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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Golden House, by Charles Dudley Warner
+
+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 Golden House
+
+Author: Charles Dudley Warner
+
+Release Date: August 20, 2016 [EBook #3104]
+Last Updated: February 24, 2018
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GOLDEN HOUSE ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by David Widger
+
+
+
+
+
+THE GOLDEN HOUSE
+
+By Charles Dudley Warner
+
+
+
+
+I
+
+It was near midnight: The company gathered in a famous city studio were
+under the impression, diligently diffused in the world, that the end of
+the century is a time of license if not of decadence. The situation had
+its own piquancy, partly in the surprise of some of those assembled at
+finding themselves in bohemia, partly in a flutter of expectation of
+seeing something on the border-line of propriety. The hour, the place,
+the anticipation of the lifting of the veil from an Oriental and ancient
+art, gave them a titillating feeling of adventure, of a moral hazard
+bravely incurred in the duty of knowing life, penetrating to its core.
+Opportunity for this sort of fruitful experience being rare outside the
+metropolis, students of good and evil had made the pilgrimage to this
+midnight occasion from less-favored cities. Recondite scholars in the
+physical beauty of the Greeks, from Boston, were there; fair women
+from Washington, whose charms make the reputation of many a newspaper
+correspondent; spirited stars of official and diplomatic life, who have
+moments of longing to shine in some more languorous material paradise,
+had made a hasty flitting to be present at the ceremony, sustained by
+a slight feeling of bravado in making this exceptional descent. But
+the favored hundred spectators were mainly from the city-groups of
+late diners, who fluttered in under that pleasurable glow which the red
+Jacqueminot always gets from contiguity with the pale yellow Clicquot;
+theatre parties, a little jaded, and quite ready for something real and
+stimulating; men from the clubs and men from studios--representatives of
+society and of art graciously mingled, since it is discovered that it is
+easier to make art fashionable than to make fashion artistic.
+
+The vast, dimly lighted apartment was itself mysterious, a temple of
+luxury quite as much as of art. Shadows lurked in the corners, the ribs
+of the roof were faintly outlined; on the sombre walls gleams of color,
+faces of loveliness and faces of pain, studies all of a mood or a
+passion, bits of shining brass, reflections from lustred ware struggling
+out of obscurity; hangings from Fez or Tetuan, bits of embroidery,
+costumes in silk and in velvet, still having the aroma of balls a
+hundred years ago, the faint perfume of a scented society of ladies
+and gallants; a skeleton scarcely less fantastic than the draped wooden
+model near it; heavy rugs of Daghestan and Persia, making the footfalls
+soundless on the floor; a fountain tinkling in a thicket of japonicas
+and azaleas; the stems of palmettoes, with their branches waving in the
+obscurity overhead; points of light here and there where a shaded lamp
+shone on a single red rose in a blue Granada vase on a toppling stand,
+or on a mass of jonquils in a barbarous pot of Chanak-Kallessi; tacked
+here and there on walls and hangings, colored memoranda of Capri and of
+the North Woods, the armor of knights, trophies of small-arms, crossed
+swords of the Union and the Confederacy, easels, paints, and palettes,
+and rows of canvases leaning against the wall-the studied litter, in
+short, of a successful artist, whose surroundings contribute to the
+popular conception of his genius.
+
+On the wall at one end of the apartment was stretched a white canvas; in
+front of it was left a small cleared space, on the edge of which, in the
+shadow, squatting on the floor, were four swarthy musicians in Oriental
+garments, with a mandolin, a guitar, a ney, and a darabooka drum. About
+this cleared space, in a crescent, knelt or sat upon the rugs a couple
+of rows of men in evening dress; behind them, seated in chairs, a group
+of ladies, whose white shoulders and arms and animated faces flashed
+out in the semi-obscurity; and in their rear stood a crowd of
+spectators--beautiful young gentlemen with vacant faces and the elevated
+Oxford shoulders, rosy youth already blase to all this world can offer,
+and gray-headed men young again in the prospect of a new sensation. So
+they kneel or stand, worshipers before the shrine, expecting the advent
+of the Goddess of AEsthetic Culture.
+
+The moment has come. There is a tap on the drum, a tuning of the
+strings, a flash of light from the rear of the room inundates the white
+canvas, and suddenly a figure is poised in the space, her shadow cast
+upon the glowing background.
+
+It is the Spanish dancer!
+
+The apparition evokes a flutter of applause. It is a superb figure, clad
+in a high tight bodice and long skirts simply draped so as to show
+every motion of the athletic limbs. She seems, in this pose and light,
+supernaturally tall. Through her parted lips white teeth gleam, and she
+smiles. Is it a smile of anticipated, triumph, or of contempt? Is it the
+smile of the daughter of Herodias, or the invitation of a 'ghazeeyeh'?
+She pauses. Shall she surprise, or shock, or only please? What shall the
+art that is older than the pyramids do for these kneeling Christians?
+The drum taps, the ney pipes, the mandolin twangs, her arms are
+extended--the castanets clink, a foot is thrust out, the bosom heaves,
+the waist trembles. What shall it be--the old serpent dance of the Nile,
+or the posturing of decorous courtship when the olives are purple in the
+time of the grape harvest? Her head, wreathed with coils of black hair,
+a red rose behind the left ear, is thrown back. The eyes flash, there
+is a snakelike movement of the limbs, the music hastens slowly in
+unison with the quickening pulse, the body palpitates, seems to flash
+invitation like the eyes, it turns, it twists, the neck is thrust
+forward, it is drawn in, while the limbs move still slowly, tentatively;
+suddenly the body from the waist up seems to twist round, with the waist
+as a pivot, in a flash of athletic vigor, the music quickens, the arms
+move more rapidly to the click of the heated castenets, the steps are
+more pronounced, the whole woman is agitated, bounding, pulsing with
+physical excitement. It is a Maenad in an access of gymnastic energy.
+Yes, it is gymnastics; it is not grace; it is scarcely alluring. Yet
+it is a physical triumph. While the spectators are breathless, the fury
+ceases, the music dies, and the Spaniard sinks into a chair, panting
+with triumph, and inclines her dark head to the clapping of hands and
+the bravos. The kneelers rise; the spectators break into chattering
+groups; the ladies look at the dancer with curious eyes; a young
+gentleman with the elevated Oxford shoulders leans upon the arm of her
+chair and fans her. The pose is correct; it is the somewhat awkward
+tribute of culture to physical beauty.
+
+To be on speaking terms with the phenomenon was for the moment a
+distinction. The young ladies wondered if it would be proper to go
+forward and talk with her.
+
+“Why not?” said a wit. “The Duke of Donnycastle always shakes hands with
+the pugilists at a mill.”
+
+“It is not so bad”--the speaker was a Washington beauty in an evening
+dress that she would have condemned as indecorous for the dancer it is
+not so bad as I--”
+
+“Expected?” asked her companion, a sedate man of thirty-five, with the
+cynical air of a student of life.
+
+“As I feared,” she added, quickly. “I have always had a curiosity to
+know what these Oriental dances mean.”
+
+“Oh, nothing in particular, now. This was an exhibition dance. Of course
+its origin, like all dancing, was religious. The fault I find with it
+is that it lacks seriousness, like the modern exhibition of the dancing
+dervishes for money.”
+
+“Do you think, Mr. Mavick, that the decay of dancing is the reason our
+religion lacks seriousness? We are in Lent now, you know. Does this seem
+to you a Lenten performance?”
+
+“Why, yes, to a degree. Anything that keeps you up till three o'clock in
+the morning has some penitential quality.”
+
+“You give me a new view, Mr. Mavick. I confess that I did not expect to
+assist at what New Englanders call an 'evening meeting.' I thought Eros
+was the deity of the dance.”
+
+“That, Mrs. Lamon, is a vulgar error. It is an ancient form of worship.
+Virtue and beauty are the same thing--the two graces.”
+
+“What a nice apothegm! It makes religion so easy and agreeable.”
+
+“As easy as gravitation.”
+
+“Dear me, Mr. Mavick, I thought this was a question of levitation. You
+are upsetting all my ideas. I shall not have the comfort of repenting of
+this episode in Lent.”
+
+“Oh yes; you can be sorry that the dancing was not more alluring.”
+
+Meantime there was heard the popping of corks. Venetian glasses filled
+with champagne were quaffed under the blessing of sparkling eyes, young
+girls, almond-eyed for the occasion, in the costume of Tokyo, handed
+round ices, and the hum of accelerated conversation filled the studio.
+
+“And your wife didn't come?”
+
+“Wouldn't,” replied Jack Delancy, with a little bow, before he raised
+his glass. And then added, “Her taste isn't for this sort of thing.”
+
+The girl, already flushed with the wine, blushed a little--Jack thought
+he had never seen her look so dazzlingly handsome--as she said, “And you
+think mine is?”
+
+“Bless me, no, I didn't mean that; that is, you know”--Jack
+didn't exactly see his way out of the dilemma--“Edith is a little
+old-fashioned; but what's the harm in this, anyway?”
+
+“I did not say there was any,” she replied, with a smile at his
+embarrassment. “Only I think there are half a dozen women in the room
+who could do it better, with a little practice. It isn't as Oriental as
+I thought it would be.”
+
+“I cannot say as to that. I know Edith thinks I've gone into the depths
+of the Orient. But, on the whole, I'm glad--” Jack stopped on the verge
+of speaking out of his better nature.
+
+“Now don't be rude again. I quite understand that she is not here.”
+
+The dialogue was cut short by a clapping of hands. The spectators took
+their places again, the lights were lowered, the illumination was turned
+on the white canvas, and the dancer, warmed with wine and adulation,
+took a bolder pose, and, as her limbs began to move, sang a wild Moorish
+melody in a shrill voice, action and words flowing together into the
+passion of the daughter of tents in a desert life. It was all vigorous,
+suggestive, more properly religious, Mavick would have said, and the
+applause was vociferous.
+
+More wine went about. There was another dance, and then another, a slow
+languid movement, half melancholy and full of sorrow, if one might say
+that of a movement, for unrepented sin; a gypsy dance this, accompanied
+by the mournful song of Boabdil, “The Last Sigh of the Moor.” And
+suddenly, when the feelings of the spectators were melted to tender
+regret, a flash out of all this into a joyous defiance, a wooing of
+pleasure with smiling lips and swift feet, with the clash of cymbals and
+the quickened throb of the drum. And so an end with the dawn of a new
+day.
+
+It was not yet dawn, however, for the clocks were only striking three
+as the assembly, in winter coats and soft wraps, fluttered out to its
+carriages, chattering and laughing, with endless good-nights in the
+languages of France, Germany, and Spain.
+
+The streets were as nearly deserted as they ever are; here and there a
+lumbering market-wagon from Jersey, an occasional street-car with
+its tinkling bell, rarer still the rush of a trembling train on the
+elevated, the voice of a belated reveler, a flitting female figure at a
+street corner, the roll of a livery hack over the ragged pavement. But
+mainly the noise of the town was hushed, and in the sharp air the stars,
+far off and uncontaminated, glowed with a pure lustre.
+
+Farther up town it was quite still, and in one of the noble houses in
+the neighborhood of the Park sat Edith Delancy, married not quite a
+year, listening for the roll of wheels and the click of a night-key.
+
+
+
+
+II
+
+Everybody liked John Corlear Delancy, and this in spite of himself, for
+no one ever knew him to make any effort to incur either love or hate.
+The handsome boy was a favorite without lifting his eyebrows, and he
+sauntered through the university, picking his easy way along an elective
+course, winning the affectionate regard of every one with whom he came
+in contact. And this was not because he lacked quality, or was merely
+easy-going and negative or effeminate, for the same thing happened to
+him when he went shooting in the summer in the Rockies. The cowboys and
+the severe moralists of the plains, whose sedate business in life is to
+get the drop on offensive persons, regarded him as a brother. It isn't
+a bad test of personal quality, this power to win the loyalty of men who
+have few or none of the conventional virtues. These non-moral enforcers
+of justice--as they understood it liked Jack exactly as his friends in
+the New York clubs liked him--and perhaps the moral standard of approval
+of the one was as good as the other.
+
+Jack was a very good shot and a fair rider, and in the climate of
+England he might have taken first-rate rank in athletics. But he had
+never taken first-rate rank in anything, except good-fellowship. He had
+a great many expensive tastes, which he could not afford to indulge,
+except in imagination. The luxury of a racing-stable, or a yacht, or a
+library of scarce books bound by Paris craftsmen was denied him. Those
+who account for failures in life by a man's circumstances, and not by
+a lack in the man himself, which is always the secret of failure, said
+that Jack was unfortunate in coming into a certain income of twenty
+thousand a year. This was just enough to paralyze effort, and not enough
+to permit a man to expand in any direction. It is true that he was
+related to millions and moved in a millionaire atmosphere, but these
+millions might never flow into his bank account. They were not in hand
+to use, and they also helped to paralyze effort--like black clouds of
+an impending shower that may pass around, but meantime keeps the watcher
+indoors.
+
+The best thing that Jack Delancy ever did, for himself, was to marry
+Edith Fletcher. The wedding, which took place some eight months before
+the advent of the Spanish dancer, was a surprise to many, for the
+girl had even less fortune than Jack, and though in and of his society
+entirely, was supposed to have ideals. Her family, indeed, was an old
+one on the island, and was prominent long before the building of the
+stone bridge on Canal Street over the outlet of Collect Pond. Those who
+knew Edith well detected in her that strain of moral earnestness which
+made the old Fletchers such stanch and trusty citizens. The wonder was
+not that Jack, with his easy susceptibility to refined beauty, should
+have been attracted to her, or have responded to a true instinct of
+what was best for him, but that Edith should have taken up with such a
+perfect type of the aimlessness of the society strata of modern life.
+The wonder, however, was based upon a shallow conception of the nature
+of woman. It would have been more wonderful if the qualities that
+endeared Jack to college friends and club men, to the mighty sportsmen
+who do not hesitate, in the clubs, to devastate Canada and the United
+States of big game, and to the border ruffians of Dakota, should not
+have gone straight to the tender heart of a woman of ideals. And when in
+all history was there a woman who did not believe, when her heart went
+with respect for certain manly traits, that she could inspire and lift a
+man into a noble life?
+
+The silver clock in the breakfast-room was striking ten, and Edith was
+already seated at the coffee-urn, when Jack appeared. She was as fresh
+as a rose, and greeted him with a bright smile as he came behind her
+chair and bent over for the morning kiss--a ceremony of affection which,
+if omitted, would have left a cloud on the day for both of them, and
+which Jack always declared was simply a necessity, or the coffee would
+have no flavor. But when a man has picked a rose, it is always a sort
+of climax which is followed by an awkward moment, and Jack sat down with
+the air of a man who has another day to get through with.
+
+“Were you amused with the dancing--this morning?”
+
+“So, so,” said Jack, sipping his coffee. “It was a stunning place for
+it, that studio; you'd have liked that. The Lamons and Mavick and a lot
+of people from the provinces were there. The company was more fun than
+the dance, especially to a fellow who has seen how good it can be and
+how bad in its home.”
+
+“You have a chance to see the Spanish dancer again, under proper
+auspices,” said Edith, without looking up.
+
+“How's that?”
+
+“We are invited by Mrs. Brown--”
+
+“The mother of the Bible class at St. Philip's?”
+
+“Yes--to attend a charity performance for the benefit of the Female
+Waifs' Refuge. She is to dance.”
+
+“Who? Mrs. Brown?”
+
+Edith paid no attention to this impertinence. “They are to make an
+artificial evening at eleven o'clock in the morning.”
+
+“They must have got hold of Mavick's notion that this dance is religious
+in its origin. Do you, know if the exercises will open with prayer?”
+
+“Nonsense, Jack. You know I don't intend to go. I shall send a small
+check.”
+
+“Well, draw it mild. But isn't this what I'm accused of doing--shirking
+my duty of personal service by a contribution?”
+
+“Perhaps. But you didn't have any of that shirking feeling last night,
+did you?”
+
+Jack laughed, and ran round to give the only reply possible to such
+a gibe. These breakfast interludes had not lost piquancy in all these
+months. “I'm half a mind to go to this thing. I would, if it didn't
+break up my day so.”
+
+“As for instance?”
+
+“Well, this morning I have to go up to the riding-school to see a
+horse--Storm; I want to try him. And then I have to go down to Twist's
+and see a lot of Japanese drawings he's got over. Do you know that
+the birds and other animals those beggars have been drawing, which
+we thought were caricatures, are the real thing? They have eyes sharp
+enough to see things in motion--flying birds and moving horses which
+we never caught till we put the camera on them. Awfully curious. Then I
+shall step into the club a minute, and--”
+
+“Be in at lunch? Bess is coming.”
+
+“Don't wait lunch. I've a lot to do.”
+
+Edith followed him with her eyes, a little wistfully; she heard the
+outer door close, and still sat at the table, turning over the pile of
+notes at her plate, and thinking of many things--things that it began
+to dawn upon her mind could not be done, and things of immediate urgency
+that must be done. Life did not seem quite such a simple problem to her
+as it had looked a year ago. That there is nothing like experiment to
+clear the vision is the general idea, but oftener it is experience
+that perplexes. Indeed, Edith was thinking that some things seemed much
+easier to her before she had tried them.
+
+As she sat at the table with a faultless morning-gown, with a bunch of
+English violets in her bosom, an artist could have desired no better
+subject. Many people thought her eyes her best feature; they were large
+brown eyes, yet not always brown, green at times, liquid, but never
+uncertain, apt to have a smile in them, yet their chief appealing
+characteristic was trustfulness, a pure sort of steadfastness, that
+always conveyed the impression of a womanly personal interest in the
+person upon whom they were fixed. They were eyes that haunted one like a
+remembered strain of music. The lips were full, and the mouth was drawn
+in such exquisite lines that it needed the clear-cut and emphasized
+chin to give firmness to its beauty. The broad forehead, with arching
+eyebrows, gave an intellectual cast to a face the special stamp of which
+was purity. The nose, with thin open nostrils, a little too strong for
+beauty, together with the chin, gave the impression of firmness and
+courage; but the wonderful eyes, the inviting mouth, so modified this
+that the total impression was that of high spirit and great sweetness
+of character. It was the sort of face from which one might expect
+passionate love or unflinching martyrdom. Her voice had a quality the
+memory of which lingered longer even than the expression of her eyes; it
+was low, and, as one might say, a fruity voice, not quite clear, though
+sweet, as if veiled in femineity. This note of royal womanhood was also
+in her figure, a little more than medium in height, and full of natural
+grace. Somehow Edith, with all these good points, had not the
+reputation of a belle or a beauty--perhaps for want of some artificial
+splendor--but one could not be long in her company without feeling
+that she had great charm, without which beauty becomes insipid and even
+commonplace, and with which the plainest woman is attractive.
+
+Edith's theory of life, if one may so dignify the longings of a young
+girl, had been very simple, and not at all such as would be selected by
+the heroine of a romance. She had no mission, nor was she afflicted
+by that modern form of altruism which is a yearning for notoriety by
+conspicuous devotion to causes and reforms quite outside her normal
+sphere of activity. A very sincere person, with strong sympathy for
+humanity tempered by a keen perception of the humorous side of things,
+she had a purpose, perhaps not exactly formulated, of making the most
+out of her own life, not in any outward and shining career, but by a
+development of herself in the most helpful and harmonious relations to
+her world. And it seemed to her, though she had never philosophized it,
+that a marriage such as she believed she had made was the woman's way to
+the greatest happiness and usefulness. In this she followed the
+dictates of a clear mind and a warm heart. If she had reasoned about
+it, considering how brief life is, and how small can be any single
+contribution to a better social condition, she might have felt more
+strongly the struggle against nature, and the false position involved in
+the new idea that marriage is only a kind of occupation, instead of an
+ordinance decreed in the very constitution of the human race. With the
+mere instinct of femineity she saw the falseness of the assumption that
+the higher life for man or woman lies in separate and solitary paths
+through the wilderness of this world. To an intelligent angel, seated
+on the arch of the heavens, the spectacle of the latter-day
+pseudo-philosophic and economic dribble about the doubtful expediency
+of having a wife, and the failure of marriage, must seem as ludicrous as
+would a convention of birds or of flowers reasoning that the processes
+of nature had continued long enough. Edith was simply a natural woman,
+who felt rather than reasoned that in a marriage such as her heart
+approved she should make the most of her life.
+
+But as she sat here this morning this did not seem to be so simple a
+matter as it had appeared. It began to be suspected that in order to
+make the most of one's self it was necessary to make the most of many
+other persons and things. The stream in its own channel flowed along not
+without vexations, friction and foaming and dashings from bank to bank;
+but it became quite another and a more difficult movement when it
+was joined to another stream, with its own currents and eddies and
+impetuosities and sluggishness, constantly liable to be deflected if not
+put altogether on another course. Edith was not putting it in this
+form as she turned over her notes of invitation and appointments and
+engagements, but simply wondering where the time for her life was to
+come in, and for Jack's life, which occupied a much larger space than it
+seemed to occupy in the days before it was joined to hers. Very curious
+this discovery of what another's life really is. Of course the society
+life must go on, that had always gone on, for what purpose no one could
+tell, only it was the accepted way of disposing of time; and now there
+were the dozen ways in which she was solicited to show her interest in
+those supposed to be less fortunate in life than herself-the alleviation
+of the miseries of her own city. And with society, and charity, and
+sympathy with the working classes, and her own reading, and a little
+drawing and painting, for which she had some talent, what became of that
+comradeship with Jack, that union of interests and affections, which was
+to make her life altogether so high and sweet?
+
+This reverie, which did not last many minutes, and was interrupted by
+the abrupt moving away of Edith to the writing-desk in her own room, was
+caused by a moment's vivid realization of what Jack's interests in life
+were. Could she possibly make them her own? And if she did, what would
+become of her own ideals?
+
+
+
+
+III
+
+It was indeed a busy day for Jack. Great injustice would be done him
+if it were supposed that he did not take himself and his occupations
+seriously. His mind was not disturbed by trifles. He knew that he had
+on the right sort of four-in-hand necktie, with the appropriate pin of
+pear-shaped pearl, and that he carried the cane of the season. These
+things come by a sort of social instinct, are in the air, as it were,
+and do not much tax the mind. He had to hasten a little to keep his
+half-past-eleven o'clock appointment at Stalker's stables, and when he
+arrived several men of his set were already waiting, who were also busy
+men, and had made a little effort to come round early and assist Jack in
+making up his mind about the horse.
+
+When Mr. Stalker brought out Storm, and led him around to show his
+action, the connoisseurs took on a critical attitude, an attitude of
+judgment, exhibited not less in the poise of the head and the serious
+face than in the holding of the cane and the planting of legs wide
+apart. And the attitude had a refined nonchalance which professional
+horsemen scarcely ever attain. Storm could not have received more
+critical and serious attention if he had been a cooked terrapin. He
+could afford to stand this scrutiny, and he seemed to move about with
+the consciousness that he knew more about being a horse than his judges.
