfied of the law, then +quickly are you alive in Paradise with Christ. Listen, it is for +the love that you give yourself up--for the sorrowfulness in your +heart that you have killed your friend? Is not? Yes. So is good. +See. Look to the hills, the high mountains, all far around us? +They are beautiful. They are yours. God gives you. And the sky--so +clear--and the bright sun and the spring life and the singing of the +birds? All are yours--God gives. And the love in your heart--for me? +God gives, yes, and for the one you have hurt? Yes. God gives it. +And for the Christ who so loves you? Yes. So is the love the great +life of God in you. It is yours. Listen. Go with the love in your +heart--for me,--it will not hurt. It will be sweet to me. I carry +no curse for you, as you say. It is gone. If I see you again in +this world--as may be--is joy--great joy. If I see you no more +here, yet in Paradise I will see you, and there also it will be joy, +for it is the love that is all of life, and all of eternity, and +lives--lives!" + +Again he held her to his heart in a long embrace, and, when at last he +walked down the trail into the desert, he still felt her tears on his +cheek, her kisses on his lips, and her heart against his own. + + + + +BOOK THREE + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + +THE LITTLE SCHOOL-TEACHER + + +On a warm day in May, a day which opens the crab-apple blossoms and +sets the bees humming, and the children longing for a chance to pull +off shoes and stockings and go wading in the brook; on such a day the +door of the little schoolhouse stood open and the sunlight lay in a +long patch across the floor toward the "teacher's desk," and the +breeze came in and tossed a stray curl about her forehead, and the +children turned their heads often to look at the round clock on the +wall, watching for the slowly moving hands to point to the hour of +four. + +It was a mixed school. Children of all ages were there, from naughty +little Johnnie Cole of five to Mary Burt and Hilton Le Moyne of +seventeen and nineteen, who were in algebra and the sixth reader. It +was well known by the rest of the children why Hilton Le Moyne +lingered in the school this year all through May and June, instead of +leaving in April, as usual, to help his uncle on the farm. It was +"Teacher." He was in love with her, and always waited after school, +hoping for a chance to walk home with her. + +Poor boy! Black haired, red cheeked, and big hearted, he knew his love +was hopeless, for he was younger than she--not so much; but there was +Tom Howard who was also in love with her, and he had a span of sorrel +horses which he had raised and broken himself, and they were his own, +and he could come at any time--when she would let him--and take her +out riding. + +Ah, that was something to aspire to! Such a team as that, and +"Teacher" to sit by his side and drive out with him, all in her pretty +flat hat with a pink rose on it and green ribbons flying, and her +green parasol over her head--sitting so easily--just leaning forward a +bit and turning and laughing at what he was saying, and all the town +seeing her with him, and his harness shining and new, making the team +look as splendid as the best livery in town, and his buggy all painted +so bright and new--well! The time would come when he too would have +such an outfit. It would. And Teacher would see that Tom Howard was +not the only one who could drive up after her in such style. + +Little Teacher was tired to-day. The children had been restless and +noisy, and her heart had been heavy with a great disappointment. She +had been carefully saving her small salary that she might go when +school closed and take a course at the "Art Institute" in "Technique." +For a long time she had clung to the idea that she would become an +illustrator, and a great man had told her father that "with a little +instruction in technique" his daughter had "a fortune at the tips of +her fingers." Only technique! Yes, if she could get it! + +Father could help her, of course, only father was a painter in oils +and not an illustrator--and then--he was so driven, always, and father +and mother both thought it would be best for her to take the course of +study recommended by the great man. So it was decided, for there was +Martha married and settled in her home not far away from the +Institute, and Teacher could live with her and study. Ah, the +long-coveted chance almost within her reach! Then--one difficulty +after another intervened, beginning with a great fire in the fall +which swept away Martha's home and all they had accumulated, together +with her husband's school, rendering it necessary for the young couple +to go back to Leauvite for the winter. + +"Never mind, Betty, dear," Martha had encouraged her. "We'll return in +the spring and start again, and you can take the course just the +same." + +But now a general financial stringency prevailed all over the country. +"It always seems, when there's a 'financial stringency,' that +portraits and paintings are the things people economize on first of +all," said Betty. + +"Naturally," said Mary Ballard. "When people need food and clothing--they +want them, and not pictures. We'll just have to wait, dear." + +"Yes, we'll have to wait, Mary." Saucy Betty had a way of calling her +mother "Mary." "Your dress is shabby, and you need a new bonnet; I +noticed it in church,--you'd never speak of that, though. You'd wear +your winter's bonnet all summer." + +Yes, Betty must see to it, even if it took every bit of the fund, that +mother and Janey were suitably dressed. "Never mind, Mary, I'll catch +up some day. You needn't look sorry. I'm all right about my own +clothes, for Martha gave me a rose for my hat, and the new ribbons +make it so pretty,--and my green parasol is as good as new for all +I've had it three years, and--" + +Betty stopped abruptly. Three years!--was it so long since that +parasol was new--and she was so happy--and Richard came home--? The +family were seated on the piazza as they were wont to be in the +evening, and Betty walked quietly into the house, and up to her room. + +Bertrand Ballard sighed, and his wife reached out and took his hand in +hers. "She's never been the same since," he said. + +"Her character has deepened and she's fine and sweet--" + +"Yes, yes. I have three hundred dollars owing me for the Delong +portrait. If I had it, she should have her course. I'll make another +effort to collect it." + +"I would, Bertrand." + +Julien Thurbyfil and his wife walked down the flower-bordered path +side by side to the gate and stood leaning over it in silence. +Practical Martha was the first to break it. + +"There will be just as much need for preparatory schools now as there +was before the fire, Julien." + +"Yes, dear, yes." + +"And, meanwhile, we are glad of this sweet haven to come to, aren't +we? And it won't be long before things are so you can begin again." + +"Yes, dear, and then we'll make it up to Betty, won't we?" + +But Julien was distraught and somber, in spite of brave words. He had +not inherited Mary Ballard's way of looking at things, nor his +father-in-law's buoyancy. + +All that night Betty lay wakeful and thinking--thinking as she had +many, many a time during the last three years, trying to make plans +whereby she might adjust her thoughts to a life of loneliness, as +she had decided in her romantic heart was all she would take. How +could there be anything else for her since that terrible night +when Richard had come to her and confessed his guilt--his love and +his renunciation! Was she not sharing it all with him wherever he +might be, and whatever he was doing? Oh, where was he? Did he ever +think of her and know she was always thinking of him? Did he know +she prayed for him, and was the thought a comfort to him? Surely +Peter was the happier of the two, for he was not a sorrowing +criminal, wandering the earth, hiding and repenting. So all her +thoughts went out to Richard, and no wonder she was a weary little +wight at the end of the school day. + +Four o'clock, and the children went hurrying away, all but Hilton Le +Moyne, who lingered awhile at his desk, and then reluctantly departed, +seeing Teacher did not look up from her papers except to give him a +nod and a fugitive little smile of absent-minded courtesy. Left thus +alone, Betty lifted the lid of her desk and put away the school +register and the carefully marked papers to be given out the next day, +and took from a small portfolio a packet of closely written sheets. +These she untied and looked over, tossing them rapidly aside one after +another until she found the one for which she searched. + +It was a short poem, hastily written with lead pencil, and much +crumpled and worn, as if it had been carried about. Now she +straightened the torn edges and smoothed it out and began scanning the +lines, counting off on her fingers the rhythmic beats; she copied the +verses carefully on a fresh white sheet of paper and laid them aside; +then, shoving the whole heap of written papers from her, she selected +another fresh sheet and began anew, writing and scanning and writing +again. + +Steadily she worked while an hour slipped by. A great bumblebee flew +in at one window and boomed past her head and out at the other window, +and a bluebird perched for an instant on the window ledge and was off +again. She saw the bee and the bird and paused awhile, gazing with +dreamy eyes through the high, uncurtained window at drifting clouds +already taking on the tint of the declining sun; then she stretched +her arms across her wide desk, and putting her head down on them, was +soon fast asleep. Tired little Teacher! + +The breeze freshened and tumbled her hair and fanned her flushed +cheek, and it did more than that; for, as the drifting clouds +betokened, the weather was changing, and now a gust of wind caught at +her papers and took some of them out of the window, tossing and +whirling them hither and thither. Some were carried along the wayside +and lost utterly. One fluttered high over the tree tops and out across +the meadow, and then suddenly ceased its flight and drifted slowly +down like a dried leaf, past the face of a young man who sat on a +stone, moodily gazing in the meadow brook. He reached out a long arm +and caught it as it fluttered by, just in time to save it from +annihilation in the water. + +For a moment he held the scrap of paper absently between his fingers, +then glancing down at it he spied faintly written, half-obliterated +verses and read them; then, with awakened interest, he read them +again, smoothing the torn bit of paper out on his knee. The place +where he sat was well screened from the road by a huge basswood tree, +which spread great limbs quite across the stream, and swept both its +banks with drooping branches and broad leaves. Now he held the scrap +on his open palm and studied it closely and thoughtfully. It was the +worn piece from which Betty had copied the verses. + + "Oh, send me a thought on the winds that blow. + On the wing of a bird send a thought to me; + For the way is so long that I may not know, + And there are no paths on the troubled sea. + + "Out of the darkness I saw you go,-- + Into the shadows where sorrows be,-- + Wounded and bleeding, and sad and slow,-- + Into the darkness away from me. + + "Out of my life and into the night, + But never out of my heart, my own. + Into the darkness out of the light, + Bleeding and wounded, and walking alone." + +Here the words were quite erased and scratched over, and the pathetic +bit of paper looked as if it had been tear-stained. Carefully and +smoothly he laid it in his long bill book. The book was large and +plethoric with bank notes, and there beside them lay the little scrap +of paper, worn and soiled, yet tear washed, and as the young man +touched it tenderly he smiled and thought that in it was a wealth of +something no bank note could buy. With a touch of sentiment +unsuspected by himself, he felt it too sacred a thing to be touched by +them, and he smoothed it again and laid it in a compartment by +itself. + +Then he rose, and sauntered across the meadow to the country road, and +down it past the schoolhouse standing on its own small rise of ground +with the door still wide open, and its shadow, cast by the rays of the +now setting sun stretched long across the playground. The young man +passed it, paused, turned back, and entered. There at her desk Betty +still slept, and as he stepped softly forward and looked down on her +she stirred slightly and drew a long breath, but slept on. + +For a moment his heart ceased to beat, then it throbbed suffocatingly +and his hand went to his breast and clutched the bill book where lay +the tender little poem. There at her elbow lay the copy she had so +carefully made. The air of the room was warm and drowsy, and the +stillness was only broken by the low buzzing of two great bluebottle +flies that struggled futilely against the high window panes. Dear +little tired Betty! Dreaming,--of whom? The breath came through her +parted lips, softly and evenly, and the last ray of the sun fell on +her flushed cheek and brought out the touch of gold in her hair. + +The young man turned away and crossed the bare floor with light steps +and drew the door softly shut after him as he went out. No one might +look upon her as she slept, with less reverent eyes. Some distance +away, where the road began to ascend toward the river bluff, he seated +himself on a stone overlooking the little schoolhouse and the road +beyond. There he took up his lonely watch, until he saw Betty come out +and walk hurriedly toward the village, carrying a book and swinging +her hat by the long ribbon ties; then he went on climbing the winding +path to the top of the bluff overlooking the river. + +Moodily he paced up and down along the edge of the bluff, and finally +followed a zigzag path to the great rocks below, that at this point +seemed to have hurled themselves down there to do battle with the +eager, dominating flood. For a while he stood gazing into the rushing +water, not as though he were fascinated by it, but rather as if he +were held to the spot by some inward vision. Presently he seemed to +wake with a start and looked back along the narrow, steep path, and up +to the overhanging edge of the bluff, scanning it closely. + +"Yes, yes. There is the notch where it lay, and this may be the very +stone on which I am standing. What an easy thing to fall over there +and meet death halfway!" He muttered the words under his breath and +began slowly to climb the difficult ascent. + +The sun was gone, and down by the water a cold, damp current of air +seemed to sweep around the curve of the bluff along with the rush of +the river. As he climbed he came to a warmer wave of air, and the dusk +closed softly around him, as if nature were casting a friendly curtain +over the drowsing earth; and the roar of the river came up to him, no +longer angrily, but in a ceaseless, subdued complaint. + +Again he paced the top of the bluff, and at last seated himself with +his feet hanging over the edge, at the spot from which the stone had +fallen. The trees on this wind-swept place were mostly gnarled oaks, +old and strong and rugged, standing like a band of weather-beaten life +guardsmen overlooking the miles of country around. Not twenty paces +from where the young man sat, half reclining on his elbow, stood one +of these oaks, and close to its great trunk on its shadowed side a man +bent forward intently watching him. Whenever the young man shifted his +position restlessly, the figure made a darting movement forward as if +to snatch him from the dangerous brink, then recoiled and continued to +watch. + +Soon the young man seemed to be aware of the presence and watchful +eye, and looked behind him, peering into the dusk. Then the man left +his place and came toward him, with slow, sauntering step. + +"Hullo!" he said, with an insinuating, rising inflection and in the +soft voice of the Scandinavian. + +"Hallo!" replied the young man. + +"Seek?" + +"Sick? No." The young man laughed slightly. "What are you doing +here?" + +"Oh, I yust make it leetle valk up here." + +"Same with me, and now I'll make it a little walk back to town." The +young man rose and stretched himself and turned his steps slowly back +along the winding path. + +"Vell, I tank I make it leetle valk down town, too," and the figure +came sauntering along at the young man's side. + +"Oh, you're going my way, are you? All right." + +"Yas, I tank I going yust de sam your way." + +The young man set the pace more rapidly, and for a time they walked on +in silence. At last, "Live here?" he asked. + +"Yas, I lif here." + +"Been here long?" + +"In America? Yes. I guess five--sax--year. Oh, I lak it goot." + +"I mean here, in this place." + +"Oh, here? Yas, two, t'ree year. I lak it goot too." + +"Know any one here?" + +"Oh, yas. I know people I vork by yet." + +"Who are they?" + +"Oh, I vork by many place--make garten--und vork wit' horses, und so. +Meesus Craikmile, I vork by her on garten. She iss dere no more." + +The young man paused suddenly in his stride. "Gone? Where is she +gone?" + +"Oh, she iss by ol' country gone. Her man iss gone mit." They walked +on. + +"What! Is the Elder gone, too?" + +"Yas. You know heem, yas?" + +"Oh, yes. I know everybody here. I've been away for a good while." + +"So? Yas, yust lak me. I was gone too goot wile, bot I coom back too, +yust lak you." + +Here they came to a turn in the road, and the village lights began to +wink out through the darkness, and their ways parted. + +"I'm going this way," said the young man. "You turn off here? Well, +good night." + +"Vell, goot night." The Swede sauntered away down a by-path, and the +young man kept on the main road to the village and entered its one +hotel where he had engaged a room a few hours before. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + +THE SWEDE'S TELEGRAM + + +As soon as the shadows hid the young man's retreating form from the +Swede's watchful eye, that individual quickened his pace and presently +broke into a run. Circling round a few blocks and regaining the main +street a little below the hotel, he entered the telegraph office. +There his haste seemed to leave him. He stood watching the clerk a few +minutes, but the latter paid no attention to him. + +"Hullo!" he said at last. + +"Hallo, yourself!" said the boy, without looking up or taking his hand +from the steadily clicking instrument. + +"Say, I lak it you send me somet'ing by telegraph." + +"All right. Hold on a minute," and the instrument clicked on. + +After a little the Swede grew impatient. He scratched his pale gold +head and shuffled his feet. + +"Say, I lak it you send me a little somet'ing yet." He reached out and +touched the boy on the shoulder. + +"Keep out of here. I'll send your message when I'm through with this," +and the instrument clicked on. Then the Swede resigned himself, +watching sullenly. + +"Everybody has to take his turn," said the boy at last. "You can't cut +in like that." The boy was newly promoted and felt his importance. He +took the soiled scrap of paper held out to him. It was written over +in a clear, bold hand. "This isn't signed. Who sends this?" + +"You make it yust lak it iss. I send dot." + +"Well, sign it." He pushed a pen toward him, and the Swede took it in +clumsy fingers and wrote laboriously, "Nels Nelson." + +"You didn't write this message?" + +"No. I vork by de hotel, und I get a man write it." + +"It isn't dated. Been carrying it around in your pocket a good while I +guess. Better date it." + +"Date it?" + +"Yes. Put down the time you send, you know." + +"Oh, dat's not'ing. He know putty goot when he get it." + +"Very well. 'To Mr. John Thomas,--State Street, Chicago. Job's ready. +Come along.' Who's job is it? Yours?" + +"No. It's hees yob yet. You mak it go to-night, all right. Goot night. +I pay it now, yas. Vell, goot night." + +He paid the boy and slipped out into the shadows of the street, and +again making the detour so that he came to the hotel from the rear, he +passed the stables, and before climbing to his cupboard of a room at +the top of the building, he stepped round to the side and looked in at +the dining room windows, and there he saw the young man seated at +supper. + +"All right," he said softly. + +The omnibus sent regularly by the hotel management brought only one +passenger from the early train next day. Times had been dull of late +and travel had greatly fallen off, as the proprietor complained. There +was nothing unusual about this passenger,--the ordinary traveling man, +representing a well-known New York dry-goods house. + +Nels Nelson drove the omnibus. He had done so ever since Elder +Craigmile went to Scotland with his wife. The young man he had found +on the river bluff was pacing the hotel veranda as he drove up, and +Nels Nelson glanced at him, and into the eyes of the traveling man, as +he handed down the latter's heavy valise. + +Standing at the desk, the newcomer chatted with the clerk as he wrote +his name under that of the last arrival the day before. + +"Harry King," he read. "Came yesterday. Many stopping here now? Times +hard! I guess so! Nothing doing in my line. Nobody wants a thing. +Guess I'll leave the road and 'go west, young man,' as old Greeley +advises. What line is King in? Do' know? Is that him going into the +dining room? Guess I'll follow and fill up. Anything good to eat +here?" + +In the dining room he indicated to the waiter by a nod of his head the +seat opposite Harry King, and immediately entered into a free and easy +conversation, giving him a history of his disappointments in the way +of trade, and reiterating his determination to "go west, young man." + +He hardly glanced at Harry, but ate rapidly, stowing away all within +reach, until the meal was half through, then he looked up and asked +abruptly, "What line are you in, may I ask?" + +"Certainly you may ask, but I can't tell you. I would be glad to do so +if I knew myself." + +"Ever think of going west?" + +"I've just come from there--or almost there--whereever it is." + +"Stiles is my name--G. B. Stiles. Good name for a dry-goods salesman, +don't you think so? I know the styles all right, for men, and women +too. Like it out west?" + +"Yes. Very well." + +"Been there long?" + +"Oh, two or three years." + +"Had enough of it, likely?" + +"Well, I can scarcely say that." + +"Mean to stay east now?" + +"I may. I'm not settled yet." + +"Better take up my line. If I drop out, there'll be an opening with my +firm--good firm, too. Ward, Williams & Co., New York. Been in New +York, I suppose?" + +"No, never." + +"Well, better try it. I mean to 'go west, young man.' Know anybody +here? Ever live here?" + +"Yes, when I was a boy." + +"Come back to the boyhood home. We all do that, you know. There's +poetry in it--all do it. 'Old oaken bucket' and all that sort of +thing. I mean to do it myself yet,--back to old York state." G. B. +Stiles wiped his mouth vigorously and shoved back his chair. "Well, +see you again, I hope," he said, and walked off, picking his teeth +with a quill pick which he took from his vest pocket. + +He walked slowly and meditatively through the office and out on the +sidewalk. Here he paused and glanced about, and seeing his companion +of the breakfast table was not in sight, he took his way around to the +stables. Nels Nelson was stooping in the stable yard, washing a +horse's legs. G. B. Stiles came and stood near, looking down on him, +and Nels straightened up and stood waiting, with the dripping rags in +his hand. + +"Vell, I tol' you he coomin' back sometime. I vaiting long time all +ready, but yust lak I tol' you, he coom." + +"I thought I told you not to sign that telegram. But it's no +matter,--didn't do any harm, I guess." + +"Dot vas a fool, dot boy dere. He ask all tam, 'Vot for? Who write +dis? You not? Eh? Who sen' dis?' He make me put my name dere; den I +get out putty quvick or he ask yet vat iss it for a yob you got +somebody, eh?" + +"Oh, well, we've got him now, and he don't seem to care to keep under +cover, either." G. B. Stiles seemed to address himself. "Too smart to +show a sign. See here, Nelson, are you ready to swear that he's the +man? Are you ready to swear to all you told me?" + +"It is better you gif me a paper once, vit your name, dot you gif me +half dot money." + +Nels Nelson stooped deliberately and went on washing the horse's legs. +A look of irritation swept over the placid face of G. B. Stiles, and +he slipped the toothpick back in his vest pocket and walked away. + +"I say," called the Swede after him. "You gif me dot paper. Eh?" + +"I can't stand talking to you here. You'll promise to swear to all you +told me when I was here the first time. If you do that, you are sure +of the money, and if you change it in the least, or show the least +sign of backing down, we neither of us get it. Understand?" + +Again the Swede arose, and stood looking at him sullenly. "It iss ten +t'ousand tallers, und I get it half, eh?" + +"Oh, you go to thunder!" The proprietor of the hotel came around the +corner of the stable, and G. B. Stiles addressed himself to him. "I'd +like the use of a horse to-day, and your man here, if I can get him. +I've got to make a trip to Rigg's Corners to sell some dry goods. Got +a good buggy?" + +"Yes, and a horse you can drive yourself, if you like. Be gone all +day?" + +"No, don't want to fool with a horse--may want to stay and send the +horse back--if I find a place where the grub is better than it is +here. See?" + +"You'll be back after one meal at any place within a hundred miles of +here." The proprietor laughed. + +"Might as well drive yourself. You won't want to send the horse back. +I'm short of drivers just now. Times are bad and travel light, so I +let one go." + +"I'll take the Swede there." + +"He's my station hand. Maybe Jake can drive you. Nels, where's Jake?" + +"He's dere in the stable. Shake!" he shouted, without glancing up, and +Jake slouched out into the yard. + +"Jake, here's a gentleman wants you to drive him out into the +country,--" + +"I'll take the Swede. Jake can drive your station wagon for once." + +G. B. Stiles laughed good-humoredly and returned to the piazza and sat +tilted back with his feet on the rail not far from Harry King, who was +intently reading the _New York Tribune_. For a while he eyed the young +man covertly, then dropped his feet to the floor and turned upon him +with a question on the political situation, and deliberately engaged +him in conversation, which Harry King entered into courteously yet +reluctantly. Evidently he was preoccupied with affairs of his own. + +In the stable yard a discussion was going on. "Dot horse no goot in +buggy. Better you sell heem any vay. He yoomp by de cars all tam, und +he no goot by buggy." + +"Well, you've got to take him by the buggy, if he is no good. I won't +let Jake drive him around the trains, and he won't let Jake go with +him out to Rigg's Corners, so you'll have to take the gray and the +buggy and go." The Swede began a sullen protest, but the proprietor +shouted back to him, "You'll do this or leave," and walked in. + +Nels went then into the stable, smiling quietly. He was well satisfied +with the arrangement. "Shake, you put dot big horse by de buggy. No. +Tak' d'oder bridle. I don't drive heem mit ol' bridle; he yoomp too +quvick yet. All tam yoomping, dot horse." + +Presently Nels drove round to the front of the hotel with the gray +horse and a high-top buggy. Harry King regarded him closely as he +passed, but Nels looked straight ahead. A boy came out carrying +Stiles' heavy valise. + +"Put that in behind here," said Stiles, as he climbed in and seated +himself at Nels Nelson's side. The gray leaped forward on the instant +with so sudden a jump that he caught at his hat and missed it. Harry +King stepped down and picked it up. + +"What ails your horse?" he asked, as he restored it to its owner. + +"Oh, not'in'. He lak yoomp a little." And again the horse leaped +forward, taking them off at a frantic pace, the high-topped buggy +atilt as they turned the corner of the street into the country road. +Harry King returned to his seat. Surely it was the Scandinavian who +had walked down from the bluff with him the evening before. There was +no mistaking that soft, drawling voice. + +"See here! You pull your beast down, I want to talk with you. Hi! +There goes my hat again. Can't you control him better than that? Let +me out." Nels pulled the animal down with a powerful arm, and he stood +quietly enough while G. B. Stiles climbed down and walked back for his +hat. "Look here! Can you manage the beast, or can't you?" he asked as +he stood beside the vehicle and wiped the dust from his soft black +felt with his sleeve. "If you can't, I'll walk." + +"Oh, yas, I feex heem. I leek heem goot ven ve coom to place nobody +see me." + +"I guess that's what ails him now. You've done that before." + +"Yas, bot if you no lak I leek heem, ust you yoomp in und I lat heem +run goot for two, t'ree mile. Dot feex heem all right." + +"I don't know about that. Sure you can hold him?" + +"Yas, I hol' heem so goot he break hee's yaw off, if he don't stop ven +I tol' heem. Now, quvick. Whoa! Yoomp in." + +G. B. Stiles scrambled in with unusual agility for him, and again they +were off, the gray taking them along with leaps and bounds, but the +road was smooth, and the dust laid by frequent showers was like velvet +under the horse's feet. Stiles drew himself up, clinging to the side +of the buggy and to his hat. + +"How long will he keep this up?" he asked. + +"Oh, he stop putty quvick. He lak it leetle run. T'ree, four mile he +run--das all." And the Swede was right. After a while the horse +settled down to a long, swinging trot. "Look at heem now. I make heem +go all tam lak dis. Ven I get my money I haf stable of my own und den +I buy heem. I know heem. I all tam tol' Meester Decker dot horse no +goot--I buy heem sheep. You go'n gif me dot money, eh?" + +"I see. You're sharp, but you're asking too much. If it were not for +me, you wouldn't get a cent, or me either. See? I've spent a thousand +hunting that man up, and you haven't spent a cent. All you've done is +to stick here at the hotel and watch. I've been all over the country. +Even went to Europe and down in Mexico--everywhere. You haven't really +earned a cent of it." + +"Vat for you goin' all offer de vorld? Vat you got by dot? Spen' +money--dot vot you got. Me, I stay here. I fin' heem; you not got heem +all offer de vorld. I tol' you, of a man he keel somebody, he run vay, +bot he goin' coom back where he done it. He not know it vot for he do +it, bot he do it all right." + +"Look here, Nelson; it's outrageous! You can't lay claim to that +money. I told you if he was found and you were willing to give in your +evidence just as you gave it to me that day, I'd give you your fair +share of the reward, as you asked for it, but I never gave you any +reason to think you were to take half. I've spent all the money +working up this matter, and if I were to go back now and do nothing, +as I'm half a mind to do, you'd never get a cent of it. There's no +proof that he's the man." + +"You no need spen' dot money." + +"Can't I get reason into your head? When I set out to get hold of a +criminal, do you think I sit down in one place and wait? You didn't +find him; he came here, and it's only by an accident you have him, and +he may clear out yet, and neither of us be the better off because of +your pig-headedness. Here, drive into that grove and tie your horse a +minute and we'll come to an understanding. I can't write you out a +paper while we're moving along like this." + +Then Nels turned into the grove and took the horse from the shafts and +tied him some distance away, while G. B. Stiles took writing materials +from his valise, and, sitting in the buggy, made a show of drawing up +a legal paper. + +"I'm going to draw you up a paper as you asked me to. Now how do you +know you have the man?" + +"It iss ten t'ousand tallers. You make me out dot paper you gif me +half yet." + +"Damn it! You answer my question. I can't make this out unless I know +you're going to come up to the scratch." He made a show of writing, +and talked at the same time. "I, G. B. Stiles, detective, in the +employ of Peter Craigmile, of the town of Leauvite, for the capture of +the murderer of his son, Peter Craigmile, Jr., do hereby promise one +Nels Nelson, Swede,--in the employ of Mr Decker, hotel proprietor, as +stable man,--for services rendered in the identification of said +criminal at such time as he should be found,----Now, what service have +you rendered? How much money have you spent in the search?" + +"Not'ing. I got heem." + +"Nothing. That's just it." + +"I got heem." + +"No, you haven't got him, and you can't get him without me. Don't you +think it. I am the one to get him. You have no warrant and no license. +I'm the one to put in the claim and get the reward for you, and you'll +have to take what I choose to give, and no more. By rights you would +only have your fee as witness, and that's all. That's all the state +gives. Whatever else you get is by my kindness in sharing with you. +Hear?" + +A dangerous light gleamed in the Swede's eyes, and Stiles, by a slight +disarrangement of his coat in the search for his handkerchief, +displayed a revolver in his hip pocket. Nels' eyes shifted, and he +looked away. + +"You'd better quit this damned nonsense and say what you'll take and +what you'll swear to." + +"I'll take half dot money," said Nels, softly and stubbornly. + +"I'll take out all I've spent on this case before we divide it in any +way, shape, or manner." Stiles figured a moment on the margin of his +paper. "Now, what are you going to swear to? You needn't shift round. +You'll tell me here just what you're prepared to give in as evidence +before I put down a single figure to your name on this paper. See?" + +"I done tol' you all dot in Chicago dot time." + +"Very well. You'll give that in as evidence, every word of it, and +swear to it?" + +"Yas." + +"I don't more than half believe this is the man. You know it's life +imprisonment for him if it's proved on him, and you'd better be sure +you have the right one. I'm in for justice, and you're in for the +money, that's plain." + +"Yas, I tank you lak it money, too." + +"I'll not put him in irons to-night unless you give me some better +reason for your assertion. Why is he the man?" + +"I seen heem dot tam, I know. He got it mark on hees head vere de blud +run dot tam, yust de sam, all right. I know heem. He speek lak heem. +He move hees arm lak heem. Yas, I know putty good." + +"You're sure you remember everything he said--all you told me?" + +"Oh, yas. I write it here," and he drew a small book from his pocket, +very worn and soiled. "All iss here writed." + +"Let's see it." With a smile the Swede put it in Stiles' hand. He +regarded it in a puzzled way. + +"What's this?" He handed the book back contemptuously. "You'll never +be able to make that out,--all dirty and--" + +"Yas, I read heem, you not,--dot's Swedish." + +"Very well. Perhaps you know what you're about," and the discussion +went on, until at last G. B. Stiles, partly by intimidation, partly by +assumption of being able to get on without his services, persuaded +Nels to modify his demands and accept three thousand for his evidence. +Then the gray was put in the shafts again, and they drove to the town +quietly, as if they had been to Rigg's Corners and back. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII + +"A RESEMBLANCE SOMEWHERE" + + +While G. B. Stiles and the big Swede were taking their drive and +bargaining away Harry King's liberty, he had loitered about the town, +and visited a few places familiar to him. First he went to the home of +Elder Craigmile and found it locked, and the key in the care of one of +the bank clerks who slept there during the owner's absence. After +sitting a while on the front steps, with his elbows on his knees and +his head in his hands, he rose and strolled out along the quiet +country road on its grassy footpath, past the Ballards' home. + +Mary and Bertrand were out in the little orchard at the back of the +house, gazing up at the apple blossoms that hung over their heads in +great pale pink clouds. A sweet odor came from the lilacs that hung +over the garden fence, and the sunlight streamed down on the peaceful +home, and on the opening spring flowers--the borders of dwarf purple +iris and big clusters of peonies, just beginning to bud,--and on the +beehives scattered about with the bees flying out and in. Ah! It was +still the same--tempting and inviting. + +He paused at the gate, looking wistfully at the open door, but did not +enter. No, he must keep his own counsel and hold to his purpose, +without stirring these dear old friends to sorrowful sympathy. So he +passed on, unseen by them, feeling the old love for the place and all +the tender memories connected with it revived and deepened. On he +went, strolling toward the little schoolhouse where he had found dear +Betty Ballard sleeping at the big school desk the evening before, and +passed it by--only looking in curiously at the tousled heads bent over +their lessons, and at Betty herself, where she sat at the desk, a +class on the long recitation bench before her, and a great boy +standing at the blackboard. He saw her rise and take the chalk from +the boy's hand and make a few rapid strokes with it on the board. + +Little Betty a school-teacher! She had suffered much! How much did she +care now? Was it over and her heart healed? Had other loves come to +her? All intent now on her work, she stood with her back toward him, +and as he passed the open door she turned half about, and he saw her +profile sharply against the blackboard. Older? Yes, she looked older, +but prettier for that, and slight and trim and neat, dressed in a soft +shade of green. She had worn such a dress once at a picnic. Well he +remembered it--could he ever forget? Swiftly she turned again to the +board and drew the eraser across the work, and he heard her voice +distinctly, with its singing quality--how well he remembered that +also--"Now, how many of the class can work this problem?" + +Ah, little Betty! little Betty! Life is working problems for us all, +and you are working yours to a sweet conclusion, helping the children, +and taking up your own burdens and bearing them bravely. This was +Harry King's thought as he strolled on and seated himself again under +the basswood tree by the meadow brook, and took from his pocket the +worn scrap of paper the wind had brought him and read it again. + + "Out of my life, and into the night, + But never out of my heart, my own. + Into the darkness, out of the light, + Bleeding and wounded and walking alone." + +Such a tender, rhythmic bit of verse--Betty must have written it. It +was like her. + +After a time he rose and strolled back again past the little +schoolhouse, and it was recess. Long before he reached it he heard the +voices of the children shouting, "Anty, anty over, anty, anty over." +They were divided into two bands, one on either side of the small +building, over which they tossed the ball and shouted as they tossed +it, "Anty, anty over"; and the band on the other side, warned by the +cry, caught the ball on the rebound if they could, and tore around the +corner of the building, trying to hit with it any luckless wight on +the other side, and so claim him for their own, and thus changing +sides, the merry romp went on. + +Betty came to the door with the bell in her hand, and stood for a +moment looking out in the sunshine. One of the smallest of the boys +ran to her and threw his arms around her, and, looking up in her face, +screamed in wildest excitement, "I caught it twice, Teacher, I did." + +With her hand on his head she looked in his eyes and smiled and +tinkled her little bell, and the children, big and little, all came +crowding through the door, hustling like a flock of chickens, and +every boy snatched off his cap as he rushed by her. + +Ah, grave, dignified little Betty! Who was that passing slowly along +the road? Like a wild rose by the wayside she seemed to him, with her +pink cheeks and in her soft green gown, framed thus by the doorway of +the old schoolhouse. Naturally she had no recognition for this bearded +man, walking by with stiff, soldierly step, yet something caused her +to look again, turning as she entered, and, when he looked back, their +eyes met, and hers dropped before his, and she was lost to his sight +as she closed the door after her. Of course she could not recognize +him disguised thus with the beard on his face, and his dark, tanned +skin. She did not recognize him, and he was glad, yet sore at heart. + +He had had all he could bear, and for the rest of the morning he wrote +letters, sitting in his room at Decker's hotel. Only two letters, but +one was a very long one--to Amalia Manovska. Out in the world he dared +not use her own name, so he addressed the envelope to Miss McBride, in +Larry Kildene's care, at the nearest station to which they had agreed +letters should be sent. Before he finished the second letter the gong +sounded for dinner. The noon meal was always dinner at the hotel. He +thrust his papers and the unfinished letter in his valise and locked +it--and went below. + +G. B. Stiles was already there, seated in the same place as on the day +before, and Harry took his seat opposite him, and they began a +conversation in the same facile way, but the manner of the dry-goods +salesman towards him seemed to have undergone a change. It had lost +its swagger, and was more that of a man who could be a gentleman if he +chose, while to the surprise of Stiles the manner of the young man was +as disarmingly quiet and unconcerned as before, and as abstracted. He +could not believe that any man hovering on the brink of a terrible +catastrophe, and one to avert which required concealment of identity, +could be so unwary. He half believed the Swede was laboring under an +hallucination, and decided to be deliberate, and await developments +for the rest of the day. + +After dinner they wandered out to the piazza side by side, and there +they sat and smoked, and talked over the political situation as +they had the evening before, and Stiles was surprised at the young +man's ignorance of general public matters. Was it ignorance, or +indifference? + +"I thought all you army men would stand by Grant to the drop of the +hat." + +"Yes, I suppose we would." + +"You suppose so! Don't you know? I carried a gun under Grant, and I'd +swear to any policy he'd go in for, and what I say is, they haven't +had quite enough down there. What the South needs is another licking. +That's what it needs." + +"Oh, no, no, no. I was sick of fighting, long before they laid me up, +and I guess a lot of us were." + +G. B. Stiles brought his feet to the floor with a stamp of surprise +and turned to look full in the young man's face. For a moment he gazed +on him thus, then grunted. "Ever feel one of their bullets?" + +"Oh, yes." + +"That the mark, there over your temple?" + +"No, it didn't do any harm to speak of. That's--where something--struck +me." + +"Oh, you don't say!" Harry King rose. "Leaving?" + +"No. I have a few letters to write--and--" + +"Sorry to miss you. Staying in town for some time?" + +"I hardly know. I may." + +"Plans unsettled? Well, times are unsettled and no money stirring. My +plans are all upset, too." + +The young man returned to his room and continued his writing. One +short letter to Betty, inclosing the worn scrap of paper the wind had +brought him; he kissed it before he placed it in the envelope. Then he +wrote one to her father and mother jointly, and a long one to Hester +Craigmile. Sometimes he would pause in his writing and tear up a page, +and begin over again, but at last all were done and inclosed in a +letter to the Elder and placed in a heavy envelope and sealed. Only +the one to Amalia he did not inclose, but carried it out and mailed it +himself. + +Passing the bank on the way to the post office, he dropped in and made +quite a heavy deposit. It was just before closing time and the clerks +were all intent on getting their books straight, preparatory to +leaving. How well he remembered that moment of restless turning of +ledgers and the slight accession of eagerness in the younger clerks, +as they followed the long columns of figures down with the forefinger +of the left hand--the pen poised in the right. The whole scene smote +him poignantly as he stood at the teller's window waiting. And he +might have been doing that, he thought! A whole lifetime spent in +doing just that and more like it, year in and year out! + +How had his life been better? He had sinned--and failed. Ah! But he +had lived and loved--lived terribly and loved greatly. God help him, +how he loved! Even for life to end here--either in prison or in +death--still he had felt the tremendous passions, and understood the +meaning of their power in a human soul. This had life brought him, and +a love beyond measure to crown all. + +The teller peered at him through the little window behind which he had +stood so many years peering at people in this sleepy little bank, this +sure, safe, little bank, always doing its conservative business in the +same way, and heretofore always making good. He reached out a long, +well-shaped hand,--a large-veined hand, slightly hairy at the wrist, +to take the bank notes. How often had Harry King seen that hand +stretched thus through the little window, drawing bank notes toward +him! Almost with a shock he saw it now reach for his own--for the +first time. In the old days he had had none to deposit. It was always +for others it had been extended. Now it seemed as if he must seize the +hand and shake it,--the only hand that had been reached out to him +yet, in this town where his boyhood had been spent. + +A young man who had preceded Harry King at the teller's window paused +near by at the cashier's desk and began asking questions which Harry +himself would have been glad to ask, but could not. + +He was an alert, bright-eyed young chap with a smiling face. "Good +afternoon, Mr. Copeland. Any news for me to-day?" + +Mr. Copeland was an elderly man of great dignity, and almost as much +of a figure there as the Elder himself. It was an act of great +temerity to approach him for items of news for the _Leauvite Mercury_. +Of this fact the young reporter seemed to be blithely ignorant. All +the clerks were covertly watching the outcome, and thus attention was +turned from Harry King; even the teller glanced frequently at the +cashier's desk as he counted the bank notes placed in his hand. + +"News? No. No news," said Mr. Copeland, without looking up. + +"Thank you. It's my business to ask for it, you know. We're making +more of a feature of personal items than ever before. We're up to +date, you see. 'Find out what people want and then give it to them.' +That's our motto." The young man leaned forward over the high railing +that corralled the cashier in his pen apart from the public, smilingly +oblivious of that dignitary's objections to an interview. "Expecting +the return of Elder Craigmile soon?" + +At that question, to the surprise of all, the cashier suddenly changed +his manner to the suave affability with which he greeted people of +consequence. "We are expecting Elder Craigmile shortly. Yes. Indeed he +may arrive any day, if the voyage is favorable." + +"Thank you. Mrs. Craigmile accompanies him, I suppose?" + +"It is not likely, no. Her health demands--ahem--a little longer rest +and change." + +"Ah! The Elder not called back by--for any particular reason? No. +Business going well? Good. I'm told there's a great deal of +depression." + +"Oh, in a way--there may be,--but we're all of the conservative sort +here in Leauvite. We're not likely to feel it if there is. Good +afternoon." + +No one paid any attention to Harry King as he walked out after the +_Leauvite Mercury_ reporter, except Mr. Copeland, who glanced at him +keenly as he passed his desk. Then, looking at his watch, he came out +of his corral and turned the key in the bank door. + +"We'll have no more interruptions now," he said, as he paused at the +teller's window. "You know the young man who just went out?" + +"Sam Carter of the _Mercury_. Old Billings no doubt sent him in to +learn how we stand." + +"No, no, no. Sam Carter--I know him. Who's the young man who followed +him out?" + +"I don't know. Here's his signature. He's just made a big deposit on +long time--only one thousand on call. Unusual these days." + +Mr. Copeland's eyes glittered an instant. "Good. That's something. I +decided to give the town people to understand that there is no need +for their anxiety. It's the best policy, and when the Elder returns, +he may be induced to withdraw his insane offer of reward. Ten thousand +dollars! It's ridiculous, when the young men may both be dead, for all +the world will ever know." + +"If we could do that--but I've known the Elder too long to hope for +it. This deposit stands for a year, see? And the ten thousand the +Elder has set one side for the reward gives us twenty thousand we +could not count on yesterday." + +"In all the history of this bank we never were in so tight a place. +It's extraordinary, and quite unnecessary. That's a bright boy--Sam +Carter. I never thought of his putting such a construction on it when +I admitted the fact that Mrs. Craigmile is to remain. Two big banks +closed in Chicago this morning, and twenty small ones all over the +country during the last three days. One goes and hauls another down. +If we had only cabled across the Atlantic two weeks ago when I sent +that letter--he must have the letter by now--and if he has, he's on +the ocean." + +"This deposit tides us over a few days, and, as I said, if we could +only get our hands on that reserve of the Elder's, we'd be safe +whatever comes." + +"He'll have to bend his will for once. He must be made to see it, and +we must get our hands on it. I think he will. He'd cut off his right +hand before he'd see this bank go under." + +"It's his son's murder that's eating into his heart. He's been losing +ground ever since." + +The clerks gradually disappeared, quietly slipping out into the +sunshine one by one as their books were balanced, and now the two men +stood alone. It was a time used by them for taking account of the +bank's affairs generally, and they felt the stability of that +institution to be quite personal to them. + +"I've seen that young man before," said Mr. Copeland. "Now, who is he? +Harry King--Harry King,--the Kings moved away from here--twelve years +ago--wasn't it? Their son would not be as old as this man." + +"Boys grow up fast. You never can tell." + +"The Kings were a short, thickset lot." + +"He may not be one of them. He said nothing about ever having been +here before. I never talk with any one here at the window. It's quite +against my rules for the clerks, and has to be so for myself, of +course. I leave that sort of thing to you and the Elder." + +"I say--I've seen him before--the way he walks--the way he carries +his head--there's a resemblance somewhere." + +The two men also departed, after looking to the safe, and the +last duties devolving on them, seeing that all was locked and +double-locked. It was a solemn duty, always attended to solemnly. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX + +THE ARREST + + +Sam Carter loitered down the street after leaving the bank, and when +Harry King approached, he turned with his ready smile and accosted +him. + +"Pleasant day. I see you're a stranger here, and I thought I might get +an item from you. Carter's my name, and I'm doing the reporting for +the _Mercury_. Be glad to make your acquaintance. Show you round a +little." + +Harry was nonplussed for a moment. Such things did not use to occur in +this old-fashioned place as running about the streets picking up items +from people and asking personal questions for the paper to exploit the +replies. He looked twice at Sam Carter before responding. + +"Thank you, I--I've been here before. I know the place pretty well." + +"Very pretty place, don't you think so? Mean to stop for some time?" + +"I hardly know as yet." Harry King mused a little, then resolved to +break his loneliness by accepting the casual acquaintance, and to +avoid personalities about himself by asking questions about the town +and those he used to know, but whom he preferred not to see. It was an +opportunity. "Yes, it is a pretty place. Have you been here long?" + +"I've been here--let's see. About three years--maybe a little less. +You must have been away from Leauvite longer than that, I judge. I've +never left the place since I came and I never saw you before. No +wonder I thought you a stranger." + +"I may call myself one--yes. A good many changes since you came?" + +"Oh, yes. See the new courthouse? It's a beauty,--all solid +stone,--cost fifty thousand dollars. The _Mercury_ had a great deal to +do with bringing it about,--working up enthusiasm and the like,--but +there is a great deal of depression just now, and taxes running up. +People think government is taking a good deal out of them for such +public buildings, but, Lord help us! the government is needing money +just now as much as the people. It's hard to be public spirited when +taxes are being raised. You have people here?" + +"Not now--no. Who's mayor here now?" + +"Harding--Harding of the iron works. He makes a good one, too. +There's the new courthouse. The jail is underneath at the back. See +the barred windows? No breaking out of there. Three prisoners did +break out of the old one during the year this building was under +construction,--each in a different way, too,--shows how badly they +needed a new one. Quite an ornament to the square, don't you think +so?" + +"The jail?" + +"No, no,--The building as a whole. Better go over it while you're +here." + +"I may--do so--yes." + +"Staying some time, I believe you said." + +"Did I? I may have said so." + +"Staying at the hotel, I believe?" + +"Yes, and here we are." Harry King stood an instant--undecided. +Certain things he wished to know, but had not the courage to ask--not +on the street--but maybe seated on the veranda he could ask this +outsider, in a casual way. "Drop in with me and have a smoke." + +"I will, thank you. I often run in,--in the way of business,--but I +haven't tried it as a stopping place. Meals pretty good?" + +"Very good." They took seats at the end of the piazza where Harry King +led the way. The sun was now low, but the air was still warm enough +for comfort, and no one was there but themselves, for it lacked an +hour to the return of the omnibus and the arrival of the usual loafers +who congregated at that time. + +"You've made a good many acquaintances since you came, no doubt?" + +"Well--a good many--yes." + +"Know the Craigmiles?" + +"The Craigmiles? There's no one there to know--now--but the Elder. Oh, +his wife, of course, but she stays at home so close no one ever sees +her. They're away now, if you want to see them." + +"And she never goes out--you say?" + +"Never since I've been in the town. You see, there was a tragedy in +the family. Just before I came it happened, and I remember the town +was all stirred up about it. Their son was murdered." + +Harry King gave a quick start, then gathered himself up in strong +control and tilted his chair back against the wall. + +"Their son murdered?" he asked. "Tell me about it. All you know." + +"That's just it--nobody knows anything. They know he was murdered, +because he disappeared completely. The young man was called Peter +Junior, after his father, of course--and he was the one that was +murdered. They found every evidence of it. It was there on the bluff, +above the wildest part of the river, where the current is so strong no +man could live a minute in it. He would be dashed to death in the +flood, even if he were not killed in the fall from the brink, and that +young man was pushed over right there." + +"How did they know he was pushed over?" + +"They knew he was. They found his hat there, and it was bloody, as if +he had been struck first, and a club there, also bloody,--and it is +believed he was killed first and then pushed over, for there is the +place yet, after three years, where the earth gave way with the weight +of something shoved over the edge. Well, would you believe it--that +old man has kept the knowledge of it from his wife all this time. She +thinks her son quarreled with his father and went off, and that he +will surely return some day." + +"And no one in the village ever told her?" + +"All the town have helped the old Elder to keep it from her. You'd +think such a thing impossible, wouldn't you? But it's the truth. The +old man bribed the _Mercury_ to keep it out, and, by jiminy, it was +done! Here, in a town of this size where every one knows all about +every one else's affairs--it was done! It seems people took an +especial interest in keeping it from her, yet every one was talking +about it, and so I heard all there was to hear. Hallo! What are you +doing here?" + +This last remark was addressed to Nels Nelson, who appeared just +below them and stood peering up at them through the veranda railing. + +"I yust vaiting for Meestair Stiles. He tol' me vait for heem here." + +"Mr. Stiles? Who's he?" + +"Dere he coomin'." + +As he spoke G. B. Stiles came through the hotel door and walked +gravely up to them. Something in his manner, and in the expectant, +watchful eye of the Swede, caused them both to rise. At the same +moment, Kellar, the sheriff, came up the front steps and approached +them, and placing his hand on Harry King's shoulder, drew from his +pocket a pair of handcuffs. + +"Young man, it is my duty to arrest you. Here is my badge--this is +quite straight--for the murder of Peter Craigmile, Jr." + +The young man neither moved nor spoke for a moment, and as he stood +thus the sheriff took him by the arm, and roused him. "Richard +Kildene, you are under arrest for the murder of your cousin, Peter +Craigmile, Jr." + +With a quick, frantic movement, Harry King sprang back and thrust both +men violently from him. The red of anger mounted to his hair and +throbbed in his temples, then swept back to his heart, and left him +with a deathlike pallor. + +"Keep back. I'm not Richard Kildene. You have the wrong man. Peter +Craigmile was never murdered." + +The big Swede leaped the piazza railing and stood close to him, while +the sheriff held him pinioned, and Sam Carter drew out his notebook. + +"You know me, Mr. Kellar,--stand off, I say. I am Peter Craigmile. +Look at me. Put away those handcuffs. It is I, alive, Peter Craigmile, +Jr." + +"That's a very clever plea, but it's no go," said G. B. Stiles, and +proceeded to fasten the irons on his wrists. + +"Yas, I know you dot man keel heem, all right. I hear you tol' some +von you keel heem," said the Swede, slowly, in suppressed excitement. + +"You're a very good actor, young man,--mighty clever,--but it's no go. +Now you'll walk along with us if you please," said Mr. Kellar. + +"But I tell you I don't please. It's a mistake. I am Peter Craigmile, +Jr., himself, alive." + +"Well, if you are, you'll have a chance to prove it, but evidence is +against you. If you are he, why do you come back under an assumed name +during your father's absence? A little hitch there you did not take +into consideration." + +"I had my reasons--good ones--I--came back to confess to +the--un--un--witting--killing of my cousin, Richard." He turned from +one to the other, panting as if he had been running a race, and threw +out his words impetuously. "I tell you I came here for the very +purpose of giving myself up--but you have the wrong man." + +By this time a crowd had collected, and the servants were running from +their work all over the hotel, while the proprietor stood aloof with +staring eyes. + +"Here, Mr. Decker, you remember me--Elder Craigmile's son? Some of you +must remember me." + +But the proprietor only wagged his head. He would not be drawn into +the thing. "I have no means of knowing who you are--no more than Adam. +The name you wrote in my book was Harry King." + +"I tell you I had my reasons. I meant to wait here until the +Elder's--my father's return and--" + +"And in the meantime we'll put you in a quiet little apartment, very +private, where you can wait, while we look into things a bit." + +"You needn't take me through the streets with these things on; I've no +intention of running away. Let me go to my room a minute." + +"Yes, and put a bullet through your head. I've no intention of running +any risks now we have you," said the detective. + +"Now you have who? You have no idea whom you have. Take off these +shackles until I pay my bill. You have no objection to that, have +you?" + +They turned into the hotel, and the handcuffs were removed while the +young man took out his pocketbook and paid his reckoning. Then he +turned to them. + +"I must ask you to accompany me to my room while I gather my toilet +necessities together." This they did, G. B. Stiles and the sheriff +walking one on either side, while the Swede followed at their heels. +"What are you doing here?" he demanded, turning suddenly upon the +stable man. + +"Oh, I yust lookin' a leetle out." + +"Mr. Stiles, what does this mean, that you have that man dogging me?" + +"It's his affair, not mine. He thinks he has a certain interest in +you." + +Then he turned in exasperation to the sheriff. "Can you give me a +little information, Mr. Kellar? What has that Swede to do with me? Why +am I arrested for the murder of my own self--preposterous! I, a man as +alive as you are? You can see for yourself that I am Elder +Craigmile's son. You know me?" + +"I know the Elder fairly well--every one in Leauvite knows him, but I +can't say as I've ever taken particular notice of his boy, and, +anyway, the boy was murdered three years ago--a little over--for it +was in the fall of the year--well, that's most four years--and I must +say it's a mighty clever dodge, as Mr. Stiles says, for you to play +off this on us. It's a matter that will bear looking into. Now you sit +down here and hold on to yourself, while I go through your things. +You'll get them all, never fear." + +Then Harry King sat down and looked off through the open window, and +paid no heed to what the men were doing. They might turn his large +valise inside out and read every scrap of written paper. There was +nothing to give the slightest clew to his identity. He had left the +envelope addressed to the Elder, containing the letters he had +written, at the bank, to be placed in the safety vault, and not to be +delivered until ordered to do so by himself. + +As they finished their search and restored the articles to his valise, +he asked again that the handcuffs be left off as he walked through the +streets. + +"I have no desire to escape. It is my wish to go with you. I only wish +I might have seen the--my father first. He could not have helped +me--but he would have understood--it would have seemed less--" + +He could not go on, and the sheriff slipped the handcuffs in his +pocket, and they proceeded in silence to the courthouse, where he +listened to the reading of the warrant and his indictment in dazed +stupefaction, and then walked again in silence between his captors to +the jail in the rear. + +"No one has ever been in this cell," said Mr. Kellar. "I'm doing the +best I can for you." + +"How long must I stay here? Who brings accusation?" + +"I don't know how long: as this is a murder charge you can't +be bailed out, and the trial will take time. The Elder brings +accusation--naturally." + +"When is he expected home?" + +"Can't say. You'll have some one to defend you, and then you can ask +all the questions you wish." The sheriff closed the heavy door and the +key was turned. + +Then began weary days of waiting. If it had been possible to get the +trial over with, Harry would have been glad, but it made little +difference to him now, since the step had been taken, and a trial in +his case would only be a verdict, anyway--and confession was a simple +thing, and the hearing also. + +The days passed, and he wondered that no one came to him--no friend of +the old time. Where were Bertrand Ballard and Mary? Where was little +Betty? Did they not know he was in jail? He did not know that others +had been arrested on the same charge and released, more than once. +True, no one had made the claim of being the Elder's own son and the +murdered man himself. As such incidents were always disturbing to +Betty, when Bertrand read the notice of the arrest in the _Mercury_, +the paper was laid away in his desk and his little daughter was spared +the sight of it this time. + +But he spoke of the matter to his wife. "Here is another case of +arrest for poor Peter Junior's murder, Mary. The man claims to be +Peter Junior himself, but as he registered at the hotel under an +assumed name it is likely to be only another attempt to get the +reward money by some detective. It was very unwise for the Elder to +make it so large a sum." + +"It can't be. Peter Junior would never be so cruel as to stay away all +this time, if he were alive, no matter how deeply he may have +quarreled with his father. I believe they both went over the bluff and +are both dead." + +"It stands to reason that one or the other body would have been found +in that case. One might be lost, but hardly both. The search was very +thorough, even down to the mill race ten miles below." + +"The current is so swift there, they might have been carried over the +race, and on, before the search began. I think so, although no one +else seems to." + +"I wish the Elder would remove that temptation of the reward. It is +only an inducement to crime. Time alone will solve the mystery, and as +long as he continues to brood over it, he will go on failing in +health. It's coming to an obsession with him to live to see Richard +Kildene hung, and some one will have to swing for it if he has his +way. Now he will return and find this man in jail, and will bend every +effort, and give all his thought toward getting him convicted." + +"But I thought you said they do not hang in this state." + +"True--true. But imprisonment for life is--worse. I'm thinking of what +the Elder would like could he have his way." + +"Bertrand--I believe the Elder is sure the man will be found and that +it will kill his wife, when she comes to know that Peter Junior was +murdered, and that is why he took her to Scotland. She told me she was +sure her son was there, or would go to see his great aunts there, and +that is why she consented to go--but I'm sure the Elder wished to get +her out of the way." + +"Strange--strange," said Bertrand. "After all, it is better to +forgive. No one knows what transpired, and Richard is the real +sufferer." + +"Do you suppose he'll leave Hester there, Bertrand?" + +"I hardly think she would be left, but it is impossible to tell. A +son's loss is more than any other--to a mother." + +"Do you think so, Bertrand? It would be hardest of all to lose a +husband, and the Elder has failed so much since Peter Junior's +death." + +"Peter Junior seems to be the only one who has escaped suffering in +this tragedy. Remorse in Richard's case, and stubborn anger in the +Elder's--they are emotions that take large toll out of a man's +vitality. If ever Richard is found, he will not be the young man we +knew." + +"Unless he is innocent. All this may have been an accident." + +"Then why is he staying in hiding?" + +"He may have felt there was no way to prove his innocence." + +"Well, there is another reason why the Elder should withdraw his offer +of a reward, and when he comes back, I mean to try what can be done +once more. Everything would have to be circumstantial. He will have a +hard time to prove his nephew's guilt." + +"I can't see why he should try to prove it. It must have been an +accident--at the last. Of course it might have been begun in anger, in +a moment of misunderstanding, but the nature of the boys would go to +show