+
+Storm was, in fact, a splendid animal, instinct with life from his thin
+flaring nostril to his small hoof; black as a raven, his highly groomed
+skin took the polish of ebony, and showed the play of his powerful
+muscles, and, one might say, almost the nervous currents that thrilled
+his fine texture. His large, bold eyes, though not wicked, flamed now
+and then with an energy and excitement that gave ample notice that he
+would obey no master who had not stronger will and nerve than his own.
+It was a tribute to Jack's manliness that, when he mounted him for a
+turn in the ring, Storm seemed to recognize the fine quality of both
+seat and hand, and appeared willing to take him on probation.
+
+“He's got good points,” said Mr. Herbert Albert Flick, “but I'd like a
+straighter back.”
+
+“I'll be hanged, though, Jack,” was Mr. Mowbray Russell's comment, “if
+I'd ride him in the Park before he's docked. Say what you like about
+action, a horse has got to have style.”
+
+“Moves easy, falls off a little too much to suit me in the quarter,”
+ suggested Mr. Pennington Docstater, sucking the head of his cane. “How
+about his staying quality, Stalker?”
+
+“That's just where he is, Mr. Docstater; take him on the road, he's a
+stayer for all day. Goes like a bird. He'll take you along at the rate
+of nine miles in forty-five minutes as long as you want to sit there.”
+
+“Jump?” queried little Bobby Simerton, whose strong suit at the club was
+talking about meets and hunters.
+
+“Never refused anything I put him at,” replied Stalker; “takes every
+fence as if it was the regular thing.”
+
+Storm was in this way entirely taken to pieces, praised and disparaged,
+in a way to give Stalker, it might be inferred from his manner, a
+high opinion of the knowledge of these young gentlemen. “It takes a
+gentleman,” in fact, Stalker said, “to judge a hoss, for a good hoss
+is a gentleman himself.” It was much discussed whether Storm would do
+better for the Park or for the country, whether it would be better to
+put him in the field or keep him for a roadster. It might, indeed, be
+inferred that Jack had not made up his mind whether he should buy a
+horse for use in the Park or for country riding. Even more than this
+might be inferred from the long morning's work, and that was that
+while Jack's occupation was to buy a horse, if he should buy one his
+occupation would be gone. He was known at the club to be looking for
+the right sort of a horse, and that he knew what he wanted, and was not
+easily satisfied; and as long as he occupied this position he was an
+object of interest to sellers and to his companions.
+
+Perhaps Mr. Stalker understood this, for when the buyers had gone he
+remarked to the stable-boy, “Mr. Delancy, he don't want to buy no hoss.”
+
+When the inspection of the horse was finished it was time for lunch, and
+the labors of the morning were felt to justify this indulgence, though
+each of the party had other engagements, and was too busy to waste the
+time. They went down to the Knickerbocker.
+
+The lunch was slight, but its ordering took time and consideration, as
+it ought, for nothing is so destructive of health and mental tone as
+the snatching of a mid-day meal at a lunch counter from a bill of fare
+prepared by God knows whom. Mr. Russell said that if it took time to
+buy a horse, it ought to take at least equal time and care to select the
+fodder that was to make a human being wretched or happy. Indeed, a man
+who didn't give his mind to what he ate wouldn't have any mind by-and-by
+to give to anything. This sentiment had the assent of the table, and was
+illustrated by varied personal experience; and a deep feeling prevailed,
+a serious feeling, that in ordering and eating the right sort of lunch a
+chief duty of a useful day had been discharged.
+
+It must not be imagined from this, however, that the conversation was
+about trifles. Business men and operators could have learned something
+about stocks and investments, and politicians about city politics.
+Mademoiselle Vivienne, the new skirt dancer, might have been surprised
+at the intimate tone in which she was alluded to, but she could have got
+some useful hints in effects, for her judges were cosmopolitans who had
+seen the most suggestive dancing in all parts of the world. It came out
+incidentally that every one at table had been “over” in the course of
+the season, not for any general purpose, not as a sightseer, but to look
+at somebody's stables, or to attend a wedding, or a sale of etchings, or
+to see his bootmaker, or for a little shooting in Scotland, just as one
+might run down to Bar Harbor or Tuxedo. It was only an incident in a
+busy season; and one of the fruits of it appeared to be as perfect a
+knowledge of the comparative merits of all the ocean racers and captains
+as of the English and American stables and the trainers. One not
+informed of the progress of American life might have been surprised to
+see that the fad is to be American, with a sort of patronage of things
+and ways foreign, especially of things British, a large continental
+kind of attitude, begotten of hearing much about Western roughing it,
+of Alaska, of horse-breeding and fruit-raising on the Pacific, of the
+Colorado River Canon. As for stuffs, well yes, London. As for style, you
+can't mistake a man who is dressed in New York.
+
+The wine was a white Riesling from California. Docstater said his
+attention had been called to it by Tom Dillingham at the Union, who had
+a ranch somewhere out there. It was declared to be sound and palatable;
+you know what you are drinking. This led to a learned discussion of the
+future of American wines, and a patriotic impulse was given to the
+trade by repeated orders. It was declared that in American wines lay the
+solution of the temperance question. Bobby Simerton said that Burgundy
+was good enough for him, but Russell put him down, as he saw the light
+yellow through his glass, by the emphatic affirmation that plenty of
+cheap American well-made wine would knock the bottom out of all the
+sentimental temperance societies and shut up the saloons, dry up all
+those not limited to light wines and beer. It was agreed that the
+saloons would have to go.
+
+This satisfactory conclusion was reached before the coffee came on and
+the cigarettes, and the sound quality of the Riesling was emphasized by
+a pony of cognac.
+
+It is fortunate when the youth of a country have an ideal. No nation is
+truly great without a common ideal, capable of evoking enthusiasm and
+calling out its energies. And where are we to look for this if not in
+the youth, and especially in those to whom fortune and leisure give an
+opportunity of leadership? It is they who can inspire by their example,
+and by their pursuits attract others to a higher conception of the
+national life. It may take the form of patriotism, as in this country,
+pride in the great republic, jealousy of its honor and credit, eagerness
+for its commanding position among the nations, patriotism which will
+show itself, in all the ardor of believing youth, in the administration
+of law, in the purity of politics, in honest local government, and in a
+noble aspiration for the glory of the country. It may take the form
+of culture, of a desire that the republic-liable, like all self-made
+nations, to worship wealth-should be distinguished not so much by a
+vulgar national display as by an advance in the arts, the sciences, the
+education that adorns life, in the noble spirit of humanity, and in the
+nobler spirit of recognition of a higher life, which will be content
+with no civilization that does not tend to make the country for every
+citizen a better place to live in today than it was yesterday. Happy is
+the country, happy the metropolis of that country, whose fortunate young
+men have this high conception of citizenship!
+
+What is the ideal of their country which these young men cherish? There
+was a moment--was there not for them?--in the late war for the Union,
+when the republic was visible to them in its beauty, in its peril, and
+in a passion of devotion they were eager--were they not?--to follow the
+flag and to give their brief lives to its imperishable glory. Nothing is
+impossible to a nation with an ideal like that. It was this flame that
+ran over Europe in the struggle of France against a world in arms. It
+was this national ideal that was incarnate in Napoleon, as every great
+idea that moves the world is sooner or later incarnated. What was it
+that we saw in Washington on his knees at Valley Forge, or blazing with
+wrath at the cowardice on Monmouth? in Lincoln entering Richmond with
+bowed head and infinite sorrow and yearning in his heart? An embodiment
+of a great national idea and destiny.
+
+In France this ideal burns yet like a flame, and is still evoked by
+a name. It is the passion of glory, but the desire of a nation, and
+Napoleon was the incarnation of passion. They say that he is not dead as
+others are dead, but that he may come again and ride at the head of his
+legions, and strike down the enemies of France; that his bugle will call
+the youth from every hamlet, that the roll of his drum will transform
+France into a camp, and the grenadiers will live again and ride with
+him, amid hurrahs, and streaming tears, and shouts of “My Emperor! Oh,
+my Emperor!” Is it only a legend? But the spirit is there; not a boy
+but dreams of it, not a girl but knots the thought in with her holiday
+tricolor. That is to have an abiding ideal, and patiently to hold it, in
+isolation, in defeat, even in an overripe civilization.
+
+We believe--do we not?--in other triumphs than those of the drum and
+the sword. Our aspirations for the republic are for a nobler example of
+human society than the world has yet seen. Happy is the country, and the
+metropolis of the country, whose youth, gilded only by their virtues,
+have these aspirations.
+
+When the party broke up, the street lamps were beginning to twinkle here
+and there, and Jack discovered to his surprise that the Twiss business
+would have to go over to another day. It was such a hurrying life in New
+York. There was just time for a cup of tea at Mrs. Trafton's. Everybody
+dropped in there after five o'clock, when the duties of the day were
+over, with the latest news, and to catch breath before rushing into the
+program of the evening.
+
+There were a dozen ladies in the drawing-room when Jack entered, and his
+first impression was that the scream of conversation would be harder to
+talk against than a Wagner opera; but he presently got his cup of tea,
+and found a snug seat in the chimney-corner by Miss Tavish; indeed, they
+moved to it together, and so got a little out of the babel. Jack thought
+the girl looked even prettier in her walking-dress than when he saw her
+at the studio; she had style, there was no doubt about that; and then,
+while there was no invitation in her manner, one felt that she was a
+woman to whom one could easily say things, and who was liable at any
+moment to say things interesting herself.
+
+“Is this your first appearance since last night, Mr. Delancy?”
+
+“Oh no; I've been racing about on errands all day. It is very restful to
+sit down by a calm person.”
+
+“Well, I never shut my eyes till nine o'clock. I kept seeing that
+Spanish woman whirl around and contort, and--do you mind my telling
+you?--I couldn't just help it, I” (leaning forward to Jack) “got up and
+tried it before the glass. There! Are you shocked?”
+
+“Not so much shocked as excluded,” Jack dared to say. “But do you
+think--“.
+
+“Yes, I know. There isn't anything that an American girl cannot do. I've
+made up my mind to try it. You'll see.”
+
+“Will I?”
+
+“No, you won't. Don't flatter yourself. Only girls. I don't want men
+around.”
+
+“Neither do I,” said Jack, honestly.
+
+Miss Tavish laughed. “You are too forward, Mr. Delancy. Perhaps some
+time, when we have learned, we will let in a few of you, to look in
+at the door, fifty dollars a ticket, for some charity. I don't see why
+dancing isn't just as good an accomplishment as playing the harp in a
+Greek dress.”
+
+“Nor do I; I'd rather see it. Besides, you've got Scripture warrant
+for dancing off the heads of people. And then it is such a sweet way
+of doing a charity. Dancing for the East Side is the best thing I have
+heard yet.”
+
+“You needn't mock. You won't when you find out what it costs you.”
+
+“What are you two plotting?” asked Mrs. Trafton, coming across to the
+fireplace.
+
+“Charity,” said Jack, meekly.
+
+“Your wife was here this morning to get me to go and see some of her
+friends in Hester Street.”
+
+“You went?”
+
+“Not today. It's awfully interesting, but I've been.”
+
+“Edith seems to be devoted to that sort of thing,” remarked Miss Tavish.
+
+“Yes,” said Jack, slowly, “she's got the idea that sympathy is better
+than money; she says she wants to try to understand other people's
+lives.”
+
+“Goodness knows, I'd like to understand my own.”
+
+“And were you trying, Mr. Delancy, to persuade Miss Tavish into that
+sort of charity?”
+
+“Oh dear, no,” said Jack; “I was trying to interest the East End in
+something, for the benefit of Miss Tavish.”
+
+“You'll find that's one of the most expensive remarks you ever made,”
+ retorted Miss Tavish, rising to go.
+
+“I wish Lily Tavish would marry,” said Mrs. Trafton, watching the girl's
+slender figure as it passed through the portiere; “she doesn't know what
+to do with herself.”
+
+Jack shrugged his shoulders. “Yes, she'd be a lovely wife for somebody;”
+ and then he added, as if reminiscently, “if he could afford it.
+Good-by.”
+
+“That's just a fashion of talking. I never knew a time when so many
+people afforded to do what they wanted to do. But you men are all alike.
+Good-by.”
+
+When Jack reached home it was only a little after six o'clock, and as
+they were not to go out to dine till eight, he had a good hour to rest
+from the fatigues of the day, and run over the evening papers and
+dip into the foreign periodicals to catch a topic or two for the
+dinner-table.
+
+“Yes, sir,” said the maid, “Mrs. Delancy came in an hour ago.”
+
+
+
+
+IV
+
+Edith's day had been as busy as Jack's, notwithstanding she had put
+aside several things that demanded her attention. She denied herself
+the morning attendance on the Literature Class that was raking over the
+eighteenth century. This week Swift was to be arraigned. The last time
+when Edith was present it was Steele. The judgment, on the whole, had
+been favorable, and there had been a little stir of tenderness among the
+bonnets over Thackeray's comments on the Christian soldier. It seemed
+to bring him near to them. “Poor Dick Steele!” said the essayist. Edith
+declared afterwards that the large woman who sat next to her, Mrs.
+Jerry Hollowell, whispered to her that she always thought his name
+was Bessemer; but this was, no doubt, a pleasantry. It was a beautiful
+essay, and so stimulating! And then there was bouillon, and time to look
+about at the toilets. Poor Steele, it would have cheered his life
+to know that a century after his death so many beautiful women, so
+exquisitely dressed, would have been concerning themselves about him.
+The function lasted two hours. Edith made a little calculation. In five
+minutes she could have got from the encyclopaedia all the facts in the
+essay, and while her maid was doing her hair she could have read five
+times as much of Steele as the essayist read. And, somehow, she was not
+stimulated, for the impression seemed to prevail that now Steele was
+disposed of. And she had her doubts whether literature would, after all,
+prove to be a permanent social distraction. But Edith may have been too
+severe in her judgment. There was probably not a woman in the class that
+day who did not go away with the knowledge that Steele was an author,
+and that he lived in the eighteenth century. The hope for the country is
+in the diffusion of knowledge.
+
+Leaving the class to take care of Swift, Edith went to the managers'
+meeting at the Women's Hospital, where there was much to do of very
+practical work, pitiful cases of women and children suffering through no
+fault of their own, and money more difficult to raise than sympathy. The
+meeting took time and thought. Dismissing her carriage, and relying on
+elevated and surface cars, Edith then took a turn on the East Side, in
+company with a dispensary physician whose daily duty called her into
+the worst parts of the town. She had a habit of these tours before her
+marriage, and, though they were discouragingly small in direct results,
+she gained a knowledge of city life that was of immense service in her
+general charity work. Jack had suggested the danger of these excursions,
+but she had told him that a woman was less liable to insult in the East
+Side than in Fifth Avenue, especially at twilight, not because the East
+Side was a nice quarter of the city, but because it was accustomed to
+see women who minded their own business go about unattended, and the
+prowlers had not the habit of going there. She could even relate cases
+of chivalrous protection of “ladies” in some of the worst streets.
+
+What Edith saw this day, open to be seen, was not so much sin as
+ignorance of how to live, squalor, filthy surroundings acquiesced in
+as the natural order, wonderful patience in suffering and deprivation,
+incapacity, ill-paid labor, the kindest spirit of sympathy and
+helpfulness of the poor for each other. Perhaps that which made the
+deepest impression on her was the fact that such conditions of living
+could seem natural to those in them, and that they could get so much
+enjoyment of life in situations that would have been simple misery to
+her.
+
+The visitors were in a foreign city. The shop signs were in foreign
+tongues; in some streets all Hebrew. On chance news-stands were
+displayed newspapers in Russian, Bohemian, Arabic, Italian, Hebrew,
+Polish, German-none in English. The theatre bills were in Hebrew or
+other unreadable type. The sidewalks and the streets swarmed with noisy
+dealers in every sort of second-hand merchandise--vegetables that had
+seen a better day, fish in shoals. It was not easy to make one's way
+through the stands and push-carts and the noisy dickering buyers and
+sellers, who haggled over trifles and chaffed good-naturedly and were
+strictly intent on their own affairs. No part of the town is more
+crowded or more industrious. If youth is the hope of the country, the
+sight was encouraging, for children were in the gutters, on the house
+steps, at all the windows. The houses seemed bursting with humanity, and
+in nearly every room of the packed tenements, whether the inmates
+were sick or hungry, some sort of industry was carried on. In the damp
+basements were junk-dealers, rag-pickers, goose-pickers. In one noisome
+cellar, off an alley, among those sorting rags, was an old woman of
+eighty-two, who could reply to questions only in a jargon, too proud
+to beg, clinging to life, earning a few cents a day in this foul
+occupation. But life is sweet even with poverty and rheumatism and
+eighty years. Did her dull eyes, turning inward, see the Carpathian
+Hills, a free girlhood in village drudgery and village sports, then a
+romance of love, children, hard work, discontent, emigration to a New
+World of promise? And now a cellar by day, the occupation of cutting
+rags for carpets, and at night a corner in a close and crowded room on a
+flock bed not fit for a dog. And this was a woman's life.
+
+Picturesque foreign women going about with shawls over their heads
+and usually a bit of bright color somewhere, children at their games,
+hawkers loudly crying their stale wares, the click of sewing-machines
+heard through a broken window, everywhere animation, life, exchange
+of rough or kindly banter. Was it altogether so melancholy as it might
+seem? Not everybody was hopelessly poor, for here were lawyers' signs
+and doctors' signs--doctors in whom the inhabitants had confidence
+because they charged all they could get for their services--and thriving
+pawnbrokers' shops. There were parish schools also--perhaps others; and
+off some dark alley, in a room on the ground-floor, could be heard
+the strident noise of education going on in high-voiced study and
+recitation. Nor were amusements lacking--notices of balls, dancing this
+evening, and ten-cent shows in palaces of legerdemain and deformity.
+
+It was a relenting day in March; patches of blue sky overhead, and the
+sun had some quality in its shining. The children and the caged birds
+at the open windows felt it-and there were notes of music here and there
+above the traffic and the clamor. Turning down a narrow alley, with a
+gutter in the centre, attracted by festive sounds, the visitors came
+into a small stone-paved court with a hydrant in the centre surrounded
+by tall tenement-houses, in the windows of which were stuffed the
+garments that would no longer hold together to adorn the person. Here an
+Italian girl and boy, with a guitar and violin, were recalling la bella
+Napoli, and a couple of pretty girls from the court were footing it as
+merrily as if it were the grape harvest. A woman opened a lower room
+door and sharply called to one of the dancing girls to come in, when
+Edith and the doctor appeared at the bottom of the alley, but her tone
+changed when she recognized the doctor, and she said, by way of apology,
+that she didn't like her daughter to dance before strangers. So
+the music and the dance went on, even little dots of girls and boys
+shuffling about in a stiff-legged fashion, with applause from all
+the windows, and at last a largesse of pennies--as many as five
+altogether--for the musicians. And the sun fell lovingly upon the pretty
+scene.
+
+But then there were the sweaters' dens, and the private rooms where half
+a dozen pale-faced tailors stitched and pressed fourteen and sometimes
+sixteen hours a day, stifling rooms, smelling of the hot goose and
+steaming cloth, rooms where they worked, where the cooking was done,
+where they ate, and late at night, when overpowered with weariness,
+lay down to sleep. Struggle for life everywhere, and perhaps no more
+discontent and heart-burning and certainly less ennui than in the
+palaces on the avenues.
+
+The residence of Karl Mulhaus, one of the doctor's patients, was typical
+of the homes of the better class of poor. The apartment fronted on a
+small and not too cleanly court, and was in the third story. As Edith
+mounted the narrow and dark stairways she saw the plan of the house.
+Four apartments opened upon each landing, in which was the common
+hydrant and sink. The Mulhaus apartment consisted of a room large enough
+to contain a bed, a cook-stove, a bureau, a rocking-chair, and two
+other chairs, and it had two small windows, which would have more freely
+admitted the southern sun if they had been washed, and a room adjoining,
+dark, and nearly filled by a big bed. On the walls of the living room
+were hung highly colored advertising chromos of steamships and palaces
+of industry, and on the bureau Edith noticed two illustrated newspapers
+of the last year, a patent-medicine almanac, and a volume of Schiller.
+The bureau also held Mr. Mulhaus's bottles of medicine, a comb which
+needed a dentist, and a broken hair-brush. What gave the room, however,
+a cheerful aspect were some pots of plants on the window-ledges, and
+half a dozen canary-bird cages hung wherever there was room for them.
+
+None of the family happened to be at home except Mr. Mulhaus, who
+occupied the rocking-chair, and two children, a girl of four years and a
+boy of eight, who were on the floor playing “store” with some blocks
+of wood, a few tacks, some lumps of coal, some scraps of paper, and
+a tangle of twine. In their prattle they spoke, the English they had
+learned from their brother who was in a store.
+
+“I feel some better today,” said Mr. Mulhaus, brightening up as the
+visitors entered, “but the cough hangs on. It's three months since
+this weather that I haven't been out, but the birds are a good deal
+of company.” He spoke in German, and with effort. He was very thin and
+sallow, and his large feverish eyes added to the pitiful look of his
+refined face. The doctor explained to Edith that he had been getting
+fair wages in a type-foundry until he had become too weak to go any
+longer to the shop.
+
+It was rather hard to have to sit there all day, he explained to the
+doctor, but they were getting along. Mrs. Mulhaus had got a job of
+cleaning that day; that would be fifty cents. Ally--she was twelve--was
+learning to sew. That was her afternoon to go to the College Settlement.
+Jimmy, fourteen, had got a place in a store, and earned two dollars a
+week.
+
+“And Vicky?” asked the doctor.
+
+“Oh, Vicky,” piped up the eight-year-old boy. “Vicky's up to the
+'stution”--the hospital was probably the institution referred to--“ever
+so long now. I seen her there, me and Jim did. Such a bootifer place!
+'Nd chicken!” he added. “Sis got hurt by a cart.”
+
+Vicky was seventeen, and had been in a fancy store.
+
+“Yes,” said Mulhaus, in reply to a question, “it pays pretty well
+raising canaries, when they turn out singers. I made fifteen dollars
+last year. I hain't sold much lately. Seems 's if people stopped wanting
+'em such weather. I guess it 'll be better in the spring.”
+
+“No doubt it will be better for the poor fellow himself before spring,”
+ said the doctor as they made their way down the dirty stairways. “Now
+I'll show you one of my favorites.”
+
+They turned into a broader street, one of the busy avenues, and passing
+under an archway between two tall buildings, entered a court of back
+buildings. In the third story back lived Aunt Margaret. The room was
+scarcely as big as a ship's cabin, and its one window gave little light,
+for it opened upon a narrow well of high brick walls. In the only chair
+Aunt Margaret was seated close to the window. In front of her was a
+small work-table, with a kerosene lamp on it, but the side of the
+room towards which she looked was quite occupied by a narrow
+couch--ridiculously narrow, for Aunt Margaret was very stout. There was
+a thin chest of drawers on the other side, and the small coal stove that
+stood in the centre so nearly filled the remaining space that the two
+visitors were one too many.
+
+“Oh, come in, come in,” said the old lady, cheerfully, when the door
+opened. “I'm glad to see you.”
+
+“And how goes it?” asked the doctor.
+
+“First rate. I'm coming on, doctor. Work's been pretty slack for two
+weeks now, but yesterday I got work for two days. I guess it will be
+better now.”
+
+The work was finishing pantaloons. It used to be a good business before
+there was so much cutting in.
+
+“I used to get fifteen cents a pair, then ten; now they don't pay but
+five. Yes, the shop furnishes the thread.”
+
+“And how many pairs can you finish in a day?” asked Edith.
+
+“Three--three pairs, to do 'em nice--and they are very particular--if I
+work from six in the morning till twelve at night. I could do more, but
+my sight ain't what it used to be, and I've broken my specs.”
+
+“So you earn fifteen cents a day?”
+
+“When I've the luck to get work, my lady. Sometimes there isn't any. And
+things cost so much. The rent is the worst.”
+
+It appeared that the rent was two dollars and a half a month. That must
+be paid, at any rate. Edith made a little calculation that on a flush
+average of ninety cents a week earned, and allowing so many cents for
+coal and so many cents for oil, the margin for bread and tea must be
+small for the month. She usually bought three cents' worth of tea at a
+time.
+
+“It is kinder close,” said the old lady, with a smile. “The worst is,
+my feet hurt me so I can't stir out. But the neighbors is real kind. The
+little boy next room goes over to the shop and fetches my pantaloons and
+takes 'em back. I can get along if it don't come slack again.”
+
+Sitting all day by that dim window, half the night stitching by a
+kerosene lamp; lying for six hours on that narrow couch! How to account
+for this old soul's Christian resignation and cheerfulness! “For,” said
+the doctor, “she has seen better days; she has moved in high society;
+her husband, who died twenty years ago, was a policeman. What the
+old lady is doing is fighting for her independence. She has only one
+fear--the almshouse.”
+
+It was with such scenes as these in her eyes that Edith went to her
+dressing-room to make her toilet for the Henderson dinner.
+
+
+
+
+V
+
+It was the first time they had dined with the Hendersons. It was Jack's
+doings. “Certainly, if you wish it,” Edith had said when the invitation
+came. The unmentioned fact was that Jack had taken a little flier in
+Oshkosh, and a hint from Henderson one evening at the Union, when the
+venture looked squally, had let him out of a heavy loss into a small
+profit, and Jack felt grateful.
+
+“I wonder how Henderson came to do it?” Jack was querying, as he and old
+Fairfax sipped their five-o'clock “Manhattan.”
+
+“Oh, Henderson likes to do a good-natured thing still, now and then. Do
+you know his wife?”
+
+“No. Who was she?”
+
+“Why, old Eschelle's daughter, Carmen; of course you wouldn't know; that
+was ten years ago. There was a good deal of talk about it at the time.”
+
+“How?”
+
+“Some said they'd been good friends before Mrs. Henderson's death.”
+
+“Then Carmen, as you call her, wasn't the first?”
+
+“No, but she was an easy second. She's a social climber; bound to get
+there from the start.”
+
+“Is she pretty?”
+
+“Devilish. She's a little thing. I saw her once at Homburg, on the
+promenade with her mother.
+
+“The kind of sweet blonde, I said to myself, that would mix a man up in
+a duel before he knew where he was.”
+
+“She must be interesting.”
+
+“She was always clever, and she knows enough to play a straight game and
+when to propitiate. I'll bet a five she tells Henderson whom to be good
+to when the chance offers.”
+
+“Then her influence on him is good?”
+
+“My dear sir, she gets what she wants, and Henderson is going to the...
+well, look at the lines in his face. I've known Henderson since he came
+fresh into the Street. He'd rarely knife a friend when his first wife
+was living. Now, when you see the old frank smile on his face, it's put
+on.”
+
+It was half-past eight when Mr. Henderson with Mrs. Delancy on his
+arm led the way to the diningroom. The procession was closed by Mrs.
+Henderson and Mr. Delancy. The Van Dams were there, and Mrs. Chesney
+and the Chesney girls, and Miss Tavish, who sat on Jack's right, but
+the rest of the guests were unknown to Jack, except by name. There was
+a strong dash of the Street in the mixture, and although the Street
+was tabooed in the talk, there was such an emanation of aggressive
+prosperity at the table that Jack said afterwards that he felt as if he
+had been at a meeting of the board.
+
+If Jack had known the house ten years ago, he would have noticed certain
+subtle changes in it, rather in the atmosphere than in many alterations.
+The newness and the glitter of cost had worn off. It might still be
+called a palace, but the city had now a dozen handsomer houses, and
+Carmen's idea, as she expressed it, was to make this more like a home.
+She had made it like herself. There were pictures on the walls that
+would not have hung there in the late Mrs. Henderson's time; and the
+prevailing air was that of refined sensuousness. Life, she said, was
+her idea, life in its utmost expression, untrammeled, and yes, a little
+Greek. Freedom was perhaps the word, and yet her latest notion was
+simplicity. The dinner was simple. Her dress was exceedingly simple,
+save that it had in it somewhere a touch of audacity, revealing in a
+flash of invitation the hidden nature of the woman. She knew herself
+better than any one knew her, except Henderson, and even he was forced
+to laugh when she travestied Browning in saying that she had one
+soul-side to face the world with, one to show the man she loved, and
+she declared he was downright coarse when on going out of the door he
+muttered, “But it needn't be the seamy side.” The reported remark of
+some one who had seen her at church that she looked like a nun made
+her smile, but she broke into a silvery laugh when she head Van Dam's
+comment on it, “Yes, a devil of a nun.”
+
+The library was as cozy as ever, but did not appear to be used much as
+a library. Henderson, indeed, had no time to add to his collection or
+enjoy it. Most of the books strewn on the tables were French novels or
+such American tales as had the cachet of social riskiness. But Carmen
+liked the room above all others. She enjoyed her cigarette there, and
+had a fancy for pouring her five-o'clock tea in its shelter. Books
+which had all sorts of things in them gave somehow an unconventional
+atmosphere to the place, and one could say things there that one
+couldn't say in a drawing-room.
+
+Henderson himself, it must be confessed, had grown stout in the ten
+years, and puffy under the eyes. There were lines of irritation in his
+face and lines of weariness. He had not kept the freshness of youth so
+well as Carmen, perhaps because of his New England conscience. To his
+guest he was courteous, seemed to be making an effort to be so,
+and listened with well-assumed interest to the story of her day's
+pilgrimage. At length he said, with a smile, “Life seems to interest
+you, Mrs. Delancy.”
+
+“Yes, indeed,” said Edith, looking up brightly; “doesn't it you?”
+
+“Why, yes; not life exactly, but things, doing things--conflict.”
+
+“Yes, I can understand that. There is so much to be done for everybody.”
+
+Henderson looked amused. “You know in the city the gospel is that
+everybody is to be done.”
+
+“Well,” said Edith, not to be diverted, “but, Mr. Henderson, what is it
+all for--this conflict? Perhaps, however, you are fighting the devil?”
+
+“Yes, that's it; the devil is usually the other fellow. But, Mrs.
+Delancy,” added Henderson, with an accent of seriousness, “I don't know
+what it's all for. I doubt if there is much in it.”
+
+“And yet the world credits you with finding a great deal in it.”
+
+“The world is generally wrong. Do you understand poker, Mrs. Delancy?
+No! Of course you do not. But the interest of the game isn't so much in
+the cards as in the men.”
+
+“I thought it was the stakes.”
+
+“Perhaps so. But you want to win for the sake of winning. If I gambled
+it would be a question of nerve. I suppose that which we all enjoy is
+the exercise of skill in winning.”
+
+“And not for the sake of doing anything--just winning? Don't you get
+tired of that?” asked Edith, quite simply.
+
+There was something in Edith's sincerity, in her fresh enthusiasm about
+life, that appeared to strike a reminiscent note in Henderson. Perhaps
+he remembered another face as sweet as hers, and ideals, faint and long
+ago, that were once mixed with his ideas of success. At any rate, it was
+with an accent of increased deference, and with a look she had not seen
+in his face before, that he said:
+
+“People get tired of everything. I'm not sure but it would interest me
+to see for a minute how the world looks through your eyes.” And then he
+added, in a different tone, “As to your East Side, Mrs. Henderson tried
+that some years ago.”
+
+“Wasn't she interested?”
+
+“Oh, very much. For a time. But she said there was too much of it.” And
+Edith could detect no tone of sarcasm in the remark.
+
+Down at the other end of the table, matters were going very smoothly.
+Jack was charmed with his hostess. That clever woman had felt her way
+along from the heresy trial, through Tuxedo and the Independent Theatre
+and the Horse Show, until they were launched in a perfectly free
+conversation, and Carmen knew that she hadn't to look out for thin ice.
+
+“Were you thinking of going on to the Conventional Club tonight, Mr.
+Delancy?” she was saying.
+
+“I don't belong,” said Jack. “Mrs. Delancy said she didn't care for it.”
+
+“Oh, I don't care for it, for myself,” replied Carmen.
+
+“I do,” struck in Miss Tavish. “It's awfully nice.”
+
+“Yes, it does seem to fill a want. Why, what do you do with your
+evenings, Mr. Delancy?”
+
+“Well, here's one of them.”
+
+“Yes, I know, but I mean between twelve o'clock and bedtime.”
+
+“Oh,” said Jack, laughing out loud, “I go to bed--sometimes.”
+
+“Yes, 'there's always that. But you want some place to go to after the
+theatres and the dinners; after the other places are shut up you want to
+go somewhere and be amused.”
+
+“Yes,” said Jack, falling in, “it is a fact that there are not many
+places of amusement for the rich; I understand. After the theatres you
+want to be amused. This Conventional Club is--”
+
+“I tell you what it is. It's a sort of Midnight Mission for the rich.
+They never have had anything of the kind in the city.”
+
+“And it's very nice,” said Miss Tavish, demurely.
+
+“The performers are selected. You can see things there that you want
+to see at other places to which you can't go. And everybody you know is
+there.”
+
+“Oh, I see,” said Jack. “It's what the Independent Theatre is trying to
+do, and what all the theatrical people say needs to be done, to elevate
+the character of the audiences, and then the managers can give better
+plays.”
+
+“That's just it. We want to elevate the stage,” Carmen explained.
+
+“But,” continued Jack, “it seems to me that now the audience is select
+and elevated, it wants to see the same sort of things it liked to see
+before it was elevated.”
+
+“You may laugh, Mr. Delancy,” replied Carmen, throwing an earnest
+simplicity into her eyes, “but why shouldn't women know what is going on
+as well as men?”
+
+“And why,” Miss Tavish asked, “will the serpentine dances and the London
+topical songs do any more harm to women than to men?”
+
+“And besides, Mr. Delancy,” Carmen said, chiming in, “isn't it just as
+proper that women should see women dance and throw somersaults on the
+stage as that men should see them? And then, you know, women are such a
+restraining influence.”
+
+“I hadn't thought of that,” said Jack. “I thought the Conventional
+was for the benefit of the audience, not for the salvation of the
+performers.”
+
+“It's both. It's life. Don't you think women ought to know life? How are
+they to take their place in the world unless they know life as men know
+it?”
+
+“I'm sure I don't know whose place they are to take, the serpentine
+dancer's or mine,” said Jack, as if he were studying a problem. “How
+does your experiment get on, Miss Tavish?”
+
+Carmen looked up quickly.
+
+“Oh, I haven't any experiment,” said Miss Tavish, shaking her head.
+“It's just Mr. Delancy's nonsense.”
+
+“I wish I had an experiment. There is so little for women to do. I wish
+I knew what was right.” And Carmen looked mournfully demure, as if life,
+after all, were a serious thing with her.
+
+“Whatever Mrs. Henderson does is sure to be right,” said Jack,
+gallantly.
+
+Carmen shot at him a quick sympathetic glance, tempered by a grateful
+smile. “There are so many points of view.”
+
+Jack felt the force of the remark as he did the revealing glance. And he
+had a swift vision of Miss Tavish leading him a serpentine dance, and of
+Carmen sweetly beckoning him to a pleasant point of view. After all it
+doesn't much matter. Everything is in the point of view.
+
+After dinner and cigars and cigarettes in the library, the talk dragged
+a little in duets. The dinner had been charming, the house was lovely,
+the company was most agreeable. All said that. It had been so somewhere
+else the night before that, and would be the next night. And the ennui
+of it all! No one expressed it, but Henderson could not help looking it,
+and Carmen saw it. That charming hostess had been devoting herself to
+Edith since dinner. She was so full of sympathy with the East-Side work,
+asked a hundred questions about it, and declared that she must take it
+up again. She would order a cage of canaries from that poor German for
+her kitchen. It was such a beautiful idea. But Edith did not believe in
+her one bit. She told Jack afterwards that “Mrs. Henderson cares no more
+for the poor of New York than she does for--”
+
+“Henderson?” suggested Jack.
+
+“Oh, I don't know anything about that. Henderson has only one idea--to
+get the better of everybody, and be the money king of New York. But I
+should not wonder if he had once a soft spot in his heart. He is better
+than she is.”
+
+It was still early, lacked half an hour of midnight, and the night was
+before them. Some one proposed the Conventional. “Yes,” said Carmen;
+“all come to our box.” The Van Dams would go, Miss Tavish, the Chesneys;
+the suggestion was a relief to everybody. Only Mr. Henderson pleaded
+important papers that must have his attention that night. Edith said
+that she was too tired, but that her desertion must not break up the
+party.
+
+“Then you will excuse me also,” said Jack, a little shade of
+disappointment in his face.
+
+“No, no,” said Edith, quickly; “you can drop me on the way. Go, by all
+means, Jack.”
+
+“Do you really want me to go, dear?” said Jack, aside.
+
+“Why of course; I want you to be happy.”
+
+And Jack recalled the loving look that accompanied these words, later
+on, as he sat in the Henderson box at the Conventional, between Carmen
+and Miss Tavish, and saw, through the slight haze of smoke, beyond the
+orchestra, the praiseworthy efforts of the Montana Kicker, who had
+just returned with the imprimatur of Paris, to relieve the ennui of the
+modern world.
+
+The complex affair we call the world requires a great variety of people
+to keep it going. At one o'clock in the morning Carmen and our friend
+Mr. Delancy and Miss Tavish were doing their part. Edith lay awake
+listening for Jack's return. And in an alley off Rivington Street a
+young girl, pretty once, unknown to fortune but not to fame, was about
+to render the last service she could to the world by leaving it.
+
+The impartial historian scarcely knows how to distribute his pathos. By
+the electric light (and that is the modern light) gayety is almost as
+pathetic as suffering. Before the Montana girl hit upon the happy device
+that gave her notoriety, her feet, whose every twinkle now was worth a
+gold eagle, had trod a thorny path. There was a fortune now in the whirl
+of her illusory robes, but any day--such are the whims of fashion--she
+might be wandering again, sick at heart, about the great city, knocking
+at the side doors of variety shows for any engagement that would give
+her a pittance of a few dollars a week. How long had Carmen waited on
+the social outskirts; and now she had come into her kingdom, was she
+anything but a tinsel queen? Even Henderson, the great Henderson, did
+the friends of his youth respect him? had he public esteem? Carmen used
+to cut out the newspaper paragraphs that extolled Henderson's domestic
+virtue and his generosity to his family, and show them to her lord, with
+a queer smile on her face. Miss Tavish, in the nervous consciousness of
+fleeting years, was she not still waiting, dashing here and there like a
+bird in a net for the sort of freedom, audacious as she was, that seemed
+denied her? She was still beautiful, everybody said, and she was sought
+and flattered, because she was always merry and good-natured. Why should
+Van Dam, speaking of women, say that there were horses that had been set
+up, and checked up and trained, that held their heads in an aristocratic
+fashion, moved elegantly, and showed style, long after the spirit had
+gone out of them? And Jack himself, happily married, with a comfortable
+income, why was life getting flat to him? What sort of career was it
+that needed the aid of Carmen and the serpentine dancer? And why not,
+since it is absolutely necessary that the world should be amused?
+
+We are in no other world when we enter the mean tenement in the alley
+off Rivington Street. Here also is the life of the town. The room is
+small, but it contains a cook-stove, a chest of drawers, a small table,
+a couple of chairs, and two narrow beds. On the top of the chest are
+a looking-glass, some toilet articles, and bottles of medicine. The
+cracked walls are bare and not clean. In one of the beds are two
+children, sleeping soundly, and on the foot of it is a middle-aged
+woman, in a soiled woolen gown with a thin figured shawl drawn about her
+shoulders, a dirty cap half concealing her frowzy hair; she looks tired
+and worn and sleepy. On the other bed lies a girl of twenty years, a
+woman in experience. The kerosene lamp on the stand at the head of the
+bed casts a spectral light on her flushed face, and the thin arms that
+are restlessly thrown outside the cover. By the bedside sits the doctor,
+patient, silent, and watchful. The doctor puts her hand caressingly
+on that of the girl. It is hot and dry. The girl opens her eyes with a
+startled look, and says, feebly:
+
+“Do you think he will come?”
+
+“Yes, dear, presently. He never fails.”
+
+The girl closed her eyes again, and there was silence. The dim rays of
+the lamp, falling upon the doctor, revealed the figure of a woman of
+less than medium size, perhaps of the age of thirty or more, a plain
+little body, you would have said, who paid the slightest possible
+attention to her dress, and when she went about the city was not to be
+distinguished from a working-woman. Her friends, indeed, said that she
+had not the least care for her personal appearance, and unless she was
+watched, she was sure to go out in her shabbiest gown and most battered
+hat. She wore tonight a brown ulster and a nondescript black bonnet
+drawn close down on her head and tied with black strings. In her lap
+lay her leathern bag, which she usually carried under her arm, that
+contained medicines, lint, bandages, smelling-salts, a vial of ammonia,
+and so on; to her patients it was a sort of conjurer's bag, out of which
+she could produce anything that an emergency called for.
+
+Dr. Leigh was not in the least nervous or excited. Indeed, an artist
+would not have painted her as a rapt angelic visitant to this abode of
+poverty. This contact with poverty and coming death was quite in her
+ordinary experience. It would never have occurred to her that she was
+doing anything unusual, any more than it would have occurred to the
+objects of her ministrations to overwhelm her with thanks. They trusted
+her, that was all. They met her always with a pleasant recognition. She
+belonged perhaps to their world. Perhaps they would have said that “Dr.
+Leigh don't handsome much,” but their idea was that her face was good.
+That was what anybody would have said who saw her tonight, “She has such
+a good face;” the face of a woman who knew the world, and perhaps was
+not very sanguine about it, had few illusions and few antipathies, but
+accepted it, and tried in her humble way to alleviate its hardships,
+without any consciousness of having a mission or making a sacrifice.
+
+Dr. Leigh--Miss Ruth Leigh--was Edith's friend. She had not come from
+the country with an exalted notion of being a worker among the poor
+about whom so much was written; she had not even descended from some
+high circle in the city into this world, moved by a restless enthusiasm
+for humanity. She was a woman of the people, to adopt a popular phrase.
+From her childhood she had known them, their wants, their sympathies,
+their discouragements; and in her heart--though you would not discover
+this till you had known her long and well--there was a burning sympathy
+with them, a sympathy born in her, and not assumed for the sake of
+having a career. It was this that had impelled her to get a medical
+education, which she obtained by hard labor and self-denial. To her this
+was not a means of livelihood, but simply that she might be of service
+to those all about her who needed help more than she did. She didn't
+believe in charity, this stout-hearted, clearheaded little woman; she
+meant to make everybody pay for her medical services who could pay; but
+somehow her practice was not lucrative, and the little salary she got
+as a dispensary doctor melted away with scarcely any perceptible
+improvement in her own wardrobe. Why, she needed nothing, going about as
+she did.
+
+She sat--now waiting for the end; and the good face, so full of sympathy
+for the living, had no hope in it. Just another human being had come
+to the end of her path--the end literally. It was so everyday. Somebody
+came to the end, and there was nothing beyond. Only it was the end, and
+that was peace. One o'clock--half-past one. The door opened softly. The
+old woman rose from the foot of the bed with a start and a low “Herr!
+gross Gott.” It was Father Damon. The girl opened her eyes with a
+frightened look at first, and then an eager appeal. Dr. Leigh rose to
+make room for him at the bedside. They bowed as he came forward, and
+their eyes met. She shook her head. In her eyes was no expectation, no
+hope. In his was the glow of faith. But the eyes of the girl rested upon
+his face with a rapt expression. It was as if an angel had entered the
+room.
+
+Father Damon was a young man, not yet past thirty, slender, erect.
+He had removed as he came in his broad-brimmed soft hat. The hair
+was close-cut, but not tonsured. He wore a brown cassock, falling in
+straight lines, and confined at the waist with a white cord. From
+his neck depended from a gold chain a large gold cross. His face was
+smooth-shaven, thin, intellectual, or rather spiritual; the nose long,
+the mouth straight, the eyes deep gray, sometimes dreamy and puzzling,
+again glowing with an inner fervor. A face of long vigils and the
+schooled calmness of repressed energy. You would say a fanatic of God,
+with a dash of self-consciousness. Dr. Leigh knew him well. They met
+often on their diverse errands, and she liked, when she could, to go to
+vespers in the little mission chapel of St. Anselm, where he ministered.
+It was not the confessional that attracted her, that was sure; perhaps
+not altogether the service, though that was soothing in certain moods;
+but it was the noble personality of Father Damon. He was devoted to the
+people as she was, he understood them; and for the moment their passion
+of humanity assumed the same aspect, though she knew that what he saw,
+or thought he saw, lay beyond her agnostic vision.
+
+Father Damon was an Englishman, a member of a London Anglican order, who
+had taken the three vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience, who had
+been for some years in New York, and had finally come to live on the
+East Side, where his work was. In a way he had identified himself with
+the people; he attended their clubs; he was a Christian socialist; he
+spoke on the inequalities of taxation; the strikers were pretty sure of
+his sympathy; he argued the injustice of the present ownership of land.
+Some said that he had joined a lodge of the Knights of Labor. Perhaps
+it was these things, quite as much as his singleness of purpose and his
+spiritual fervor, that drew Dr. Leigh to him with a feeling that verged
+on devotion. The ladies up-town, at whose tables Father Damon was an
+infrequent guest, were as fully in sympathy with this handsome and
+aristocratic young priest, and thought it beautiful that he should
+devote himself to the poor and the sinful; but they did not see why he
+should adopt their views.
+
+It was at the mission that Father Damon had first seen the girl. She had
+ventured in not long ago at twilight, with her cough and her pale face,
+in a silk gown and flower-garden of a hat, and crept into one of the
+confessional boxes, and told him her story.
+
+“Do you think, Father,” said the girl, looking up wistfully, “that I
+can--can be forgiven?”