that it never could have been done intentionally. It is +impossible." + + + + +CHAPTER XXX + +THE ARGUMENT + + +"Mr. Ballard, either my son was murdered, or he was a murderer. The +crime falls upon us, and the disgrace of it, no matter how you look at +it." The Elder sat in the back room at the bank, where his friend had +been arguing with him to withdraw the offer of a reward for the +arrest. "It's too late, now--too late. The man's found and he claims +to be my son. You're a kindly man, Mr. Ballard, but a blind one." + +Bertrand drew his chair closer to the Elder's, as if by so doing he +might establish a friendlier thought in the man's heart. "Blind? +Blind, Elder Craigmile?" + +"I say blind. I see. I see it all." The Elder rose and paced the +floor. "The boys fought, there on the bluff, and sought to kill each +other, and for the same cause that has wrought most of the evil in the +world. Over the love of a woman they fought. Peter carried a +blackthorn stick that ought never to have been in my house--you know, +for you brought it to me--and struck his cousin with it, and at the +same instant was pushed over the brink, as Richard intended." + +"How do you know that Richard was not pushed over? How do you know +that he did not fall over with his cousin? How can you dare work for a +man's conviction on such slight evidence?" + +"How do I know? Although you would favor that--that--although--" The +Elder paused and struggled for control, then sat weakly down and took +up the argument again with trembling voice. "Mr. Ballard, I would +spare you--much of this matter which has been brought to my +knowledge--but I cannot--because it must come out at the trial. It was +over your little daughter, Betty, that they fought. She has known all +these years that Richard Kildene murdered her lover." + +"Elder--Elder! Your brooding has unbalanced your mind." + +"Wait, my friend. This falls on you with but half the burden that I +have borne. My son was no murderer. Richard Kildene is not only a +murderer, but a coward. He went to your daughter while we were +dragging the river for my poor boy's body, and told her he had +murdered her lover; that he pushed him over the bluff and that he +intended to do so. Now he adds to his crime--by--coming here--and +pretending--to be--my son. He shall hang. He shall hang. If he does +not, there is no justice in heaven." The Elder looked up and shook his +hand above his head as if he defied the whole heavenly host. + +Bertrand Ballard sat for a moment stunned. Such a preposterous turn +was beyond his comprehension. Strangely enough his first thought was a +mere contradiction, and he said: "Men are not hung in this state. You +will not have your wish." He leaned forward, with his elbows on the +great table and his head in his hands; then, without looking up, he +said: "Go on. Go on. How did you come by this astounding information? +Was it from Betty?" + +"Then may he be shut in the blackest dungeon for the rest of his life. +No, it was not from Betty. Never. She has kept this terrible secret +well. I have not seen your daughter--not--since--since this was told +me. It has been known to the detective and to my attorney, Milton +Hibbard, for two years, and to me for one year--just before I offered +the increased reward to which you so object. I had reason." + +"Then it is as I thought. Your offer of ten thousand dollars reward +has incited the crime of attempting to convict an innocent man. Again +I ask you, how did you come by this astounding information?" + +"By the word of an eyewitness. Sit still, Mr. Ballard, until you hear +the whole; then blame me if you can. A few years ago you had a Swede +working for you in your garden. You boarded him. He slept in a little +room over your summer kitchen; do you remember?" + +"Yes." + +"He saw Richard Kildene come to the house when we were all away--while +you were with me--your wife with mine,--and your little daughter +alone. This Swede heard all that was said, and saw all that was done. +His testimony alone will--" + +"Convict a man? It is greed! What is your detective working for and +why does this Swede come forward at this late day with his testimony? +Greed! Elder Craigmile, how do you know that this testimony is not all +made up between them? I will go home and ask Betty, and learn the +truth." + +"And why does the young man come here under an assumed name, and when +he is discovered, claim to be my son? The only claim he could make +that could save him! If he knows anything, he knows that if he +pretends he is my son--laboring under the belief that he has killed +Richard Kildene--when he knows Richard's death can be disproved by +your daughter's statement that she saw and talked with Richard--he +knows that he may be released from the charge of murder and may +establish himself here as the man whom he himself threw over the +bluff, and who, therefore, can never return to give him the lie. I +say--if this is proved on him, he shall suffer the extreme penalty of +the law, or there is no justice in the land." + +Bertrand rose, sadly shaken. "This is a very terrible accusation, my +friend. Let us hope it may not be proved true. I will go home and ask +Betty. You will take her testimony before that of the Swede?" + +"If you are my friend, why are you willing my son should be proven a +murderer? It is a deep-laid scheme, and Richard Kildene walks close in +his father's steps. I have always seen his father in him. I tried to +save him for my sister's sake. I brought him up in the nurture and +admonition of the Lord, and did for him all that fathers do for their +sons, and now I have the fool's reward--the reward of the man who +warmed the viper in his bosom. He, to come here and sit in my son's +place--to eat bread at my table--at my wife's right hand--with her +smile in his eyes? Rather he shall--" + +"We will find out the truth, and, if possible, you shall be saved from +yourself, Elder Craigmile, and your son will not be proven a murderer. +Let me still be your friend." Bertrand's voice thrilled with +suppressed emotion and the sympathy he could not utter, as he held out +his hand, which the Elder took in both his own shaking ones. His +voice trembled with suppressed emotion as he spoke. + +"Pray God Hester may stay where she is until this thing is over. And +pray God you may not be blinded by love of your daughter, who was not +true to my son. She was promised to become his wife, but through all +these years she protects by her silence the murderer of her lover. +Ponder on this thought, Bertrand Ballard, and pray God you may have +the strength to be just." + +Bertrand walked homeward with bowed head. It was Saturday. The day's +baking was in progress, and Mary Ballard was just removing a pan of +temptingly browned tea cakes from the oven when he entered. She did +not see his face as he asked, "Mary, where can I find Betty?" + +"Upstairs in the studio, drawing. Where would you expect to find her?" +she said gayly. Something in her husband's voice touched her. She +hastily lifted the cakes from the pan and ran after him. + +"What is it, dear?" + +He was halfway up the stairs and he turned and came back to her. "I've +heard something that troubles me, and must see her alone, Mary. I'll +talk with you about it later. Don't let us be disturbed until we come +down." + +"I think Janey is with her now." + +"I'll send her down to you." + +"Bertrand, it is something terrible! You are trying to spare me--don't +do it." + +"Ask no questions." + +"Tell Janey I want her to help in the kitchen." + +Mary went back to her work in silence. If Bertrand wished to be alone +with Betty, he had a good reason; and presently Janey skipped in and +was set to paring the potatoes for dinner. + +Bertrand found Betty bending closely over a drawing for which she had +no model, but which was intended to illustrate a fairy story. She was +using pen and ink, and trying to imitate the fine strokes of a steel +engraving. He stood at her side, looking down at her work a moment, +and his artist's sense for the instant crowded back other thoughts. + +"You ought to have a model, daughter, and you should work in chalk or +charcoal for your designing." + +"I know, father, but you see I am trying to make some illustrations +that will look like what are in the magazines. I'm making fairies, +father, and you know I can't find any models, so I have to make them +up." + +"Put that away. I have some questions to ask you." + +"What's the matter, daddy? You look as if the sky were falling." He +had seated himself on the long lounge where she had once sat and +chatted with Peter Junior. She recalled that day. It was when he +kissed her for the first time. Her cheeks flushed hotly as they always +did now when she thought of it, and her eyes were sad. She went over +and established herself at her father's side. + +"What is it, daddy, dear?" + +"Betty,"--he spoke sternly, as she had never heard him before,--"have +you been concealing something from your father and mother--and from +the world--for the last three years and a half?" + +Her head drooped, the red left her cheeks, and she turned white to the +lips. She drew away from her father and clasped her hands in her lap, +tightly. She was praying for strength to tell the truth. Ah, could +she do it? Could she do it! And perhaps cause Richard's condemnation? +Had they found him?--that father should ask such a question now, after +so long a time? + +"Why do you ask me such a question, father?" + +"Tell me the truth, child." + +"Father! I--I--can't," and her voice died away to a whisper. + +"You can and you must, Betty." + +She rose and stood trembling before him with clinched hands. "What has +happened? Tell me. It is not fair to ask me such a question unless you +tell me why." Then she dropped upon her knees and hid her face against +his sleeve. "If you don't tell me what has happened, I will never +speak again. I will be dumb, even if they kill me." + +He put his arm tenderly about the trembling little form, and the act +brought the tears and he thought her softened. He knew, as Mary had +often said, that "Betty could not be driven, but might be led." + +"Tell father all about it, little daughter." But she did not open her +lips. He waited patiently, then asked again, kindly and persistently, +"What have you been hiding, Betty?" but she only sobbed on. "Betty, if +you do not tell me now and here, you will be taken into court and made +to tell all you know before all the world! You will be proven to have +been untrue to the man you were to marry and who loved you, and to +have been shielding his murderer." + +"Then it is Richard. They have found him?" She shrank away from her +father and her sobs ceased. "It has come at last. Father--if--if--I +had--been married to Richard--then would they make me go in court and +testify against him?" + +"No. A wife is not compelled to give testimony against her husband, +nor may she testify for him, either." + +Betty rose and straightened herself defiantly; with flaming cheeks and +flashing eyes she looked down upon him. + +"Then I will tell one great lie--father--and do it even if--if it +should drag me down to--hell. I will say I am married to Richard--and +will swear to it." Bertrand was silent, aghast. "Father! Where is +Richard?" + +"He is there in Leauvite, in jail. You must do what is right in the +eye of God, my child, and tell the truth." + +"If I tell the truth,--they will do what is right in their own eyes. +They don't know what is right in the eye of God. If they drag me into +court--there before all the world I will lie to them until I drop +dead. Has--has--the Elder seen him?" + +"Not yet. He refused to see him until the trial." + +"He is a cruel, vindictive old man. Does he think it will bring Peter +back to life again to hang Richard? Does he think it will save his +wife from sorrow, or--or bring any one nearer heaven to do it?" + +"If Richard has done the thing he is accused of doing, he deserves the +extremest rigor of the law." + +"Father! Don't let the Elder make you hard like himself. What is he +accused of doing?" + +"He is making claim that he is Peter Junior, and that he has come back +to Leauvite to give himself up for the murder of his cousin, Richard +Kildene. He thinks, no doubt, that you will say that you know Richard +is living, and that he has not killed him, and in that way he thinks +to escape punishment, by proving that Peter also is living, and is +himself. Do you see how it is? He has chosen to live here an impostor +rather than to live in hiding as an outcast, and is trading on his +likeness to his cousin to bear him out. I had hoped that it was all a +detective's lie, got up for the purpose of getting hold of the reward +money, but now I see it is true--the most astounding thing a man ever +tried." + +"Did he send you to me?" + +"No, child. I have not seen him." + +"Father Bertrand Ballard! Have you taken some detective's word and not +even tried to see him?" + +"Child, child! He is playing a desperate game, and taking an ignoble +part. He is doing a dastardly thing, and the burden is laid on you to +confess to the secret you have been hiding and tell the truth." + +Bertrand spoke very sadly, and Betty's heart smote her for his sorrow; +yet she felt the thing was impossible for Richard to do, and that she +must hold the secret a little longer--all the more because even her +father seemed now to credit the terrible accusation. She threw her +arms about his neck and implored him. + +"Oh, father, dear! Take me to the jail to see him, and after that I +will try to do what is right. I can think clearer after I have seen +him." + +"I don't know if that will be allowed--but--" + +"It will have to be allowed. How can I say if it is Richard until I +see him. It may not be Richard. The Elder is too blinded to even go +near him, and dear Mrs. Craigmile is not here. Some one ought to go in +fairness to Richard--who loves--" She choked and could say no more. + +"I will talk to your mother first. There is another thing that should +soften your heart to the Elder. All over the country there is +financial trouble. Banks are going to pieces that never were in +trouble before, and Elder Craigmile's bank is going, he fears. It will +be a terrible crash, and we fear he may not outlive the blow. I tell +you this, even though you may not understand it, to soften your heart +toward him. He considers it in the nature of a disgrace." + +"Yes. I understand, better than you think." Betty's voice was sad, and +she looked weary and spent. "If the bank breaks, it breaks the Elder's +heart. All the rest he could stand, but not that. The bank, the bank! +He tried to sacrifice Peter Junior to that bank. He would have broken +Peter's heart for that bank, as he has his wife's; for if it had not +been for Peter's quarrel with his father, first of all, over it, I +don't believe all the rest would have happened. Peter told me a lot. I +know." + +"Betty, did you never love Peter Junior? Tell father." + +"I thought I did. I thought I knew I did,--but when Richard came +home--then--I--I--knew I had made a terrible mistake; but, father, I +meant to stand by Peter--and never let anybody know until--Oh, father, +need I tell any more?" + +"No, my dear. You would better talk with your mother." + +Bertrand Ballard left the studio more confused in his mind, and yet +both sadder and wiser then he had ever been in his life. He had seen a +little way into his small daughter's soul, and conceived of a power +of spirit beyond him, although he considered her both unreasonable and +wrong. He grieved for her that she had carried such a great burden so +bravely and so long. How great must have been her love, or her +infatuation! The pathetic knowledge hardened his heart toward the +young man in the jail, and he no longer tried to defend him in his +thoughts. + +He sent Mary up to talk with Betty, and that afternoon they all walked +over to the jail; for Mary could get no nearer her little daughter's +confidence, and no deeper into the heart of the matter than Betty had +allowed her father to go. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI + +ROBERT KATER'S SUCCESS + + +"Halloo! So it's here!" Robert Kater stood by a much-littered table +and looked down on a few papers and envelopes which some one had laid +there during his absence. All day long he had been wandering about the +streets of Paris, waiting--passing the time as he could in his +impatience--hoping for the communication contained in one of these +very envelopes. Now that it had come he felt himself struck with a +singular weakness, and did not seize it and tear it open. Instead, he +stood before the table, his hands in his pockets, and whistled +softly. + +He made the tour of the studio several times, pausing now and then to +turn a canvas about, apparently as if he would criticize it, looking +at it but not regarding it, only absently turning one and another as +if it were a habit with him to do so; then returning to the table he +stirred the envelopes apart with one finger and finally separated one +from the rest, bearing an official seal, and with it a small package +carefully secured and bearing the same seal, but he did not open +either. "Yes, it's here, and that's the one," he said, but he spoke to +himself, for there was no one else in the room. + +He moved wearily away, keeping the packet in his hand, but leaving the +envelope on the table, and hung his hat upon a point of an easel and +wiped his damp brow. As he did so, he lifted the dark brown hair from +his temple, showing a jagged scar. Quickly, as if with an habitual +touch, he rearranged the thick, soft lock so that the scar was +covered, and mounting a dais, seated himself on a great thronelike +chair covered with a royal tiger skin. The head of the tiger, mounted +high, with glittering eyes and fangs showing, rested on the floor +between his feet, and there, holding the small packet in his hand, +with elbows resting on the arms of the throne, he sat with head +dropped forward and shoulders lifted and eyes fixed on the tiger's +head. + +For a long time he sat thus in the darkening room. At last it grew +quite dark. Only the great skylight over his head showed a defined +outline. The young man had had no dinner and no supper, for his +pockets were empty and his last sou gone. If he had opened the +envelopes, he would have found money, and more than money, for he +would have learned that the doors of the Salon had opened to him and +the highest medal awarded him, and that for which he had toiled and +waited and hoped,--for which he had staked his last effort and +sacrificed everything, was won. He was recognized, and all Paris would +quickly know it, and not Paris only, but all the world. But when he +would open the envelope, his hands fell slack, and there it still lay +on the table concealed by the darkness. + +Down three flights of stairs in the court a strange and motley group +were collecting, some bearing candles, all masked, some fantastically +dressed and others only concealed by dominoes. The stairs went up on +the outer wall of this inner court, past the windows of the basement +occupied by the concierge and his wife and pretty daughter, and +entered the building on the first floor above. By this arrangement the +concierge could always see from his window who mounted them. + +"Look, mamma." The pretty daughter stood peering out, her face framed +in the white muslin curtains. "Look. See the students. Ah, but they +are droll!" + +"Come away, ma fille." + +"But the owl and the ape, there, they seem on very good terms. I +wonder if they go to the room of Monsieur Kater! I think so; for +one--the ghost in white, he is a little lame like the Englishman who +goes always to the room of Monsieur.--Ah, bah! Imbecile! Away with +you! Pig!" + +The ape had suddenly approached his ugly face close to the face framed +in the white muslin curtains on the other side of the window, and made +exaggerated motions of an embrace. The wife of the concierge snatched +her daughter away and drew the curtains close. + +"Foolish child! Why do you stand and watch the rude fellows? This is +what you get by it. I have told you to keep your eyes within." + +"But I love to see them, so droll they are." + +Stealthily the fantastic creatures began to climb the stairs, one, +two, three flights, traversing a long hall at the end of each flight +and turning to climb again. The expense of keeping a light on each +floor for the corridors was not allowed in this building, and they +moved along in the darkness, but for the flickering light of the few +candles carried among them. As they neared the top they grew more +stealthy and kept close together on the landing outside the studio +door. One stooped and listened at the keyhole, then tried to look +through it. "Not there?" whispered another. + +"No light," was the whispered reply. They spoke now in French, now in +English. + +"He has heard us and hid himself. He is a strange man, this Scotchman. +He did not attend the 'Vernissage,' nor the presentation of prizes, +yet he wins the highest." The owl stretched out an arm, bare and +muscular, from under his wing and tried the door very gently. It was +not locked, and he thrust his head within, then reached back and took +a candle from the ghost. "This will give light enough. Put out the +rest of yours and make no noise." + +Thus in the darkness they crept into the studio and gathered around +the table. There they saw the unopened envelopes. + +"He is not here. He does not know," said one and another. + +"Where then can he be?" + +"He has taken a panic and fled. I told you so," said the ghost. + +"Ah, here he is! Behold! The Hamlet of our ghost! Wake, Hamlet; your +father's spirit has arrived," cried one in English with a very French +accent. + +They now gathered before the dais, shouting and cheering in both +English and French. One brought the envelopes on a palette and +presented them. The young man gazed at them, stupidly at first, then +with a feverish gleam in his eyes, but did not take them. + +"Yes, I found them when I came in--but they are--not for me." + +"They are addressed to you, Robert Kater, and the news is published +and you leave them here unopened." + +"He does not know--I told you so." + +"You have the packet in your hand. Open it. Take it from him and +decorate him. He is in a dream. It is the great medal. We will wake +him." + +They began to cheer and cheer again, each after the manner of the +character he had assumed. The ass brayed, the owl hooted, the ghost +groaned. The ape leaped on the back of the throne whereon the young +man still sat, and seized him by the hair, chattering idiotically +after the manner of apes, and began to wag his head back and forth. In +the midst of the uproar Demosthenes stepped forward and took the +envelopes from the palette, and, tearing them open, began reading them +aloud by the light of a candle held for him by Lady Macbeth, who now +and then interrupted with the remark that "her little hand was stained +with blood," stretching forth an enormous, hairy hand for their +inspection. But as Demosthenes read on the uproar ceased, and all +listened with courteous attention. The ape leaped down from the back +of the throne, the owl ceased hooting, and all were silent until the +second envelope had been opened and the contents made known--that his +exhibit had been purchased by the Salon. + +"Robert Kater, you are at the top. We congratulate you. To be +recognized by the 'Salon des Artistes Francaises' is to be recognized +and honored by all the world." + +They all came forward with kindly and sincere words, and the young man +stood to receive them, but reeling and swaying, weary with emotion, +and faint with hunger. + +"Were you not going to the mask?" + +"I was weary; I had not thought." + +"Then wake up and go. We come for you." + +"I have no costume." + +"Ah, that is nothing. Make one; it is easy." + +"He sits there like his own Saul, enveloped in gloom. Come, I will be +your David," cried one, and snatched a guitar and began strumming it +wildly. + +While the company scattered and searched the studio for materials with +which to create for him a costume for the mask, the ghost came limping +up to the young man who had seated himself again wearily on the +throne, and spoke to him quietly. + +"The tide's turned, Kater; wake up to it. You're clear of the +breakers. The two pictures you were going to destroy are sold. I +brought those Americans here while you were away and showed them. I +told you they'd take something as soon as you were admitted. Here's +the money." + +Robert Kater raised himself, looking in the eyes of his friend, and +took the bank notes as if he were not aware what they really might +be. + +"I say! You've enough to keep you for a year if you don't throw it +away. Count it. I doubled your price and they took them at the price I +made. Look at these." + +Then Robert Kater looked at them with glittering eyes, and his shaking +hand shut upon them, crushing the bank notes in a tight grip. "We'll +halve it, share and share alike," he whispered, staring at the ghost +without counting it. "As for this," his finger touched the decoration +on his breast--"it is given to a--You won't take half? Then I'll throw +them away." + +"I'll take them all until you're sane enough to know what you're +doing. Give them to me." He took them back and crept quietly, +ghostlike, about the room until he found a receptacle in which he +knew they would be safe; then, removing one hundred francs from the +amount, he brought it back and thrust it in his friend's pocket. +"There--that's enough for you to throw away on us to-night. Why are +you taking off your decoration? Leave it where it is. It's yours." + +"Yes, I suppose it is." Robert Kater brushed his hand across his eyes +and stepped down from the throne. Then lifting his head and shoulders +as if he threw off a burden, he leaped from the dais, and with one +long howl, began an Indian war dance. He was the center and life of +the hilarious crowd from that moment. The selection of materials had +been made. A curtain of royal purple hung behind the throne, and this +they threw around him as a toga, then crowned him as Mark Antony. They +found for him also a tunic of soft wool, and with a strip of gold +braid they converted a pair of sheepskin bedroom slippers into +sandals, bound on his feet over his short socks. + +"I say! Mark Antony never wore things like these," he shouted. "Give +me a mask. I'll not wear these things without a mask." He snatched at +the head of the owl, who ducked under his arm and escaped. "Go then. +This is better. Mark, the illustrious, was an ass." He made a dive for +the head of his braying friend and barely missed him. + +"Come. We waste time. Cleopatra awaits him at 'la Fourchette d'or'; +all our Cleopatras await us there." + +"Surely?" + +"Surely. Madame la Charne is there and the sisters Lucie and +Bertha,--all are there,--and with them one very beautiful blonde whom +you have never seen." + +"She is for you--you cold Scotchman! That stone within you, which you +call heart, to-night it will melt." + +"You have everything planned then?" + +"Everything is made ready." + +"Look here! Wait, my friends! I haven't expressed myself yet." They +were preparing to lift him above their heads. "I wish to say that you +are all to share my good fortune and allow--" + +"Wait for the champagne. You can say it then with more force." + +"I say! Hold on! I ask you to--" + +"So we do. We hold on. Now, up--so." He was borne in triumph down the +stairs and out on the street and away to the sign of the Golden Fork, +and seated at the head of the table in a small banquet room opening +off from the balcony at one side where the feast which had been +ordered and prepared was awaiting them. + +A group of masked young women, gathered on the balcony, pelted them +with flowers as they passed beneath it, and when the men were all +seated, they trooped out, and each slid into her appointed place, +still masked. + +Then came a confusion of tongues, badinage, repartee, wit undiluted by +discretion--and rippling laughter as one mask after another was torn +off. + +"Ah, how glad I am to be rid of it! I was suffocating," said a soft +voice at Robert Kater's side. + +He looked down quickly into a pair of clear, red-brown eyes--eyes into +which he had never looked before. + +"Then we are both content that it is off." He smiled as he spoke. She +glanced up at him, then down and away. When she lifted her eyes an +instant later again to his face, he was no longer regarding her. She +was piqued, and quickly began conversing with the man on her left, the +one who had removed her mask. + +"It is no use, your smile, mademoiselle. He is impervious, that man. +He has no sense or he could not turn his eyes away." + +"I like best the impervious ones." With a light ripple of laughter she +turned again to her right. "Monsieur has forgotten?" + +"Forgotten?" Robert was mystified until he realized in the instant +that she was pretending to a former acquaintance. "Could I forget, +mademoiselle? Permit me." He lifted his glass. "To your eyes--and to +your--memory," he said, and drank it off. + +After that he became the gayest of them all, and the merriment never +flagged. He ate heartily, for he was very hungry, but he drank +sparingly. His brain seemed supplied with intellectual missiles which +he hurled right and left, but when they struck, it was only to send +out a rain of sparks like the balls of holiday fireworks that explode +in a fountain of brilliance and hurt no one. + +"Monsieur is so gay!" said the soft voice of the blonde at his side. + +"Are we not here for that, to enjoy ourselves?" + +"Ah, if I could but believe that you remember me!" + +"Is it possible mademoiselle thinks herself one to be so easily +forgotten?" + +"Monsieur, tell me the truth." She glanced up archly. "I have one very +good reason for asking." + +"You are very beautiful." + +"But that is so banal--that remark." + +"You complain that I tell you the truth when you ask it? You have so +often heard it that the telling becomes banal? Shall I continue?" + +"But it is of yourself that I would hear." + +"So? Then it is as I feared. It is you who have forgotten." + +They were interrupted at that moment, for he was called upon for a +story, and he related one of his life as a soldier,--a little +incident, but everything pleased. They called upon him for another and +another. The hour grew late, and at last the banqueters rose and began +to remask and assume their various characters. + +"What are you, monsieur, with that very strange dress that you wear, a +Roman or a Greek?" asked his companion. + +"I really don't know--a sort of nondescript. I did not choose my +costume; it was made up for me by my friends. They called me Mark +Antony, but that was because they did not know what else to call me. +But they promised me Cleopatra if I would come with them." + +"They would have done better to call you Petrarch, for I am Laura." + +"But I never could have taken that part. I could make a very decent +sort of ass of myself, but not a poet." + +"What a very terrible voice your Lady Macbeth has!" + +"Yes; but she was a terror, you know. Shall we follow the rest?" + +They all trooped out of the cafe, and fiacres were called to take them +to the house where the mask was held. The women were placed in their +respective carriages, but the men walked. At the door of the house, as +they entered the ballroom, they reunited, but again were soon +scattered. Robert Kater wandered about, searching here and there for +his very elusive Laura, so slim and elegant in her white and gold +draperies, who seemed to be greatly in demand. He saw many whom he +recognized; some by their carriage, some by their voices, but Laura +baffled him. Had he ever seen her before? He could not remember. He +would not have forgotten her--never. No, she was amusing herself with +him. + +"Monsieur does not dance?" It was a Spanish gypsy with her lace +mantilla and the inevitable red rose in her hair. He knew the voice. +It was that of a little model he sometimes employed. + +"I dance, yes. But I will only take you out on the floor, my little +Julie,--ha--ha--I know you, never fear--I will take you out on the +floor, but on one condition." + +"It is granted before I know it." + +"Then tell me, who is she just passing?" + +"The one whose clothing is so--so--as if she would pose for the--" + +"Hush, Julie. The one in white and gold." + +"I asked if it were she. Yes, I know her very well, for I saw a +gentleman unmask her on the balcony above there, to kiss her. It is +she who dances so wonderfully at the Opera Comique. You have seen her, +Mademoiselle Fee. Ah, come. Let us dance. It is the most perfect +waltz." + +At the close of the waltz the owl came and took the little gypsy away +from Robert, and a moment later he heard the mellifluous voice of his +companion of the banquet. + +"I am so weary, monsieur. Take me away where we may refresh +ourselves." + +The red-brown eyes looked pleadingly into his, and the slender fingers +rested on his arm, and together they wandered to a corner of palms +where he seated her and brought her cool wine jelly and other +confections. She thanked him sweetly, and, drooping, she rested her +head upon her hand and her arm on the arm of her chair. + +"So dull they are, these fetes, and the people--bah! They are dull to +the point of despair." + +She was a dream of gold and white as she sat there--the red-gold hair +and the red-brown eyes, and the soft gold and white draperies, too +clinging, as the little gypsy had indicated, but beautiful as a gold +and white lily. He sat beside her and gazed on her dreamily, but in a +manner too detached. She was not pleased, and she sighed. + +"Take the refreshment, mademoiselle; you will feel better. I will +bring you wine. What will you have?" + +"Oh, you men, who always think that to eat and drink something alone +can refresh! Have you never a sadness?" + +"Very often, mademoiselle." + +"Then what do you do?" + +"I eat and drink, mademoiselle. Try it." + +"Oh, you strange man from the