+
+Father Damon looked down sadly, pitifully. “Yes, my daughter, if you
+repent. It is all with our Father. He never refuses.”
+
+He knelt down, with his cross in his hand, and in a low voice repeated
+the prayer for the dying. As the sweet, thrilling voice went on in
+supplication the girl's eyes closed again, and a sweet smile played
+about her mouth; it was the innocent smile of the little girl long ago,
+when she might have awakened in the morning and heard the singing of
+birds at her window.
+
+When Father Damon arose she seemed to be sleeping. They all stood in
+silence for a moment.
+
+“You will remain?” he asked the doctor.
+
+“Yes,” she said, with the faintest wan smile on her face. “It is I, you
+know, who have care of the body.”
+
+At the door he turned and said, quite low, “Peace be to this house!”
+
+
+
+
+VI
+
+Father Damon came dangerously near to being popular. The austerity
+of his life and his known self-chastening vigils contributed to this
+effect. His severely formal, simple ecclesiastical dress, coarse in
+material but perfect in its saintly lines, separated him from the world
+in which he moved so unostentatiously and humbly, and marked him as
+one who went about doing good. His life was that of self-absorption and
+hardship, mortification of the body, denial of the solicitation of the
+senses, struggling of the spirit for more holiness of purpose--a life
+of supplication for the perishing souls about him. And yet he was so
+informed with the modern spirit that he was not content, as a zealot
+formerly might have been, to snatch souls out of the evil that is in
+the world, but he strove to lessen the evil. He was a reformer. It was
+probably this feature of his activity, and not his spiritual mission,
+that attracted to him the little group of positivists on the East
+Side, the demagogues of the labor lodges, the practical workers of the
+working-girls' clubs, and the humanitarian agnostics like Dr. Leigh,
+who were literally giving their lives without the least expectation of
+reward. Even the refined ethical-culture groups had no sneer for Father
+Damon. The little chapel of St. Anselm was well known. It was always
+open. It was plain, but its plainness was not the barrenness of a
+non-conformist chapel. There were two confessionals; a great bronze lamp
+attached to one of the pillars scarcely dispelled the obscurity, but
+cast an unnatural light upon the gigantic crucifix that hung from a
+beam in front of the chancel. There were half a dozen rows of backless
+benches in the centre of the chapel. The bronze lamp, and the candles
+always burning upon the altar, rather accented than dissipated the heavy
+shadows in the vaulted roof. At no hour was it empty, but at morning
+prayer and at vespers the benches were apt to be filled, and groups
+of penitents or spectators were kneeling or standing on the floor. At
+vespers there were sure to be carriages in front of the door, and among
+the kneeling figures were ladies who brought into these simple services
+for the poor something of the refinement of grace as it is in the higher
+circles. Indeed, at the hour set apart for confession, there were in the
+boxes saints from up-town as well as sinners from the slums. Sometimes
+the sinners were from up-town and the saints from the slums.
+
+When the organ sounded, and through a low door in the chancel the priest
+entered, preceded by a couple of acolytes, and advanced swiftly to the
+reading-desk, there was an awed hush in the congregation. One would not
+dare to say that there was a sentimental feeling for the pale face and
+rapt expression of the devotee. It was more than that. He had just come
+from some scene of suffering, from the bed of one dying; he was weary
+with watching. He was faint with lonely vigils; he was visibly carrying
+the load of the poor and the despised. Even Ruth Leigh, who had dropped
+in for half an hour in one of her daily rounds--even Ruth Leigh, who had
+in her stanch, practical mind a contempt for forms and rituals, and
+no faith in anything that she could not touch, and who at times was
+indignant at the efforts wasted over the future of souls concerning
+which no one knew anything, when there were so many bodies, which had
+inherited disease and poverty and shame, going to worldly wreck before
+so-called Christian eyes--even she could scarcely keep herself from
+adoring this self-sacrificing spirit. The woes of humanity grieved
+him as they grieved her, and she used to say she did not care what he
+believed so long as he gave his life for the needy.
+
+It was when he advanced to the altar-rail to speak that the man best
+appeared. His voice, which was usually low and full of melody, could be
+something terrible when it rose in denunciation of sin. Those who had
+traveled said that he had the manner of a preaching friar--the simple
+language, so refined and yet so homely and direct, the real, the
+inspired word, the occasional hastening torrent of words. When he had
+occasion to address one of the societies of ladies for the promotion of
+something among the poor, his style and manner were simplicity itself.
+One might have said there was a shade of contempt in his familiar and
+not seldom slightly humorous remarks upon society and its aims and
+aspirations, about which he spoke plainly and vigorously. And this was
+what the ladies liked. Especially when he referred to the pitifulness
+of class distinctions, in the light of the example of our Lord, in our
+short pilgrimage in this world. This unveiling and denunciation made
+them somehow feel nearer to their work, and, indeed, while they sat
+there, co-workers with this apostle of righteousness.
+
+Perhaps there was something in the priestly dress that affected not only
+the congregation in the chapel, but all the neighborhood in which Father
+Damon lived. There was in the long robe, with its feminine lines, an
+assurance to the women that he was set apart and not as others
+were; and, on the other hand, the semi-feminine suggestion of the
+straight-falling garment may have had for the men a sort of appeal for
+defense and even protection. It is certain, at any rate, that Father
+Damon had the confidence of high and low, rich and poor. The forsaken
+sought him out, the hungry went to him, the dying sent for him, the
+criminal knocked at the door of his little room, even the rich reprobate
+would have opened his bad heart to him sooner than to any one else. It
+is evident, therefore, that Father Damon was dangerously near to being
+popular. Human vanity will feed on anything within its reach, and there
+has been discovered yet no situation that will not minister to its
+growth. Suffering perhaps it prefers, and contumely and persecution.
+Are not opposition, despiteful anger, slander even, rejection of men,
+stripes even, if such there could be in these days, manna to the devout
+soul consciously set apart for a mission? But success, obsequiousness,
+applause, the love of women, the concurrent good opinion of all
+humanitarians, are these not almost as dangerous as persecution? Father
+Damon, though exalted in his calling, and filled with a burning zeal,
+was a sincere man, and even his eccentricities of saintly conduct
+expressed to his mind only the high purpose of self-sacrifice. Yet he
+saw, he could not but see, the spiritual danger in this rising tide of
+adulation. He fought against its influence, he prayed against it, he
+tried to humiliate himself, and his very humiliations increased the
+adulation. He was perplexed, almost ashamed, and examined himself to
+see how it was that he himself seemed to be thwarting his own work.
+Sometimes he withdrew from it for a week together, and buried himself in
+a retreat in the upper part of the island. Alas! did ever a man escape
+himself in a retreat? It made him calm for the moment. But why was it,
+he asked himself, that he had so many followers, his religion so few?
+Why was it, he said, that all the humanitarians, the reformers, the
+guilds, the ethical groups, the agnostics, the male and female knights,
+sustained him, and only a few of the poor and friendless knocked, by his
+solicitation, at the supernatural door of life? How was it that a woman
+whom he encountered so often, a very angel of mercy, could do the things
+he was doing, tramping about in the misery and squalor of the great city
+day and night, her path unilluminated by a ray from the future life?
+
+Perhaps he had been remiss in his duty. Perhaps he was letting a vague
+philanthropy take the place of a personal solicitude for individual
+souls. The elevation of the race! What had the land question to do with
+the salvation of man? Suppose everybody on the East Side should become
+as industrious, as self-denying, as unselfish as Ruth Leigh, and yet
+without belief, without hope! He had accepted the humanitarian situation
+with her, and never had spoken to her of the eternal life. What
+unfaithfulness to his mission and to her! It should be so no longer.
+
+It was after one of his weeks of retreat, at the close of vesper
+service, that Dr. Leigh came to him. He had been saying in his little
+talk that poverty is no excuse for irreligion, and that all aid in the
+hardship of this world was vain and worthless unless the sinner laid
+hold on eternal life. Dr. Leigh, who was laboring with a serious
+practical problem, heard this coldly, and with a certain contempt for
+what seemed to her a vague sort of consolation.
+
+“Well,” he said, when she came to him in the vestry, with a drop from
+the rather austere manner in which he had spoken, “what can I do for
+you?”
+
+“For me, nothing, Father Damon. I thought perhaps you would go round
+with me to see a pretty bad case. It is in your parish.”
+
+“Ah, did they send for me? Do they want spiritual help?”
+
+“First the natural, then the spiritual,” she replied, with a slight tone
+of sarcasm in her voice. “That's just like a priest,” she was thinking.
+“I do not know what to do, and something must be done.”
+
+“Did you report to the Associated Charities?”
+
+“Yes. But there's a hitch somewhere. The machine doesn't take hold. The
+man says he doesn't want any charity, any association, treating him
+like a pauper. He's off peddling; but trade is bad, and he's been away a
+week. I'm afraid he drinks a little.”
+
+“Well?”
+
+“The mother is sick in bed. I found her trying to do some fine
+stitching, but she was too weak to hold up the muslin. There are five
+young children. The family never has had help before.”
+
+Father Damon put on his hat, and they went out together, and for some
+time picked their way along the muddy streets in silence.
+
+At length he asked, in a softened voice, “Is the mother a Christian?”
+
+“I didn't ask,” she replied shortly. “I found her crying because the
+children were hungry.”
+
+Father Damon, still under the impression of his neglect of duty, did not
+heed her warning tone, but persisted, “You have so many opportunities,
+Dr. Leigh, in your visits of speaking a word.”
+
+“About what?” she asked, refusing to understand, and hardened at the
+slightest sign of what she called cant.
+
+“About the necessity of repentance and preparation for another life,” he
+answered, softly but firmly. “You surely do not think human beings are
+created just for this miserable little experience here?”
+
+“I don't know. I have too much to do with the want and suffering I
+see to raise anxieties about a world of which no one can possibly know
+anything.”
+
+“Pardon me,” he persisted, “have you no sense of incompleteness in
+this life, in your own life? no inward consciousness of an undying
+personality?”
+
+The doctor was angry for a moment at this intrusion. It had seemed
+natural enough for Father Damon to address his exhortations to the poor
+and sinful of his mission. She admired his spirit, she had a certain
+sympathy with him; for who could say that ministering to minds diseased
+might not have a physical influence to lift these people into a more
+decent and prosperous way of living? She had thought of herself as
+working with him to a common end. But for him now to turn upon her,
+absolutely ignoring the solid, rational, and scientific ground on which
+he knew, or should know, she stood, and to speak to her as one of the
+“lost,” startled her, and filled her with indignation. She had on her
+lips a sarcastic reply to the effect that even if she had a soul, she
+had not taken up her work in the city as a means of saving it; but
+she was not given to sarcasm, and before she spoke she looked at her
+companion, and saw in the eyes a look of such genuine humble feeling,
+contradicting the otherwise austere expression of his face, that her
+momentary bitterness passed away.
+
+“I think, Father Damon,” she said, gently, “we had better not talk
+of that. I don't have much time for theorizing, you know, nor much
+inclination,” she added.
+
+The priest saw that for the present he could make no progress, and after
+a little silence the conversation went back to the family they were
+about to visit.
+
+They found the woman better--at least, more cheerful. Father Damon
+noticed that there were medicines upon the stand, and that there were
+the remains of a meal which the children had been eating. He turned to
+the doctor. “I see that you have been providing for them.”
+
+“Oh, the eldest boy had already been out and begged a piece of bread
+when I came. Of course they had to have something more at once. But it
+is very little that I can do.”
+
+He sat down by the bed, and talked with the mother, getting her story,
+while the doctor tidied up the room a bit, and then, taking the youngest
+child in her lap and drawing the others about her, began to tell a story
+in a low voice. Presently she was aware that the priest was on his knees
+and saying a prayer. She stopped in her story, and looked out through
+the dirty window into the chill and dark area.
+
+“What is he doing?” whispered one of the children.
+
+“I don't know,” she said, and a sort of chill came over her heart. It
+all seemed a mockery, in these surroundings.
+
+When he rose he said to the woman, “We will see that you do not want
+till your husband comes back.”
+
+“And I will look in tomorrow,” said the doctor.
+
+When they were in the street, Father Damon thanked her for calling his
+attention to the case, thanked her a little formally, and said that
+he would make inquiries and have it properly attended to. And then he
+asked: “Is your work ended for the day? You must be tired.”
+
+“Oh, no; I have several visits to make. I'm not tired. I rather think it
+is good for me, being out-of-doors so much.” She thanked him, and said
+good-by.
+
+For a moment he stood and watched the plain, resolute little woman
+threading her way through the crowded and unclean street, and then
+slowly walked away to his apartment, filled with sadness and perplexity.
+
+The apartment which he occupied was not far from the mission chapel,
+and it was the one clean spot among the ill-kept tenements; but as to
+comfort, it was not much better than the cell of an anchorite. Of this,
+however, he was not thinking as he stretched himself out on his pallet
+to rest a little from the exhausting labors of the day. Probably it did
+not occur to him that his self-imposed privations lessened his strength
+for his work.
+
+He was thinking of Ruth Leigh. What a rare soul! And yet apparently she
+did not think or care whether she had a soul. What could be the spring
+of her incessant devotion? If ever woman went about doing good in an
+unselfish spirit it was she. Yet she confessed her work hopeless. She
+had no faith, no belief in immortality, no expectation of any reward,
+nothing to offer to anybody beyond this poor life. Was this the
+enthusiasm of humanity, of which he heard so much? But she did not seem
+to have any illusions, or to be burned up by enthusiasm. She just kept
+on. Ah, he thought, what a woman she would be if she were touched by the
+fire of faith!
+
+Meantime, Ruth Leigh went on her round. One day was like another, except
+that every day the kaleidoscope of misery showed new combinations,
+new phases of suffering and incompetence, and there was always a fresh
+interest in that. For years now this had been her life, in the chill of
+winter and the heat of summer, without rest or vacation. The amusements,
+the social duties, the allurements of dress and society, that so much
+occupied the thoughts of other women, did not seem to come into her
+life. For books she had little time, except the books of her specialty.
+The most exciting novels were pale compared with her daily experiences
+of real life. Almost her only recreation was a meeting of the
+working-girls, a session of her labor lodge, or an assembly at the
+Cooper Union, where some fiery orator, perhaps a priest, or a clever
+agitator, a working-man glib of speech, who had a mass of statistics at
+the end of his tongue, who read and discussed, in some private club of
+zealots of humanity, metaphysics, psychology, and was familiar with the
+whole literature of labor and socialism, awoke the enthusiasm of the
+discontented or the unemployed, and where men and women, in clear but
+homely speech, told their individual experiences of wrong and injustice.
+There was evidence in all these demonstrations and organizations that
+the world was moving, and that the old order must change.
+
+Years and years the little woman had gone on with her work, and she
+frankly confessed to Edith, one day when they were together going her
+rounds, that she could see no result from it all. The problem of poverty
+and helplessness and incapacity seemed to her more hopeless than when
+she began. There might be a little enlightenment here and there, but
+there was certainly not less misery. The state of things was worse than
+she thought at first; but one thing cheered her: the people were better
+than she thought. They might be dull and suspicious in the mass, but she
+found so much patience, unselfishness, so many people of good hearts and
+warm affections.
+
+“They are the people,” she said, “I should choose for friends. They are
+natural, unsophisticated. And do you know,” she went on, “that what most
+surprises me is the number of reading, thoughtful people among those
+who do manual labor. I doubt if on your side of town the best books, the
+real fundamental and abstruse books, are so read and discussed, or the
+philosophy of life is so seriously considered, as in certain little
+circles of what you call the working-classes.”
+
+“Isn't it all very revolutionary?” asked Edith.
+
+“Perhaps,” replied the doctor, dryly. “But they have no more fads than
+other people. Their theories seem to them not only practical, but they
+try to apply them to actual legislation; at any rate, they discriminate
+in vagaries. You would have been amused the other night in a small
+circle at the lamentations over a member--he was a car-driver--who was
+the authoritative expositor of Schopenhauer, because he had gone off
+into Theosophy. It showed such weakness.”
+
+“I have heard that the members of that circle were Nihilists.”
+
+“The club has not that name, but probably the members would not care
+to repudiate the title, or deny that they were Nihilists
+theoretically--that is, if Nihilism means an absolute social and
+political overturning in order that something better may be built up.
+And, indeed, if you see what a hopeless tangle our present situation is,
+where else can the mind logically go?”
+
+“It is pitiful enough,” Edith admitted. “But all this movement you speak
+of seems to me a vague agitation.”
+
+“I don't think,” the doctor said, after a moment, “that you appreciate
+the intellectual force that is in it all, or allow for the fermenting
+power in the great discontented mass of these radical theories on the
+problem of life.”
+
+This was a specimen of the sort of talk that Edith and the doctor often
+drifted into in their mission work. As Ruth Leigh tramped along late
+this afternoon in the slush of the streets, from one house of sickness
+and poverty to another, a sense of her puny efforts in this great mass
+of suffering and injustice came over her anew. Her indignation rose
+against the state of things. And Father Damon, who was trying to save
+souls, was he accomplishing anything more than she? Why had he been so
+curt with her when she went to him for help this afternoon? Was he just
+a narrow-minded, bigoted priest? A few nights before she had heard him
+speak on the single tax at a labor meeting. She recalled his eloquence,
+his profound sympathy with the cause of the people, the thrilling,
+pathetic voice, the illumination of his countenance, the authority, the
+consecration in his attitude and dress; and he was transfigured to her
+then, as he was now in her thought, into an apostle of humanity. Alas!
+she thought, what a leader he would be if he would break loose from his
+superstitious traditions!
+
+
+
+
+VII
+
+The acquaintance between the house of Henderson and the house of Delancy
+was not permitted to languish. Jack had his reasons for it, which may
+have been financial, and Carmen had her reasons, which were probably
+purely social. What was the good of money if it did not bring social
+position? and what, on the other hand, was the good of social position
+if you could not use it to get money?
+
+In his recent association with the newly rich, Jack's twenty thousand
+a year began to seem small. In fact, in the lowering of the rate of
+interest and the shrinkage of securities, it was no longer twenty
+thousand a year. This would have been a matter of little consequence
+in the old order. His lot was not cast among the poor; most of his
+relations had solid fortunes, and many of them were millionaires, or
+what was equivalent to that, before the term was invented. But they made
+little display; none at all merely for the purpose of exhibition, or to
+gain or keep social place. In this atmosphere in which he was born Jack
+floated along without effort, with no demand upon him to keep up with
+a rising standard of living. Even impecuniosity, though inconvenient,
+would not have made him lose caste.
+
+All this was changing now. Since the introduction of a new element even
+the conservative old millions had begun to feel the stir of uneasiness,
+and to launch out into extravagance in rivalry with the new millions.
+Even with his relations Jack began to feel that he was poor. It did not
+spur him to do anything, to follow the example, for instance, of the
+young fellows from the country, who were throwing themselves into Wall
+Street with the single purpose of becoming suddenly rich, but it made
+him uneasy. And when he was with the Hendersons, or Miss Tavish,
+whose father, though not newly rich, was one of the most aggressive
+of speculators, and saw how easily every luxurious desire glided into
+fulfillment, he felt for the first time in his life the emotion of
+envy. It seemed then that only unlimited money could make the world
+attractive. Why, even to keep up with the unthinking whims of Miss
+Tavish would bankrupt him in six months. That little spread at Wherry's
+for the theatre party the other night, though he made light of it to
+Edith, was almost the price he couldn't afford to pay for Storm. He had
+a grim thought that midwinter flowers made dining as expensive as dying.
+Carmen, whom nothing escaped, complimented him on his taste, quite aware
+that he couldn't afford it, and, apropos, told him of a lady in Chicago
+who, hearing that the fashion had changed, wrote on her dinner cards,
+“No flowers.” It was only a matter of course for these people to build a
+new country-house in any spot that fashion for the moment indicated, to
+equip their yachts for a Mediterranean voyage or for loitering down the
+Southern coast, to give a ball that was the talk of the town, to make up
+a special train of luxurious private cars for Mexico or California. Even
+at the clubs the talk was about these things and the opportunities for
+getting them.
+
+There was a rumor about town that Henderson was a good deal extended.
+It alarmed a hundred people, not on Henderson's account, but their own.
+When one of them consulted Uncle Jerry, that veteran smiled.
+
+“Oh, I guess Henderson's all right. But I wouldn't wonder if it meant a
+squeeze. Of course if he's extended, it's an excuse for settling up, and
+the shorts will squeal. I've seen Henderson extended a good many times,”
+ and the old man laughed. “Don't you worry about him.”
+
+This opinion, when reported, did not seem to quiet Jack's fears, who
+saw his own little venture at the mercy of a sweeping Street game. It
+occurred to him that he possibly might get a little light on the matter
+by dropping in that afternoon and taking a quiet cup of tea with Mrs.
+Henderson.
+
+He found her in the library. Outdoors winter was slouching into spring
+with a cold drizzle, with a coating of ice on the pavements-animating
+weather for the medical profession. Within, there was the glow of warmth
+and color that Carmen liked to create for herself. In an entrancing
+tea-gown, she sat by a hickory fire, with a fresh magazine in one hand
+and a big paper-cutter in the other. She rose at Jack's entrance, and,
+extending her hand, greeted him with a most cordial smile. It was
+so good of him! She was so lonesome! He could himself see that the
+lonesomeness was dissipated, as she seated him in a comfortable chair
+by the fire, and then stood a moment looking at him, as if studying his
+comfort. She was such a domestic woman!
+
+“You look tired, monsieur,” she said, as she passed behind his chair and
+rested the tip of her forefinger for a second on his head. “I shall make
+you a cup of tea at once.”
+
+“Not tired, but bothered,” said Jack, stretching out his legs.
+
+“I know,” she replied; “it's a bothering world.” She was still behind
+him, and spoke low, but with sympathy. “I remember, it's only one lump.”
+
+He could feel her presence, so womanly and friendly. “I don't care what
+people say,” he was thinking, “she's a good-hearted little thing,
+and understands men.” He felt that he could tell her anything,
+almost anything that he could tell a man. She was sympathetic and not
+squeamish.
+
+“There,” she said, handing him the tea and looking down on him.
+
+The cup was dainty, the fragrance of the tea delicious, the woman
+exquisite.
+
+“I'm better already,” said Jack, with a laugh.
+
+She made a cup for herself, handed him the cigarettes, lit one for
+herself, and sat on a low stool not far from him.
+
+“Now what is it?”
+
+“Oh, nothing--a little business worry. Have you heard any Street rumor?”
+
+“Rumor?” she repeated, with a little start. And then, leaning forward,
+“Do you mean that about Mr. Henderson in the morning papers?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+Carmen, relieved, gave a liquid little laugh, and then said, with a
+change to earnestness: “I'm going to trust you, my friend. Henderson
+put it in himself! He told me so this morning when I asked him about it.
+This is just between ourselves.”
+
+Jack said, “Of course,” but he did not look relieved. The clever
+creature divined the situation without another word, for there was no
+turn in the Street that she was not familiar with. But there was no
+apparent recognition of it, except in her sympathetic tone, when she
+said: “Well, the world is full of annoyances. I'm bothered myself--and
+such a little thing.”
+
+“What is it?”
+
+“Oh nothing, not even a rumor. You cannot do anything about it. I
+don't know why I should tell you. But I will.” And she paused a moment,
+looking down in an innocent perplexity. “It's just this: I am on the
+Foundlings' Board with Mrs. Schuyler Blunt, and I don't know her, and
+you can't think how awkward it is having to meet her every week in that
+stiff kind of way.” She did not go on to confide to Jack how she had
+intrigued to get on the board, and how Mrs. Schuyler Blunt, in the most
+well-bred manner, had practically ignored her.
+
+“She's an old friend of mine.”
+
+“Indeed! She's a charming woman.”
+
+“Yes. We were great cronies when she was Sadie Mack. She isn't a genius,
+but she is good-hearted. I suppose she is on all the charity boards in
+the city. She patronizes everything,” Jack continued, with a smile.
+
+“I'm sure she is,” said Carmen, thinking that however good-hearted she
+might be she was very “snubby.” “And it makes it all the more awkward,
+for I am interested in so many things myself.”
+
+“I can arrange all that,” Jack said, in an off-hand way. Carmen's look
+of gratitude could hardly be distinguished from affection. “That's easy
+enough. We are just as good friends as ever, though I fancy she doesn't
+altogether approve of me lately. It's rather nice for a fellow, Mrs.
+Henderson, to have a lot of women keeping him straight, isn't it?” asked
+Jack, in the tone of a bad boy.
+
+“Yes. Between us all we will make a model of you. I am so glad now that
+I told you.”
+
+Jack protested that it was nothing. Why shouldn't friends help each
+other? Why not, indeed, said Carmen, and the talk went on a good deal
+about friendship, and the possibility of it between a man and a woman.
+This sort of talk is considered serious and even deep, not to say
+philosophic. Carmen was a great philosopher in it. She didn't know, but
+she believed, it seemed natural, that every woman should have one man
+friend. Jack rose to go.
+
+“So soon?” And it did seem pathetically soon. She gave him her hand, and
+then by an impulse she put her left hand over his, and looked up to him
+in quite a business way.
+
+“Mr. Delancy, don't you be troubled about that rumor we were speaking
+of. It will be all right. Trust me.”
+
+He understood perfectly, and expressed both his understanding and his
+gratitude by bending over and kissing the little hand that lay in his.
+
+When he had gone, Carmen sat a long time by the fire reflecting. It
+would be sweet to humiliate the Delancy and Schuyler Blunt set, as
+Henderson could. But what would she gain by that? It would be sweeter
+still to put them under obligations, and profit by that. She had endured
+a good many social rebuffs in her day, this tolerant little woman, and
+the sting of their memory could only be removed when the people who had
+ignored her had to seek social favors she could give. If Henderson only
+cared as much for such things as she did! But he was at times actually
+brutal about it. He seemed to have only one passion. She herself liked
+money, but only for what it would bring. Henderson was like an old
+Pharaoh, who was bound to build the biggest pyramid ever built to his
+memory; he hated to waste a block. But what was the good of that when
+one had passed beyond the reach of envy?
+
+Revolving these deep things in her mind, she went to her dressing-room
+and made an elaborate toilet for dinner. Yet it was elaborately simple.
+That sort needed more study than the other. She would like to be the
+Carmen of ten years ago in Henderson's eyes.
+
+Her lord came home late, and did not dress for dinner. It was often
+so, and the omission was usually not allowed to pass by Carmen without
+notice, to which Henderson was sure to growl that he didn't care to be
+always on dress parade. Tonight Carmen was all graciousness and warmth.
+Henderson did not seem to notice it. He ate his dinner abstractedly, and
+responded only in monosyllables to her sweet attempts at conversation.
+The fact was that the day had been a perplexing one; he was engaged in
+one of his big fights, a scheme that aroused all his pugnacity and taxed
+all his resources. He would win--of course; he would smash everybody,
+but he would win. When he was in this mood Carmen felt that she was like
+a daisy in the path of a cyclone. In the first year of their marriage
+he used to consult her about all his schemes, and value her keen
+understanding. She wondered why he did not now. Did he distrust even
+her, as he did everybody else? Tonight she asked no questions. She was
+unruffled by his short responses to her conversational attempts; by her
+subtle, wifely manner she simply put herself on his side, whatever the
+side was.
+
+In the library she brought him his cigar, and lighted it. She saw that
+his coffee was just as he liked it. As she moved about, making things
+homelike, Henderson noticed that she was more Carmenish than he had
+seen her in a long time. The sweet ways and the simple toilet must be by
+intention. And he knew her so well. He began to be amused and softened.
+At length he said, in his ordinary tone, “Well, what is it?”
+
+“What is what, dear?”
+
+“What do you want?”
+
+Carmen looked perplexed and sweetly surprised. There is nothing so
+pitiful about habitual hypocrisy as that it never deceives anybody. It
+was not the less painful now that Carmen knew that Henderson knew her to
+the least fibre of her self-seeking soul, and that she felt that there
+were currents in his life that she could not calculate. A man is so much
+more difficult to understand than a woman, she reflected. And yet he
+is so susceptible that he can be managed even when he knows he is being
+managed. Carmen was not disconcerted for a moment. She replied, with her
+old candor:
+
+“What an idea! You give me everything I want before I know what it is.”
+
+“And before I know it either,” he responded, with a grim smile. “Well,
+what is the news today?”
+
+“Just the same old round. The Foundlings' Board, for one thing.”
+
+“Are you interested in foundlings?”
+
+“Not much,” said Carmen, frankly. “I'm interested in those that find
+them. I told you how hateful that Mrs. Schuyler Blunt is.”
+
+“Why don't you cut her? Why don't you make it uncomfortable for her?”
+
+“I can't find out,” she said, with a laugh, dropping into the language
+of the Street, “anything she is short in, or I would.”
+
+“And you want me to get a twist on old Blunt?” and Henderson roared with
+laughter at the idea.
+
+“No, indeed. Dear, you are just a goose, socially. It is nothing to you,
+but you don't understand what we women have to go through. You don't
+know how hard it is--that woman!”
+
+“What has she done?”
+
+“Nothing. That's just it. What do you say in the Street--freeze? Well,
+she is trying to freeze me out.”
+
+Henderson laughed again. “Oh, I'll back you against the field.”
+
+“I don't want to be backed,” said Carmen; “I want some sympathy.”
+
+“Well, what is your idea?”
+
+“I was going to tell you. Mr. Delancy dropped in this afternoon for a
+cup of tea--”
+
+“Oh!”
+
+“Yes, and he knows Mrs. Schuyler Blunt well; they are old friends, and
+he is going to arrange it.”
+
+“Arrange what?”
+
+“Why, smooth everything out, don't you know. But, Rodney, I do want you
+to do something for me; not for me exactly, but about this. Won't you
+look out for Mr. Delancy in this deal?”
+
+“Seems to me you are a good deal interested in Jack Delancy,” said
+Henderson, in a sneering tone. The remark was a mistake, for it gave
+Carmen the advantage, and he did not believe it was just. He knew that
+Carmen was as passionless as a diamond, whatever even she might pretend
+for a purpose.
+
+“Aren't you ashamed!” she cried, with indignation, and her eyes flared
+for an instant and then filled with tears. “And I try so hard.”
+
+“But I can't look out for all the lame ducks.”
+
+“He isn't a duck,” said Carmen, using her handkerchief; “I'd hate him
+for a duck. It's just to help me, when you know, when you know--and it
+is so hard,” and the tears came again.
+
+Did Henderson believe? After all, what did it matter? Perhaps, after
+all, the woman had a right to her game, as he had to his.
+
+“Oh, well,” he said, “don't take on about it. I'll fix it. I'll make a
+memorandum this minute. Only don't you bother me in the future with too
+many private kites.”
+
+Carmen dried her eyes. She did not look triumphant; she just looked
+sweet and grateful, like a person who had been helped. She went over and
+kissed her lord on the forehead, and sat on the arm of his chair, not
+too long, and then patted him on the shoulder, and said he was a good
+fellow, and she was a little bother, and so went away like a dutiful
+little wife.
+
+And Henderson sat looking into the fire and musing, with the feeling
+that he had been at the theatre, and that the comedy had been
+beautifully played.
+
+His part of the play was carried out next day in good faith. One of the
+secrets of Henderson's success was that he always did what he said he
+would do. This attracted men to him personally, and besides he found,
+as Bismarck did, that it was more serviceable to him than lying, for the
+crafty world usually banks upon insincerity and indirectness. But while
+he kept his word he also kept his schemes to himself, and executed them
+with a single regard to his own interest and a Napoleonic selfishness.
+He did not lie to enemy or friend, but he did not spare either when
+either was in his way. He knew how to appeal to the self-interest of his
+fellows, and in time those who had most to do with him trusted him least
+when he seemed most generous in his offers.
+
+When, the next day, his secretary reported to him briefly that Delancy
+was greatly elated with the turn things had taken for him, and was going
+in again, Henderson smiled sardonically, and said, “It was the worst
+thing I could have done for him.”
+
+Jack, who did not understand the irony of his temporary rescue, and
+had little experience of commercial integrity, so called, was intent on
+fulfilling his part of the understanding with Carmen. This could best be
+effected by a return dinner to the Hendersons. The subject was broached
+at breakfast in an off-hand manner to Edith.
+
+It was not an agreeable subject to Edith, that was evident; but it was
+not easy for her to raise objections to the dinner. She had gone to
+the Hendersons' to please Jack, in her policy of yielding in order to
+influence him; but having accepted the hospitality, she could not object
+to returning it. The trouble was in making the list.
+
+“I do not know,” said Edith, “who are the Hendersons' friends.”
+
+“Oh, that doesn't matter. Ask our friends. If we are going to do a thing
+to please them, no use in doing it half-way, so as to offend them, by
+drawing social lines against them.”
+
+“Well, suggest.”
+
+“There's Mavick; he'll be over from Washington next week.”
+
+“That's good; and, oh, I'll ask Father Damon.”
+
+“Yes; he'll give a kind of flavor to it. I shouldn't wonder if he would
+like to meet such a man as Henderson.”
+
+“And then the Van Dams and Miss Tavish; they were at Henderson's, and
+would help to make it easy.”
+
+“Yes; well, let's see. The Schuyler Blunts?”
+
+“Oh, they wouldn't do at all. They wouldn't come. She wouldn't think of
+going to the Hendersons'.”
+
+“But she would come to us. I don't think she would mind once in a way.”
+
+“But why do you want them?”
+
+“I don't want them particularly; but it would no doubt please the
+Hendersons more than any other thing we could do-and, well, I don't want
+to offend Henderson just now. It's a little thing, anyway. What's the
+use of all this social nonsense? We are not responsible for either the
+Hendersons or the Blunts being in the world. No harm done if they don't
+come. You invite them, and I'll take the responsibility.”
+
+So it was settled, against Edith's instinct of propriety, and the dinner
+was made up by the addition of the elder Miss Chesney. And Jack did
+persuade Mrs. Blunt to accept. In fact, she had a little curiosity to
+see the man whose name was in the newspapers more prominently than that
+of the President.
+
+It was a bright thought to secure Mr. Mavick. Mr. Thomas Mavick was
+socially one of the most desirable young men of the day. Matrimonially
+he was not a prize, for he was without fortune and without powerful
+connections. He had a position in the State Department. Originally he
+came from somewhere in the West, it was said, but he had early obtained
+one or two minor diplomatic places; he had lived a good deal abroad; he
+had traveled a little--a good deal, it would seem, from his occasional
+Oriental allusions. He threw over his past a slight mystery, not too
+much; and he always took himself seriously. His salary was sufficient to
+set up a bachelor very comfortably who always dined out; he dressed in
+the severity of the fashion; he belonged only to the best clubs, where
+he unbent more than anywhere else; he was credited with knowing a good
+deal more than he would tell. It was believed, in fact, that he had a
+great deal of influence. The President had been known to send for him on
+delicate personal business with regard to appointments, and there were
+certain ticklish diplomatic transactions that he was known to have
+managed most cleverly. His friends could see his hand in state papers.
+This he disclaimed, but he never denied that he knew the inside of
+whatever was going on in Washington. Even those who thought him a snob
+said he was clever. He had perfectly the diplomatic manner, and the
+reserve of one charged with grave secrets. Whatever he disclosed was
+always in confidence, so that he had the reputation of being as discreet
+as he was knowing. With women he was of course a favorite, for he knew
+how to be confidential without disclosing anything, and the hints
+he dropped about persons in power simply showed that he was secretly
+manoeuvring important affairs, and could make the most interesting
+revelations if he chose. His smile and the shake of his head at the club
+when talk was personal conveyed a world of meaning. Tom Mavick was, in
+short, a most accomplished fellow. It was evident that he carried on
+the State Department, and the wonder to many was that he was not in a
+position to do it openly. His social prestige was as mysterious as his
+diplomatic, but it was now unquestioned, and he might be considered as
+one of the first of a class who are to reconcile social and political
+life in this country.
+
+
+
+
+VIII
+
+Looking back upon this dinner of the Delancys, the student of human
+affairs can see how Providence uses small means for the accomplishment
+of its purposes. Of all our social contrivances, the formal dinner is
+probably the cause of more anxiety in the arrangement, of more weariness
+in the performance, and usually of less satisfaction in the retrospect
+than any other social function. However carefully the guests are
+selected, it lacks the spontaneity that gives intellectual zest to the
+chance dining together of friends. This Delancy party was made up for
+reasons which are well understood, and it seemed to have been admirably
+well selected; and yet the moment it assembled it was evident that it
+could not be very brilliant or very enjoyable. Doubtless you, madam,
+would have arranged it differently, and not made it up of such
+incongruous elements.
+
+As a matter of fact, scarcely one of those present would not have had
+more enjoyment somewhere else. Father Damon, whose theory was that the
+rich needed saving quite as much as the poor, would nevertheless
+have been in better spirits sitting down to a collation with the
+working-women in Clinton Place. It was a good occasion for the cynical
+observation of Mr. Mavick, but it was not a company that he could take
+in hand and impress with his mysterious influence in public affairs.
+Henderson was not in the mood, and would have had much more ease over
+a chop and a bottle of half-and-half with Uncle Jerry. Carmen, socially
+triumphant, would have been much more in her element at a petit
+souper of a not too fastidious four. Mrs. Schuyler Blunt was in the
+unaccustomed position of having to maintain a not too familiar and not
+too distant line of deportment. Edith and Jack felt the responsibility
+of having put an incongruous company on thin conventional ice. It was
+only the easy-going Miss Tavish and two or three others who carried
+along their own animal spirits and love of amusement who enjoyed the
+chance of a possible contretemps.
+
+And yet the dinner was providentially arranged. If these people had not
+met socially, this history would have been different from what it must
+be. The lives of several of them were appreciably modified by this
+meeting. It is too much to say that Father Damon's notion of the means
+by which such men as Henderson succeed was changed, but personal contact
+with the man may have modified his utterances about him, and he may have
+turned his mind to the uses to which his wealth might be applied rather
+than to the means by which he obtained it. Carmen's ingenuous interest
+in his work may have encouraged the hope that at least a portion of this
+fortune might be rescued to charitable uses. For Carmen, dining with
+Mrs. Schuyler Blunt was a distinct gain, and indirectly opened many
+other hitherto exclusive doors. That lady may not have changed her
+opinion about Carmen, but she was good-natured and infected by the
+incoming social tolerance; and as to Henderson, she declared that he was
+an exceedingly well-bred man, and she did not believe half the stories
+about him. Henderson himself at once appreciated the talents of Mavick,
+gauged him perfectly, and saw what services he might be capable of
+rendering at Washington. Mr. Mavick appreciated the advantage of a
+connection with such a capitalist, and of having open to him another
+luxurious house in New York. At the dinner-table Carmen and Mr. Mavick
+had not exchanged a dozen remarks before these clever people felt that
+they were congenial spirits. It was in the smoking-room that Henderson
+and Mavick fell into an interesting conversation, which resulted in an
+invitation for Mavick to drop in at Henderson's office in the morning.
+The dinner had not been a brilliant one. Henderson found it not easy to
+select topics equally interesting to Mrs. Delancy and Mrs. Blunt, and
+finally fell into geographical information to the latter about Mexico
+and Honduras. For Edith, the sole relief of the evening was an exchange
+of sympathy with Father Damon, and she was too much preoccupied to enjoy
+that. As for Carmen, placed between Jack and Mr. Mavick, and conscious
+that the eyes of Mrs. Blunt were on her, she was taking a subdued role,
+which Jack found much less attractive than her common mood. But this was
+not her only self-sacrifice of the evening. She went without her usual
+cigarette.
+
+To Edith the dinner was a revelation of new difficulties in the life
+she proposed for herself, though they were rather felt than distinctly
+reasoned about. The social atmosphere was distasteful; its elements were
+out of harmony with her ideals. Not that this society was new to her,
+but that she saw it in a new light. Before her marriage all these
+things had been indifferent to this high-spirited girl. They were merely
+incidents of the social state into which she was born, and she pursued
+her way among them, having a tolerably clear conception of what her own
+life should be, with little recognition of their tendencies. Were only
+her own life concerned, they would still be indifferent to her. But
+something had happened. That which is counted the best thing in life had
+come to her, that best thing which is the touchstone of character as
+it is of all conditions, and which so often introduces inextricable
+complications. She had fallen in love with Jack Delancy and married him.
+
+The first effect of this was to awake and enlarge what philosophers
+would call her enthusiasm of humanity. The second effect was to show
+her--and this was what this little dinner emphasized--that she had put
+limitations upon herself and taken on unthought-of responsibilities. To
+put this sort of life one side, or make it secondary to her own idea
+of a useful and happy life, would have been easy but for one thing--she
+loved Jack. This philosophic reasoning about it does her injustice. It
+did not occur to her that she could go her way and let him go his way.
+Nor must it be supposed that the problem seemed as grave to her as
+it really was--the danger of frittering away her own higher nature in
+faithfulness to one of the noblest impulses of that nature. Yet this is
+the way that so many trials of life come, and it is the greatest test
+of character. She felt--as many women do feel--that if she retained her
+husband's love all would be well, and the danger involved to herself
+probably did not cross her mind.
+
+But what did cross her mind was that these associations meant only evil
+for Jack, and that to be absorbed in the sort of life that seemed to
+please him was for her to drift away from all her ideals.
+
+A confused notion of all this was in her thoughts when she talked with
+Father Damon, while the gentlemen were in the smoking-room. She asked
+him about his mission.
+
+“The interest continues,” he replied; “but your East Side, Mrs. Delancy,
+is a puzzling place.”
+
+“How so?”
+
+“Perhaps you'll laugh if I say there is too much intelligence.”
+
+Edith did laugh, and then said: “Then you'd better move your mission
+over to this side. Here is a field of good, unadulterated worldliness.
+But what, exactly, do you mean?”
+
+“Well, the attempt of science to solve the problem of sin and
+wretchedness. What can you expect when the people are socialists and
+their leaders agnostics?”
+
+“But I thought you were something of a socialist yourself!”
+
+“So I am,” he said, frankly, “when I see the present injustice, the
+iniquitous laws and combinations that leave these people so little
+chance. They are ignorant, and expect the impossible; but they are right
+in many things, and I go with them. But my motive is not theirs. I hope
+not. There is no hope except in a spiritual life. Materialism down at
+the bottom of society is no better than materialism at the top. Do you
+know,” he went on, with increased warmth, “that pessimism is rather the
+rule over that side, and that many of those who labor most among the
+poor have the least hope of ever making things substantially better?”
+
+“But such unselfish people as Dr. Leigh do a great deal of good,” Edith
+suggested.
+
+“Yes,” he said reflecting--“yes, I have no doubt. I don't understand it.
+She is not hopeful. She sees nothing beyond. I don't know what keeps her
+up.”
+
+“Love of humanity, perhaps.”
+
+“I wish the phrase had never been invented. Religion of humanity! The
+work is to save the souls of those people.”
+
+“But,” said Edith, with a flush of earnestness “but, Father Damon, isn't
+human love the greatest power to save?”
+
+The priest looked at the girl. His face softened, and he said, more
+gently, “I don't know. Of the soul, yes. But human love is so apt to
+stand in the way of the higher life.”
+
+In her soul Edith resented this as an ascetic and priestly view; but she
+knew his devotion to that humanity which he in vain tried to eliminate
+from his austere life, and she turned the talk lightly by saying, “Ah,
+that is your theory. But I am coming over soon, and shall expect you and
+Dr. Leigh to take me about.”
+
+
+The next morning Mr. Mavick's card gave him instant admission to the
+inner office of Mr. Henderson, the approach to whom was more carefully
+guarded than that to the President of the United States. This was not
+merely necessary to save him from the importunities of cranks who might
+carry concealed dynamite arguments, but as well to protect him from
+hundreds of business men with whom he was indirectly dealing, and with
+whom he wished to evade explanations. He thoroughly understood the
+advantages of delay. He also understood the value of the mystery that
+attends inaccessibility. Even Mr. Mavick himself was impressed by the
+show of ceremony, by the army of clerks, and by the signs of complete
+organization. He knew that the visitor was specially favored who
+penetrated these precincts so far as to get an interview, usually
+fruitless, with Henderson's confidential man. This confidential man
+was a very grave and confidence-begetting person, who dealt out dubious
+hints and promises, and did not at all mind when Henderson found it
+necessary to repudiate as unauthorized anything that had been apparently
+said in his name. To be sure, this gave a general impression that
+Henderson was an inscrutable man to deal with, but at the same time
+it was confessed that his spoken word could be depended on. Anything
+written might, it is true, lead to litigation, and this gave rise to a
+saying in the Street that Henderson's word was better than his bond.
+
+Henderson was not a politician, but he was a friend of politicians. It
+was said that he contributed about equally to both sides in a political
+campaign, and that this showed patriotism more than partisanship. It was
+for his interest to have friends on both sides in Congress, and friends
+in the Cabinet, and it was even hinted that he was concerned to have
+men whose economic and financial theories accorded with his own on the
+Supreme Bench. He had unlimited confidence in the power of money. His
+visitor of the morning was not unlike him in many respects. He also was
+not a politician. He would have described himself as a governmental
+man, and had a theory of running the government with as little popular
+interference as possible. He regarded himself as belonging to the
+governing class.
+
+Between these two men, who each had his own interests in view, there was
+naturally an apparent putting aside of reserve.
+
+“I was very glad to make your acquaintance, Mr. Mavick,” said Henderson,
+cordially. “I have known of you for a long time.”
+
+“Yes? I've been in the employ of the government for some time.”
+
+“And I suppose it pays pretty well,” said Henderson, smilingly.
+
+“Oh, extravagantly,” Mavick rejoined, in the same spirit. “You just
+about get your board and clothes out of government. Your washing is
+another thing. You are expected, you know, to have your washing done
+where you vote.”