cold north! You make me shiver. Touch my +hand. See? You have made me cold." + +"Cold? You are a flame from the crown of gold on your head to your +shoes of gold." + +"Now that you are become a success, monsieur, what will you do? To you +is given the heart's desire." She toyed with the quivering jelly, +merely tasting it. It too was golden in hue, and golden lights danced +in the heart of it. + +"A great success? I am dreaming. It is so new to me that I do not +believe it." + +"You are very clever, monsieur. You never tell your thoughts. I asked +if you remembered me and you answered in a riddle. I knew you did +not, for you never saw me before." + +"Did I never see you dance?" + +"Ah, there you are again! To see me dance--in a great audience--one of +many? That does not count. You but pretended." + +He leaned forward, looking steadily in her eyes. "Did I but pretend +when I said I never could forget you? Ah, mademoiselle, you are too +modest." + +She was maddened that she could not pique him to a more ardent manner, +but gave no sign by so much as the quiver of an eyelid. She only +turned her profile toward him indifferently. He noticed the piquant +line of her lips and chin and throat, and the golden tones of her +delicate skin. + +"Did I not also tell you the truth when you asked me? And you rewarded +me by calling me banal." + +"And I was right. You, who are so clever, could think of something +better to say." She gave him a quick glance, and placed a quivering +morsel of jelly between her lips. "But you are so very strange to me. +Tell me, were you never in love?" + +"That is a question I may not answer." He still smiled, but it was +merely the continuation of the smile he had worn before she shot that +last arrow. He still looked in her eyes, but she knew he was not +seeing her. Then he rallied and laughed. "Come, question for question. +Were you never in love--or out of love--let us say?" + +"Oh! Me!" She lifted her shoulders delicately. "Me! I am in love +now--at this moment. You do not treat me well. You have not danced +with me once." + +"No. You have been dancing always, and fully occupied. How could I?" + +"Ah, you have not learned. To dance with me--you must take me, not +stand one side and wait." + +"Are you engaged for the next?" + +"But, yes. It is no matter. I will dance it with you. He will be +consoled." She laughed, showing her beautiful, even teeth. "I make you +a confession. I said to him, 'I will dance it with you unless the cold +monsieur asks me--then I will dance with him, for it will do him +good.'" + +Robert Kater rose and stood a moment looking through the palms. The +silken folds of his toga fell gracefully around him, and he held his +head high. Then he withdrew his eyes from the distance and turned them +again on her,--the gold and white being at his feet,--and she seemed +to him no longer human, but a phantom from which he must flee, if but +he might do so courteously, for he knew her to be no phantom, and he +could not be other than courteous. + +"Will you accept from me my laurel crown?" He took the chaplet from +his head and laid it at her feet. Then, lifting her hand to his lips, +he kissed the tips of her pink fingers, bowing low before her. "I go +to send you wine. Console your partner. It is better so, for I too am +in love." He smiled upon her as he had smiled at first, and was gone, +walking out through the crowd--the weird, fantastic, bizarre company, +as if he were no part of them. One and another greeted him as he +passed, but he did not seem to hear them. He called a waiter and +ordered wine to be taken to Mademoiselle Fee, and quickly was gone. +They saw him no more. + +It was nearly morning. A drizzling rain was falling, and the air was +chill after the heat of the crowded ballroom. He drew it into his +lungs in deep draughts, glad to be out in the freshness, and to feel +the cool rain on his forehead. He threw off his encumbering toga and +walked in his tunic, with bare throat and bare knees, and carried the +toga over one bare arm, and swung the other bare arm free. He walked +with head held high, for he was seeing visions, and hearing a +far-distant call. Now at last he might choose his path. He had not +failed, but with that call from afar--what should he do? Should he +answer it? Was it only a call from out his own heart--a passing, +futile call, luring him back? + +Of one thing he was sure. There was the painting on which he had +labored and staked his all now hanging in the Salon. He could see it, +one of his visions realized,--David and Saul. The deep, rich +shadows, the throne, the tiger skin, the sandaled feet of the +remorseful king resting on the great fanged and leering head, the +eyes of the king looking hungrily out from under his forbidding brows, +the cruel lips pressed tightly together, and the lithe, thin hands +grasping the carved arms of the throne in fierce restraint,--all +this in the deep shadows between the majestic carved columns, their +bases concealed by the rich carpet covering the dais and their tops +lost in the brooding darkness above--the lowering darkness of purple +gloom that only served to reveal the sinister outlines of the somber, +sorrowful, suffering king, while he indulged the one pure passion +left him--listening--gazing from the shadows out into the light, +seeing nothing, only listening. + +And before him, standing in the one ray of light, clothed only in his +tunic of white and his sandals, a human jewel of radiant color and +slender strength, a godlike conception of youth and grace, his harp +before him, the lilies crushed under his feet that he had torn from +the strings which his fingers touched caressingly, with sunlight in +his crown of golden, curling hair and the light of the stars in his +eyes--David, the strong, the simple, the trusting, the God-fearing +youth, as Robert Kater saw him, looking back through the ages. + +Ah, now he could live. Now he could create--work: he had been +recognized, and rewarded--Dust and ashes! Dust and ashes! The hope of +his life realized, the goblet raised to his lips, and the draft--bitter. +The call falling upon his heart--imperative--beseeching--what did it +mean? + +Slowly and heavily he mounted the stairs to his studio, and there +fumbled about in the darkness and the confusion left by his admiring +comrades until he found candles and made a light. He was cold, and his +light clothing clung to him wet and chilling as grave clothes. He tore +them off and got himself into things that were warm and dry, and +wrapping himself in an old dressing gown of flannel, sat down to +think. + +He took the money his friend had brought him and counted it over. Good +old Ben Howard! Half of it must go to him, of course. And here were +finished canvases quite as good as the ones that had sold. Ben might +turn them to as good an account as the others,--yes,--here was enough +to carry him through a year and leave him leisure to paint unhampered +by the necessity of making pot boilers for a bare living. + +"Tell me, were you never in love?" That soft, insinuating voice +haunted him against his will. In love? What did she know of love--the +divine passion? Love! Fame! Neither were possible to him. He bowed his +head upon the table, hiding his face, crushing the bank notes beneath +his arms. Deep in his soul the eye of his own conscience regarded +him,--an outcast hiding under an assumed name, covering the scar above +his temple with a falling lock of hair seldom lifted, and deep in his +soul a memory of a love. Oh, God! Dust and ashes! Dust and ashes! + +He rose, and, taking his candle with him, opened a door leading from +the studio up a short flight of steps to a little cupboard of a +sleeping room. Here he cast himself on the bed and closed his eyes. He +must sleep: but no, he could not. After a time of restless tossing he +got up and drew an old portmanteau from the closet and threw the +contents out on the bed. From among them he picked up the thing he +sought and sat on the edge of his bed with it in his hands, turning it +over and regarding it, tieing and untieing the worn, frayed, but still +bright ribbons, which had once been the cherry-colored hair ribbons of +little Betty Ballard. + +Suddenly he rose and lifted his head high, in his old, rather +imperious way, put out his candle, and looked through the small, dusty +panes of his window. It was day--early dawn. He was jaded and weary, +but he would try no longer to sleep. He must act, and shake off +sentimentalism. Yes, he must act. He bathed and dressed with care, and +then in haste, as if life depended on hurry, he packed the portmanteau +and stepped briskly into the studio, looking all about, noting +everything as if taking stock of it all, then sat down with pen and +paper to write. + +The letter was a long one. It took time and thought. When he was +nearly through with it, Ben Howard lagged wearily in. + +"Halloo! Why didn't you wait for me? What did you clear out for and +leave me in the lurch? Fresh as a daisy, you are, old chap, and I'm +done for, dead." + +"You're not scientific in your pleasures." Robert Kater lifted his +eyes and looked at his friend. "Are you alive enough to hear me and +remember what I say? Will you do something for me? Shall I tell you +now or will you breakfast first?" + +"Breakfast? Faugh!" He looked disgustedly around him. + +"I'm sorry. You drink too much. Listen, Ben. I'll tell you what I mean +to do and what I wish you to do for me--and--you remember all you can +of it, will you? I must do it now, for you'll be asleep soon, and this +will be the last I shall see of you--ever. I'm leaving in two +hours--as soon as I've breakfasted." + +"What's that? Hold on!" Ben Howard sprang up, and darting behind a +screen where they washed their brushes, he dashed cold water over his +head and came back toweling himself. "I'm fit now. I did drink too +much champagne, but I'll sleep it off. Now fire away,--what's up?" + +"In two hours I'll be en route for the coast, and to-morrow I'll take +passage for home on the first boat." Robert closed and sealed the long +letter he had been writing and tossed it on the table. "I want this +mailed one week from to-day. Put it in your pocket so you won't lose +it among the rubbish here. One week from to-day it must be mailed. +It's to my great aunt, Jean Craigmile, who gave me the money to set +up here the first year. I've paid that up--last week--with my last +sou--and with interest. By rights she should have whatever there is +here of any value, for, if it were not for her help, there would not +have been a thing here anyway, and I've no one else to whom to leave +it--so see that this letter is mailed without fail, will you?" + +The Englishman stood, now thoroughly awake, gazing at him, unable to +make common sense out of Robert's remarks. "B--b--but--what's up? What +are you leaving things to anybody for? You're not on your deathbed." + +"I'm going home, don't you see?" + +"But why don't you take the letter to her yourself--if you're going +home?" + +"Not there, man; not to Scotland." + +"Your home's there." + +"I have allowed you to think so." Robert forced himself to talk +calmly. "In truth, I have no home, but the place I call home by +courtesy is where I was brought up--in America." + +"You--you--d--d--don't--" + +"Yes--it's time you knew this. I've been leading a double life, and +I'm done with it. I committed a crime, and I'm living under an +assumed name. There is no such man as Robert Kater that I know of on +earth, nor ever was. My name is--no matter--. I'm going back to +the place where I killed my best friend--to give myself up--to +imprisonment--I do not know to what--maybe death--but it will end +my torture of mind. Now you know why I could not go to the Vernissage, +to be treated--well, I could not go, that's all. Nor could I accept +the honors given me under a name not my own. All the time I've lived +in Paris I've been hiding--and this thing has been following +me--although my occupation seems to have been the best cover I could +have had--yet my soul has known no peace. Always--always--night and +day--my own conscience has been watching and accusing me, an eye of +dread steadily gazing down into my soul and seeing my sin deep, deep +in my heart. I could not hide from it. And I would have given up +before only that I wished to make good in something before I stepped +down and out. I've done it." He put his hand heavily on Ben Howard's +shoulder. "I've had a revelation this night. The lesson of my life is +learned at last. It is, that there is but one road to freedom and +life for me--and that road leads to a prison. It leads to a +prison,--maybe worse,--but it leads me to freedom--from the thing +that haunts me, that watches me and drives me. I may write you from +that place which I will call home--Were you ever in love?" + +The abruptness of the question set Ben Howard stammering again. He +seized Robert's hand in both his own and held to it. "I--I--I--old +chap--I--n--n--no--were you?" + +"Yes; I've heard the call of her voice in my heart--and I'm gone. Now, +Ben, stop your--well, I'll not preach to you, you of all men,--but--do +something worth while. I've need of part of the money you got for +me--to get back on--and pay a bill or two--and the rest I leave to +you--there where you put it you'll find it. Will you live here and +take care of these things for me until my good aunt, Jean Craigmile, +writes you? She'll tell you what to do with them--and more than likely +she'll take you under her wing--anyway, work, man, work. The place is +yours for the present--perhaps for a good while, and you'll have a +chance to make good. If I could live on that money for a year, as you +yourself said, you can live on half of it for half a year, and in that +time you can get ahead. Work." + +He seized his portmanteau and was gone before Ben Howard could gather +his scattered senses or make reply. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII + +THE PRISONER + + +Harry King did not at once consult an attorney, for Milton Hibbard, +the only one he knew or cared to call upon for his defense, was an old +friend of the Elder's and had been retained by him to assist the +district attorney at the trial. The other two lawyers in Leauvite, one +of whom was the district attorney himself, were strangers to him. +Twice he sent messages to the Elder after his return, begging him to +come to him, never dreaming that they could be unheeded, but to the +second only was any reply sent, and then it was but a cursory line. +"Legal steps will be taken to secure justice for you, whoever you +are." + +To his friends he sent no messages. Their sympathy could only mean +sorrow for them if they believed in him, and hurt to his own soul if +they distrusted him, and he suffered enough. So he lay there in the +clean, bare cell, and was glad that it was clean and held no traces of +former occupants. The walls smelled of lime in their freshly plastered +surfaces, and the floor had the pleasant odor of new pine. + +His life passed in review before him from boyhood up. It had been a +happy life until the tragedy brought into it by his own anger and +violence, but since that time it had been one long nightmare of +remorse, heightened by fear, until he had met Amalia, and after that +it had been one unremitting strife between love and duty--delight in +her mind, in her touch, in her every movement, and in his own soul +despair unfathomable. Now at last it was to end in public exposure, +imprisonment, disgrace. A peculiar apathy of peace seemed to envelop +him. There was no longer hope to entice, no further struggle to be +waged against the terror of fear, or the joy of love, or the horror of +remorse; all seemed gone from him, even to the vague interest in +things transpiring in the world. + +He had only a puzzled feeling concerning his arrest. Things had not +proceeded as he had planned. If the Elder would but come to him, all +would be right. He tried to analyze his feelings, and the thought that +possessed him most was wonder at the strange vacuity of the condition +of emotionlessness. Was it that he had so suffered that he was no +longer capable of feeling? What was feeling? What was emotion: and +life without either emotion, or feeling, or caring to feel,--what +would it be? + +Valueless.--Empty space. Nothing left but bodily hunger, bodily +thirst, bodily weariness. A lifetime, for his years were not yet half +spent,--a lifetime at Waupun, and work for the body, but vacuity for +the mind--maybe--sometimes--memories. Even thinking thus he seemed to +have lost the power to feel sadness. + +Confusion reigned within him, and yet he found himself powerless to +correlate his thoughts or suggest reasons for the strange happenings +of the last few days. It seemed to him that he was in a dream wherein +reason played no part. In the indictment he was arraigned for the +murder of Peter Craigmile, Jr.,--as Richard Kildene,--and yet he had +seen his cousin lying dead before him, during all the years that had +passed since he had fled from that sight. In battle he had seen men +clubbed with the butt end of a musket fall dead with wounded temples, +even as he had seen his cousin--stark--inert--lifeless. He had felt +the strange, insane rage to kill that he had seen in others and +marveled at. And now, after he had felt and done it, he was arrested +as the man he had slain. + +All the morning he paced his cell and tried to force his thoughts to +work out the solution, but none presented itself. Was he the victim of +some strange form of insanity that caused him to lose his identity and +believe himself another man? Drunken men he had seen under the +delusion that all the rest of the world were drunken and they alone +sober. Oh, madness, madness! At least he was sane and knew himself, +and this was a confusion brought about by those who had undertaken his +arrest. He would wait for the Elder to come, and in the meantime live +in his memories, thinking of Amalia, and so awaken in himself one +living emotion, sacred and truly sane. In the sweetness of such +thinking alone he seemed to live. + +He drew the little ivory crucifix from his bosom and looked at it. +"The Christ who bore our sins and griefs"--and again Amalia's words +came to him. "If they keep you forever in the prison, still forever +are you free." In snatches her words repeated themselves over in his +mind as he gazed. "If you have the Christ in your heart--so are you +high--lifted above the sin." "If I see you no more here, in Paradise +yet will I see you, and there it will be joy--great--joy; for it is +the love that is all of life, and all of eternity, and lives--lives." + +Bertrand Ballard and his wife and daughter stood in the small room +opening off from the corridor that led to the rear of the courthouse +where was the jail, waiting for the jailer to bring his keys from his +office, and, waiting thus, Betty turned her eyes beseechingly on her +father, and for the first time since her talk with her mother in the +studio, opened her lips to speak to him. She was very pale, but she +did not tremble, and her voice had the quality of determination. +Bertrand had yielded the point and had taken her to the jail against +his own judgment, taking Mary with him to forestall the chance of +Betty's seeing the young man alone. "Surely," he thought, "she will +not ask to have her mother excluded from the interview." + +"I don't want any one--not even you--or--or--mother, to go in with +me." + +"My child, be wise--and be guided." + +"Yes, father,--but I want to go in alone." She slipped her hand in her +mother's, but still looked in her father's eyes. "I must go in alone, +father. You don't understand--but mother does." + +"This young man may be an impostor. It is almost unmaidenly for you to +wish to go in there alone. Mary--" + +But Mary hesitated and trusted to her daughter's intuition. "Betty, +explain yourself," was all she said. + +"Suppose it was father--or you thought it might be father--and a +terrible thing were hanging over him and you had not seen him for all +this time--and he were in there, and I were you--wouldn't you ask to +see him first alone? Would you stop for one moment to think about +being proper? What do I care! If he is an impostor, I shall know it. +In one moment I shall know it. I--I--just want to see him alone. It +is because he has suffered so long--that is why he has come like +this--if--they aren't accusing him wrongfully, and I--he will tell me +the truth. If he is Richard, I would know it if I came in and stood +beside him blindfolded. I will call you in a moment. Stand by the +door, and let me see him alone." + +The jailer returned, alert and important, shaking the keys in his +hand. "This way, please." + +In the moment's pause of unlocking, Betty again turned upon her +father, her eyes glowing in the dim light of the corridor with wide, +sorrowful gaze, large and irresistibly earnest. Bertrand glanced from +her to his wife, who slightly nodded her head. Then he said to the +surprised jailer: "We will wait here. My daughter may be able to +recognize him. Call us quickly, dear, if you have reason to change +your mind." The heavy door was closed behind her, and the key turned +in the lock. + +Harry King loomed large and tall in the small room, standing with his +back to the door and his face lifted to the small window, where he +could see a patch of the blue sky and white, scudding clouds. For the +moment his spirit was not in that cell. It was free and on top of a +mountain, looking into the clear eyes of a woman who loved him. He was +so rapt in his vision that he did not hear the grating of the key in +the lock, and Betty stood abashed, with her back to the door, feeling +that she was gazing on a stranger. Relieved against the square of +light, his hair looked darker than she remembered Peter's ever to have +been,--as dark as Richard's, but that rough, neglected beard,--also +dark,--and the tanned skin, did not bring either young man to her +mind. + +The pause was but for a moment, when he became aware that he was not +alone and turned and saw her there. + +"Betty! oh, Betty! You have come to help me." He walked toward her +slowly, hardly believing his eyes, and held out both hands. + +"If--I--can. Who are you?" She took his hands in hers and walked +around him, turning his face to the light. Her breath came and went +quickly, and a round red spot now burned on one of her cheeks, and her +face seemed to be only two great, pathetic eyes. + +"Do I need to tell you, Betty? Once we thought we loved each other. +Did we, Betty?" + +"I don't--don't--know--Peter! Oh, Peter! Oh, you are alive! Peter! +Richard didn't kill you!" She did not cry out, but spoke the words +with a low intensity that thrilled him, and then she threw her arms +about his neck and burst into tears. "He didn't do it! You are alive! +Peter, he didn't kill you! I knew he didn't do it. They all thought +he did, and--and--your father--he has almost broken his bank +just--just--hunting for Richard--to--to--have him hung--and oh! +Peter, I have lived in horror,--for--fear he w--w--w--would, and--" + +"He never could, Betty. I have come home to atone. I have come home to +give myself up. I killed Richard--my cousin--my best friend. I struck +him in hate and saw him lying dead: all the time they were hunting him +it was I they should have hunted. I can't understand it. Did they take +his dead body for mine--or--how was it they did not know he was struck +down and murdered? They must have taken his body for mine--or--he +must have fallen over--but he didn't, for I saw him lying dead as I +had struck him. All these years the eye of vengeance has been upon me, +and my crime has haunted me. I have seen him lying so--dead. God! +God!" + +Betty still clung to him and sobbed incoherently. "No, no, Peter, it +was you who were drowned--they found all your things and saw where you +had been pushed over, and--but you weren't drowned! They only thought +it--they believed it--" + +He put his hand to his head as if to brush away the confusion which +staggered him. "Yes, Richard lay dead--and they found him,--but why +did they hunt for him? And I--I--living--why didn't they hunt me,--and +he, dead and lying there--why did they hunt him? But my father would +believe the worst of him rather than to see himself disgraced in his +son. Don't cry, little Betty, don't cry. You've had too much to bear. +Sit here beside me and I'll tell you all about it. That's why I came +back." + +"B--b--ut if you weren't drowned, why--why didn't you come home and +say so? Didn't you ever see the papers and how they were hunting +Richard all over the world? I knew you were dead, because I knew you +never would be so cruel as to leave every one in doubt and your father +in sorrow--just because he had quarreled with you. It might have +killed your mother--if the Elder had let her know." + +"I can't tell you all my reasons, Betty; mostly they were coward's +reasons. I did my best to leave evidence that I had been pushed over +the bluff, because it seemed the only way to hide myself. I did my +best to make them think me dead, and never thought any one could be +harmed by it, because I knew him to be dead; so I just thought we +would both be dead so far as the world would know,--and as for you, +dear,--I learned on that fatal night that you did not love me--and +that was another coward's reason why I wished to be dead to you all." +He began pacing the room, and Betty sat on the edge of the narrow jail +bedstead and watched him with tearful eyes. "It was true, Betty? You +did not really love me?" + +"Peter! Didn't you ever see the papers? Didn't you ever know all about +the search for you and how he disappeared, too? Oh, Peter! And it was +supposed he killed you and pushed you over the bluff and then ran +away. Oh, Peter! But it was kept out of the home paper by the Elder so +your mother should not know--and Peter--didn't you know Richard +lived?" + +"Lived? lived?" He lifted his clasped hands above his head, and they +trembled. "Lived? Betty, say it again!" + +"Yes, Peter. I saw him and I know--" + +"Oh, God, make me know it. Make me understand." He fell on his knees +beside her and hid his face in the scant jail bedding, and his frame +shook with dry sobs. "I was a coward. I told you that. I--I thought +myself a murderer, and all this time my terrible thought has driven +me--Lived? I never killed him? God! Betty, say it again." + +Betty sat still for a moment, shaken at first with a feeling of +resentment that he had made them all suffer so, and Richard most of +all. Then she was overwhelmed with pity for him, and with a glad +tenderness. It was all over. The sorrow had been real, but it had all +been needless. She placed her hand on his head, then knelt beside him +and put her arm about his neck and drew his head to her bosom, +motherwise, for the deep mother heart in her was awakened, and thus +she told him all the story, and how Richard had come to her, broken +and repentant, and what had been said between them. When they rose +from their knees, it was as if they had been praying and at the same +time giving thanks. + +"And you thought they would find him lying there dead and know you had +killed him and hunt you down for a murderer?" + +"Yes." + +"Poor Peter! So you pushed that great stone out of the edge of the +bluff into the river to make them think you had fallen over and +drowned--and threw your things down, too, to make it seem as if you +both were dead." + +"Yes." + +"Oh, Peter! What a terrible mistake! How you must have suffered!" + +"Yes, as cowards suffer." + +They stood for a moment with clasped hands, looking into each other's +eyes. "Then it was true what Richard told me? You did not love me, +Betty?" He had grown calmer, and he spoke very tenderly. "We must have +all the truth now and conceal nothing." + +"Not quite--true. I--I--thought I did. You were so handsome! I was +only a child then--and I thought I loved you--or that I ought to--for +any girl would--I was so romantic in those days--and you had been +wounded--and it was like a romance--" + +"And then?" + +"And then Richard came, and I knew in one instant that I had done +wrong--and that I loved him--and oh, I felt myself so wicked." + +"No, Betty, dear. It was all--" + +"It was not fair to you. I would have been true to you, Peter; you +would have never known--but after Richard came and told me he had +killed you,--I felt as if I had killed you, too. I did like you, +Peter. I did! I will do whatever is right." + +"Then it was not in vain--that we have all suffered. We have been +saved from doing each other wrong. Everything will come right now. All +that is needed is for father to hear what you have told me, and he +will come and take me out of here--Where is Richard?" + +"No one knows." + +"Not even you, Betty?" + +"No; he has dropped out of the world as completely as you did." + +"Well, it will be all right, anyway. Father will withdraw his charge +and--did you say his bank was going to pieces? He must have help. I +can help him. You can help him, Betty." + +"How?" + +Then Peter told Betty how he had found Richard's father in his +mountain retreat and that she must write to him. "If there is any +danger of the bank's going, write for me to Larry Kildene. Father +never would appeal to him if he lost everything in the world, so we +must do it. As soon as I am out of here we can save him." Already he +felt himself a new man, and spoke hopefully and cheerfully. He little +knew the struggle still before him. + +"Peter, father and mother are out there in the corridor waiting. I +was to call them. I made them let me come in alone." + +"Oh, call them, call them!" + +"I don't think they will know you as I did, with that great beard on +your face. We'll see." + +When Bertrand and Mary entered, they stood for a moment aghast, seeing +little likeness to either of the young men in the developed and +bronzed specimen of manhood before them. But they greeted him warmly, +eager to find him Peter, and in their manner he missed nothing of +their old-time kindliness. + +"You are greatly changed, Peter Junior. You look more like Richard +Kildene than you ever did before in your life," said Mary. + +"Yes, but when we see Richard, we may find that a change has taken +place in him also, and they will stand in their own shoes hereafter." + +"Since the burden has been lifted from my soul and I know that he lives, +I could sing and shout aloud here in this cell. Imprisonment--even +death--means nothing to me now. All will come right before we know it." + +"That is just the way Richard would act and speak. No wonder you have +been taken for him!" said Bertrand. + +"Yes, he was always more buoyant than I. Maybe we have both changed, +but I hope he has not. I loved my friend." + +As they walked home together Mary Ballard said, "Now, Peter ought to +be released right away." + +"Certainly he will be as soon as the Elder realizes the truth." + +"How he has changed, though! His face shows the mark of sorrow. Those +drooping, sensitive lines about his mouth--they were never there +before, and they are the lines of suffering. They touched my heart. I +wish Hester were at home. She ought to be written to. I'll do it as +soon as I get home." + +"Peter is handsomer than he was, in spite of the lines, and, as you +say, he does look more like his cousin than he used to--because of +them, I think. Richard always had a debonair way with him, but he had +that little, sensitive droop to the lips--not so marked as Peter's is +now--but you remember, Mary--like his mother's." + +"Oh, mother, don't you think Richard could be found?" Betty's voice +trailed sorrowfully over the words. She was thinking how he had +suffered all this time, and wishing her heart could reach out to him +and call him back to her. + +"He must be, dear, if he lives." + +"Oh, yes. He'll be found. It can be published that Peter Junior has +returned, and that will bring him after a while. Peter's physique +seems to have changed as well as his face. Did you notice that +backward swing of the shoulders, so like his cousin's, when he said, +'I could sing and shout here in this cell'? And the way he lifted his +head and smiled? That beard is a horrible disguise. I must send a +barber to him. He must be himself again." + +"Oh, yes, do. He stands so straight and steps so easily. His lameness +seems to have quite gone," said Mary, joyously,--but at that, Bertrand +paused in his walk and looked at her, then glancing at Betty walking +slowly on before, he laid his finger to his lips and took his wife's +arm, and they said no more until they reached home and Betty was in +her room. + +"I simply can't think it, Bertrand. I see Peter in him. It is Peter. +Of course he's like Richard. They were always alike, and that makes +him all the more Peter. No other man would have that likeness, and it +goes to show that he is Peter." + +"My dear, unless the Elder sees him as we see him, the thing will have +to be tried out in the courts." + +"Unless we can find Richard. Hester ought to be here. She could set +them right in a moment. Trust a mother to know her own boy. I'll write +her immediately. I'll--" + +"But you have no authority, Mary." + +"No authority? She is my friend. I have a right to do my duty by her, +and I can so put it that it will not be such a shock to her as it +inevitably will be if matters go wrong, or Peter should be kept in +prison for lack of evidence--or for too much evidence. She'll have to +know sooner or later." + +Bertrand said no more against this, for was not Mary often quite +right? "I'll see to it that he has a barber, and try to persuade the +Elder to see him. That may settle it without any trouble. If not, I +must see that he has a good lawyer to help in his defense." + +"If that savage old man remains stubborn, Hester must be here." + +"If the thing goes to a trial, Betty will have to appear against +him." + +"Well, it mustn't go to a trial, that's all." + +That night two letters went out from Leauvite, one to Hester Craigmile +at Aberdeen, Scotland, and one to the other end of the earth, where +Larry Kildene waited for news of Harry King, there on the mountain +top. On the first of each month Larry rode down to the nearest point +where letters could be sent, making a three days' trip on horseback. +His first trip brought nothing, because Harry had not sent his first +letter in time to reach the station before Larry was well on his way +back up the mountain. He would not delay his return, for fear of +leaving the two women too long alone. + +After Harry's departure, Madam Manovska had grown restless, and once +had wandered so far away as to cause them great alarm and a long +search, when she was found, sitting close to the fall, apparently too +weak and too dazed to move. This had so awakened Amalia's fears that +she never allowed her mother to leave the cabin alone, but always on +one pretext or another accompanied her. + +The situation was a difficult one for them all. If Amalia took her +mother away to some town, as she wished to do, she feared for Madam +Manovska's sanity when she could not find her husband. And still, when +she tried to tell her mother of her father's death, she could not +convince her of its truth. For a while she would seem to understand +and believe it, but after a night's rest she would go back to the old +weary repetition of going to her husband and his need of her. Then it +was all to go over again, day after day, until at last Amalia gave up, +and allowed her mother the comfort of her belief: but all the more she +had to invent pretexts for keeping her on the mountain. So she +accepted Larry's kindly advice and his earnestly offered hospitality +and his comforting companionship, and remained, as, perforce, there +was nothing else for her to do. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII + +HESTER CRAIGMILE RECEIVES HER LETTER + + +The letters reached their opposite destinations at about the same +time. The one to Amalia closely buttoned in Larry's pocket, and the +short one to himself which he read and reread as his horse slowly +climbed the trail, were halfway up the mountain when the postboy +delivered Hester Craigmile's at the door of the sedate brick house +belonging to the Craigmiles of Aberdeen. + +Peter Junior's mother and two elderly women--his grandaunts--were +seated in the dignified parlor, taking afternoon tea, when the +housemaid brought Hester her letter. + +"Is it from Peter, maybe?" asked the elder of the two aunts. + +"No, Aunt Ellen; I think it is from a friend." + +"It's strange now, that Peter's no written before this," said the +younger, leaning forward eagerly. "Will ye read it, dear? We'll be +wantin' to know if there's ae word about him intil't." + +"There may be, Aunt Jean." Hester set her cup of tea down untasted, +and began to open her letter. + +"But tak' yer tea first, Hester. Jean's an impatient body. That's too +bad of ye, Jean; her toast's gettin' cold." + +"Oh, that's no matter at all, Aunt Ellen. I'll take it as soon as I +see if he's home all right. Yes, my friend says my husband has been +home for three days and is well." + +"That's good. Noo ye're satisfied, lay it by and tak' yer tea." And +Hester smilingly laid it by and took her tea, for Mary Ballard had +said nothing on the first page to startle her friend's serenity. + +Jean Craigmile, however, still looked eagerly at the letter as it lay +on a chair at Hester's side. She was a sweet-faced old lady, alert, +and as young as Peter Junior's father, for all she was his aunt, and +now she apologized for her eagerness by saying, as she often did: "Ye +mind he's mair like my brither than my nephew, for we all used to play +together--Peter, Katherine, and me. We were aye friends. She was like +a sister, and he like a brither. Ah, weel, we're auld noo." + +Her sister looked at her fondly. "Ye're no so auld, Jean, but ye might +be aulder. It's like I might have been the mither of her, for I mind +the time when she was laid in my arms and my feyther tell't me I was +to aye care for her like my ain, an' but for her I would na' be livin' +noo." + +"And why for no?" asked Jean, quickly. + +"I had ye to care for, child. Do ye no' understand?" + +Jean laughed merrily. "She's been callin' me child for saxty-five +years," she said. + +Both the old ladies wore lace caps, but that of Jean's was a little +braver with ribbons than Ellen's. Small lavender bows were set in the +frill all about her face, and the long ends of the ribbon were not +tied, but fell down on the soft white mull handkerchief that crossed +over her bosom. + +"I mind when Peter married ye, Hester," said Ellen. "I was fair wild +to have him bring ye here on his weddin' journey, and he should have +done so, for we'd not seen him since he was a lad, and all these years +I've been waitin' to see ye." + +"Weel, 'twas good of him to leave ye bide with us a bit, an' go home +without ye," said Jean. + +"It was good of him, but I ought not to have allowed it." Hester's +eyes glistened and her face grew tender and soft. To the world, +the Elder might seem harsh, stubborn, and vindictive, but Hester knew +the tenderness in which none but she believed. Ever since the +disappearance of their son, he had been gentle and most lovingly +watchful of her, and his domination had risen from the old critical +restraint on her thoughts and actions to a solicitous care for her +comfort,--studying her slightest wishes with almost appealing +thoughtfulness to gratify them. + +"And why for no allow it? There's naething so good for a man as +lettin' him be kind to ye, even if he is an Elder in the kirk. I'm +thinkin' Peter's ain o' them that such as that is good for--Hester! +What ails ye! Are oot of ye're mind? Gi'e her a drap of whuskey, Jean. +Hester!" + +While they were chatting and sipping their tea, Hester had quietly +resumed the reading of her letter, and now she sat staring straight +before her, the pages crushed in her hand, leaning forward, pale, with +her eyes fixed on space as if they looked on some awful sight. + +"Hester! Hester! What is it? Is there a bit o' bad news for ye' in the +letter? Here, tak' a sip o' this, dear. Tak' it, Hester; 'twill +hairten ye up for whatever's intil't," cried Jean, holding to Hester's +lips the ever ready Scotch remedy, which she had snatched from a wall +cupboard behind her and poured out in a glass. + +Ellen, who was lame and could not rise from her chair without help, +did not cease her directions and ejaculations, lapsing into the +broader Scotch of her girlhood under excitement, as was the way with +both the women. "Tell us what ails ye, dear; maybe it's no so bad. Gie +me the letter, Jean, an' I'll see what's intil't. Ring the bell for +Tillie an' we'll get her to the couch." + +But Hester caught Jean's gown and would not let her go to the bell +cord which hung in the far corner of the room. "No, don't call her. +I'll lie down a moment, and--and--we'll talk--this--over." She clung +to the letter and would not let it out of her hand, but rose and +walked wearily to the couch unassisted and lay down, closing her eyes. +"After a minute, Aunt Ellen, I'll tell you. I must think, I must +think." So she lay quietly, gathering all her force to consider and +meet what she must, as her way was, while Jean sat beside, stroking +her hand and saying sweet, comforting words in her broad Scotch. + +"There's neathin' so guid as a drap of whuskey, dear, for strengthnin' +the hairt whan ye hae a bit shock. It's no yer mon, Peter? No? Weel, +thank the Lord for that. Noo, tak ye anither bit sup, for ye ha'e na +tasted it. Wull ye no gie Ellen the letter, love? 'Twill save ye +tellin' her." + +Hester passively took the whisky as she was bid, and presently sat up +and finished reading the letter. "Peter has been hiding--something +from me for--three years--and now--" + +"Yes, an' noo. It's aye the way wi' them that hides--whan the day +comes they maun reveal--it's only the mair to their shame," exclaimed +Ellen. + +"Oh, but it's all mixed up--and my best friend doesn't know the +truth. Yes, take the letter, Aunt Ellen, and read it yourself." She +held out the pages with a shaking hand, and Jean took them over to her +sister, who slowly read them in silence. + +"Ah, noo. As I tell't ye, it's no so bad," she said at last. + +"Wha's the trouble, Ellen? Don't keep us waitin'." + +"Bide ye in patience, child. Ye're always so easily excitet. I maun +read the letter again to get the gist o't, but it's like this. The +Elder's been of the opeenion noo these three years that his son was +most foully murder't, an--" + +"He may ha'e been kill't, but he was no' murder't," cried Jean, +excitedly. "I tell ye 'twas purely by accident--" she paused and +suddenly clapped both hands over her mouth and rocked herself back and +forth as if she had made some egregious blunder, then: "Gang on wi' +yer tellin'. It's dour to bide waitin'. Gie me the letter an' lat me +read it for mysel'." + +"Lat me tell't as I maun tell't. Ye maun no keep interruptin'. Jean +has no order in her brain. She aye pits the last first an' the first +last. This is a hopefu' letter an' a guid ain from yer friend, an' it +tells ye yer son's leevin' an' no murder't--" + +"Thank the Lord! I ha'e aye said it," ejaculated Jean, fervently. + +"Ye ha'e aye said it? Child, what mean ye? Ye ha'e kenned naethin' +aboot it." + +But Jean would not be set down. She leaned forward with glistening +eyes. "I ha'e aye said it. I ha'e aye said it. Gie me the letter, +Ellen." + +But Ellen only turned composedly and resumed her interpretation of +the letter to Hester, who sat looking with dazed expression from one +aunt to the other. + +"It all comes about from Peter's bein' a stubborn man, an' he'll no +change the opeenion he's held for three years wi'oot a struggle. Here +comes his boy back an' says, 'I'm Peter Junior, and yer son.' An' his +feyther says till him, 'Ye're no my son, for my son was murder't--an' +ye're Richard Kildene wha' murder't him.' And noo, it's for ye to go +home, Hester, an' bring Peter to his senses, and show him the truth. A +mither knows her ain boy, an' if it's Peter Junior, it's Peter Junior, +and Richard Kildene's died." + +"I tell ye he's no dead!" cried Jean, springing to her feet. + +"Hush, child. He maun be dead, for ain of them's dead, and this is +Peter Junior." + +"Read it again, Aunt Ellen," said Hester, wearily. "You'll see that +the Elder brings a fearful charge against Richard. He thinks Richard +is making a false claim that he is--Peter--my boy." + +Jean sat back in her chair crying silently and shrinking into herself +as if she were afraid to say more, and Ellen went on. "Listen, now, +what yer frien' says. 'The Elder is wrong, for Bertrand'--that's her +husband, I'm thinkin'--?" + +"Yes." + +"'Bertrand and Betty,--' Who's Betty, noo?" + +"Betty is their daughter. She was to--have--married my son." + +"Good. So she would know her lover. 'Betty and I have seen him,' she +says, 'and have talked with him, and we know he is Peter Junior,' she +says. 'Richard Kildene has disappeared,' she says, 'and yet we know +he is living somewhere and he must be found. We fear the Elder will +not withdraw the charge until Richard is located'--An' that will be +like Peter, too--'and meanwhile your son Peter will have to lie in +jail, where he is now, unless you can clear matters up here by coming +home and identifying him, and that you can surely do.'--An' that's all +vera weel. There's neathin' to go distraught over in the like o' that. +An' here she says, 'He's a noble, fine-looking man, and you'll be +proud of him when you see him.' Oh, 'tis a fine letter, an' it's Peter +wi' his stubbornness has been makin' a boggle o' things. If I were na +lame, I'd go back wi' ye an' gie Peter a piece o' my mind." + +"An' I'll locate Richard for ye!" cried Jean, rising to her feet and +wiping away the fast-falling tears, laughing and weeping all in the +same moment. "Whish't, Ellen, it's ye'rsel' that kens neathin' aboot +it, an' I'll tell ye the truth the noo--that I've kept to mysel' this +lang time till my conscience has nigh whupped me intil my grave." + +"Tak' a drap o' whuskey, Jean, ye're flyin' oot o' yer heid. It's the +hystiricks she's takin'." + +"Ah, no! What is it, Aunt Jean? What is it?" cried Hester, eagerly, +drawing her to the seat by her side again. + +"It's no the hystiricks," cried Jean, rocking back and forth and +patting her hands on her knees and speaking between laughing and +crying. "It's the truth at last, that I've been lyin' aboot these +three lang years, thank the Lord!" + +"Jean, is it thankin' the Lord ye are, for lyin'?" + +"Ellen, ye mind whan ye broke ye'r leg an' lay in the south chamber +that lang sax months?" + +"Aye, weel do I mind it." + +"Lat be wi' ye're interruptin' while I tell't. He came here." + +"Who came here?" + +"Richard--the poor lad! He tell't me all aboot it. How he had a mad +anger on him, an' kill't his cousin Peter Junior whan they'd been like +brithers all their lives, an' hoo he pushed him over the brink o' a +gre't precipice to his death, an' hoo he must forever flee fra' the +law an' his uncle's wrath. Noo it's--" + +"Oh, Aunt Jean!" cried Hester, despairingly. "Don't you see that what +you say only goes to prove my husband right? Yet how could he claim to +be Peter--it--it's not like the boy. Richard never, never would--" + +"He may ha' been oot o' his heid thinkin' he pushed him over the +brink. I ha'e na much opeenion o' the judgment o' a man ony way. They +never know whan to be set, an' whan to gie in. Think shame to yersel', +Jean, to be hidin' things fra me the like o' that an' then lyin' to +me." + +"He was repentit, Ellen. Ye can na' tak the power o' the Lord in yer +ain han's an' gie a man up to the law whan he's repentit. If ye'd seen +him an' heard the words o' him and seen him greet, ye would ha' hid +him in yer hairt an' covered wi' the mantle o' charity, as I did. +Moreover, I saved ye from dour lyin' yersel'. Ye mind whan that man +that Peter sent here to find Richard came, hoo ye said till him that +Richard had never been here? Ye never knew why for that man wanted +Richard, but I knew an' I never tell't ye. An' if ye had known what I +knew, ye never could ha' tell't him what ye did so roundly an' sent +him aboot his business wi' a straight face." + +"An' noo whaur is Richard?" + +"He's awa' in Paris pentin' pictures. He went there to learn to be a +penter." + +"An' whaur gat he the money to go wi'? There's whaur the new black +silk dress went ye should ha' bought yersel' that year. Ye lat me +think it went to the doctor. Child! Child!" + +"Yes, sister; I lee'd to ye. It's been a heavy sin on my soul an' ye +may well thank the Lord it's no been on yer ain. But hark ye noo. It's +all come back to me. Here's the twenty pun' I gave him. It's come back +wi' interest." Proudly Jean drew from her bosom an envelope containing +forty pounds in bank notes. "Look ye, hoo he's doubl't it?" Again she +laughed through her tears. + +"And you know where he is--and can find him?" + +"Yes, Hester, dear, I know. He took a new name. It was Robert Kater he +called himsel'. So, there he's been pentin' pictures. Go, Hester, an' +find yer son, an' I'll find Richard. Ellen, ye'll have to do wi' +Tillie for a week an' a bit,--I'm going to Paris to find Richard." + +"Ye'll do nae sic' thing. Ye'll find him by post." + +"I'll trust to nae letter the noo, Ellen. Letters aften gang astray, +but I'll no gang astray." + +"Oh, child, child! It's a sorrowful thing I'm lame an' can na' gang +wi' ye. What are ye doin', Hester?" + +"I'm hunting for the newspaper. Don't they put the railroad +time-tables in the paper over here, or must I go to the station to +inquire about trains?" + +"Ye'd better ask at the station. I'll go wi' ye. Ye might boggle it by +yersel'. Ring for Tillie, Jean. She can help me oot o' my chair an' +get me dressed, while ye're lookin' after yer ain packin', Jean." + +So the masterful old lady immediately began to superintend the +hasty departure of both Hester and Jean. The whole procedure was +unprecedented and wholly out of the normal course of things, but if +duty called, they must go, whether she liked the thought of their +going or not. So she sent Tillie to call a cab, and contented +herself with bewailing the stubbornness of Peter, her nephew. + +"It was aye so, whan he was a lad playin' wi' Jean an' Katherine, +whiles whan his feyther lat his mither bring Katherine and him back to +Scotland on a veesit. Jean and Katherine maun gie in til him if they +liket it or no. I've watched them mony's the time, when he would haud +them up in their play by the hour together, arguyin' which should be +horse an' which should be driver, an' it was always Peter that won his +way wi' them. Is the cab there, Tillie? Then gie me my crutch. Hester, +are you ready? Jean, I'll find oot for ye all aboot the trains for +Dover. Ye maun gang direc' an' no loiter by the way. Come, Hester. I +doot she ought not to be goin' aboot alone. Paris is an' awfu' like +place for a woman body to be goin' aboot alone. But it canna' be +helpit. What's an old woman like me wi' only one sound leg and a pair +o' crutches, to go on sic' like a journey?" + +"If I could, I'd take you home with me, Aunt Ellen; if I were only +sure of the outcome of this trouble, I would anyway--but to take you +there to a home of sorrow--" + +"There, Hester, dear. Don't ye greet. It's my opeenion ye're goin' to +find yer son an' tak him in yer arms ance mair. Ye were never the +right wife for Peter. I can see that. Ye're too saft an' gentle." + +"I'm thinking how Peter has borne this trouble alone, all these +years, and suffered, trying to keep the sorrow from me." + +"Yes, dear, yes. Peter told us all aboot it whan he was here, an' he +bade us not to lat ye ken a word aboot it, but to keep from ye all +knowledge of it. Noo it's come to ye by way of this letter fra yer +frien', an' I'm thinkin' it's the best way; for noo, at last ye ha'e +it in ye're power to go an' maybe save an innocent man, for it's no +like a son of our Katherine would be sic' like a base coward as to try +to win oot from justice by lyin' himsel' intil his victim's own home. +I'll no think it." + +"Nor I, Aunt Ellen. It's unbelievable! And of Richard--no. I loved +Richard. He was like my own son to me--and Peter Junior loved him, +too. They may have quarreled--and even he might--in a moment of anger, +he might have killed my boy,--but surely he would never do a thing +like this. They are making some horrible mistake, or Mary Ballard +would never have written me." + +"Noo ye're talkin' sense. Keep up courage an' never tak an' affliction +upo' yersel' until it's thrust upo' ye by Providence." + +Thus good Aunt Ellen in her neat black bonnet and shawl and black +mits, seated at Hester's side in the cab holding to her crutches, +comforted and admonished her niece all the way to the station and +back, and the next day she bravely bade Jean and Hester both good-by +and settled herself in her armchair to wait patiently for news from +them. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV + +JEAN CRAIGMILE'S RETURN + + +When at last Jean Craigmile returned, a glance at her face was quite +enough to convince Ellen that things had not gone well. She held her +peace, however, until her sister had had time to remove her bonnet and +her shawl and dress herself for the house, before she broke in upon +Jean's grim silence. Then she said:-- + +"Weel, Jean. I'm thinkin' ye'd better oot wi' it." + +"Is Tillie no goin' to bring in the tea? It's past the hour. I see she +grows slack, wantin' me to look after her." + +"Ring for it then, Jean. I'm no for leavin' my chair to ring for it." +So Jean pulled the cord and the tea was brought in due time, with hot +scones and the unwonted addition of a bowl of roses to grace the +tray. + +"The posies are a greetin' to ye, Jean; I ordered them mysel'. Weel? +An' so ye ha'na' found him?" + +"Oh, sister, my hairt's heavy an' sair. I canna' thole to tell ye." + +"But ye maun do't, an' the sooner ye tell't the sooner ye'll ha'e it +over." + +"He was na' there. Oh, Ellen, Ellen! He'd gone to America! I'm afraid +the Elder is right an' Hester has gone home to get her death blow. Why +were we so precipitate in lettin' her go?" + +"Jean, tell me all aboot it, an' I'll pit my mind to it and help ye +think it oot. Don't ye leave oot a thing fra' the time ye left me till +the noo." + +Slowly Jean poured her sister's tea and handed it to her. "Tak' yer +scones while they're hot, Ellen. I went to the place whaur he'd been +leevin'. I had the direction all right, but whan I called, I found +anither man in possession. The man was an Englishman, so I got on vera +weel for the speakin'. It's little I could do with they Frenchmen. He +was a dirty like man, an' he was daubin' away at a picture whan I +opened the door an' walked in. I said to him, 'Whaur's Richard'--no, +no, no. I said to him, calling Richard by the name he's been goin' by, +I said, 'Whaur's Robert Kater?' He jumped up an' began figitin' aboot +the room, settin' me a chair an' the like, an' I asked again, 'Is this +the pentin' room o' Robert Kater?' an' he said, 'It was his room, +yes.' Then he asked me was I any kin to him, an' I told him, did he +think I would come walkin' into his place the like o' that if I was no +kin to him? An' then he began tellin' me a string o' talk an' I could +na' mak' head nor tail o't, so I asked again, 'If ye're a friend o' +his, wull ye tell me whaur he's gone?' an' then he said it straight +oot, 'To Ameriky,' an' it fair broke my hairt." + +For a minute Jean sat and sipped her tea, and wiped the tears from her +eyes; then she took up the thread of her story again. + +"Then he seemed all at once to bethink himsel' o' something, an' he +ran to his coat that was hangin' behind the door on a nail, an' he +drew oot a letter fra the pocket, an' here it is. + +"'Are ye Robert's Aunt Jean?' he asked, and I tell't him, an', +'Surely,' he said, 'an' I did na' think ye old enough to be his Aunt +Jean.' Then he began to excuse himsel' for forgettin' to mail that +letter. 'I promised him I would,' he said, 'but ye see, I have na' +been wearin' my best coat since he left, an' that's why. We gave him a +banket,' he says, 'an' I wore my best coat to the banket, an' he gave +me this an' told me to mail it after he was well away,' an' he says, +'I knew I ought not to put it in this coat pocket, for I'd forget +it,'--an' so he ran on; but it was no so good a coat, for the lining +was a' torn an' it was gray wi' dust, for I took it an' brushed it an' +mended it mysel' before I left Paris." + +Again Jean paused, and taking out her neatly folded handkerchief wiped +away the falling tears, and sipped a moment at her tea in silence. + +"Tak' ye a bit o' the scones, Jean. Ye'll no help matters by goin' +wi'oot eatin'. If the lad's done a shamefu' like thing, ye'll no help +him by greetin'. He maun fall. Ye've done yer best I doot, although +mistakenly to try to keep it fra me." + +"He was sae bonny, Ellen, and that like his mither 'twould melt the +hairt oot o' ye to look on him." + +"Ha'e ye no mair to tell me? Surely it never took ye these ten days to +find oot what ye ha'e tell't." + +"The man was a kind sort o' a body, an' he took me oot to eat wi' him +at a cafy, an' he paid it himsel', but I'm thinkin' his purse was sair +empty whan he got through wi' it. I could na' help it. Men are vera +masterfu' bodies. I made it up to him though, for I bided a day or twa +at the hotel, an' went to the room,--the pentin' room whaur I found +him--there was whaur he stayed, for he was keepin' things as they +were, he said, for the one who was to come into they things--Robert +Kater had left there--ye'll find oot aboot them whan ye read the +letter--an' I made it as clean as ye'r han' before I left him. He made +a dour face whan he came in an' found me at it, but I'm thinkin' he +came to like it after a', for I heard him whustlin' to himsel' as I +went down the stair after tellin' him good-by. + +"Gin ye had seen the dirt I took oot o' that room, Ellen, ye would a' +held up ye'r two han's in horror. There were crusts an' bones behind +the pictures standin' against the wa' that the rats an' mice had been +gnawin' there, an' there were bottles on a shelf, old an' empty an' +covered wi' cobwebs an' dust, an' the floor was so thick wi' dirt it +had to be scrapit, an' what wi' old papers an' rags I had a great +basket full taken awa--let be a bundle o' shirts that needed mendin'. +I took the shirts to the hotel, an' there I mended them until they +were guid enough to wear, an' sent them back. So there was as guid as +the price o' the denner he gave me, an' naethin said. Noo read the +letter an' ye'll see why I'm greetin'. Richard's gone to Ameriky to +perjure his soul. He says it was to gie himsel' up to the law, but +from the letter to Hester it's likely his courage failed him. There's +naethin' to mak' o't but that--an' he sae bonny an' sweet, like his +mither." + +Jean Craigmile threw her apron over her head and rocked herself back +and forth, while Ellen set down her cup and reluctantly opened the +letter--many pages, in a long business envelope. She sighed as she +took them out. + +"It's a waefu' thing how much trouble an' sorrow a man body brings +intil the world wi' him. Noo there's Richard, trailin' sorrow after +him whaurever he goes." + +"But ye mind it came from Katherine first, marryin' wi' Larry Kildene +an' rinnin' awa' wi' him," replied Jean. + +"It was Larry huntit her oot whaur she had been brought for safety." + +They both sat in silence while Ellen read the letter to the very end. +At last, with a long, indrawn sigh, she spoke. + +"It's no like a lad that could write sic a letter, to perjure his +soul. No won'er ye greet, Jean. He's gi'en ye everything he possesses, +wi' one o' the twa pictures in the Salon! Think o't! An' a' he got +fra' the ones he sold, except enough to take him to America. Ye canna' +tak' it." + +"No. I ha'e gi'en them to the Englishman wha' has his room. I could +na' tak them." Jean continued to sway back and forth with her apron +over her head. + +"Ye ha'e gi'en them awa'! All they pictures pented by yer ain niece's +son! An' twa' acceptit by the Salon! Child, child! I'd no think it o' +ye." Ellen leaned forward in her chair reprovingly, with the letter +crushed in her lap. + +"I told him to keep them safe, as he was doin', an' if he got no word +fra' me after sax months,--he was to bide in the room wi' them--they +were his." + +"Weel, ye're wiser than I thought ye." + +For a long time they sat in silence, until at last Ellen took up the +letter to read it again, and began with the date at the head. + +"Jean," she cried, holding it out to her sister and pointing to the +date with shaking finger. "Wull ye look at that noo! Are we both daft? +It's no possible for him to ha' gotten there before that letter was +written to Hester. Look ye, Jean! Look ye! Here 'tis the third day o' +June it was written by his own hand." + +"Count it oot, Ellen, count it oot! Here's the calendar almanac. Noo +we'll ha'e it. It's twa weeks since Hester an' I left an' she got the +letter the day before that, an' that's fifteen days--" + +"An' it takes twa weeks mair for a boat to cross the ocean, an' that +gives fourteen days mair before that letter to Hester was written, an' +three days fra' Liverpool here, pits it back to seventeen days,--an' +fifteen days--mak's thirty-two days,--an' here' it's nearin' the last +o' June--" + +"Jean! Whan Hester's frien' was writin' that letter to Hester, Richard +was just sailin' fra France! Thank the Lord!" + +"Thank the Lord!" ejaculated her sister, fervently. "Ellen, it's you +for havin' the head to think it oot, thank the Lord!" And now the dear +soul wept again for very gladness. + +Ellen folded her hands in her lap complaisantly and nodded her head. +"Ye've a good head, yersel', Jean, but ye aye let yersel' get excitet. +Noo, it's only for us to bide in peace an' quiet an' know that the +earth is the Lord's an' the fullness thereof until we hear fra' +Hester." + +"An' may the Lord pit it in her hairt to write soon!" + +While the good Craigmiles of Aberdeen were composing themselves to the +hopeful view that Ellen's discovery of the date had given them, Larry +Kildene and Amalia were seated in a car, luxurious for that day, +speeding eastward over the desert across which Amalia and her father +and mother had fled in fear and privation so short a time before. She +gazed through the plate-glass windows and watched the quivering heat +waves rising from the burning sands. Well she knew those terrible +plains! She saw the bleaching bones of animals that had fallen by the +way, even as their own had fallen, and her eyes filled. She remembered +how Harry King had come to them one day, riding on his yellow +horse--riding out of the setting sun toward them, and how his +companionship had comforted them and his courage and help had saved +them more than once,--and how, had it not been for him, their bones, +too, might be lying there now, whitening in the heat. Oh, Harry, Harry +King! She who had once crossed those very plains behind a jaded team +now felt that the rushing train was crawling like a snail. + +Larry Kildene, seated facing her and watching her, leaned forward and +touched her hand. "We're going at an awful pace," he said. "To think +of ever crossing these plains with the speed of the wind!" + +She smiled a wan smile. "Yes, that is so. But it still is very slowly +we go when I measure with my thoughts the swiftness. In my thoughts we +should fly--fly!" + +"It will be only three days to Chicago from here, and then one night +at a hotel to rest and clean up, and the next day we are there--in +Leauvite--think of it! We're an hour late by the schedule, so better +think of something else. We'll reach an eating station soon. Get +ready, for there will be a rush, and we'll not have a chance for a +good meal again for no one knows how long. Maybe you're not hungry, +but I could eat a mule. I like this, do you know, traveling in +comfort! To think of me--going home to save Peter's bank!" He chuckled +to himself a moment; then resumed: "And that's equivalent to saving +the man's life. Well, it's a poor way for a man to go through life, +able to see no way but his own way. It narrows his vision and shortens +his reach--for, see, let him find his way closed to him, and whoop! +he's at an end." + +Again Larry sat and watched her, as he silently chuckled over his +present situation. Again he reached out and patted her hand, and again +she smiled at him, but he knew where her thoughts were. Harry King had +been gone but a short time when Madam Manovska, in spite of Amalia's +watchfulness, wandered away for the last time. On this occasion she +did not go toward the fall, but went along the trail toward the plains +below. It was nearly evening when she eluded Amalia and left the +cabin. Frantically they searched for her all night, riding through the +darkness, carrying torches and calling in all directions, as far as +they supposed her feet could have carried her, but did not find her +until early morning, lying peacefully under a little scrub pine, far +down the trail. By her side lay her husband's worn coat, with the +lining torn away, and a small heap of ashes and charred papers. She +had been destroying the documents he had guarded so long. She would +not leave them to witness against him. Tenderly they took her up and +carried her back to the cabin and laid her in her bunk, but she only +babbled of "Paul," telling happily that she had seen him, and that he +was coming up the trail after her, and that now they would live on the +mountain in peace and go no more to Poland--and quickly after that she +dropped to sleep again and never woke. She was with "Paul" at last. +Then Amalia dressed her in the black silk Larry had brought her, and +they carried her down the trail and laid her in a grave beside that of +her husband, and there Larry read the prayers of the English church +over the two lonely graves, while Amalia knelt at his side. When they +went down the trail to take the train, after receiving Betty's letter, +they marked the place with a cross which Larry had made. + +Truth to tell, as they sat in the car, facing each other, Larry +himself was sad, although he tried to keep Amalia's thoughts cheerful. +At last she woke to the thought that it was only for her he maintained +that forced light-heartedness, and the realization came to her that he +also had cause for sorrow on leaving the spot where he had so long +lived in peace, to go to a friend in trouble. The thought helped her, +and she began to converse with Larry instead of sitting silently, +wrapped in her own griefs. Because her heart was with Harry +King,--filled with anxiety for him,--she talked mostly of him, and +that pleased Larry well; for he, too, had need to speak of Harry. + +"Now there is a character for you, as fine and sweet as a woman and +strong, too! I've seen enough of men to know the best of them when I +find them. I saw it in him the moment I got him up to my cabin and +laid him in my bunk. He--he--minded me of one that's gone." His voice +dropped to the undertone of reminiscence. "Of one that's long +gone--long gone." + +"Could you tell me about it, a little--just a very little?" Amalia +leaned toward him pleadingly. It was the first time she had ever asked +of Larry Kildene or Harry King a question that might seem like seeking +to know a thing purposely kept from her. But her intuitive nature told +her the time had now come when Larry longed to speak of himself, and +the loneliness of his soul pleaded for him. + +"It's little indeed I can tell you, for it's little he ever told +me,--but it came to me--more than once--more than once--that he might +be my own son." + +Amalia recoiled with a shock of surprise. She drew in her breath and +looked in his eyes eloquently. "Oh! Oh! And you never asked him? No?" + +"Not in so many words, no. But I--I--came near enough to give him the +chance to tell the truth, if he would, but he had reasons of his own, +and he would not." + +"Then--where we go now--to him--you have been to that place before? +Not?" + +"I have." + +"And he--he knows it? Not?" + +"He knows it well. I told him it was there I left my son--my little +son--but he would say nothing. I was not even sure he knew the place +until these letters came to me. He has as yet written me no word, only +the message he sent me in his letter to you--that he will some time +write me." Then Larry took Betty's letter from his pocket and turned +it over and over, sadly. "This letter tells me more than all else, but +it sets me strangely adrift in my thoughts. It's not at all like what +I had thought it might be." + +Amalia leaned forward eagerly. "Oh, tell me more--a little, what you +thought might be." + +"This letter has added more to the heartache than all else that could +be. Either Harry King is my son--Richard Kildene--or he is the son of +the man who hated me and brought me sorrow. There you see the reason +he would tell me nothing. He could not." + +"But how is it that you do not know your own son? It is so strange." + +Larry's eyes filled as he looked off over the arid plains. "It's a +long story--that. I told it to him once to try to stir his heart +toward me, but it was of no use, and I'll not tell it now--but this. +I'd never looked on my boy since I held him in my arms--a heartbroken +man--until he came to me there--that is, if he were he. But if Harry +King is my son, then he is all the more a liar and a coward--if the +claim against him is true. I can't have it so." + +"It is not so. He is no liar and no coward." Amalia spoke with +finality. + +"I tell you if he is not my son, then he is the son of the man who +hated me--but even that man will not own him as his son. The little +girl who wrote this letter to me--she pleads with me to come on and +set them all right: but even she who loved him--who has loved him, can +urge no proof beyond her own consciousness, as to his identity; it is +beyond my understanding." + +"The little girl--she--she has loved your son--she has loved +Harry--Harry King? Whom has she loved?" Amalia only breathed the +question. + +"She has not said. I only read between the lines." + +"How is it so--you read between lines? What is it you read?" + +Larry saw he was making a mistake and resumed hurriedly: "I'll tell +you what little I know later, and we will go there and find out the +rest, but it may be more to my sorrow than my joy. Perhaps that's why +I'm taking you there--to be a help to me--I don't know. I have a +friend there who will take us both in, and who will understand as no +one else." + +"I go to neither my joy nor my sorrow. They are of the world. I will +be no more of the world--but I will live only in love--to the Christ. +So may I find in my heart peace--as the sweet sisters who guarded me +in my childhood away from danger when that my father and mother were +in fear and sorrow living--they told me there only may one find peace +from sorrow. I will go to them--perhaps--perhaps--they will take +me--again--I do not know. But I will go first with you, Sir Kildene, +wherever you wish me to go. For you are my friend--now, as no one +else. But for you, I am on earth forever alone." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV + +THE TRIAL + + +After Mr. Ballard's visit to the jail, he took upon himself to do what +he could for the young man, out of sympathy and friendship toward both +parties, and in the cause of simple justice. He consulted the only +available counsel left him in Leauvite, a young lawyer named Nathan +Goodbody, whom he knew but slightly. + +He told him as much of the case as he thought proper, and then gave +him a note to the prisoner, addressing him as Harry King. Armed with +this letter the young lawyer was soon in close consultation with his +new client. Despite Nathan Goodbody's youth Harry was favorably +impressed. The young man was so interested, so alert, so confident +that all would be well. He seemed to believe so completely the story +Harry told him, and took careful notes of it, saying he would prepare +a brief of the facts and the law, and that Harry might safely leave +everything to him. + +"You were wounded in the hip, you say," Nathan Goodbody questioned +him. "We must not neglect the smallest item that may help you, for +your case needs strengthening. You say you were lamed by it--but you +seem to have recovered from that. Is there no scar?" + +"That will not help me. My cousin was wounded also, but his was only a +flesh wound from which he quickly recovered and of which he thought +nothing. I doubt if any one here in Leauvite ever heard of it, but +it's the irony of fate that he was more badly scarred by it than I. He +was struck by a spent bullet that tore the flesh only, while the one +that hit me went cleanly to the bone, and splintered it. Mine laid me +up for a year before I could even walk with crutches, while he was +back at his post in a week." + +"And both wounds were in the same place--on the same side, for +instance?" + +"On the same side, yes; but his was lower down. Mine entered the hip +here, while he was struck about here." Harry indicated the places with +a touch of his finger. "I think it would be best to say nothing about +the scars, unless forced to do so, for I walk as well now as I ever +did, and that will be against me." + +"That's a pity, now, isn't it? Suppose you try to get back a little of +the old limp." + +Harry laughed. "No, I'll walk straight. Besides they've seen me on the +street, and even in my father's bank." + +"Too bad, too bad. Why did you do it?" + +"How could I guess there would be such an impossible development? +Until I saw Miss Ballard here in this cell I thought my cousin dead. +Why, my reason for coming here was to confess my crime, but they won't +give me the chance. They arrest me first of all for killing myself. +Now that I know my cousin lives I don't seem to care what happens to +me, except for--others." + +"But man! You must put up a fight. Suppose your cousin is no longer +living; you don't want to spend the rest of your life in the +penitentiary because he can't be found." + +"I see. If he is living, this whole trial is a farce, and if he is +not, it's a tragedy." + +"We'll never let it become a tragedy, I'll promise you that." The +young man spoke with smiling confidence, but when he reached his +office again and had closed the door behind him, his manner changed +quickly to seriousness and doubt. + +"I don't know," he said to himself, "I don't know if this story can be +made to satisfy a jury or not. A little shady. Too much coincidence to +suit me." He sat drumming with his fingers on his desk for a while, +and then rose and turned to his books. "I'll have a little law on this +case,--some point upon which we can go to the Supreme Court," and for +the rest of that day and long into the night Nathan Goodbody consulted +with his library. + +In anticipation of the unusual public interest the District Attorney +directed the summoning of twenty-five jurors in addition to the +twenty-five of the regular panel. On the day set for the trial the +court room was packed to the doors. Inside the bar were the lawyers +and the officers of the court. Elder Craigmile sat by Milton Hibbard. +In the front seats just outside the bar were the fifty jurors and back +of them were the ladies who had come early, or who had been given the +seats of their gentlemen friends who had come early, and whose +gallantry had momentarily gotten the better of their judgment. + +The stillness of the court room, like that of a church, was suddenly +broken by the entrance of the judge, a tall, spare man, with gray hair +and a serious outlook upon life. As he walked toward his seat, the +lawyers and officers of the court rose and stood until he was seated. +The clerk of the court read from a large book the journal of the court +of the previous day and then handed the book to the judge to be +signed. When this ceremony was completed, the judge took up the court +calender and said,-- + +"The State _v._ Richard Kildene," and turning to the lawyers engaged +in the case added, "Gentlemen, are you ready?" + +"We are ready," answered the District Attorney. + +"Bring in the prisoner." + +When Harry entered the court room in charge of the sheriff, he looked +neither to the right nor to the left, and saw no one before him but +his own counsel, who arose and extended a friendly hand, and led him +to a seat beside himself within the bar. + +Nathan Goodbody then rose, and, addressing the court with an air of +confident modesty, as if he were bringing forward a point so strong as +to require nothing more than the simple statement to give it weight, +said:-- + +"If the court please, the defense is ready, but I have noticed, as no +doubt the court has noticed, a distinguished member of this bar +sitting with the District Attorney as though it were intended that he +should take part in the trial of this case, and I am advised that he +intends to do so. I am also advised that he is in the employ of the +complaining witness who sits beside him, and that he has received, or +expects to receive, compensation from him for his services. I desire +at the outset of this case to raise a question as to whether counsel +employed and paid by a private person has a right to assist in the +prosecution of a criminal cause. I therefore object to the appearance +of Mr. Hibbard as counsel in this case, and to his taking any part in +this trial. If the facts I have stated are questioned, I will ask +Elder Craigmile to be sworn." + +The court replied: "I shall assume the facts to be as stated by you +unless the counsel on the other side dissent from such a statement. +Considering the facts to be as stated, your objection raises a novel +question. Have you any authorities?" + +"I do not know that the Supreme Court of this State has passed upon +this question. I do not think it has, but my objection finds support +in the well-established rule in this country, that a public prosecutor +acts in a quasi-judicial capacity. His object, like that of the court, +should be simple justice. The District Attorney represents the public +interest which can never be promoted by the conviction of the +innocent. As the District Attorney himself could not accept a fee or +reward from private parties, so, I urge, counsel employed to assist +him must be equally disinterested." + +"The court considers the question an interesting one, but the practice +in the past has been against your contention. I will overrule your +objection, and give you an exception. Mr. Clerk, call a jury!"[1] + +Then came the wearisome technicalities of the empaneling of a jury, +with challenges for cause and peremptory challenges, until nearly the +entire panel of fifty jurors was exhausted. + +In this way two days were spent, with a result that when counsel on +both sides expressed themselves as satisfied with the jury, every one +in the court room doubted it. As the sheriff confided to the clerk, it +was an even bet that the first twelve men drawn were safer for both +sides than the twelve men who finally stood with uplifted hands and +were again sworn by the clerk. Harry King, who had never witnessed a +trial in his life, began to grow interested in these details quite +aside from his own part therein. He watched the clerk shaking the box, +wondering why he did so, until he saw the slips of paper being drawn +forth one by one from the small aperture on the top, and listened +while the name written on each was called aloud. Some of the names +were familiar to him, and it seemed as if he must turn about and speak +to the men who responded to their roll call, saying "here" as each +rose in his place behind him. But he resisted the impulse, never +turning his head, and only glancing curiously at each man as he took +his seat in the jury box at the order of the judge. + +During all these proceedings the Elder sat looking straight before +him, glancing at the prisoner only when obliged to do so, and coldly +as an outsider might do. The trial was taking more time than he had +thought possible, and he saw no reason for such lengthy technicalities +and the delay in calling the witnesses. His air was worn and weary. + +The prisoner, sitting beside his counsel, had taken less and less +interest in the proceedings, and the crowds, who had at first filled +the court room, had also lost interest and had drifted off about their +own affairs until the real business of the taking of testimony should +come on, till, at the close of the second day, the court room was +almost empty of visitors. The prisoner was glad to see them go. So +many familiar faces, faces from whom he might reasonably expect a +smile, or a handshake, were it possible, or at the very least a nod of +recognition, all with their eyes fixed on him, in a blank gaze of +aloofness or speculation. He felt as if his soul must have been in +some way separated from his body, and then returned to it to find all +the world gazing at the place where his soul should be without seeing +that it had returned and was craving their intelligent support. The +whole situation seemed to him cruelly impossible,--a sort of insane +delusion. Only one face never failed him, that of Bertrand Ballard, +who sat where he might now and then meet his eye, and who never left +the court room while the case was on. + +When the time arrived for the introduction of the witnesses, the court +room again filled up; but he no longer looked for faces he knew. He +held himself sternly aloof, as if he feared his reason might leave him +if he continued to strive against those baffling eyes, who knew him +and did not know that they knew him, but who looked at him as if +trying to penetrate a mask when he wore no mask. Occasionally his +counsel turned to him for brief consultation, in which his part +consisted generally of a nod or a shake of the head as the case might +be. + +While the District Attorney was addressing the jury, Milton Hibbard +moved forward and took the District Attorney's seat. + +Then followed the testimony of the boys--now shy lads in their teens, +who had found the evidences of a struggle and possible murder so long +before on the river bluff. Under the adroit lead of counsel, they told +each the same story, and were excused cross-examination. Both boys had +identified the hat found on the bluff, and testified that the brown +stain, which now appeared somewhat faintly, had been a bright red, and +had looked like blood. + +Then Bertrand Ballard was called, and the questions put to him were +more searching. Though the manner of the examiner was respectful and +courteous, he still contrived to leave the impression on those in the +court room that he hoped to draw out some fact that would lead to the +discovery of matters more vital to the case than the mere details to +which the witness testified. But Bertrand Ballard's prompt and +straightforward answers, and his simple and courteous manner, were a +full match for the able lawyer, and after two hours of effort he +subsided. + +Then the testimony of the other witnesses was taken, even to that of +the little housemaid who had been in the family at the time, and who +had seen Peter Junior wear the hat. Did she know it for his? Yes. Why +did she know it? Because of the little break in the straw, on the edge +of the brim. But any man's hat might have such a break. What was there +about this particular break to make it the hat of Peter Junior? +Because she had made it herself. She had knocked it down one day when +she was brushing up in the front hall, and when she hung it up again, +she had seen the break, and knew she had done it. + +And thus, in the careful scrutiny of small things, relating to the +habits, life, and manner of dressing of the two young men,--matters +about which nobody raised any question, and in which no one except the +examiner took any interest,--more days crept by, until, at last, the +main witnesses for the State were reached. + + [1] The question raised by the prisoner's counsel was ruled in favor + of his contention in Biemel v. State. 71 Wis. 444, decided in + 1888. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI + +NELS NELSON'S TESTIMONY + + +The day was very warm, and the jury sat without their coats. The +audience, who had had time to debate and argue the question over and +over, were all there ready to throng in at the opening of the doors, +and sat listening, eager, anxious, and perspiring. Some were strongly +for the young man and some were as determined for the Elder's views, +and a tension of interest and friction of minds pervaded the very +atmosphere of the court room. It had been the effort of Milton Hibbard +to work up the sentiment of those who had been so eagerly following +the trial, in favor of his client's cause, before bringing on the +final coup of the testimony of the Swede, and, last of all, that of +Betty Ballard. + +Poor little Betty, never for a moment doubting her perception in her +recognition of Peter Junior, yet fearing those doubting ones in the +court room, sat at home, quivering with the thought that the truth she +must tell when at last her turn came might be the one straw added to +the burden of evidence piled up to convict an innocent man. Wordlessly +and continually in her heart she was praying that Richard might know +and come to them, calling him, calling him, in her thoughts +ceaselessly imploring help, patience, delay, anything that might hold +events still until Richard could reach them, for deep in her heart of +faith she knew he would come. Wherever in all the universe he might +be, her cry must find him and bring him. He would feel it in his soul +and fly to them. + +Bertrand brought Betty and her mother news of the proceedings, from +day to day, and always as he sat in the court room watching the +prisoner and the Elder, looking from one set face to the other, he +tried to convince himself that Mary and Betty were right in their firm +belief that it was none other than Peter Junior who sat there with +that steadfast look and the unvarying statement that he was the +Elder's son, and had returned to give himself up for the murder of his +cousin Richard, in the firm belief that he had left him dead on the +river bluff. + +G. B. Stiles sat at the Elder's side, and when Nels Nelson was brought +in and sworn, he glanced across at Milton Hibbard with an expression +of satisfaction and settled himself back to watch the triumph of his +cause and the enjoyment of the assurance of the ten thousand dollars. +He had coached the Swede and felt sure he would give his testimony +with unwavering clearness. + +The Elder's face worked and his hands clutched hard on the arms of +his chair. It was then that Bertrand Ballard, watching him with +sorrowful glances, lost all doubt that the prisoner was in truth +what he claimed to be, for, under the tension of strong feeling, the +milder lines of the younger man's face assumed a set power of +will,--immovable,--implacable,--until the force within him seemed to +mold the whole contour of his face into a youthful image of that of +the man who refused even to look at him. + +Every eye in the court room was fixed on the Swede as he took his +place before the court and was bade to look on the prisoner. +Throughout his whole testimony he never varied from his first +statement. It was always the same. + +"Do you know the prisoner?" + +"Yas, I know heem. Dot is heem, I seen heem two, t'ree times." + +"When did you see him first?" + +"By Ballards' I seen heem first--he vas horse ridin' dot time. It vas +nobody home by Ballards' dot time. Eferybody vas gone off by dot +peek-neek." + +"At that time did the prisoner speak to you?" + +"Yas, he asket me where is Ballards' folks, und I tol' heem by +peek-neek, und he asket me where is it for a peek-neek is dey gone, +und I tol' heem by Carter's woods by der river, und he asket me is +Mees Betty gone by dem yet or is she home, und I tol' heem yas she is +gone mit, und he is off like der vind on hees horse already." + +"When did you see the prisoner next?" + +"By Ballards' yard dot time." + +"What time?" + +"It vas Sunday morning I seen heem, talkin' mit her." + +"With whom was he talking?" + +"Oh, he talk mit Ballards' girl--Mees Betty. Down by der spring house +I seen heem go, und he kiss her plenty--I seen heem." + +"You are sure it was the prisoner you saw? You are sure it was not +Peter Craigmile, Jr.?" + +"Sure it vas heem I saw. Craikmile's son, he vas lame, und valk by der +crutch all time. No, it vas dot man dere I saw." + +"Where were you when you saw him?" + +"I vas by my room vere I sleep. It vas a wine growin' by der vindow +up, so dey nefer see me, bot I seen dem all right. I seen heem kiss +her und I seen her tell heem go vay, und push heem off, und she cry +plenty." + +"Did you hear what he said to her?" + +Bertrand Ballard looked up at the examiner angrily, and counsel for +the prisoner objected to the question, but the judge allowed it to +pass unchallenged, on the ground that it was a question pertaining to +the motive for the deed of which the prisoner was accused. + +"Yas, I hear it a little. Dey vas come up und stand dere by de vindow +under, und I hear dem talkin'. She cry, und say she vas sorry he vas +kiss her like dot, und he say he is goin' vay, und dot is vot for he +done it, und he don't come back no more, und she cry some more." + +"Did he say anything against his cousin at that time?" + +"No, he don' say not'ing, only yust he say, 'dot's all right bouts +heem,' he say, 'Peter Junior goot man all right, only he goin' vay all +same.'" + +"Was that the last time you saw the prisoner?" + +"No, I seen heem dot day und it vas efening." + +"Where were you when you saw him next?" + +"I vas goin' 'long mit der calf to eat it grass dere by Ballards' +yard, und he vas goin' 'long mit hees cousin, Craikmile's son, und he +vas walkin' slow for hees cousin, he don' got hees crutch dot day, he +valk mit dot stick dere, und he don' go putty quvick mit it." Nels +pointed to the heavy blackthorn stick lying on the table before the +jury. + +"Were the two young men talking together?" + +"No, dey don' speak much. I hear it he say, 'It iss better you valk by +my arm a little yet, Peter,' und Craikmile's son, he say, 'You go vay +mit your arm, I got no need by it,' like he vas little mad yet." + +"You say you saw him in the morning with Miss Ballard. Where were the +family at that time?" + +"Oh, dey vas gone by der church already." + +"And in the evening where were they?" + +"Oh, dey vas by der house und eat supper den." + +"Did you see the prisoner again that day?" + +"No, I didn' see heem dot day no more, bot dot next day I seen +heem--goot I seen heem." + +Harry King here asked his counsel to object to his allowing the +witness to continually assert that the man he saw was the prisoner. + +"He does not know that it was I. He is mistaken as are you all." And +Nathan Goodbody leaped to his feet. + +"I object on behalf of my client to the assumption throughout this +whole examination, that the man whom the witness claims to have seen +was the prisoner. No proof to that effect has yet been brought +forward." + +The witness was then required to give his reasons for his assertion +that the prisoner was the man he saw three years before. + +"By what marks do you know him? Why is he not the man he claims to be, +the son of the plaintiff?" + +"Oh, I know heem all right. Meester Craikmile's son, he vos more white +in de face. Hees hair vas more--more--I don' know how you call +dot--crooked on hees head yet." Nels put his hand to his head and +caught one of his straight, pale gold locks, and twisted it about. "It +vas goin round so,--und it vas more lighter yet as dot man here, und +hees face vas more lighter too, und he valked mit stick all time und +he don' go long mit hees head up,--red in hees face like dis man here +und dark in hees face too. Craikmile's son go all time limpin' so." +Nels took a step to illustrate the limp of Peter Junior when he had +seen him last. + +"Do you see any other points of difference? Were the young men the +same height?" + +"Yas, dey vas yust so high like each other, but not so vide out yet. +Dis man he iss vider yet as Meester Craikmile's son, he iss got more +chest like von goot horse--Oh, I know by men yust de same like horses +vat iss der difference yet." + +"Now you tell the court just what you saw the next day. At what time +of the day was it?" + +"It vas by der night I seen heem." + +"On Monday night?" + +"Yas." + +"Late Monday night?" + +"No, not so late, bot it vas dark already." + +"Tell the court exactly where you saw him, when you saw him, and with +whom you saw him, and what you heard said." + +"It vas by Ballards' I seen heem. I vas comin' home und it vas dark +already yust like I tol' you, und I seen dot man come along by +Ballards' house und stand by der door--long time I seen heem stan' +dere, und I yust go by der little trees under, und vatching vat it is +for doin' dere, dot man? Und I seen heem it iss der young man vat iss +come dot day askin' vere iss Ballards' folks, und so I yust wait und +look a little out, und I vatchin' heem. Und I seen heem stand und +vaitin' minute by der door outside, und I get me low under dem little +small flowers bushes Ballards is got by der door under dot vindow +dere, und I seen heem, he goin' in, and yust dere is Mees Betty +sittin', und he go quvick down on hees knees, und dere she yump lak +she is scairt. Den she take heem hees head in her hands und she asket +heem vat for is it dat blud he got it on hees head, und so he say it +is by fightin' he is got it, und she say vy for is he fightin', und he +say mit hees cousin he fight, und hees cousin he hit heem so, und she +asket heem vy for is hees cousin hit heem, und vy for iss he fightin' +mit hees cousin any vay, und den dey bot is cryin'. So I seen dot--und +den she go by der kitchen und bring vater und vash heem hees head und +tie clots round it so nice, und dere dey is talkin', und he tol' her +he done it." + +"What did he tell her he had done?" + +"Oh, he say he keel heem hees cousin. Dot vat I tol' you he done it." + +"How did he say he killed him?" + +The silence in the court room was painful in its intensity. The Elder +leaned forward and listened with contorted face, and the prisoner held +his breath. A pallor overspread his face and his hands were clenched. + +"Oh, he say he push heem in der rifer ofer, und he do it all right for +he liket to do it, but he say he goin' run vay for dot." + +"You mean to say that he said he intended to push him over? That he +tried to do it?" + +"Oh, yas, he say he liket to push heem ofer, und he liket to do dot, +but he sorry any vay he done it, und he runnin' vay for dot." + +"Tell the court what happened then." + +"Den she get him somedings to eat, und dey sit dere, und dey talk, und +dey cry plenty, und she is feel putty bad, und he is feel putty bad, +too. Und so--he go out und shut dot door, und he valkin' down der +pat', und she yust come out der door, und run to heem und asket heem +vere he is goin' und if he tell her somedings vere he go, und he say +no, he tell her not'ing yet. Und den she say maybe he is not keel heem +any vay, bot yust t'inkin' he keel him, und he tol' her yas, he keel +heem all right, he push heem ofer und he is dead already, und so he +kiss her some more, und she is cry some more, und I t'ink he is cry, +too, bot dot is all. He done it all right. Und he is gone off den, und +she is gone in her house, und I don't see more no." + +As the witness ceased speaking Mr. Hibbard turned to counsel for the +prisoner and said: "Cross-examine." + +Rising in his place, and advancing a few steps toward the witness, the +young lawyer began his cross-examination. His task did not call for +the easy nonchalance of his more experienced adversary, who had the +advantage of knowing in advance just what his witness would testify. +It was for him to lead a stubborn and unwilling witness through the +mazes of a well-prepared story, to unravel, if possible, some of its +well-planned knots and convince the jury if he could that the witness +was not reliable and his testimony untrustworthy. + +But this required a master in the art of cross-examination, and a +master begins the study of his subject--the witness--before the trial. +In subtle ways with which experience has made him familiar, he studies +his man, his life, his character, his habits, his strength, his +weakness, his foibles. He divines when he will hesitate, when he will +stumble, and he is ready to pounce upon him and force his hesitation +into an attempt at concealment, his stumble into a fall. + +It is no discredit to Nathan Goodbody that he lacked the skill and +cunning of an astute cross-examiner. Unlike poets, they are made, not +born, and he found the Swede to be a difficult witness to handle to +his purpose. He succeeded in doing little more than to get him to +reaffirm the damaging testimony he had already given. + +Being thus baffled, he determined to bring in here a point which he +had been reserving to use later, should Milton Hibbard decide to take +up the question of Peter Junior's lameness. As this did not seem to be +imminent, and the testimony of Nels Nelson had been so convincing, he +wished of all things to delay the calling of the next witness until he +could gain time, and carry the jury with him. Should Betty Ballard be +called to the stand that day he felt his cause would be lost. +Therefore, in the moment's pause following the close of his +cross-examination of the last witness, he turned and addressed the +court. + +"May it please the Court. Knowing that there is but one more witness +to be called, and that the testimony of that witness can bring forward +no new light on this matter, I have excellent reason to desire at this +time to move the Court to bring in the verdict of not guilty." + +At these words the eyes of every one in the court room were turned +upon the speaker, and the silence was such that his next words, though +uttered in a low voice, were distinctly heard by all present. + +"This motion is based upon the fact that the State has failed to prove +the _corpus delicti_, upon the law, which is clear, that without such +proof there can be no conviction of the crime of murder. If the +testimony of the witness Nels Nelson can be accepted as the admission +of the man Richard Kildene, until the State can prove the _corpus +delicti_, no proof can be brought that it is the admission of the +prisoner at the bar. I say that until such proof can be brought by the +State, no further testimony can convict the prisoner at the bar. If it +please the Court, the authorities are clear that the fact that a +murder has been committed cannot be established by proof of the +admissions, even of the prisoner himself that he has committed the +crime. There must be direct proof of death as by finding and +identification of the body of the one supposed to be murdered. I have +some authorities here which I would like to read to your honor if you +will hear them." + +The face of the judge during this statement of the prisoner's counsel +was full of serious interest. He leaned forward with his elbow on the +desk before him, and with his hand held behind his ear, intent to +catch every word. As counsel closed the judge glanced at the clock +hanging on the wall and said:-- + +"It is about time to close. You may pass up your authorities, and I +will take occasion to examine them before the court opens in the +morning. If counsel on the other side have any authorities, I will be +pleased to have them also." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII + +THE STRANGER'S ARRIVAL + + +On taking his seat at the opening of court the next morning, the judge +at once announced his decision. + +"I have given such thought as I have been able to the question raised +by counsel last evening, and have examined authorities cited by him, +and others, bearing upon the question, and have reached the conclusion +that his motion must be overruled. It is true that a conviction for +murder cannot rest alone upon the extra-judicial admission of the +accused. And in the present case I must remind the court and the jury +that thus far the identity of the prisoner has not yet been +established, as it is not determined whether or not he is the man whom +the witness, Nels Nelson, heard make the admission. It is true there +must be distinct proof, sufficient to satisfy the jury, beyond a +reasonable doubt, that homicide has been committed by some one, before +the admission of the accused that he did the act can be considered. +But I think that fact can be established by circumstantial evidence, +as well as any other fact in the case, and I shall so charge the jury. +I will give you an exception. Mr Nathan Goodbody, you may go on with +your defense after the hearing of the next witness, which is now in +order."