+
+“Well, it's a sure thing.”
+
+“Yes, till you are turned out. You know the theory at Washington is that
+virtue is its own reward. Tom Fakeltree says it's enough.”
+
+“I wonder how he knows?”
+
+“Observation, probably. Tom startled a dinner table the other day with
+the remark that when a man once gives himself up to the full enjoyment
+of a virtuous life, it seems strange to him that more people do not
+follow his example.”
+
+“The trouble with the virtue of Washington is that it always wants to
+interfere with other people's business. Fellows like Tom are always
+hunting up mares' nests in order to be paid for breaking them up.”
+
+“I can't say about Tom,” rejoined Mavick. “I suppose it is necessary to
+live.”
+
+“I suppose so. And that goes along with another proposition--that the
+successful have no rights which the unsuccessful are bound to respect.
+As soon as a man gets ahead,” Henderson continued, with a tone of
+bitterness, “the whole pack are trying to pull him down. A capitalist
+is a public enemy. Why, look at that Hodge bill! Strikes directly at the
+ability of the railways to develop the country. Have you seen it?”
+
+“Yes,” Mavick admitted; “the drawer of it was good enough to consult me
+on its constitutionality. It's a mighty queer bill.”
+
+“It can't get through the Senate,” said Henderson; “but it's a bother.
+Such schemes are coming up all the time, and they unsettle business.
+These fellows need watching.”
+
+“And managing,” added Mavick.
+
+“Exactly. I can't be in Washington all the time. And I need to know what
+is going on every twenty-four hours from the inside. I can't rely on
+politicians or lobbyists.”
+
+“Well,” said Mr. Mavick, in his easiest manner, “that's easy enough. You
+want a disinterested friend.”
+
+Henderson nodded, but did not even smile, and the talk went on about
+other measures, and confidentially about certain men in Washington,
+until, after twenty minutes' conversation, the two men came to a perfect
+understanding. When Mavick arose to go they shook hands even more
+cordially than at first, and Henderson said:
+
+“Well, I expect to hear from you, and remember that our house will
+always be your home in the city.”
+
+
+
+
+IX
+
+It seemed very fortunate to Jack Delancy that he should have such
+a clever woman as Carmen for his confidante, a man so powerful as
+Henderson as his backer, and a person so omniscient as Mavick for his
+friend. No combination could be more desirable for a young man who
+proposed to himself a career of getting money by adroit management and
+spending it in pure and simple self-indulgence. There are plenty of men
+who have taken advantage of like conditions to climb from one position
+to another, and have then kicked down the ladders behind them as fast as
+they attained a new footing. It was Jack's fault that he was not one of
+these. You could scarcely dignify his character by saying that he had
+an aim, except to saunter through life with as little personal
+inconvenience as possible. His selfishness was boneless. It was not
+by any means negative, for no part of his amiable nature was better
+developed than regard for his own care and comfort; but it was not
+strong enough to give him Henderson's capacity for hard work and even
+self-denial, nor Mavick's cool, persevering skill in making a way for
+himself in the world. Why was not Edith his confidante? His respect for
+her was undoubted; his love for her was unquestioned; his trust in her
+was absolute. And yet with either Carmen or Miss Tavish he fell into
+confidential revelations of himself which instinctively he did not make
+to Edith. The explanation of this is on the surface, and it is the key
+to half the unhappiness in domestic life. He felt that Edith was not in
+sympathy with the associations and the life he was leading. The pitiful
+and hopeless part of it is that if she had been in sympathy with them,
+Jack would have gone on in his frivolous career at an accelerated pace.
+It was not absence of love, it was not unfaithfulness, that made Jack
+enjoy the hours he spent with Carmen, or with the pleasing and not too
+fastidious Miss Tavish, with a zest that was wanting to his hours at
+home. If he had been upon a sinking steamboat with the three women,
+and could have saved only one of them, he would not have had a moment's
+hesitation in rescuing Edith and letting the other two sink out of his
+life. The character is not unusual, nor the situation uncommon. What is
+a woman to do? Her very virtues are enemies of her peace; if she appears
+as a constant check and monitor, she repels; if she weakly acquiesces,
+the stream will flow over both of them. The dilemma seems hopeless.
+
+It would be a mistake to suppose that either Edith or Jack put their
+relations in any such definite shape as this. He was unthinking. She was
+too high-spirited, too confident of her position, to be assailed by
+such fears. And it must be said, since she was a woman, that she had
+the consciousness of power which goes along with the possession of
+loveliness and keen wit. Those who knew her best knew that under her
+serenity was a gay temperament, inherited from the original settlers of
+Manhattan, an abounding enjoyment of life, and capacity for passion. It
+was early discovered in her childhood that little Edith had a will of
+her own.
+
+Lent was over. It was the time of the twittering of sparrows, of the
+opening of windows, of putting in order the little sentimental spots
+called “squares,” where the poor children get their idea of forests, and
+the rich renew their faint recollections of innocence and country life;
+when the hawkers go about the streets, and the hand-organs celebrate the
+return of spring and the possibility of love. Even the idle felt that it
+was a time for relaxation and quiet.
+
+“Have you answered Miss Tavish's invitation?” asked Jack one morning at
+the breakfast-table.
+
+“Not yet. I shall decline today for myself.”
+
+“Why? It's for charity.”
+
+“Well, my charity extends to Miss Tavish. I don't want to see her
+dance.”
+
+“That leaves me in a nice hole. I said I'd go.”
+
+“And why not? You go to a good many places you don't take me--the clubs,
+brokers' offices, Stalker's, the Conventional, and--”
+
+“Oh, go on. Why do you object to my going to see this dance?”
+
+“My dear Jack,” said Edith, “I haven't objected the least in the world;”
+ and her animated face sparkled with a smile, which seemed to irritate
+Jack more than a frown would have done.
+
+“I don't see why you set yourself up. I'll bet Miss Tavish will raise
+more money for the Baxter Street Guild, yes, and do more good, than you
+and the priest and that woman doctor slopping about on the East Side in
+six months.”
+
+“Very likely,” replied Edith, still with the same good-humored smile.
+“But, Jack, it's delightful to see your philanthropic spirit stirred up
+in this way. You ought to be encouraged. Why don't you join Miss Tavish
+in this charity? I have no doubt that if it was advertised that Miss
+Tavish and Mr. Jack Delancy would dance for the benefit of an East Side
+guild in the biggest hall in the city, there wouldn't be standing room.”
+
+“Oh, bosh!” said Jack, getting up from his chair and striding about the
+room, with more irritation than he had ever shown to Edith before. “I
+wouldn't be a prude.”
+
+Edith's eyes flashed and her face flushed, but her smile came back in
+a moment, and she was serene again. “Come here, Jack. Now, old fellow,
+look me straight in the eyes, and tell me if you would like to have
+me dance the serpentine dance before a drawing-room full of gossiping
+women, with, as you say, just a few men peeping in at the doors.”
+
+Jack did look, and the serene eyes, yet dancing with amusement at the
+incongruous picture, seemed to take a warmer glow of love and pleading.
+
+“Oh, hang it! that's different,” and he stooped and gave her an awkward
+kiss.
+
+“I'm glad you know it's different,” she said, with a laugh that had not
+a trace of mockery in it; “and since you do, you'd better go along and
+do your charity, and I'll stay at home, and try to be--different when
+you come back.”
+
+And Jack went; with a little feeling of sheepishness that he would not
+have acknowledged at the time, and he found himself in a company where
+he was entirely at his ease. He admired the dancing of the blithe,
+graceful girl, he applauded her as the rest did with hand-clapping and
+bravas, and said it was ravishing. It all suited him perfectly. And
+somehow, in the midst of it all, in the sensuous abandon of this
+electric-light eccentricity at mid-day, he had a fleeting vision of
+something very different, of a womanhood of another sort, and a flush
+came to his face for a moment as he imagined Edith in a skirt dance
+under the gaze of this sensation-loving society. But this was only for
+a moment. When he congratulated Miss Tavish his admiration was entirely
+sincere; and the girl, excited with her physical triumph, seemed to him
+as one emancipated out of acquired prudishness into the Greek enjoyment
+of life. Miss Tavish, who would not for the world have violated one of
+the social conventions of her set, longed, as many women do, for the
+sort of freedom and the sort of applause which belongs to women who
+succeed upon the stage. Not that she would have forfeited her position
+by dancing at a theatre for money; but; within limits, she craved the
+excitement, the abandon, the admiration, that her grace and passion
+could win. This was not at all the ambition which led the Egyptian queen
+Hatshepsu to assume the dress of a man, but rather that more famous
+aspiration which led the daughter of Herodias, in a pleasure-loving
+court, to imitate and excel the professional dancing-girls. If in
+this inclination of the women of the day, which is not new, but has
+characterized all societies to which wealth has brought idleness, there
+was a note of demoralization, it did not seem so to Jack, who found the
+world day by day more pleasing and more complaisant.
+
+As the months went by, everything prospered with him on his drifting
+voyage. Of all voyages, that is the easiest to make which has no port
+in view, that depends upon the varying winds, if the winds happen to
+be soft and the chance harbors agreeable. Jack was envied, thanks to
+Henderson. He was lucky in whatever he touched. Without any change in
+his idle habits, and with no more attention to business than formerly,
+money came to him so freely that he not only had a complacent notion
+that he was a favorite of fortune, but the idea of his own importance
+in the financial world increased enormously, much to the amusement of
+Mavick, when he was occasionally in the city, to whom he talked
+somewhat largely of his operations, and who knew that he had no more
+comprehension of the sweep of Henderson's schemes than a baby has of the
+stock exchange when he claps his hands with delight at the click of the
+ticker.
+
+His prosperity was visible. It showed in the increase of his accounts
+at the Union, in his indifference to limits in the game of poker, in a
+handsome pair of horses which he insisted on Edith's accepting for her
+own use, in an increased scale of living at home, in the hundred ways
+that a man of fashion can squander money in a luxurious city. If he
+did not haunt the second-hand book-shops or the stalls of dealers in
+engravings, or bring home as much bric-a-brac as he once had done, it
+was because his mind was otherwise engaged; his tailor's bills were
+longer, and there were more expensive lunches at the clubs, at which
+there was a great deal of sage talk about stocks and combinations, and
+much wisdom exhibited in regard to wines; and then there were the little
+suppers at Wherry's after the theatres, which a bird could have eaten
+and a fish have drunken, and only a spendthrift have paid for.
+
+“It is absurd,” Edith had said one night after their return. “It makes
+us ridiculous in the eyes of anybody but fools.” And Jack had flared up
+about it, and declared that he knew what he could afford, and she had
+retorted that as for her she would not countenance it. And Jack had
+attempted to pass it off lightly, at last, by saying, “Very well then,
+dear, if you won't back me, I shall have to rely upon my bankers.”
+ At any rate, neither Carmen nor Miss Tavish took him to task. They
+complimented him on his taste, and Carmen made him feel that she
+appreciated his independence and his courage in living the life that
+suited him. She knew, indeed, how much he made in his speculations, how
+much he lost at cards; she knew through him the gossip of the clubs,
+and venturing herself not too far at sea, liked to watch the undertow of
+fashionable life. And she liked Jack, and was not incapable of throwing
+him a rope when the hour came that he was likely to be swept away by
+that undertow.
+
+It was remarked at the Union, and by the men in the Street who knew him,
+that Jack was getting rapid. But no one thought the less of him for his
+pace--that is, no one appeared to, for this sort of estimate of a man
+is only tested by his misfortunes, when the day comes that he must seek
+financial backing. In these days he was generally in an expansive mood,
+and his free hand and good-humor increased his popularity. There were
+those who said that there were millions of family money back of Jack,
+and that he had recently come in for something handsome.
+
+But this story did not deceive Major Fairfax, whose business it was to
+know to a dot the standing of everybody in society, in which he was a
+sort of oracle and privileged favorite. No one could tell exactly how
+the Major lived; no one knew the rigid economy that he practiced; no one
+had ever seen his small dingy chamber in a cheap lodging-house. The name
+of Fairfax was as good as a letter of introduction in the metropolis,
+and the Major had lived on it for years, on that and a carefully nursed
+little income--an habitue of the club, and a methodical cultivator of
+the art of dining out. A most agreeable man, and perhaps the wisest man
+in his generation in those things about which it would be as well not to
+know anything.
+
+Seated one afternoon in his favorite corner for street observation, by
+the open window, with the evening paper in his hand, in the attitude of
+one expecting the usual five o'clock cocktail, he hailed Jack, who was
+just coming down-stairs from a protracted lunch.
+
+“I say, Delancy, what's this I hear?”
+
+“About what?” said Jack, sauntering along to a seat opposite the Major,
+and touching a bell on the little table as he sat down. Jack's face was
+flushed, but he talked with unusual slowness and distinctness. “What
+have you heard, Major?”
+
+“That you have bought Benham's yacht.”
+
+“No, I haven't; but I was turning the thing over in my mind,” Jack
+replied, with the air of a man declining an appointment in the Cabinet.
+“He offers it cheap.”
+
+“My dear boy, there is no such thing as a cheap yacht, any more than
+there is a cheap elephant.”
+
+“It's better to buy than build,” Jack insisted. “A man's got to have
+some recreation.”
+
+“Recreation! Why don't you charter a Fifth Avenue stage and take your
+friends on a voyage to the Battery? That'll make 'em sick enough.”
+ It was a misery of the Major's life that, in order to keep in with
+necessary friends, he had to accept invitations for cruises on yachts,
+and pretend he liked it. Though he had the gout, he vowed he would
+rather walk to Newport than go round Point Judith in one of those
+tipping tubs. He had tried it, and, as he said afterwards, “The devil of
+it was that Mrs. Henderson and Miss Tavish sympathized with me. Gad! it
+takes away a person's manhood, that sort of thing.”
+
+The Major sipped his bitters, and then added: “Or I'll tell you what;
+if you must do something, start a newspaper--the drama, society, and
+letters, that sort of thing, with pictures. I heard Miss Tavish say she
+wished she had a newspaper.”
+
+“But,” said Jack, with gravity, “I'm not buying a yacht for Miss
+Tavish.”
+
+“I didn't suppose you were. Devilish fine girl, though. I don't care who
+you buy it for if you don't buy it for yourself. Why don't you buy it
+for Henderson? He can afford it.”
+
+“I'd like to know what you mean, Major Fairfax!” cried Jack. “What
+business--”
+
+“There!” exclaimed the Major, sinking back in his chair, with a softened
+expression in his society beaten face. “It's no use of nonsense, Jack.
+I'm an average old sinner, and I'm not old enough yet to like a milksop.
+But I've known you since you were so high, and I knew your father; he
+used to stay weeks on my plantation when we were both younger. And your
+mother--that was a woman!--did me a kindness once when I was in a d---d
+tight place, and I never forgot it. See here, Jack, if I had money
+enough I'd buy a yacht and put Carmen and Miss Tavish on it, and send
+them off on the longest voyage there is.”
+
+“Who's been talking?” exclaimed Jack, touched a little, but very much
+offended.
+
+“The town, Jack. Don't mind the talk. People always talk. I suppose
+people talk about me: At your age I should have been angry too at a hint
+even from an old friend. But I've learned. It doesn't pay. I don't get
+angry any more. Now there's Henderson--”
+
+“What have you got against Henderson?”
+
+“Nothing. He is a very good fellow, for that sort of man. But, Lord!
+Henderson is a big machine. You might as well try to stand in with a
+combination of gang-saws, or to make friends with the Department of the
+Interior. Look at the men who have gone in with Henderson from time
+to time. The ground is strewn with them. He's got no more feeling in
+business than a reaper-and-binder.”
+
+“I don't know what Henderson's got to do with my having a yacht.”
+
+“I beg your pardon, Jack; it's none of my business. Only I do not put my
+investments”--Jack smiled faintly, as if the conversation were taking
+a humorous turn--“at the mercy of Henderson's schemes. If I did, I
+wouldn't try to run a yacht at the same time. I should be afraid that
+some day when I got to sea I should find myself out of coal. You know,
+my boy, that the good book says you cannot serve two masters.”
+
+“Nobody ever accused you of that, Major,” retorted Jack, with a laugh.
+“But what two have you in mind?”
+
+“Oh, I don't mean anything personal. I just use names as typical. Say
+Henderson and Carmen.” And the Major leaned back and tapped his fingers
+together, as if he were putting a general proposition.
+
+Jack flushed, and then thought a moment--it would be ridiculous to get
+angry with old Fairfax--and then said: “Major, if I were you, I wouldn't
+have anything to do with either of them. You'll spoil your digestion.”
+
+“Umph!” the Major grunted, as he rose from his chair. “This is an age of
+impudence. There's no more respect for gray hair than if it were dyed.
+I cannot waste any more time on you. I've got an early dinner. Devilish
+uphill work trying to encourage people who dine at seven. But, my boy,
+think on these things, as the saint says.”
+
+And the old fellow limped away. There was one good thing about the
+Major. He stood up in church every Sunday and read his prayers, like a
+faithful old sinner as he was.
+
+Jack, sobered by the talk, walked home in a very irritated mood, blaming
+everybody except himself. For old Fairfax's opinion he didn't care, but
+evidently the old fellow represented a lot of gossip. He wished people
+would mind their own business. His irritation was a little appeased by
+Edith's gay and loving greeting; but she, who knew every shade of his
+face, saw it.
+
+“Have you had a worrying day?”
+
+“No; not specially. I've had an hour of old Fairfax, who hasn't any
+business of his own to attend to.”
+
+“Oh, nobody minds the Major,” Edith said, as she gave him a shake and
+another kiss; but a sharp pang went through her heart, for she guessed
+what had happened, since she had had a visit that afternoon from another
+plain-speaking person.
+
+They were staying late in town. Edith, who did not care to travel far,
+was going presently to a little cottage by the sea, and Mrs. Schuyler
+Blunt had looked in for a moment to say good-by before she went up to
+her Lenox house.
+
+“It's only an old farmhouse made over,” Mrs. Blunt was saying; “hardly
+smart enough to ask anybody to, but we hope to have you and Jack there
+some time.”
+
+“That would be very nice. I hear Lenox is more beautiful than ever.”
+
+“Yes, it is, and about as difficult to get into as the kingdom of
+heaven. It's being spoiled for moderate people. The Hendersons and the
+Van Dams and that sort are in a race to see who shall build houses with
+the biggest rooms, and give the most expensive entertainments. It's all
+show. The old flavor has gone.”
+
+“But they cannot spoil the scenery.”.
+
+“My child, they are the scenery. You can't see anything else. It doesn't
+bother me, but some of my old neighbors are just ruining themselves
+trying to keep the pace. I do think the Americans are the biggest fools
+on earth.”
+
+“Father Damon says the trouble is we haven't any middle class for a
+balance.”
+
+“Yes, that's the English of it. But it's a pity that fashion has got
+hold of the country, and is turning our summers into a worry and a
+burden. I thought years ago when we went to Lenox that it was a
+good thing the country was getting to be the fashion; but now it's
+fashionable, and before we know it every desirable spot will be what
+they call syndicated. Miss Tavish says she is coming to visit the
+Hendersons there.”
+
+“I thought she went to Bar Harbor.”
+
+“But she is coming down for part of the season. These people don't stay
+anywhere. Just long enough in one place to upset everything with their
+extravagance. That's the reason I didn't ask you and Jack up this
+summer.”
+
+“Thank you, we couldn't go, you know,” said Edith, simply, and then,
+with curiosity in her eyes, asked; “but I don't quite understand what's
+the reason.”
+
+“Well,” said Mrs. Blunt, as if nerving herself up to say what must be
+said, “I thought perhaps you wouldn't like to be where they are.”
+
+“I don't know why I should or why I should not,” Edith replied.
+
+“Nor have Jack with them,” continued Mrs. Blunt, stoutly.
+
+“What do you mean, Mrs. Blunt?” cried Edith, her brown eyes flaming.
+
+“Don't turn on me, Edith dear. I oughtn't to have said anything. But I
+thought it was my duty. Of course it is only talk.”
+
+“Well?”
+
+“That Jack is always with one or the other of those women.”
+
+“It is false!” cried Edith, starting up, with tears now in her eyes;
+“it's a cruel lie if it means anything wrong in Jack. So am I with those
+women; so are you. It's a shame. If you hear any one say such things,
+you can tell them for me that I despise them.”
+
+“I said it was a shame, all such talk. I said it was nonsense. But,
+dear, as a friend, oughtn't I to tell you?” And the kind-hearted gossip
+put her arm round Edith, and kept saying that she perfectly understood
+it, and that nobody really meant anything. But Edith was crying now,
+with a heart both hurt and indignant.
+
+“It's a most hateful world, I know,” Mrs. Blunt answered; “but it's the
+best we have, and it's no use to fret about it.”
+
+When the visitor had gone, Edith sat a long time in misery. It was the
+first real shock of her married life. And in her heart she prayed. For
+Jack? Oh no. The dear girl prayed for herself, that suspicions might not
+enter her heart. She could not endure that the world should talk thus of
+him. That was all. And when she had thought it all over and grown
+calm, she went to her desk and wrote a note to Carmen. It asked Mrs.
+Henderson, as they were so soon to leave town, to do her the favor to
+come round informally and lunch with her the next day, and afterwards
+perhaps a little drive in the Park.
+
+
+
+
+X
+
+Jack was grateful for Edith's intervention. He comprehended that she had
+stepped forward as a shield to him in the gossip about Carmen. He showed
+his appreciation in certain lover-like attentions and in a gayety of
+manner, but it was not in his nature to feel the sacrifice she had made
+or its full magnanimity; he was relieved, and in a manner absolved.
+Another sort of woman might have made him very uncomfortable. Instead of
+being rebuked he had a new sense of freedom.
+
+“Not one woman in a thousand would have done it,” was the comment of
+Major Fairfax when he heard of the drive in the Park. “Gad! most of
+'em would have cut Carmen dead and put Jack in Coventry, and then there
+would have been the devil to pay. It takes quality, though; she's such
+a woman as Jack's mother. If there were not one of them now and then
+society would deliquesce.” And the Major knew, for his principal
+experience had been with a deliquescent society.
+
+Whether Carmen admired Mrs. Delancy or thought her weak it is impossible
+to say, but she understood the advances made and responded to them, for
+they fell in perfectly with her social plans. She even had the face
+to eulogize Mrs. Delancy to Jack, her breadth of view, her lack of
+prejudice, and she had even dared to say, “My dear friend, she is too
+good for us,” and Jack had not protested, but with a laugh had accepted
+the implication of his position on a lower moral level. Perhaps he did
+not see exactly what it meant, this being on confidential terms about
+his wife with another woman; all he cared for at the moment was that the
+comradeship of Miss Tavish and Carmen was agreeable to him. They were
+no restraint upon him. So long as they remained in town the exchange of
+civilities was kept up. Carmen and Miss Tavish were often at his house,
+and there was something reassuring to Jack in the openness with which
+affairs went on.
+
+Early in June Edith went down to their rented cottage on the south Long
+Island shore. In her delicate health the doctor had recommended the
+seaside, and this locality as quiet and restful, and not too far from
+the whirl of the city. The place had a charm of its own, the charm,
+namely, of a wide sky, illimitable, flashing, changing sea, rolling in
+from the far tropical South with its message of romance to the barren
+Northern shore, and the pure sand dunes, the product of the whippings of
+tempests and wild weather. The cottage was in fact an old farmhouse, not
+an impertinent, gay, painted piece of architecture set on the sand like
+a tent for a month, but a solid, ugly, fascinating habitation, with
+barns and outhouses, and shrubs, and an old garden--a place with a salty
+air friendly to delicate spring blossoms and summer fruits and foliage.
+If it was a farmhouse, the sea was an important part of the farm, and
+the low-ceiled rooms suggested cabins; it required little imagination to
+fancy that an East-Indian ship had some time come ashore and settled
+in the sand, that it had been remodeled and roofed over, and its sides
+pierced with casement windows, over which roses had climbed in order to
+bind the wanderer to the soil. It had been painted by the sun and the
+wind and the salt air, so that its color depended upon the day, and it
+was sometimes dull and almost black, or blue-black, under a lowering
+sky, and again a golden brown, especially at sunset, and Edith, feeling
+its character rather than its appearance to ordinary eyes, had named it
+the Golden House. Nature is such a beautiful painter of wood.
+
+With Edith went one of her Baltimore cousins, a young kindergarten
+teacher of fine intelligence and sympathetic manner, who brought to
+her work a long tradition of gentle breeding and gayety and
+simplicity--qualities which all children are sure to recognize. What a
+hopeful thing it is, by-the-way, in the world, that all conditions of
+people know a lady at sight! Jack found the place delightful. He liked
+its quaintness, the primitiveness of the farmer-fisherman neighbors, he
+liked the sea. And then he could run up to the city any morning and back
+at night. He spent the summer with Edith at the Golden House. This was
+his theory. When he went to town in the morning he expected to return at
+night. But often he telegraphed in the afternoon that he was detained by
+business; he had to see Henderson, or Mavick was over from Washington.
+Occasionally, but not often, he missed the train. He had too keen a
+sense of the ridiculous to miss the train often. When he was detained
+over for two or three days, or the better part of the week, he wrote
+Edith dashing, hurried letters, speaking of ever so many places he had
+been to and ever so many people he had seen--yes, Carmen and Miss Tavish
+and everybody who was in town, and he did not say too much about the hot
+city and its discomforts.
+
+Henderson's affairs kept him in town, Miss Tavish still postponed Bar
+Harbor, and Carmen willingly remained. She knew the comfort of a big New
+York house when the season is over, when no social duties are required,
+and one is at leisure to lounge about in cool costumes, to read or
+dream, to open the windows at night for the salt breeze from the bay, to
+take little excursions by boat or rail, to dine al fresco in the garden
+of some semi-foreign hotel, to taste the unconventional pleasures of the
+town, as if one were in some foreign city. She used to say that New York
+in matting and hollands was almost as nice as Buda-Pesth. These were
+really summer nights, operatic sorts of nights, with music floating in
+the air, gay groups in the streets, a stage imitation of nature in the
+squares with the thick foliage and the heavy shadows cast on the asphalt
+by the electric lights, the brilliant shops, the nonsense of the summer
+theatres, where no one expected anything, and no one was disappointed,
+the general air of enjoyment, and the suggestion of intrigue. Sometimes,
+when Mavick was over, a party was made up for the East Side, to see the
+foreign costumes, the picturesque street markets, the dime museums, and
+the serious, tragical theatres of the people. The East Side was left
+pretty much to itself, now that the winter philanthropists had gone
+away, and was enjoying its summer nights and its irresponsible poverty.
+
+They even looked in at Father Damon's chapel, the dimly lighted fragrant
+refuge from the world and from sin. Why not? They were interested in the
+morals of the region. Had not Miss Tavish danced for one of the guilds;
+and had not Carmen given Father Damon a handsome check in support of
+his mission? It was so satisfactory to go into such a place and see
+the penitents kneeling here and there, the little group of very plainly
+dressed sinners attracted by Father Damon's spiritual face and unselfish
+enthusiasm. Carmen said she felt like kneeling at one of the little
+boxes and confessing--the sins of her neighbors. And then the
+four--Carmen, Miss Tavish, Mavick, and Jack--had a little supper
+at Wherry's, which they enjoyed all the more for the good action of
+visiting the East Side--a little supper which lasted very late, and was
+more and more enjoyed as it went on, and was, in fact, so gay that when
+the ladies were set down at their houses, Jack insisted on dragging
+Mavick off to the Beefsteak Club and having something manly to drink;
+and while they drank he analyzed the comparative attractions of Carmen
+and Miss Tavish; he liked that kind of women, no nonsense in them; and
+presently he wandered a little and lost the cue of his analysis, and,
+seizing Mavick by the arm, and regarding him earnestly, in a burst of
+confidence declared that, notwithstanding all appearances, Edith was the
+dearest girl in the world.
+
+It was at this supper that the famous society was formed, which the
+newspapers ridiculed, and which deceived so many excellent people in New
+York because it seemed to be in harmony with the philanthropic endeavor
+of the time, but which was only an expression of the Mephistophelian
+spirit of Carmen--the Society for Supplying Two Suspenders to Those who
+have only One.
+
+By the end of June there was no more doubt about the heat of the town
+than about its odors. The fashionable residence part was dismantled and
+deserted. At least miles and miles of houses seemed to be closed.
+Few carriages were seen in this quarter, the throngs of fashion had
+disappeared, comparatively few women were about, and those that appeared
+in the Sunday promenade were evidently sight-seers and idlers from other
+quarters; the throng of devotees was gone from the churches, and indeed
+in many of them services were suspended till a more convenient season.
+The hotels, to be sure, were full of travelers, and the club-houses
+had more habitues than usual, and were more needed by the members whose
+families had gone into the country.
+
+Notwithstanding the silence and vacation aspect of up-town, the public
+conveyances were still thronged, and a census would have shown no such
+diminution of population as seemed. Indeed, while nobody was in town,
+except accidentally, the greater portion of it presented a more animated
+appearance than usual, especially at night, on account of the open
+windows, the groups on door-steps and curb-stones, and the restless
+throng in the streets-buyers and sellers and idlers. To most this
+outdoor life was a great enjoyment, and to them the unclean streets with
+the odors and exhalations of decay were homelike and congenial. Nor did
+they seem surprised that a new country should so completely reproduce
+the evil smells and nastiness of the old civilization. It was
+all familiar and picturesque. Work still went on in the crowded
+tenement-houses, and sickness simply changed its character, death
+showing an increased friendliness to young children. Some impression
+was of course made by the agents of various charities, the guilds and
+settlements bravely strove at their posts, some of the churches kept
+their flags flying on the borders of the industrial districts, the Good
+Samaritans of the Fresh-air Fund were active, the public dispensaries
+did a thriving business, and the little band of self-sacrificing
+doctors, most of them women, went their rounds among the poor, the sick,
+and the friendless.
+
+Among them Ruth Leigh was one who never took a vacation. There was no
+time for it. The greater the heat, the more noisome the town, the more
+people became ill from decaying food and bad air and bad habits, the
+more people were hungry from improvidence or lack of work, the more were
+her daily visits a necessity; and though she was weary of her monotonous
+work, and heart-sick at its small result in such a mass, there never
+came a day when she could quit it. She made no reputation in her
+profession by this course; perhaps she awoke little gratitude from those
+she served, and certainly had not so much of their confidence as the
+quacks who imposed upon them and took their money; and she was not
+heartened much by hope of anything better in this world or any other;
+and as for pay, if there was enough of that to clothe her decently, she
+apparently did not spend it on herself.
+
+It was, in short, wholly inexplicable that this little woman should
+simply go about doing good, without any ulterior purpose whatever, not
+even notoriety. Did she love these people? She did not ever say anything
+about that. In the Knights of Labor circle, and in the little clubs
+for the study of social questions, which she could only get leisure to
+attend infrequently, she was not at all demonstrative about any religion
+of humanity. Perhaps she simply felt that she was a part of these
+people, and that whether they rejected her or received her, there was
+nothing for her to do but to give herself to them. She would probably
+have been surprised if Father Damon had told her that she was in this
+following a great example, and there might have been a tang of agnostic
+bitterness in her reply. When she thought of it the condition seemed to
+her hopeless, and the attitude of what was called civilization
+towards it so remorseless and indifferent, and that of Christianity so
+pharisaical. If she ever lost her temper, it was when she let her mind
+run in this nihilistic channel, in bitterness against the whole social
+organization, and the total outcome of civilization so far as the mass
+of humanity is concerned.
+
+One day Father Damon climbed up to the top of a wretched tenement in
+Baxter Street in search of a German girl, an impulsive and pretty girl
+of fifteen, whom he had missed for several days at the chapel services.
+He had been in the room before. It was not one of the worst, for though
+small and containing a cook-stove, a large bed, and a chest of drawers,
+there was an attempt to make it tidy. In a dark closet opening out from
+it was another large bed. As he knocked and opened the door, he saw that
+Gretchen was not at home. Her father sat in a rocking-chair by an open
+window, on the sill of which stood a pot of carnations, the Easter gift
+of St. George's, a wax-faced, hollow-eyed man of gentle manners, who
+looked round wearily at the priest. The mother was washing clothes in a
+tub in one corner; in another corner was a half-finished garment from a
+slop-shop. The woman alternated the needle at night and the tub in the
+daytime. Seated on the bed, with a thin, sick child in her arms, was
+Dr. Leigh. As she looked up a perfectly radiant smile illuminated her
+usually plain face, an unworldly expression of such purity and
+happiness that she seemed actually beautiful to the priest, who stopped,
+hesitating, upon the threshold.
+
+“Oh, you needn't be afraid to come in, Father Damon,” she cried out; “it
+isn't contagious--only rash.”
+
+Father Damon, who would as readily have walked through a pestilence
+as in a flower-garden, only smiled at this banter, and replied, after
+speaking to the sick man, and returning in German the greeting of the
+woman, who had turned from the tub, “I've no doubt you are disappointed
+that it isn't contagious!” And then, to the mother: “Where is Gretchen?
+She doesn't come to the chapel.”
+
+“Nein,” replied the woman, in a mixture of German and English, “it don't
+come any more in dot place; it be in a shtore now; it be good girl.”
+
+“What, all day?”
+
+“Yaas, by six o'clock, and abends so spate. Not much it get, but my man
+can't earn nothing any more.” And the woman, as she looked at him, wiped
+her eyes with the corner of her apron.
+
+“But, on Sunday?” Father Damon asked, still further.
+
+“Vell, it be so tired, and goed up by de Park with Dick Loosing and dem
+oder girls.”
+
+“Don't you think it better, Father Damon,” Dr. Leigh interposed, “that
+Gretchen should have fresh air and some recreation on Sunday?”
+
+“Und such bootiful tings by de Museum,” added the mother.
+
+“Perhaps,” said he, with something like a frown on his face, and then
+changed the subject to the sick child. He did not care to argue the
+matter when Dr. Leigh was present, but he resolved to come again and
+explain to the mother that her daughter needed some restraining power
+other than her own impulse, and that without religious guidance she was
+pretty certain to drift into frivolous and vulgar if not positively bad
+ways. The father was a free-thinker; but Father Damon thought he had
+some hold on the mother, who was of the Lutheran communion, but had
+followed her husband so far as to become indifferent to anything but
+their daily struggle for life. Yet she had a mother's instinct about the
+danger to her daughter, and had been pleased to have her go to Father
+Damon's chapel.
+
+And, besides, he could not bring himself in that presence to seem
+to rebuke Ruth Leigh. Was she not practically doing what his Lord
+did--going about healing the sick, sympathizing with the poor and
+the discouraged, taking upon herself the burden of the disconsolate,
+literally, without thought of self, sharing, as it were, the misery and
+sin of this awful city? And today, for the first time, he seemed to
+have seen the woman in her--or was it the saint? and he recalled
+that wonderful illumination of her plain face that made her actually
+beautiful as she looked up from the little waif of humanity she held in
+her arms. It had startled him, and struck a new chord in his heart, and
+planted a new pang there that she had no belief in a future life.
+
+It did not occur to him that the sudden joy in her face might have been
+evoked by seeing him, for it was a long time since she had seen him. Nor
+did he think that the pang at his heart had another cause than religious
+anxiety. Ah, priest and worldly saint, how subtle and enduring are the
+primal instincts of human nature!
+
+“Yes,” he said, as they walked away, in reply to her inquiry as to his
+absence, “I have been in retreat a couple of weeks.”
+
+“I suppose,” she said, softly, “you needed the rest; though,” and she
+looked at him professionally, “if you will allow me to say it, it seems
+to me that you have not rested enough.”
+
+“I needed strength”--and it was the priest that spoke--“in meditation
+and prayer to draw upon resources not my own.”
+
+“And in fasting, too, I dare say,” she added, with a little smile.
+
+“And why not?” he asked.
+
+“Pardon me,” she said; “I don't pretend to know what you need. I need
+to eat, though Heaven knows it's hard enough to keep up an appetite down
+here. But it is physical endurance you need for the work here. Do you
+think fasting strengthens you to go through your work night and day?”
+
+“I know I couldn't do it on my own strength.” And Dr. Leigh recalled
+times when she had seen him officiating in the chapel apparently
+sustained by nothing but zeal and pure spirit, and wondered that he did
+not faint and fall. And faint and fall he did, she was sure, when the
+service was over.
+
+“Well, it may be necessary to you, but not as an example to these
+people. I see enough involuntary fasting.”
+
+“We look at these people from different points of view, I fear.”
+ And after a moment he said: “But, doctor, I wanted to ask you about
+Gretchen. You see her?”
+
+“Occasionally. She works too many hours, but she seems to be getting on
+very well, and brings her mother all she earns.”
+
+“Do you think she is able to stand alone?”
+
+Dr. Leigh winced a little at this searching question, for no one knew
+better than she the vulgarizing influence of street life and chance
+associations upon a young girl, and the temptations. She was even forced
+to admit the value in the way of restraint, as a sort of police force,
+of the church and priestly influence, especially upon girls at the
+susceptible age. But she knew that Father Damon meant something more
+than this, and so she answered:
+
+“But people have got to stand alone. She might as well begin.”
+
+“But she is so young.”
+
+“Yes, I know. She is in the way of temptation, but so long as she works
+industriously, and loves her mother, and feels the obligation, which the
+poor very easily feel, of doing her share for the family, she is not
+in so much moral danger as other girls of her age who lead idle and
+self-indulgent lives. The working-girls of the city learn to protect
+themselves.”
+
+“And you think this is enough, without any sort of religion--that this
+East Side can go on without any spiritual life?”
+
+Ruth Leigh made a gesture of impatience. In view of the actual struggle
+for existence she saw around her, this talk seemed like cant. And she
+said:
+
+“I don't know that anything can go on. Let me ask you a question, Father
+Damon. Do you think there is any more spirituality, any more of the
+essentials of what you call Christianity, in the society of the other
+side than there is on the East Side?”
+
+“It is a deep question, this of spirituality,” replied Father Damon, who
+was in the depths of his proselyting action a democrat and in sympathy
+with the people, and rated quite at its full value the conventional
+fashion in religion. “I shouldn't like to judge, but there is a great
+body of Christian men and women in this city who are doing noble work.”
+
+“Yes,” replied the little doctor, bitterly, “trying to save themselves.
+How many are trying to save others--others except the distant and
+foreign sinners?”
+
+“You surely cannot ignore,” replied the father, still speaking mildly,
+“the immense amount of charitable work done by the churches!”
+
+“Yes, I know; charity, charity, the condescension of the rich to the
+poor. What we want are understanding, fellowship, and we get alms! If
+there is so much spirituality as you say, and Christianity is what you
+say it is today, how happens it that this side is left in filth and
+misery and physical wretchedness? You know what it is, and you know the
+luxury elsewhere. And you think to bridge over the chasm between classes
+with flowers, in pots, yes, and Bible-readers and fashionable visitors
+and little aid societies--little palliatives for an awful state of
+things. Why, look at it! Last winter the city authorities hauled off the
+snow and the refuse from the fashionable avenues, and dumped it down in
+the already blockaded and filthy side streets, and left us to struggle
+with the increased pneumonia and diphtheria, and general unsanitary
+conditions. And you wonder that the little nihilist groups and labor
+organizations and associations of agnostics, as you call them, meeting
+to study political economy and philosophy, say that the existing state
+of things has got to be overturned violently, if those who have the
+power and the money continue indifferent.”
+
+“I do not wonder,” replied Father Damon, sadly. “The world is evil, and
+I should be as despairing as you are if I did not know there was another
+life and another world. I couldn't bear it. Nobody could.”
+
+“And all you've got to offer, then, to this mass of wretchedness,
+poverty, ignorance, at close quarters with hunger and disease, is to
+grin and bear it, in hope of a reward somewhere else!”
+
+“I think you don't quite--”
+
+The doctor looked up and saw a look of pain on the priest's face.
+
+“Oh,” she hastened to say, almost as impetuously as she had spoken
+before, “I don't mean you--I don't mean you. I know what you do. Pardon
+me for speaking so. I get so discouraged sometimes.” They stood still a
+moment, looking up and down the hot, crowded, odorful street they were
+in, with its flaunting rags of poverty and inefficiency. “I see so
+little result of what I can do, and there is so little help.”
+
+“I know,” said the father, as they moved along. “I don't see how you can
+bear it alone.”
+
+This touched a sore spot, and aroused Ruth Leigh's combativeness. It
+seemed to her to approach the verge of cant again. But she knew the
+father's absolute sincerity; she felt she had already said too much; and
+she only murmured, as if to herself, “If we could only know.” And
+then, after a moment, she asked, “Do you, Father Damon, see any sign of
+anything better here?”
+
+“Yes, today.” And he spoke very slowly and hesitatingly. “If you will
+excuse the personality of it. When I entered that room today, and saw
+you with that sick child in your arms, and comprehended what it all
+meant, I had a great wave of hope, and I knew, just then, that there is
+coming virtue enough in the world to redeem it.”
+
+Ruth was confounded. Her heart seemed to stand still, and then the hot
+blood flowed into her face in a crimson flood. “Ah,” escaped from her
+lips, and she walked on more swiftly, not daring to look up. This from
+him! This recognition from the ascetic father! If one of her dispensary
+comrades had said it, would she have been so moved?
+
+And afterwards, when she had parted from him, and gone to her little
+room, the hot flush again came to her neck and brow, and she saw his
+pale, spiritual face, and could hear the unwonted tenderness of his
+voice. Yes, Father Damon had said it of her.
+
+
+
+
+XI
+
+The question has been very much discussed whether the devil, in
+temperate latitudes, is busier in the summer or in the winter. When
+Congress and the various State legislatures are in session, and the
+stock and grain exchanges are most active, and society is gayest,
+and the churches and benevolent and reformatory associations are most
+aggressive--at this season, which is the cool season, he seems to be
+most animated and powerful.
+
+But is not this because he is then most opposed? The stream may not
+flow any faster because it is dammed, but it exhibits at the obstructed
+points greater appearance of agitation. Many people are under the
+impression that when they stop fighting there is a general truce:
+There is reason to believe that the arch enemy is pleased with this
+impression, that he likes a truce, and that it is his best opportunity,
+just as the weeds in the garden, after a tempest, welcome the sun and
+the placidity of the elements. It is well known that in summer virtue
+suffers from inertia, and that it is difficult to assemble the members
+of any vigilant organization, especially in cities, where the flag of
+the enemy is never lowered. But wherever the devil is there is always a
+quorum present for business. It is not his plan to seek an open fight,
+and many observers say that he gains more ground in summer than in any
+other season, and this notwithstanding people are more apt to lose their
+tempers, and even become profane, in the aggravations of what is known
+as spring than at any other time. The subject cannot be pursued here,
+but there is ground for supposing that the devil prefers a country where
+the temperature is high and pretty uniform.
+
+At any rate, it is true that the development of character is not
+arrested by any geniality or languor of nature. By midsummer the
+Hendersons were settled in Lenox, where the Blunts had long been, and
+Miss Tavish and her party of friends were at Bar Harbor. Henderson was
+compelled to be in the city most of the time, and Jack Delancy fancied
+that business required his presence there also; but he had bought a
+yacht, and contemplated a voyage, with several of the club men, up
+the Maine coast. “No, I thank you,” Major Fairfax had said; “I know an
+easier way to get to Bar Harbor.”
+
+Jack was irritable and restless, to be sure, in the absence of the
+sort of female society he had become accustomed to; but there were many
+compensations in his free-and-easy bachelor life, in his pretense of
+business, which consisted in watching the ticker, as it is called, in
+an occasional interview with Henderson, and in the floating summer
+amusements of the relaxed city. There was nothing unusual in this
+life except that he needed a little more stimulation, but this was
+not strange in the summer, and that he devoted more time to poker--but
+everybody knows that a person comes out about even in the game of poker
+if he keeps at it long enough--there was nothing unusual in this, only
+it was giving Jack a distaste for the quiet and it seemed to him the
+restraint of the Golden House down by the sea. And he was more irritable
+there than elsewhere. It is so difficult to estimate an interior
+deterioration of this sort, for Jack was just as popular with his
+comrades as ever, and apparently more prosperous.
+
+It is true that Jack had had other ideas when he was courting Edith
+Fletcher, and at moments, at any rate, different aspirations from any he
+had now. With her at that time there had been nobler aspirations about
+life. But now she was his wife. That was settled. And not only that, but
+she was the best woman he knew; and if she were not his wife, he would
+spare no effort to win her. He felt sure of that. He did not put it to
+himself in the way an Oriental would do, “That is finished”; but it was
+an act done--a good act--and here was his world again, with a hundred
+interests, and there were people besides Edith to be thought of, other
+women and men, and affairs. Because a man was married, was he to be shut
+up to one little narrow career, that of husband? Probably it did not
+occur to him that women take a different view of this in the singleness
+of their purpose and faith. Edith, for instance, knew or guessed that
+Jack had no purpose in life that was twenty-four hours old; but she had
+faith--and no amount of observation destroys this faith in women--that
+marriage would inspire him with energy and ambition to take a man's
+place in the world.
+
+With most men marriage is un fait accompli. Jack had been lucky, but
+there was, no doubt, truth in an observation of Mavick's. One night as
+they sat at the club Jack had asked him a leading question, apropos of
+Henderson's successful career: “Mavick, why don't you get married?”
+ “I have never,” he replied, with his usual cynical deliberation, “been
+obliged to. The fact is, marriage is a curb-bit. Some horses show off
+better with it, and some are enraged and kick over the traces. I cannot
+decide which I would be.”
+
+“That's true enough,” said Jack, “from a bachelor's point of view of
+independence, but it's really a question of matching.”