[1] + +The decision of the court was both a great surprise and a disappointment +to the defendant's young counsel. Considering the fact that the body of +the man supposed to have been murdered had never been found, and that +his death had been assumed from his sudden disappearance, and the +finding of his personal articles scattered on the river bluff, +together with the broken edge of the bluff and the traces of some +object having been thrown down the precipice at that point, and the +fact that the State was relying upon the testimony of the eavesdropping +Swede to prove confession by the prisoner, he still had not been +prepared for the testimony of this witness that he had heard the +accused say that he had killed his cousin, and that it had been his +intention to kill him. He was dismayed, but he had not entirely lost +confidence in his legal defense, even now that the judge had ruled +against him. There was still the Supreme Court. + +He quickly determined that he would shift his attack from the court, +where he had been for the time repulsed, and endeavor to convince the +jury that the fact that Peter Junior was really dead had not "been +proven beyond a reasonable doubt." + +Applying to the court for a short recess to give him time to consult +with his client, he used the time so given in going over with the +prisoner the situation in which the failure of his legal defense had +left them. He had hoped to arrest the trial on the point he had made +so as to eliminate entirely the hearing of further testimony,--that of +Betty Ballard,--and also to avoid the necessity of having his client +sworn, which last was inevitable if Betty's testimony was taken. + +He had never been able to rid himself of the impression left upon his +mind when first he heard the story from his client's lips, that there +was in it an element of coincidence--too like dramatic fiction, or +that if taken ideally, it was above the average juryman's head. + +He admonished the prisoner that when he should be called upon for his +testimony, he must make as little as possible of the fact of their +each being scarred on the hip, and scarred on the head, the two +cousins dramatically marked alike, and that he must in no way allude +to his having seen Betty Ballard in the prison alone. + +"That was a horrible mistake. You must cut it out of your testimony +unless they force it. Avoid it. And you must make the jury see that +your return was a matter of--of--well, conscience--and so forth." + +"I must tell the truth. That is all that I can do," said the prisoner, +wearily. "The judge is looking this way,--shall we--" + +Nathan Goodbody rose quickly. "If the court please, we are ready to +proceed." + +Then at last Betty Ballard was called to the witness stand. The hour +had come for which all the village had waited, and the fame of the +trial had spread beyond the village, and all who had known the boys in +their childhood and in their young manhood, and those who had been +their companions in arms--men from their own regiment--were there. The +matter had been discussed among them more or less heatedly and now the +court room could not hold the crowds that thronged its doors. + +At this time, unknown to any of the actors in the drama, three +strangers, having made their way through the crowd outside the door, +were allowed to enter, and stood together in the far corner of the +court room unnoticed by the throng, intently watching and listening. +They had arrived from the opposite sides of the earth, and had met at +the village hotel. Larry had spied the younger man first, and, +scarcely knowing what he was doing, or why, he walked up to him, and +spoke, involuntarily holding out his hand to him. + +"Tell me who you are," he said, ere Richard could surmise what was +happening. + +"My name is Kildene," said Richard, frankly. "Have you any reason for +wishing to know me?" + +For the moment he thought his interlocutor might be a detective, or +one who wished to verify a suspicion. Having but that moment arrived, +and knowing nothing of the trial which was going on, he could think +only of his reason for his return to Leauvite, and was glad to make an +end of incognito and sorrowful durance, and wearisome suspense, and he +did not hesitate, nor try any art of concealment. He looked directly +into Larry's eyes, almost defiantly for an instant, then seeing in +that rugged face a kindly glint of the eye and a quiver about the +mouth, his heart lightened and he grasped eagerly the hand held out to +him. + +"Perhaps you will tell me whom you are? I suppose I ought to know, but +I've been away from here a long time." + +Then the older man's hand fell a-trembling in his, and did not release +him, but rather clung to him as if he had had a shock. + +"Come over here and sit beside me a moment, young man--I--I've--I'm +not feeling as strong as I look. I--I've a thing to tell you. Sit +down--sit down. We are alone? Yes. Every one's gone to the trial. I'm +on here from the West myself to attend it." + +"The trial! What trial?" + +"You've heard nothing of it? I was thinking maybe you were also--were +drawn here--you've but just come?" + +"I've been here long enough to engage a room--which I shan't want +long. No, I've come for no trial exactly--maybe it might come to +that--? What have you to tell me?" + +But Larry Kildene sat silent for a time before replying. An eager joy +had seized him, and a strange reticence held his tongue tied, a fear +of making himself known to this son whom he had never seen since he +had held him in his arms, a weak, wailing infant, thinking only of his +own loss. This dignified, stalwart young man, so pleasant to look +upon--no wonder the joy of his heart was a terrible joy, a hungering, +longing joy akin to pain! How should he make himself known? In what +words? A thousand thoughts crowded upon him. From Betty's letter he +knew something of the contention now going on in the court room, and +from the landlord last evening he had heard more, and he was impatient +to get to the trial. + +Now this encounter with his own son,--the only one who could set all +right,--and who yet did not know of the happenings which so +imperatively required his presence in the court room, set Larry +Kildene's thoughts stammering and tripping over each other in such a +confusion of haste, and with it all the shyness before the great fact +of his unconfessed fatherhood, so overwhelmed him, that for once his +facile Irish nature did not help him. He was at a loss for words, +strangely abashed before this gentle-voiced, frank-faced, altogether +likable son of his. So he temporized and beat about the bush, and did +not touch first on that which was nearest his heart. + +"Yes, yes. I've a thing to tell you. You came here to be at +a--a--trial--did you say, or intimate it might be? If--if--you'll tell +me a bit more, I maybe can help you--for I've seen a good bit of the +world. It's a strange trial going on here now--I've come to hear." + +"Tell me something about it," said Richard, humoring the older man's +deliberation in arriving at his point. + +"It's little I know yet. I've come to learn, for I'm interested in the +young man they're trying to convict. He's a sort of a relative of +mine. I wish to see fair play. Why are you here? Have you done +anything--what have you done?" + +The young man moved restlessly. He was confused by the suddenness of +the question, which Larry's manner deprived of any suggestion of +rudeness. + +"Did I intimate I had done anything?" He laughed. "I'm come to make a +statement to the proper ones--when I find them. I'll go over now and +hear a bit of this trial, since you mention it." + +He spoke sadly and wearily, but he felt no resentment at the older +man's inquisitiveness. Larry's face expressed too much kindliness to +make resentment possible, but Richard was ill at ease to be talking +thus intimately with a stranger who had but just chanced upon him. He +rose to leave. + +"Don't go. Don't go yet. Wait a bit--God, man! Wait! I've a thing to +tell you." Larry leaned forward, and his face worked and tears +glistened in his eyes as he looked keenly up into his son's face. +"You're a beautiful lad--a man--I'm--You're strong and fine--I'm +ashamed to tell it you--ashamed I've never looked on you since +then--until now. I should have given all up and found you. Forgive me. +Boy!--I'm your father--your father!" He rose and stood looking levelly +in his son's eyes, holding out both shaking hands. Richard took them +in his and held them--but could not speak. + +The constraint of witnesses was not upon them, for they were quite +alone on the piazza, but the emotion of each of them was beyond words. +Richard swallowed, and waited, and then with no word they both sat +down and drew their chairs closer together. The simple act helped +them. + +"I've been nigh on to a lifetime longing for you, lad." + +"And I for you, father." + +"That's the name I've been hungering to hear--" + +"And I to speak--" Still they looked in each other's eyes. "And we +have a great deal to tell each other! I'm almost sorry--that--that--that +I've found you at last--for to do my duty will be harder now. I had no +one to care--particularly before--unless--" + +"Unless a lass, maybe?" + +"One I've been loving and true to--but long ago given up--we won't +speak of her. We'll have to talk a great deal, and there's so little +time! I must--must give myself up, father, to the law." + +"Couldn't you put it off a bit, lad?" + +Larry could not have told why he kept silent so long in regard to the +truth of the trial. It might have been a vague liking to watch the +workings of his son's real self and a desire to test him to the full. +From a hint dropped in Betty's letter he guessed shrewdly at the truth +of the situation. He knew now that Richard and his young friend of the +mountain top were actuated by the same motives, and he understood at +last why Harry King would never accept his offer of help, nor would +ever call him father. Because he could not take the place of the son, +of whom, as he thought, he had robbed the man who so freely offered +him friendship--and more than friendship. At last Larry understood why +Peter Junior had never yielded to his advances. It was honor, and the +test had been severe. + +"Put it off a little? I might--I'm tempted--just to get acquainted +with my father--but I might be arrested, and I would prefer not to be. +I know I've been wanted for three years and over--it has taken me that +long to learn that only the truth can make a man free,--and now I +would rather give myself up, than to be taken--" + +"I'm knowing maybe more of the matter than you think--so we'll drop +it. We must have a long talk later--but tell me now in a few words +what you can." + +Then, drawn by the older man's gentle, magnetic sympathy, Richard +unlocked his heart and told all of his life that could be crowded in +those few short minutes,--of his boyhood's longings for a father of +his own--of his young manhood's love, of his flight, and a little of +his later life. "We'd be great chums, now, father,--if--if it weren't +for this--that hangs over me." + +Then Larry could stand it no longer. He sprang up and clapped Richard +on the shoulder. "Come, lad, come! We'll go to this trial together. Do +you know who's being tried? No. They'll have to get this off before +they can take another on. I'm thinking you'll find your case none so +bad as it seems to you now. First there's a thing I must do. My +brother-in-law's in trouble--but it is his own fault--still I'm a mind +to help him out. He's a fine hater, that brother-in-law of mine, but +he's tried to do a father's part in the past by you--and done it well, +while I've been soured. In the gladness of my heart I'll help him +out--I'd made up my mind to do it before I left my mountain. Your +father's a rich man, boy--with money in store for you--I say it in +modesty, but he who reared you has been my enemy. Now I'm going to his +bank, and there I'll make a deposit that will save it from ruin." + +He stood a moment chuckling, with both hands thrust deep in his +pockets. "We'll go to that trial--it's over an affair of his, and he's +fair in the wrong. We'll go and watch his discomfiture--and we'll see +him writhe. We'll see him carry things his own way--the only way he +can ever see--and then we'll watch him--man, we'll watch him--Oh, my +boy, my boy! I doubt it's wrong for me to exult over his chagrin, but +that's what I'm going for now. It was the other way before I met you, +but the finding of you has given me a light heart, and I'll watch that +brother-in-law's set-down with right good will." + +He told Richard about Amalia, and asked him to wait until he fetched +her, as he wished her to accompany them, but still he said nothing to +him about his cousin Peter. He found Amalia descending the long flight +of stairs, dressed to go out, and knew she had been awaiting him for +the last half hour. Now he led her into the little parlor, while +Richard paced up and down the piazza, and there, where she could see +him as he passed the window to and fro, Larry told her what had come +to him, and even found time to moralize over it, in his gladness. + +"That's it. A man makes up his mind to do what's right regardless of +all consequences or his prejudices, or what not,--and from that +moment all begins to grow clear, and he sees right--and things come +right. Now look at the man! He's a fine lad, no? They're both fine +lads--but this one's mine. Look at him I say. Things are to come right +for him, and all through his making up his mind to come back here and +stand to his guns. The same way with Harry King. I've told you the +contention--and at last you know who he is--but mind you, no word yet +to my son. I'll tell him as we walk along. I'm to stop at the bank +first, and if we tell him too soon, he'll be for going to the +courthouse straight. The landlord tells me there's danger of a run on +the bank to-morrow and the only reason it hasn't come to-day is that +the bank's been closed all the morning for the trial. I'm thinking +that was policy, for whoever heard of a bank's being closed in the +morning for a trial--or anything short of a death or a holiday?" + +"But if it is now closed, why do we wait to go there? It is to do +nothing we make delay," said Amalia, anxiously. + +"I told Decker to send word to the cashier to be there, as a deposit +is to be made. If he can't be there for that, then it's his own fault +if to-morrow finds him unprepared." Larry stepped out to meet Richard +and introduced Amalia. He had already told Richard a little of her +history, and now he gave her her own name, Manovska. + +After a few moments' conversation she asked Larry: "I may keep now my +own name, it is quite safe, is not? They are gone now--those for whom +I feared." + +"Wait a little," said Richard. "Wait until you have been down in the +world long enough to be sure. It is a hard thing to live under +suspicion, and until you have means of knowing, the other will be +safer." + +"You think so? Then is better. Yes? Ah, Sir Kildene, how it is +beautiful to see your son does so very much resemble our friend." + +They arrived at the bank, and Larry entered while Richard and Amalia +strolled on together. "We had a friend, Harry King,"--she paused and +would have corrected herself, but then continued--"he was very much +like to you--but he is here in trouble, and it is for that for which +we have come here. Sir Kildene is so long in that bank! I would go in +haste to that place where is our friend. Shall we turn and walk again +a little toward the bank? So will we the sooner encounter him on the +way." + +They returned and met Larry coming out, stepping briskly. He too was +eager to be at the courthouse. He took his son's arm and rapidly and +earnestly told him the situation as he had just heard it from the +cashier. He told him that which he had been keeping back, and +impressed on him the truth that unless he had returned when he did, +the talk in the town was that the trial was likely to go against the +prisoner. Richard would have broken into a run, in his excitement, but +Larry held him back. + +"Hold back a little, boy. Let us keep pace with you. There's really no +hurry, only that impulse that sent you home--it was as if you were +called, from all I can learn." + +"It is my reprieve. I am free. He has suffered, too. Does he know yet +that I too live? Does he know?" + +"Perhaps not--yet, but listen to me. Don't be too hasty in showing +yourself. If they did not know him, they won't know you--for you are +enough different for them never to suspect you, now that they have, or +think they have, the man for whom they have been searching. See here, +man, hold back for my sake. That man--that brother-in-law of mine--has +walked for years over my heart, and I've done nothing. He has despised +me, and without reason--because I presumed to love your mother, lad, +against his arrogant will. He--he--would--I will see him down in the +dust of repentance. I will see him willfully convict his own son--he +who has been hungering to see you--my son--sent to a prison for +life--or hanged." + +Richard listened, lingering as Larry wished, appalled at this +revelation, until they arrived at the edge of the crowd around the +door, eagerly trying to wedge themselves in wherever the chance +offered. + +"Oh! Sir Kildene--we are here--now what to do! How can we go in +there?" said Amalia. + +Larry moved them aside slowly, pushing Amalia between Richard and +himself, and intimating to those nearest him that they were required +within, until a passage was gradually made for the three, and thus +they reached the door and so gained admittance. And that was how they +came to be there, crowded in a corner, all during the testimony of +Betty Ballard, unheeded by those around them--mere units in the throng +trying to hear the evidence and see the principals in the drama being +enacted before them. + + [1] The ruling of the court upon this point was afterwards justified + by the Supreme Court of Wisconsin in the case of Buel _v._ + State, 104 Wis. 132, decided in 1899. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVIII + +BETTY BALLARD'S TESTIMONY + + +Betty Ballard stood, her slight figure drawn up, poised, erect, her +head thrown back, and her eyes fixed on the Elder's face. The silence +of the great audience was so intense that the buzzing of flies +circling around and around near the ceiling could be heard, while the +people all leaned forward as with one emotion, their eyes on the +principals before them, straining to hear, vivid, intent. + +Richard saw only Betty, heeding no one but her, feeling her presence. +For a moment he stood pale as death, then the red blood mounted from +his heart, staining his neck and his face with its deep tide and +throbbing in his temples. The Elder felt her scrutiny and looked back +at her, and his brows contracted into a frown of severity. + +"Miss Ballard," said the lawyer, "you are called upon to identify the +prisoner in the box." + +She lifted her eyes to the judge's face, then turned them upon Milton +Hibbard, then fixed them again upon the Elder, but did not open her +lips. She did not seem to be aware that every eye in the court room +was fastened upon her. Pale and grave and silent she stood thus, for +to her the struggle was only between herself and the Elder. + +"Miss Ballard, you are called upon to identify the prisoner in the +box. Can you do so?" asked the lawyer again, patiently. + +Again she turned her clear eyes on the judge's face, "Yes, I can." +Then, looking into the Elder's eyes, she said: "He is your son, Elder +Craigmile. He is Peter. You know him. Look at him. He is Peter +Junior." Her voice rang clear and strong, and she pointed to the +prisoner with steady hand. "Look at him, Elder Craigmile; he is your +son." + +"You will address the jury and the court, Miss Ballard, and give your +reasons for this assertion. How do you know he is Peter Craigmile, +Jr.?" + +Then she turned toward the jury, and holding out both hands in sudden +pleading action cried out earnestly: "I know him. He is Peter Junior. +Can't you see he is Peter, the Elder's son?" + +"But how do you know him?" + +"Because it is he. I know him the way we always know people--by +just--knowing them. He is Peter Junior." + +"Have you seen the prisoner before since his return to Leauvite?" + +"Yes, I went to the jail and I saw him, and I knew him." + +"But give a reason for your knowledge. How did you know him?" + +"By--by the look in his eyes--by his hands--Oh! I just knew him in a +moment. I knew him." + +"Miss Ballard, we have positive proof that Peter Junior was murdered +and from the lips of his murderer. The witness just dismissed says he +heard Richard Kildene tell you he pushed his cousin Peter Junior over +the bluff into the river. Can you deny this statement? On your sacred +oath can you deny it?" + +"No, but I don't have to deny it, for you can see for yourselves that +Peter Junior is alive. He is not dead. He is here." + +"Did Richard Kildene ever tell you he had pushed his cousin over the +bluff into the river? A simple answer is required, yes, or no!" + +She stood for a moment, her lips white and trembling. "Yes!" + +"When did he tell you this?" + +"When he came to me, just after he thought he had done it--but he was +mistaken--he did not--he only thought he had done it." + +"Did he tell you why he thought he had done it? Tell the court all +about it." + +Then Betty lifted her head and spoke rapidly--eagerly. "Because he was +very angry with Peter Junior, and he wanted to kill him, and he did +try to push him over, but Peter struck him, and Richard didn't truly +know whether he really pushed him over or not,--for he lay there a +long time before he even knew where he was, and when he came to +himself again, he could not find Peter there and only his hat and +things--he thought he must have done it, because that was what he was +trying to do, just as everyone else has thought it--because when Peter +saw him lying there, he thought he had killed Richard, and so he +pushed a great stone over to make every one think he had gone over the +bluff and was dead, too, and he left his hat there and the other +things, and now he has come back to give himself up, just as he has +said, because he could not stand it to live any longer with the +thought on his conscience that he had killed Richard when he struck +him. But you would not let him give himself up. You have kept on +insisting he is Richard. And it is all your fault, Elder Craigmile, +because you won't look to see that he is your son." She paused, +panting, flushed and indignant. + +"Miss Ballard, you are here as a witness," said the judge. "You must +restrain yourself and answer the questions that are asked you and make +no comments." + +Here the Elder leaned forward and touched his attorney, and pointed a +shaking hand at the prisoner and said a few words, whereat the lawyer +turned sharply upon the witness. + +"Miss Ballard, you have visited the prisoner since he has been in the +jail?" + +"Yes, _I_ said so." + +"Your Honor," said the examiner, "we all know that the son of the +plaintiff was lame, but this young man is sound on both his feet. You +have been told that Richard Kildene was struck on the head and this +young man bears the scar above his temple--" + +Richard started forward, putting his hand to his head and lifting his +hair as he did so. He tried to call out, but in his excitement his +voice died in his throat, and Larry seized him and held him back. + +"Watch him,--watch your uncle," he whispered in his ear. "He thinks he +has you there in the box and he wants you to get the worst the law +will give you. Watch him! The girl understands him. See her eyes upon +him. Stand still, boy; give him a chance to have his will. He'll find +it bitter when he learns the truth, and 'twill do him good. Wait, man! +You'll have it all in your hands later, and they'll be none the worse +for waiting a bit longer. Hold on for my sake, son. I'll tell you why +later, and you'll not be sorry you gave heed to me." + +In these short ejaculated sentences, with his arm through Richard's, +Larry managed to keep him by his side as the examiner talked on. + +"Your Honor, this young lady admits that she has visited the prisoner +in the jail, and can give adequate reason for her assertion that he is +the man he claims to be. She tells us what occurred in that fight on +the bluff--things that she was not there to see, things she could only +learn from the prisoner: is there not reason to believe that her +evidence has been arranged between them?" + +"Yes, he told me,--Peter Junior told me, and he came here to give +himself up, but you won't let him give himself up." + +"Miss Ballard," said the judge again, "you will remember that you are +to speak only in reply to questions put to you. Mr. Hibbard, continue +the examination." + +"Miss Ballard, you admit that you saw Richard Kildene after he fought +with his cousin?" + +"Yes." + +"Was his head wounded?" + +"Yes." + +"What did you do?" + +"I washed his head and bound it up. It was all bleeding." + +"Very well. Then you can say on your sacred oath that Richard Kildene +was living and not murdered?" + +"Yes." + +"Did you see Peter Junior after they fought?" + +"No. If I had seen him, I could have told everybody they were both +alive and there would have been no--" + +"Look at the prisoner. Can you tell the jury where the cut on Richard +Kildene's head was?" + +"Yes, I can. When I stood in front of him to bind it up, it was under +my right hand." + +From this point the examiner began to touch upon things Betty would +gladly have concealed in her own heart, concerning her engagement to +Peter Junior, and her secret understanding with his cousin, and +whether she loved the one or the other, and what characteristics in +them caused her to prefer the one over the other, and why she had +never confided her preferences to any of her relatives or friends. +Still, with head erect, Betty flung back her answers. + +Bertrand listened and writhed. The prisoner sat with bowed head. To +him she seemed a veritable saint. He knew how she suffered in this +public revelation of herself--of her innocent struggle between love +and loyalty, and maiden modesty, and that the desire to protect him +and help him was giving her strength. He saw how valiantly she has +been guarding her terrible secret from all the world while he had been +fleeing and hiding. Ah, if he had only been courageous! If he had not +fled, nor tried to cover his flight with proofs of his death! If he +had but stood to his guns like a soldier! He covered his face in +shame. + +As for Richard, he gloried in her. He felt his heart swell in triumph +as he listened. He heard Amalia Manovska murmur: "Ah, how she is very +beautiful! No wonder it is that they both loved her!" + +While he was filled with admiration for her, yet his heart ached for +her, and with anger and reproach against himself. He saw no one but +her, and he wanted to end it all and carry her away, but still yielded +to his father's earnest plea that he should wait. He understood, and +would restrain himself until Larry was satisfied, and the trial ended. +Still the examination went on. + +"Miss Ballard, you admit that Peter Junior was lame when last you saw +him, and you observe that the prisoner has no lameness, and you admit +that you bound up a wound which had been inflicted on the head of +Richard Kildene, and here you see the scar upon the prisoner; can you +still on your sacred oath declare this man to be the son of the +plaintiff?" + +"Yes!" She looked earnestly at the prisoner. "It is not the same head +and it is not the same scar." Again she extended her hands toward the +jury pleadingly and then toward the prisoner. "It is not by people's +legs we know them,--nor by their scars--it is by themselves--by--by +their souls. Oh! I know you, Peter! I know you!" + +With the first petulance Milton Hibbard had shown during the trial he +now turned to the prisoner's counsel and said: "Take the witness." + +"No cross-examination?" asked Nathan Goodbody, with a smile. + +"No." + +Then Betty flung one look back at the Elder, and fled to her mother +and hid her flushed face on Mary Ballard's bosom. + +Now for the first time Richard could take an interest in the trial +merely for his own and Peter Junior's sake. He saw Nathan Goodbody +lean over and say a few words hurriedly to the prisoner, then rise and +slightly lift his hand as if to make a special request. + +"If the court please, the accused desires permission to tell his own +story. May he be sworn on his own behalf?" + +Permission being given, the prisoner rose and walked to the witness +chair, and having been sworn by the clerk to tell the truth, the whole +truth, and nothing but the truth, began his statement. + +Standing there watching him, and listening, Richard felt his heart +throb with the old friendship for this comrade of his childhood, his +youth, and his young manhood, in school, in college, and, at last, +tramping side by side on long marches, camping together, sleeping side +by side through many a night when the morrow might bring for them +death or wounds, victory or imprisonment,--sharing the same emotions +even until the first great passion of their lives cut them asunder. + +Brought up without father or mother, this friendship had meant more to +Richard than to most men. As he heard his cousin's plea he was only +held from hurrying forward with extended arms by Larry's whispered +words. + +"It's fine, son. Let him have his say out. Don't stop him. Watch how +it works on the old man yonder," for Peter Junior was telling of his +childhood among the people of Leauvite, speaking in a low, clear voice +which carried to all parts of the room. + +"Your Honor, and Gentlemen of the Jury, Because I have no witness to +attest to the truth of my claim, I am forced to make this plea, simply +that you may believe me, that the accusation which my father through +his lawyer brings against me could never be possible. You who knew my +cousin, Richard Kildene, how honorable his life and his nature, know +how impossible to him would be the crime of which I, in his name, am +accused. I could not make this claim were I any other than I am--the +son of the man who--does not recognize his son. + +"Gentlemen of the Jury, you all knew us as boys together--how we loved +each other and shared our pleasures like brothers--or more than +brothers, for we quarreled less than brothers often do. During all +the deep friendship of our lives, only once were we angry with each +other--only once--and then--blinded by a great passion and swept +beyond all knowledge of our acts, like men drunken we fought--we +struggled against each other. Our friendship was turned to hatred. We +tried--I think my cousin was trying to throw me over the brink of the +bluff--at least he was near doing it. I do not make the plea of +self-defense--for I was not acting in self-defense. I was lame, as +you have heard, and not so strong as he. I could not stand against +his greater strength,--but in my arms and hands I had power,--and +I struck him with my cane. With all my force I struck him, and +he--he--fell--wounded--and I--I--saw the blood gush from the wound I +had made in his temple--with the stick I carried that day--in the +place of my crutch. + +"Your Honor and Gentlemen of the Jury, it was my--intent to kill him. +I--I--saw him lying at my feet--and thought I had done so." Here Peter +Junior bowed his head and covered his face with his hands, and a +breathless silence reigned in the court room until he lifted his head +and began again. "It is now three years and more--and during all the +time that has passed--I have seen him lying so--white--dead--and red +with his own blood--that I had shed. You asked me why I have at last +returned, and I reply, because I will no longer bear that sight. It +is the curse of Cain that hangs over a murderer's soul, and follows +wherever he goes. I tell you the form of my dead friend went with me +always--sleeping, he lay beside me; waking, he lay at my feet. When I +looked into the shadows, he was there, and when I worked in the mine +and swung my pick against the walls of rock, it seemed that I still +struck at my friend. + +"Well may my father refuse to own me as his son--me--a murderer--but +one thing can I yet do to expiate my deed,--I can free my cousin's +name from all blame, and if I were to hang for my deed, gladly would I +walk over coals to the gallows, rather than that such a crime should +be laid at his door as that he tried to return here and creep into my +place after throwing me over the bluff into those terrible waters. + +"Do with me what you will, Gentlemen of the Jury, but free his name. I +understand that my cousin's body was never found lying there as I had +left it when I fled in cowardice--when I tried to make all the world +think me also dead, and left him lying there--when I pushed the great +stone out of its place down where I had so nearly gone, and left my +hat lying as it had fallen and threw the articles from my pocket over +after the stone I had sent crashing down into the river. Since the +testimony here given proves that I was mistaken in my belief that I +had killed him, may God be thanked, I am free from the guilt of that +deed. Until he returns or until he is found and is known to be living, +do with me what you will. I came to you to surrender myself and make +this confession before you, and as I stand here in your presence and +before my Maker, I declare to you that what I have said is the +truth." + +As he ceased speaking he looked steadily at the Elder's averted face, +then sat down, regarding no one else. He felt he had failed, and he +sat with head bowed in shame and sorrow. A low murmur rose and swept +through the court room like a sound of wind before a storm, and the +old Elder leaned toward his lawyer and spoke in low tones, lifting a +shaking finger, then dropped his hand and shifted slightly in his +chair. + +As he did so Milton Hibbard arose and began his cross-examination. + +The simplicity of Peter Junior's story, and the ingenuous manner in +which it had been told, called for a different cross-examination from +that which would have been adopted if this same counsel had been +called upon to cross-examine the Swede. He made no effort to entangle +the witness, but he led him instead to repeat that part of his +testimony in which he had told of the motive which induced him to +return and give himself up to justice. In doing so his questions, the +tone of his voice, and his manner were marked with incredulity. It was +as if he were saying to the jury: "Just listen to this impossible +story while I take him over it again. Did you ever hear anything like +it?" When he had gone in this direction as far as he thought discreet, +he asked abruptly: "I understand that you admit that you intended to +kill your cousin, and supposed you had killed him?" + +"Yes. I admit it." + +"And that you ran away to escape the consequences?" + +"Yes." + +"Is it your observation that acknowledged murderers are usually +possessed of the lofty motives and high sense of justice which you +claim have actuated you?" + +"I--" + +Without waiting for the witness to reply, the lawyer turned and looked +at the jury and with a sneer, said: "That's all." + +"Your Honor, we have no other witness; the defense rests. I have +proposed some requests for your charge to the jury which I will hand +up." + +And the judge said: "Counsel may address the jury." + +During a slight pause which now ensued Larry Kildene tore a bit of +blank paper from a letter and wrote upon it: "Richard Kildene is in +this room and will come forward when called upon." This he folded and +sent by a boy to Nathan Goodbody. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIX + +RECONCILIATION + + +Milton Hibbard arose and began his argument to the jury. It was a +clear and forcible presentation of the case from his standpoint as +counsel for the State. + +After recapitulating all the testimony that had been brought out +during the course of the trial, he closed with an earnest appeal for +the State against the defendant, showing conclusively that he believed +the prisoner guilty. The changing expressions on the faces of the jury +and among his audience showed that he was carrying them largely with +him. Before he began speaking, Richard again started forward, but +still Larry held him back. "Let be, son. Stand by and watch the old +man yonder. Hear what they have to say against Peter Junior. I want to +know what they have in their hearts." The strong dramatic appeal which +the situation held for Larry was communicated through him to Richard +also, and again he waited, and Milton Hibbard continued his oratory. + +"After all, the evidence against the prisoner still stands +uncontradicted. You may see that to be able to sway you as he has, to +be able to stand here and make his most touching and dramatic plea +directly in the face of conclusive evidence, to dare to speak thus, +proves the man to be a most consummate actor. Your Honor and Gentlemen +of the Jury, nothing has ever been said against the intellect or +facile ability of the prisoner. The glimpses we have been shown of his +boyhood, even, prove his skill in carrying a part and holding a power +over his comrades, and here we have the talent developed in the man. + +"He is too wise to try to deny the statements made by the witnesses of +the State, but from the moment Miss Ballard was allowed to see him +alone in the jail, he has been able to carry the young lady with him. +We do not bring any accusation against the young lady. No doubt she +thinks him what he claims to be. No doubt he succeeded in persuading +her he is her former fiance, knowing well that he saw her and talked +with her before he fled, believing that her innocent acceptance of his +story as the true explanation of his reappearance here and now will +place him securely in the home of the man he claims is his father. +That she saw Richard Kildene and knows him to be living is his reason +for reappearing here and trying this most daring plea. + +"Is the true Peter Craigmile, Jr., dead? Then he can never arise to +take the place this young man is now daring to usurp. Can Richard +Kildene be proved to be living? Then is he, posing as Peter Craigmile, +Jr., free from the charge of murder even if he makes confession +thereto. He returns and makes this plea because he would live the life +of a free man and not that of an outcast. He has himself told you +why. + +"Now, as for the proofs that he is Richard Kildene, you have heard +them--and know them to be unanswered. He has not the marks of Elder +Craigmile's son. You have seen how the man he claims is his father +refuses to even look upon him. Could a father be so deceived as not +to know his own son? When Peter Craigmile, Jr., disappeared he was +lame and feeble. This man returns,--strong and walking as well as one +who never received a wound. Why, gentlemen, he stepped up here like a +soldier--erect as a man who is sound in every limb. In that his +subtlety has failed him. He forgot to act the part. But this +forgetfulness only goes to further prove the point in hand. He was so +sure of success that he forgot to act the part of the man he pretends +to be. + +"He has forgotten to tell the court how he came by that scar above his +temple,--yet he makes the statement that he himself inflicted such a +wound on the head of Richard Kildene--the omission is remarkable in so +clever an actor. Miss Ballard also admits having bound up that wound +on the head of Richard Kildene,--but still she claims that this man is +her former fiance, Peter Craigmile, Jr. Gentlemen of the Jury, is it +possible that you can retire from this court room and not consider +carefully this point? Is it not plainly to be seen that the prisoner +thought to return and take the place of the man he has slain, and +through the testimony of the young lady prove himself free from the +thing of which he accuses himself in his confession, and so live +hereafter the life of a free man without stain--and at last to marry +the young girl he has loved, of whom he robbed his cousin, and for +whom he killed him, and counting on the undeniable resemblance to that +cousin, as proved in this court, to deceive not only the young lady +herself--but also this whole community--thus making capital out of +that resemblance to his own advantage and--" + +"Never! Never!" cried a voice from the far corner of the court room. +Instantly there was a stir all over. The Elder jumped up and frowned +toward the place from whence the interruption came, and Milton Hibbard +lifted his voice and tried to drown the uproar that rose and filled +the room, but not one word he uttered could be heard. + +Order was called, and the stillness which ensued seemed ominous. Some +one was elbowing his way forward, and as he passed through the crowd +the uproar began again. Every one was on his feet, and although the +prisoner stood and gazed toward the source of commotion he could not +see the man who spoke. He looked across to the place where Betty +Ballard had been sitting between her father and mother, and there he +saw her standing on a chair, forgetful of the throng around her and of +all the eyes that had been fixed upon her during her testimony in cold +criticism, a wonderful, transfiguring light in her great gray eyes, +and her arms stretched out toward some one in the surging crowd who +was drawing nearer to the prisoner's box. Her lips were moving. She +was repeating a name over and over. He knew the name she was repeating +soundlessly, with quivering lips, and his heart gave a great bound and +then stopped beating, and he fell upon his knees and bowed his head on +his hands as they clung to the railing in front of him. + +Amalia, watching them all, with throbbing pulses and luminous +eyes, saw and understood, and her spirit was filled with a great +thankfulness which she could not voice, but which lifted her, serene +and still, above every one there. Now she looked only at Peter +Junior. Then a tremor crept over her, and, turning, she clasped +Larry's arm with shaking hands. + +"Let me that I lean a little upon you or I fall down. How this is +beautiful!" + +Larry put his arm about her and held her to him, supporting her +gently. "It's all coming right, you see." + +"Yes. But, how it is terrible for the old man! It is as if the +lightning had fallen on him." + +Larry glanced at his brother-in-law and then looked away. After all +his desire to see him humbled, he felt a sense of shame in watching +the old man's abject humility and remorse. Thereafter he kept his eyes +fixed on his son, as he struggled with the throng packed closely +around him and shouting now his name. Suddenly, when he could no +longer progress, Richard felt himself lifted off his feet, and there, +borne on the shoulders of the men,--as he had so shortly before been +borne in triumph through the streets of Paris,--he was carried +forward, this time by men who had tramped in the same column of +infantry with him. Gladly now they held him aloft and shouted his +name, and the people roared it back to them as they made way, and he +was set down, as he directed, in the box beside the prisoner. + +Had the Judge then tried to restore order it would have been futile. +He did not try. He stood smiling, with his hand on the old Elder's +shoulder. Then, while the people cheered and stamped and shouted the +names of the two young men, and while women wept and turned to each +other, clasping hands and laughing through tears, Milton Hibbard +stooped and spoke in the Elder's ear. + +"I throw up the case, man, and rejoice with you and the whole town. Go +down there and take back your son." + +"The Lord has visited me heavily for the wicked pride of my heart. I +have no right to joy in my son's return. He should cast me off." The +old man sat there, shriveled and weary--gazing straight before him, +and seeing only his own foolish prejudice, like a Giant Despair, +looming over him. But fortunately for him, no one saw him or noticed +him but the two at his side, for all eyes were fixed on the young men, +as they stood facing each other and gazed in each other's eyes. + +It was a moment of breathless suspense throughout the court room, as +if the crowd by one impulse were waiting to hear the young man speak, +and the Judge seized the opportunity to again call for order. + +When order had been secured, the prisoner's counsel rose and said: "If +your Honor please, I ask leave to have the proofs opened, and to be +permitted to call another witness." + +The Judge replied: "I have no doubt the District Attorney will consent +to this request. You may call your witness." + +"Richard Kildene!" rang out the triumphant voice of Nathan Goodbody, +and Richard stepped into the witness box and was sworn. + +The natural eloquence with which he had been endowed was increased +tenfold by his intense earnestness as he stood, turning now to the +Judge and now to the jury, and told his story. The great audience, +watching him and listening breathlessly, perceived the differences +between the two men, a strong individuality in each causing such +diversity of character that the words of Betty Ballard, which had so +irritated the counsel, and which seemed so childish, now appealed to +them as the truest wisdom--the wisdom of the "Child" who "shall lead +them." + +"It is not the same head and it is not the same scar. It is not by +their legs or their scars we know people, it is by themselves--by +their souls." Betty was vindicated. + +Poignantly, intently, the audience felt as he wished them to feel the +truth of his words, as he described the eternal vigilance of a man's +own soul when he has a crime to expiate, and when he concluded by +saying: "It is the Eye of Dread that sees into the hidden recesses of +the heart,--to the uttermost end of life,--that follows the sinner +even into his grave, until he yields to the demands of righteousness +and accepts the terms of absolute truth," he carried them all with +him, and again the tumult broke loose, and they shouted and laughed +and wept and congratulated each other. The Judge himself sat stiffly +in his seat, his chin quivering with an emotion he was making a +desperate effort to conceal. Finally he turned and nodded to the +sheriff, who rapped loudly for order. In a moment the room was silent, +every one eager to hear what was to be the next step in the legal +drama. + +"Gentlemen of the Jury," said the Judge, "Notwithstanding what has +occurred, it becomes our duty to proceed to an orderly determination +of this case. If you believe the testimony of the last witness, then, +of course, the crime charged has not been committed, the respondent is +not guilty, and he is entitled to your verdict. You may, if you +choose, consult together where you are, and if you agree upon a +verdict, the court will receive it. If you prefer to retire to +consider your verdict, you may do so." + +The foreman of the jury then wrote the words, "Not guilty" on a piece +of paper, and writing his name under it, passed it to the others. Each +juror quickly signed his name under that of the foreman, and when it +was returned to him, he arose and said: "The jury finds the accused +not guilty." + +Then for the first time every one looked at the Elder. He was seated +bowed over his clasped hands, as if he were praying, as indeed he was, +a fervent prayer for forgiveness. + +Very quietly the people left the court room, filled with a reverent +awe by the sight of the old man's face. It was as if he had suddenly +died to the world while still sitting there before them. But at the +door they gathered and waited. Larry Kildene waited with them until he +spied Mary Ballard and Bertrand, with Betty, leaving, when he followed +them and gave Amalia into their charge. It was a swift and glad +meeting between Larry and his old friends, and a hurried explanation. + +"I'm coming to tell you the whole, soon, but meantime I've brought +this lovely young lady for you to care for. Go with them, Amalia, and +tell them all about yourself, for they will be father and mother and +sister to you. I've found my son--I've a world to tell you, but now I +must hurry back and comfort my brother-in-law a bit." He took Mary's +hand in his and held it a moment, then Bertrand's, and then he +relieved the situation by taking Betty's and looking into her eyes, +which looked tearfully back at him. Stooping, as if irresistibly drawn +to her, he touched her fingers with his lips, and then lightly her +hair. It was done with the grace of an old courtier, and he was gone, +disappearing in the courthouse. + +For a good while the crowd waited around the doors, neighbor visiting +with neighbor and recounting the events of the trial that had most +impressed them, and telling one and another how they had all along +felt that the young prisoner was no other than Peter Junior, and +laying all the blame on the Elder's reckless offer of so large a +reward. Nels Nelson crept sulkily back to the stable, and G. B. Stiles +returned to the hotel and packed his great valise and was taken to the +station in the omnibus by Nels Nelson. As they parted, G. B. Stiles +asked for the paper he had given the Swede. + +"It's no good to you or any one now, you know. You're out nothing. I'm +the only one that's out--all I've spent--" + +"Yas, bot I got heem. You not--all ofer de vorl. Dey vas bot' coom +back, dot's all," and so they parted. + +Every one was glad and rejoiced over the return of the young men, with +a sense of relief that resulted in hilarity, and no one would leave +until he had had a chance to grasp the hands of the "boys." The men of +the jury lingered with the rest, all eager to convince their friends +that they would never have found the prisoner guilty of the charge +against him, and at the same time chaffing each other about their +discussions, and the way in which one and another had been caught by +the evidence and Peter's changed appearance. + +At last the doors of the courthouse opened, and the Judge, and Milton +Hibbard, Peter Junior, his father, and the lawyers, and Larry and +Richard walked out in a group, when shouting and cheering began anew. +Before descending the steps, the Elder, with bared head, stepped +forward and stood regarding the people in silence, and the noise of +shouting and cheering stopped as suddenly as it began. The devout old +man stood erect, but his words came to them brokenly. + +"My friends and my neighbors, as you all know, I have this day been +saved--from committing, in my blindness and my stubbornness, a great +crime,--for which the Lord be thanked. Unworthy as I am, this day my +son has been restored to me, fine and strong, for which the Lord be +thanked. And here, the young man brought up as a brother to him, is +again among you who have always loved him,"--he turned and took +Richard by the hand, and waited a moment; then, getting control of +himself, once more continued--"for which again, I say, the Lord be +thanked. + +"And now let me present to you one whom many of you know already, who +has returned to us after many years--one whom in the past I have +greatly wronged. Let me here and now make confession before you all, +and present him to you as a man--" He turned and placed his hand on +Larry's shoulder. "Let me present him to you as a man who can forgive +an enemy--even so far as to allow that man who was his enemy to claim +him forevermore as--as--brother--and friend,--Larry Kildene!" Again +cheers burst forth and again were held back as the Elder continued. +"Neighbors--he has sent us back my son. He has saved me--more than +me--from ruin and disaster, in these days when ruin is abroad in the +land. How he has done it you will soon learn, for I ask you all to +come round to my house this night and--partake of--of--a little +collation to be prepared by Mr. Decker and sent in for this occasion." +The old man's voice grew stronger as he proceeded, "Just to welcome +home these boys of ours--our young men--and this man--generous and--" + +"You've not been the only one to blame." Larry stepped forward and +seized the Elder's hand, "I take my share of the sorrow--but it is +past. We're friends--all of us--and we'll go all around to Elder +Craigmile's house this night, and help him give thanks by partaking of +his bounty--and now--will ye lift your voices and give a cheer for +Elder Craigmile, a man who has stood in this community for all that is +excellent, for uprightness and advancement, for honor and purity, a +man respected, admired, and true--who has stood for the good of his +fellows in this town of Leauvite for fifty years." Larry Kildene +lifted his hand above his head and smiled a smile that would have +drawn cheers from the very paving stones. + +And the cheers came, heartily and strongly, as the four men, rugged +and strong, the gray-haired and the brown-haired, passed through the +crowd and across the town square and up the main street, and on to the +Elder's home. + +Ere an hour had passed all was quiet, and the small town of Leauvite +had taken up the even tenor of its way. After a little time, Larry +Kildene and Richard left the Elder and his son by themselves and +strolled away from the town on the familiar road toward the river. +They talked quietly and happily of things nearest their hearts, as +they had need to do, until they came to a certain fork of the road, +when Larry paused, standing a moment with his arm across his son's +shoulder. + +"I'll go on a piece by myself, Richard. I'm thinking you'll be wanting +to make a little visit." + +Richard's eyes danced. "Come with me, father, come. There'll be others +there for you to talk with--who'll be glad to have you there, and--" + +"Go to, go to! I know the ways of a man's heart as well as the next." + +"I'll warrant you do, father!" and Richard bounded away, taking the +path he had so often trod in his boyhood. Larry stood and looked after +him a moment. He was pleased to hear how readily the word, father, +fell from the young man's lips. Yes, Richard was facile and ready. He +was his own son. + + + + +CHAPTER XL + +THE SAME BOY + + +Mary Ballard stepped down from the open porch where Amalia and the +rest of the family sat behind a screen of vines, interestedly talking, +and walked along the path between the rose bushes that led to the +gate. She knew Richard must be coming when she saw Betty, who sat +where she could glance now and then down the road, drop her sewing and +hurry away through the house and off toward the spring. As Larry knew +the heart of a man, so Mary Ballard knew the heart of a girl. She said +nothing, but quietly strolled along and waited with her hand on the +gate. + +"I wanted to be the first to open the gate to you, Richard," she said, +as he approached her with extended arms. Silently he drew her to him +and kissed her. She held him off a moment and gazed into his eyes. + +"Yes, I'm the same boy. I think that was what you said to me when I +entered the army--that I should come back to you the same boy? I've +always had it in mind. I'm the same boy." + +"I believe you, Richard. They are all out on the front porch, and +Bertrand is with them--if you wish to see him--first--and if you wish +to see Betty, take the path at the side, around the house to the +spring below the garden." + +Betty stood with her back to the house under the great Bartlett pear +tree. She was trembling. She would not look around--Oh, no! She would +wait until he asked for her. He might not ask for her! If he did not, +she would not go in--not yet. But she did look around, for she felt +him near her--she was sure--sure--he was near--close-- + +"Oh, Richard, Richard! Oh, Richard, did you know that I have been +calling you in my heart--so hard, calling you, calling you?" + +She was in his arms and his lips were on hers. "The same little Betty! +The same dear little Betty! Lovelier--sweeter--you wore a white dress +with little green sprigs on it--is this the dress?" + +"Yes, no. I couldn't wear the same old one all this time." She spoke +between laughing and crying. + +"Why is this just like it?" + +"Because." + +He held her away and gazed at her a moment. "What a lovely reason! +What a lovely Betty!" He drew her to him again. "I heard it all--there +in the court room. I was there and heard. What a load you have borne +for me--my little Betty--all this time--what a load!" + +"It was horrible, Richard." She hid her flaming face on his breast. +"There, before the whole town--to tell every one--everything. +I--I--don't even know what I said." + +"I do. Every word--dear little Betty! While I have been hiding like a +great coward, you have been bravely bearing my terrible burden, +bearing it for me." + +"Oh, Richard! For weeks and weeks my heart has been calling you, +calling you--night and day, calling you to come home. I told them he +was Peter Junior, but they would not believe me--no one would believe +me but mother. Father tried to, but only mother really did." + +"I heard you, Betty. I had a dingy little studio up three flights of +stairs in Paris, and I sat there painting one day--and I heard you. I +had sent a picture to the Salon, and was waiting in suspense to know +the result, and I heard your call--" + +"Was--was--that what made you come home--or--or was it because you +knew you ought to?" She lifted her head and looked straight into his +eyes. + +Richard laughed. "It's the same little Betty! The same Betty with the +same conscience bigger than her head--almost bigger than her heart. I +can't tell you what it was. I heard it again and again, and the last +time I just packed my things and wound up matters there--I had made a +success, Betty, dear--let me say that. It makes me feel just a little +bit more worth your while. I thought to make a success would be sweet, +but it was all worthless--I'll tell you all about it later--but it was +no help and I just followed the call and returned, hurrying as if I +knew all about the thing that was going on, when really I knew +nothing. Sometimes I thought it was you calling me, and sometimes I +thought it was my own conscience, and sometimes I thought it was only +that I could no longer bear my own thoughts--See here, Betty, +darling--don't--don't ever kill any one, for the thought that you have +committed a murder is an awful thing to carry about with you." + +She laughed and hid her face again on his breast. "Richard, how can +we laugh--when it has all been so horrible?" + +"We can't, Betty--we're crying." She looked up at him again, and +surely his eyes were filled with tears. She put up her hand and +lightly touched his lips with her fingers. + +"I know. I know you've suffered, Richard. I see the lines of sorrow +here about your mouth--even when you smile. I saw the same in Peter +Junior's face, and it was so sad--I just hugged him, I was so glad it +was he--I--I--hugged him and kissed him--" + +"Bless his heart! Somebody ought to." + +"Somebody will. She's beautiful--and so--fascinating! Let's go in so +you can meet her." + +"I have met her, and father has told me a great deal about her. I've +had a fine talk with my father. How wonderful that Peter should have +been the means of finding my father for me--and such a splendid +father! I often used to think out what kind of a father I would like +if I could choose one, but I never thought out just such a combination +of delightful qualities as I find in him." + +"It's like a story, isn't it? And we'll all live happily ever after. +Shall we go in and see the rest, Richard? They'll be wanting to see +you too." + +"Let's go over here and sit down. I don't want to see the rest quite +yet, little one. Why, Betty, do you suppose I can let go of you yet?" + +"No," said Betty, meekly, and again Richard laughed. She lifted the +hair from his temple and touched the old scar. + +"Yes, it's there, Betty. I'm glad he hit me that welt. I would have +pushed him over but for that. I deserved it." + +"You're not so like him--not so like as you used to be. No one would +mistake you now. You don't look so much like yourself as you used +to--and you've a lot of white in your hair. Oh, Richard!" + +"Yes. It's been pretty tough, Betty, dear,--pretty tough. Let's talk +of something else." + +"And all the time I couldn't help you--even the least bit." + +"But you were a help all the time--all the time." + +"How, Richard?" + +"I had a clean, sweet, perfect, innocent place always in my heart +where you were that kept me from caring for a lot of foolishness that +tempted other men. It was a good, sweet, wholesome place where you sat +always. When I wanted to see you sitting there, I had only to take a +funny little leather housewife, all worn, and tied with cherry-colored +hair ribbons, in my hand and look at it and remember." + +Betty sighed a long sigh of contentment and settled herself closer in +his arms. "Yes, I was there, and God heard me praying for you. +Sometimes I felt myself there." + +"In the secret chamber of my heart, Betty, dear?" + +"Yes." They were silent for a while, one of the blessed silences which +make life worth living. Then Betty lifted her head. "Tell me about +Paris, Richard, and what you did there. It was Peter who was wild to +go and paint in Paris and it was you who went. That was why no one +found you. They never thought that of you--but I would have thought +it. I knew you had it in you." + +"Oh, yes, after a fashion I had it in me." + +"But you said you met with success. Did that mean you were admitted to +the Salon?" + +"Yes, dear." + +"Oh, Richard! How tremendous! I've read a lot about it. Oh, Richard! +Did you like the 'Old Masters'?" + +"Did I! Betty, I learned a thing about your father, looking at the +work of some of those great old fellows. I learned that he is a better +painter and a greater man than people over here know." + +"Mother knew it--all the time." + +"Ah, yes, your mother! Would you like to go there, Betty? Then I'll +take you. We'll be married right away, won't we, dear?" + +"You know, Richard, I believe I would be perfectly--absolutely--terribly +happy--if--if I could only get over being mad at your uncle. He was so +stubborn, he was just wicked. I hated him--I--I hated him so, and now +it seems as if I had got used to hating him and couldn't stop." + +She had been so brave and had not once given way, but now at the +thought of all the bitterness and the fight of her will against that +of the old man, she sobbed in his arms. Her whole frame shook and he +gathered her close and comforted her. "He--he--he was always +saying--saying--" + +"Never mind now what he was saying, dear. Listen." + +"I--I--I--am afraid--I can never see him--or--or look at him +again--I--I--hate him so!" + +"No, no. Don't hate him. Any one would have done the same in his place +who believed as firmly as he did what he believed." + +"B--b--but he didn't need to believe it." + +"You see he had known through that Dane man--or whatever he is--from +the detective--all I told you that night--how could he help it? I +believed Peter was dead--we all did--you did. He had brooded over it +and slept upon it--no wonder he refused even to look at Peter. If you +had seen Uncle Elder there in the court room after the people had +gone, if you had seen him then, Betty, you would never hate him +again." + +"All the same, if--if--you hadn't come home when you did,--and the +law of Wisconsin allowed of hanging--he would have had him, +Peter Junior--he would have had his own son hanged,--and been +glad--glad--because he would have thought he was hanging you. I do +hate--" + +"No, no. And as he very tersely said--if all had been as it seemed, +and it had been me--trying to take the place of Peter Junior--I would +have deserved hanging--now wouldn't I, after all the years when Uncle +Elder had been good to me for his sister's sake?" + +"That's it--for his sister's sake--n--n--not for yours, always himself +and his came first. And then it wouldn't have been so. Even if it were +so, it wouldn't have been so--I mean--I wouldn't have believed +it--because it couldn't have been you and been so--" + +"Darling little Irish Betty! What a fine daughter you will be to my +Irish Dad! Oh, my dear! my dear!" + +"But you know such a thing would have been impossible for you to do. +They might have known it, too, if they'd had any sense. And that scar +on Peter's head--that was a new one and yours is an old one. If they +had had any sense, they could have seen that, too." + +"Never any man on earth had a sweeter job than I! It's worth all I've +been through to come home here and comfort you. Let's keep it up all +our lives, see? You always stay mad at Uncle Elder, and I'll always +comfort you--just like this." + +Then Betty laughed through her tears, and they kissed again, and then +proceeded to settle all their future to Richard's heart's content. +Then, after a long while, they crept in where the family were all +seated at supper, and instantly everything in the way of decorum at +meals was demoralized. Every one jumped up, and Betty and Richard were +surrounded and tumbled about and hugged and kissed by all--until a +shrill, childish voice raised a shout of laughter as little Janey +said: "What are we all kissing Betty for? She hasn't been away; she's +been here all the time." + +It was Peter Junior who broke up the rout. He came in upon them, +saying he had left his father asleep, exhausted after the day's +emotion, and that he had come home to the Ballards to get a little +supper. Then it was all to be done over again, and Peter was jumbled +up among outstretched arms, and shaken and pounded and hugged, and +happy he was to be taken once more thus vociferously into the home +that had always meant so much to him. There they all were,--Martha and +Julien--James and Bob, as the boys were called these days,--and little +Janey--and Bertrand as joyous as a boy, and Mary--she who had always +known--even as Betty said, smiling on him in the old way--and there, +watching all with glowing eyes, Amalia at one side, waiting, until +Peter had her, too, in his arms. + +Quickly Martha set a place for Peter between Amalia and herself. Yes, +it was all as it should be--the circle now complete--only--"Where is +your father, Richard?" asked Mary. + +"He went off for a walk. Isn't he a glorious father for a man to fall +heir to? We're all to meet at Uncle Elder's to-night, and he'll be +there." + +"Will he? I'm so glad." + +"Yes, Mrs. Ballard." Richard looked gravely into her eyes and from her +to Bertrand. "You left after the verdict. You weren't at the +courthouse at the last. It's all come right, and it's going to stay +so." + +The meal progressed and ended amid laughter; and a little later the +family all set out for the banker's home. + +"How I wish Hester were here!" said Mary. "I did not wish her here +before--but now we want her." She looked at Peter. + +"Yes, now we want her. We're ready for her at last. Father leaves for +New York to-morrow to fetch her. She's coming on the next steamship, +and he'll meet her and bring her back to us all." + +"How that is beautiful!" murmured Amalia, as she walked at Peter's +side. He looked down at her and noted a weariness in her manner she +strove to conceal. + +"Come back with me a little--just a little while. I can go later to my +father's, and he will excuse you, and I'll take you to him before he +leaves to-morrow. Come, I think I know where we may find Larry +Kildene." So Peter led her away into the dusk, and they walked +slowly--slowly--along the road leading to the river bluff--but not to +the top. + +After a long hour Larry came down from the height where he had been +communing with himself and found them in the sweet starlight seated by +the wayside, and passed them, although he knew they were Peter and +Amalia. He walked lingeringly, feeling himself very much alone, until +he was seized by either arm and held. + +"It is your blessing, Sir Kildene, we ask it." + +And Larry gave them the blessing they asked, and took Amalia in his +arms and kissed her. "I thought from the first that you might be my +son, Peter, and it means no diminution in my love for you that I find +you are not. It's been a great day--a great day--a great day," he said +as if to himself, and they walked on together. + +"Yes, yes! Sir Kildene, I am never to know again fear. I am to have +the new name, so strong and fine. Well can I say it. Hear me. +Peter-Craigmile-Junior. A strange, fine name--it is to be mine--given +to me. How all is beautiful here! It is the joy of heaven in my +heart--like--like heaven, is not, Peter?" + +"Now you are here--yes, Amalia." + +"So have I say to you before--to love is all of heaven--and all of +life, is not?" + +Peter held in his hand the little crucifix he had worn on his bosom +since their parting. In the darkness he felt rather than saw it. He +placed it in her hand and drew her close as they walked. "Yes, Amalia, +yes. You have taught me. Hatred destroys like a blast, but love--love +is life itself." + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Eye of Dread, by Payne Erskine + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE EYE OF DREAD *** + +***** This file should be named 30031.txt or 30031.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/0/0/3/30031/ + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +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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