+
+“The most difficult thing in the world--in horses. Just about impossible
+in temperament and movement, let alone looks. Most men are lucky if they
+get, like Henderson, a running mate.”
+
+“I see,” said Jack, who knew something about the Henderson household,
+“your idea of a pair is that they should go single.”
+
+Mavick laughed, and said something about the ideas of women changing so
+much lately that nobody could tell what the relation of marriage would
+become, and Jack, who began to feel that he was disloyal, changed the
+subject. To do him justice, he would have been ashamed for Edith to hear
+this sort of flippant and shallow talk, which wouldn't have been at all
+out of place with Carmen or Miss Tavish.
+
+“I wanted to ask you, Mavick, as a friend, do you think Henderson is
+square?”
+
+“How square?”
+
+“Well, safe?”
+
+“Nobody is safe. Henderson is as safe as anybody. You can rely on what
+he says. But there's a good deal he doesn't say. Anything wrong?”
+
+“Not that I know. I've been pretty lucky. But the fact is, I've gone in
+rather deep.”
+
+“Well, it's a game. Henderson plays it, as everybody does, for himself.
+I like Henderson. He plays to win, and generally does. But, you know, if
+one man wins, somebody else has got to lose in this kind of industry.”
+
+“But Henderson looks out for his friends?”
+
+“Yes--when it doesn't cost too much. Times may come when a man has to
+look out for himself. Wealth isn't made out of nothing. There must be
+streams into the reservoir. These great accumulations of one--you
+can see that--must be made up of countless other men's small savings.
+There's Uncle Jerry. He operates a good deal with Henderson, and they'd
+incline to help each other out. But Uncle Jerry says he's got a small
+pond of his own, and he's careful not to connect it with Henderson's
+reservoir.”
+
+“What do you think of Missouri?”
+
+“What do I think of the Milky Way? It doesn't much matter to me what
+becomes of Missouri, unless Henderson should happen to get smashed
+in it, and that isn't what he is there for. But when you look at the
+combinations, and the dropping-off of roads that have been drained, and
+the scaling down in refunding, and the rearranging, and the strikes,
+how much chance do you think the small fry stand? I don't doubt that
+Henderson will make a big thing out of it, and there will be lots of
+howling by those who were not so smart, and the newspapers will say
+that Henderson was too strong for them. What we respect nowadays are
+adroitness and strength.”
+
+“It's an exciting game,” Mavick continued, after a moment's pause. “Let
+me know if you get uneasy. But I'll tell you what it is, Jack; if I had
+a comfortable income, I wouldn't risk it in any speculation. There is a
+good deal that is interesting going on in this world, and I like to be
+in it; but the best plan for a man who has anything is, as Uncle Jerry
+says, to sail close and salt down.”
+
+The fact was that Mavick's connection with Henderson was an appreciable
+addition to his income, and it was not a bad thing for Henderson.
+Mavick's reputation for knowing the inside of everything and being
+close-mouthed actually brought him confidences; that which at first
+was a clever assumption became a reality, and his reputation was so
+established for being behind the scenes that he was not believed when he
+honestly professed ignorance of anything. His modest disclaimer merely
+increased the impression that he was deep. Henderson himself had
+something of the Bismarck trait of brutal, contemptuous frankness.
+Mavick was never brutal and never contemptuous, but he had a cynical
+sort of frankness, which is a good deal more effectual in a business
+way than the oily, plausible manner which on 'Change, as well as in
+politics, is distrusted as hypocrisy. Now Uncle Jerry Hollowell was
+neither oily nor frank; he was long-headed and cautious, and had a
+reputation for shrewdness and just enough of plasticity of conscience
+to remove him out of the list of the impracticable and over-scrupulous.
+This reputation that business men and politicians acquire would be
+a very curious study. The world is very complacent, and apparently
+worships success and votes for smartness, but it would surprise some
+of our most successful men to know what a real respect there is in the
+community, after all, for downright integrity.
+
+Even Jack, who fell into the current notion of his generation of young
+men that the Henderson sort of morality was best adapted to quick
+success, evinced a consciousness of want of nobility in the course he
+was pursuing by not making Edith his confidante. He would have said, of
+course, that she knew nothing about business, but what he meant was that
+she had a very clear conception of what was honest. All the evidences of
+his prosperity, shown in his greater freedom of living, were sore trials
+to her. She belonged to that old class of New-Yorkers who made trade
+honorable, like the merchants of Holland and Venice, and she knew
+also that Jack's little fortune had come out of honest toil and strict
+business integrity. Could there be any happiness in life in any other
+course?
+
+It seemed cruel to put such a problem as this upon a young woman hardly
+yet out of girlhood, in the first flush of a new life, which she had
+dreamed should be so noble and high and so happy, in the period which
+is consecrated by the sweetest and loveliest visions and hopes that ever
+come into a woman's life.
+
+As the summer wore on to its maximum of heat and discomfort in the city,
+Edith, who never forgot to measure the hardships of others by her own
+more fortunate circumstances, urged Dr. Leigh to come away from her
+labors and rest a few days by the sea. The reply was a refusal, but
+there was no complaint in the brief business-like note. One might have
+supposed that it was the harvest-time of the doctor, if he had not known
+that she gathered nothing for herself. There had never been so much
+sickness, she wrote, and such an opportunity for her. She was learning
+a great deal, especially about some disputed contagious diseases. She
+would like to see Mrs. Delancy, and she wouldn't mind a breath of
+air that was more easily to be analyzed than that she existed in, but
+nothing could induce her to give up her cases. All that appeared in her
+letter was her interest in her profession.
+
+Father Damon, who had been persuaded by Edith's urgency to go down with
+Jack for a few days to the Golden House, seemed uncommonly interested in
+the reasons of Dr. Leigh's refusal to come.
+
+“I never saw her,” he said, “so cheerful. The more sickness there is,
+the more radiant she is. I don't mean,” he added, laughing, “in apparel.
+Apparently she never thinks of herself, and positively she seems to take
+no time to eat or sleep. I encounter her everywhere. I doubt if she ever
+sits down, except when she drops in at the mission chapel now and then,
+and sits quite unmoved on a bench by the door during vespers.”
+
+“Then she does go there?” said Edith.
+
+“That is a queer thing. She would promptly repudiate any religious
+interest. But I tell her she is a bit of a humbug. When I speak about
+her philanthropic zeal, she says her interest is purely scientific.”
+
+“Anyway, I believe,” Jack put in, “that women doctors are less mercenary
+than men. I dare say they will get over that when the novelty of coming
+into the profession has worn off.”
+
+“That is possible,” said Father Damon; “but that which drives women into
+professions now is the desire to do something rather than the desire
+to make something. Besides, it is seldom, in their minds, a finality;
+marriage is always a possibility.”
+
+“Yes,” replied Edith, “and the probability of having to support a
+husband and family; then they may be as mercenary as men are.”
+
+“Still, the enthusiasm of women,” Father Damon insisted, “in hospital
+and outdoor practice, the singleness of their devotion to it, is in
+contrast to that of the young men-doctors. And I notice another thing
+in the city: they take more interest in philanthropic movements, in the
+condition of the poor, in the labor questions; they dive eagerly into
+philosophic speculations, and they are more aggressively agnostics.
+And they are not afraid of any social theories. I have one friend, a
+skillful practitioner they tell me, a linguist, and a metaphysician,
+a most agreeable and accomplished woman, who is in theory an extreme
+nihilist, and looks to see the present social and political order
+upset.”
+
+“I don't see,” Jack remarked, “what women especially are to gain by such
+a revolution.”
+
+“Perhaps independence, Jack,” replied Edith. “You should hear my club
+of working-girls, who read and think much on these topics, talk of these
+things.”
+
+“Yes,” said Father Damon, “you toss these topics about, and discuss them
+in the magazines, and fancy you are interested in socialistic movements.
+But you have no idea how real and vital they are, and how the dumb
+discontent of the working classes is being formulated into ideas. It is
+time we tried to understand each other.”
+
+Not all the talk was of this sort at the Golden House. There were
+three worlds here--that of Jack, to which Edith belonged by birth and
+tradition and habit; that of which we have spoken, to which she belonged
+by profound sympathy; and that of Father Damon, to which she belonged by
+undefined aspiration. In him was the spiritual element asserting itself
+in a mediaeval form, in a struggle to mortify and deny the flesh and
+yet take part in modern life. Imagine a celibate and ascetic of the
+fifteenth century, who knew that Paradise must be gained through poverty
+and privation and suffering, interesting himself in the tenement-house
+question, in labor leagues, and the single tax.
+
+Yet, hour after hour, in those idle summer days, when nature was in a
+mood that suggested grace and peace, when the waves lapsed along the
+shore and the cicada sang in the hedge, did Father Damon unfold to Edith
+his ideas of the spiritualization of modern life through a conviction of
+its pettiness and transitoriness. How much more content there would be
+if the poor could only believe that it matters little what happens here
+if the heart is only pure and fixed on the endless life.
+
+“Oh, Father Damon,” replied Edith, with a grave smile, “I think your
+mission ought to be to the rich.”
+
+“Yes,” he replied, for he also knew his world, “if I wanted to make my
+ideas fashionable; but I want to make them operative. By-and-by,”
+ he added, also with a smile, “we will organize some fishermen and
+carpenters and tailors on a mission to the rich.”
+
+Father Damon's visit was necessarily short, for his work called him back
+to town, and perhaps his conscience smote him a little for indulging in
+this sort of retreat. By the middle of August Jack's yacht was ready,
+and he went with Mavick and the Van Dams and some other men of the
+club on a cruise up the coast. Edith was left alone with her Baltimore
+friend.
+
+And yet not alone. As she lay in her hammock in those dreamy days a new
+world opened to her. It was not described in the chance romance she took
+up, nor in the volume of poems she sometimes held in her hand, with a
+finger inserted in the leaves. Of this world she felt herself the centre
+and the creator, and as she mused upon its mysteries, life took a new,
+strange meaning to her. It was apt to be a little hazy off there in the
+watery horizon, and out of the mist would glide occasionally a boat, and
+the sun would silver its sails, and it would dip and toss for half
+an hour in the blue, laughing sea, and then disappear through the
+mysterious curtain. Whence did it come? Whither had it gone? Was life
+like that? Was she on the shore of such a sea, and was this new world
+into which she was drifting only a dream? By her smile, by the momentary
+illumination that her sweet thoughts made in her lovely, hopeful face,
+you knew that it was not. Who can guess the thoughts of a woman at such
+a time? Are the trees glad in the spring, when the sap leaps in their
+trunks, and the buds begin to swell, and the leaves unfold in soft
+response to the creative impulse? The miracle is never old nor
+commonplace to them, nor to any of the human family. The anticipation
+of life is eternal. The singing of the birds, the blowing of the south
+wind, the sparkle of the waves, all found a response in Edith's heart,
+which leaped with joy. And yet there was a touch of melancholy in it
+all, the horizon was so vast, and the mist of uncertainty lay along it.
+Literature, society, charities, all that she had read and experienced
+and thought, was nothing to this, this great unknown anxiety and bliss,
+this saddest and sweetest of all human experiences. She prayed that
+she might be worthy of this great distinction, this responsibility and
+blessing.
+
+And Jack, dear Jack, would he love her more?
+
+
+
+
+XII
+
+Although Father Damon had been absent from his charge only ten days, it
+was time for him to return. If he had not a large personal following,
+he had a wide influence. If comparatively few found their way to his
+chapel, he found his way to many homes; his figure was a familiar one
+in the streets, and his absence was felt by hundreds who had no personal
+relations with him, but who had become accustomed to seeing him go about
+on his errands of encouragement, and probably had never realized how
+much the daily sight of him had touched them. The priestly dress, which
+may once have provoked a sneer at his effeminacy, had now a suggestion
+of refinement, of unselfish devotion, of consecration to the service of
+the unfortunate, his spiritual face appealed to their better natures,
+and the visible heroism that carried his frail figure through labors
+that would have worn out the stoutest physique stirred in the hearts of
+the rudest some comprehension of the reality of the spirit.
+
+It may not have occurred to them that he was of finer clay than
+they--perhaps he was not--but his presence was in their minds a
+subtle connection and not a condescending one, rather a confession of
+brotherhood, with another world and another view of life. They may not
+have known that their hearts were stirred because he had the gift of
+sympathy.
+
+And was it an unmanly trait that he evoked in men that sentiment of
+chivalry which is never wanting in the roughest community for a pure
+woman? Wherever Father Damon went there was respect for his purity and
+his unselfishness, even among those who would have been shamefaced if
+surprised in any exhibition of softness.
+
+And many loved him, and many depended on him. Perhaps those who most
+depended on him were the least worthy, and those who loved him most were
+least inclined to sacrifice their own reasonable view of life to his
+own sublimated spiritual conception. It was the spirit of the man they
+loved, and not the creed of the priest. The little chapel in its subdued
+lights and shadows, with confessionals and crosses and candles and
+incense, was as restful a refuge as ever to the tired and the dependent;
+but wanting his inspiring face and voice, it was not the same thing,
+and the attendance always fell away when he was absent. There was needed
+there more than elsewhere the living presence.
+
+He was missed, and the little world that missed him was astray. The
+first day of his return his heart was smitten by the thinness of
+the congregation. Had he, then, accomplished nothing; had he made no
+impression, established in his shifting flock no habit of continuance in
+well-doing that could survive even his temporary withdrawal? The fault
+must be his. He had not sufficiently humiliated and consecrated
+himself, and put under all strength of the flesh and trust in worldly
+instrumentalities. There must be more prayer, more vigils, more fasting,
+before the power would come back to him to draw these wandering minds
+to the light. And so in the heat of this exhausting August, at the time
+when his body most needed re-enforcement for the toil he required of it,
+he was more rigid in his spiritual tyranny and contempt of it.
+
+Ruth Leigh was not dependent upon Father Damon, but she also learned how
+long ten days could be without a sight of him. When she looked into his
+chapel occasionally she realized, as never before, how much in the
+air his ceremonies and his creed were. There was nothing there for her
+except his memory. And she knew when she stepped in there, for her cool,
+reasoning mind was honest, that it was the thought of him that drew her
+to the place, and that going there was a sentimental indulgence. What
+she would have said was that she admired, loved Father Damon on account
+of his love for humanity. It was a common saying of all the professional
+women in her set, and of the working-girls, that they loved Father
+Damon. It is a comfort to women to be able to give their affection
+freely where conventionalities and circumstances make the return of it
+in degree unlikely.
+
+At the close of a debilitating day Dr. Leigh found herself in the
+neighborhood of the mission chapel. She was tired and needed to rest
+somewhere. She knew that Father Damon had returned, but she had not seen
+him, and a double motive drew her steps. The attendance was larger
+than it had been recently, and she found a stool in a dark corner, and
+listened, with a weary sort of consciousness of the prayers and the
+singing, but not without a deeper feeling of peace in the tones of a
+voice every inflection of which she knew so well. It seemed to her that
+the reading cost him an effort, and there was a note of pathos in
+the voice that thrilled her. Presently he advanced towards the altar
+rail--he was accustomed to do this with his little flock--and placing
+one hand on the lectern, began to speak.
+
+At first, and this was not usual, he spoke about himself in a strain
+of sincere humility, taking blame upon himself for his inability to do
+effectively the great service his Master had set him to do. He meant
+to have given himself more entirely to the dear people among whom he
+labored; he hoped to show himself more worthy of the trust they had
+given him; he was grateful for the success of his mission, but no one
+knew so well as he how far short it came of being what he ought to have
+made it. He knew indeed how weak he was, and he asked the aid of their
+sympathy and encouragement. It seemed to be with difficulty that he said
+this, and to Ruth's sympathetic ear there was an evidence of physical
+exhaustion in his tone. There was in it, also, for her, a confession of
+failure, the cry of the preacher, in sorrow and entreaty, that says, “I
+have called so long, and ye would not listen.”
+
+As he went on, still with an effort and feebly, there came over the
+little group a feeling of awe and wonderment, and the silence was
+profound. Still steadying himself by the reading-desk, he went on to
+speak of other things, of those of his followers who listened, of the
+great mass swirling about them in the streets who did not listen and did
+not care; of the little life that now is so full of pain and hardship
+and disappointment, of good intentions frustrated, of hopes that
+deceive, and of fair prospects that turn to ashes, of good lives that
+go wrong, of sweet natures turned to bitterness in the unaided struggle.
+His voice grew stronger and clearer, as his body responded to the
+kindling theme in his soul. He stepped away from the desk nearer the
+rail, the bowed head was raised. “What does it matter?” he said. “It is
+only for a little while, my children.” Those who heard him that day say
+that his face shone like that of an angel, and that his voice was like a
+victorious clarion, so clear, so sweet, so inspiring, as he spoke of the
+life that is to come, and the fair certainty of that City where he with
+them all wished to be.
+
+As he closed, some were kneeling, many were crying; all, profoundly
+moved, watched him as, with the benediction and the sign of the cross,
+he turned and walked swiftly to the door of the sacristy. It opened, and
+then Ruth Leigh heard a cry, “Father Damon! Father Damon!” and there was
+a rush into the chancel. Hastening through the throng, which promptly
+made way for the doctor, she found Father Damon lying across the
+threshold, as he had fallen, colorless and unconscious. She at once took
+command of the situation. The body was lifted to the plain couch in the
+room, a hasty examination was made of pulse and heart, a vial of brandy
+was produced from her satchel, and messengers were despatched for things
+needed, and especially for beef-tea.
+
+“Is he dead, Dr. Leigh? Is he any better, doctor? What is the matter,
+doctor?”
+
+“Want of nourishment,” replied Dr. Leigh, savagely.
+
+The room was cleared of all except a couple of stout lads and a friendly
+German woman whom the doctor knew. The news of the father's sudden
+illness had spread rapidly, with the report that he had fallen dead
+while standing at the altar; and the church was thronged, and the street
+rapidly blocked up with a hushed crowd, eager for news and eager to give
+aid. So great was the press that the police had to interfere, and push
+back the throng from the door. It was useless to attempt to disperse it
+with the assurance that Father Damon was better; it patiently waited to
+see for itself. The sympathy of the neighborhood was most impressive,
+and perhaps the thing that the public best remembers about this incident
+is the pathetic solicitude of the people among whom Father Damon labored
+at the rumor of his illness, a matter which was greatly elaborated by
+the reporters from the city journals and the purveyors of telegraphic
+news for the country.
+
+With the application of restoratives the patient revived. When he
+opened his eyes he saw figures in the room as in a dream, and his mind
+struggled to remember where he was and what had happened; but one thing
+was not a dream: Dr. Leigh stood by his bedside, with her left hand on
+his brow and the right grasping his own right hand, as if to pull
+him back to life. He saw her face, and then he lost it again in sheer
+weariness at the effort. After a few moments, in a recurring wave of
+strength, he looked up again, still bewildered, and said, faintly:
+
+“Where am I?”
+
+“With friends,” said the doctor. “You were a little faint, that is all;
+you will be all right presently.”
+
+She quickly prepared some nourishment, which was what he most needed,
+and fed him from time to time, as he was able to receive it. Gradually
+he could feel a little vigor coming into his frame; and regaining
+control of himself, he was able to hear what had happened. Very gently
+the doctor told him, making light of his temporary weakness.
+
+“The fact is, Father Damon,” she said, “you've got a disease common in
+this neighborhood--hunger.”
+
+The father smiled, but did not reply. It might be so. For the time he
+felt his dependence, and he did not argue the point. This dependence
+upon a woman--a sort of Sister of Charity, was she not?--was not
+altogether unpleasant. When he attempted to rise, but found that he was
+too weak, and she said “Not yet,” he submitted, with the feeling that to
+be commanded with such gentleness was a sort of luxury.
+
+But in an hour's time he declared that he was almost himself again,
+and it was decided that he was well enough to be removed to his own
+apartments in the neighborhood. A carriage was sent for, and the
+transfer was made, and made through a crowd in the streets, which
+stood silent and uncovered as his carriage passed through it. Dr. Leigh
+remained with him for an hour longer, and then left him in charge of a
+young gentleman from the Neighborhood Guild, who gladly volunteered to
+watch for the night.
+
+Ruth walked slowly home, weary now that the excitement was over, and
+revolving many things in her mind, as is the custom of women. She heard
+again that voice, she saw again that inspired face; but the impression
+most indelible with her was the prostrate form, the pallid countenance,
+the helplessness of this man whose will had before been strong enough to
+compel the obedience of his despised body. She had admired his strength;
+but it was his weakness that drew upon her woman's heart, and evolved a
+tenderness dangerous to her peace of mind. Yet it was the doctor and not
+the woman that replied to the inquiries at the dispensary.
+
+“Yes, it was fasting and overwork. Men are so stupid; they think they
+can defy all the laws of nature, especially priests.” And she determined
+to be quite plain with him next day.
+
+And Father Damon, lying weary in his bed, before he fell asleep, saw the
+faces in the dim chapel turned to him in strained eagerness the moment
+before he lost consciousness; but the most vivid image was that of a
+woman bending over him, with eyes of tenderness and pity, and the smile
+with which she greeted his awakening. He could feel yet her hand upon
+his brow.
+
+When Dr. Leigh called next day, on her morning rounds, she found a
+brother of the celibate order, Father Monies, in charge. He was sitting
+by the window reading, and when the doctor came up the steps he told her
+in a low voice to enter without knocking. Father Damon was better, much
+better; but he had advised him not to leave his bed, and the patient had
+been dozing all the morning. The doctor asked if he had eaten anything,
+and how much. The apartment was small and scantily furnished--a sort of
+anchorite cell. Through the drawn doors of the next room the bed was in
+sight. As they were talking in low voices there came from this room a
+cheerful:
+
+“Good-morning, doctor.”
+
+“I hope you ate a good breakfast,” she said, as she arose and went to
+his bedside.
+
+“I suppose you mean better than usual,” he replied, with a faint attempt
+at a smile. “No doubt you and Father Monies are satisfied, now you've
+got me laid up.”
+
+“That depends upon your intentions.”
+
+“Oh, I intend to get up tomorrow.”
+
+“If you do, without other change in your intentions, I am going to
+report you to the Organized Charity as a person who has no visible means
+of support.”
+
+She had brought a bunch of violets, and as they talked she had filled
+a glass with water and put them on a stand by the head of the bed.
+Then--oh, quite professionally--she smoothed out his pillows and
+straightened the bedclothes, and, talking all the time, and as if quite
+unconscious of what she was doing, moved about the room, putting things
+to rights, and saying, in answer to his protest, that perhaps she should
+lose her reputation as a physician in his eyes by appearing to be a
+professional nurse.
+
+There was a timid knock at the door, and a forlorn little figure, clad
+in a rumpled calico, with an old shawl over her head, half concealing an
+eager and pretty face, stood in the doorway, and hesitatingly came in.
+
+“Meine Mutter sent me to see how Father Damon is,” she explained; “she
+could not come, because she washes.”
+
+She had a bunch of flowers in her hand, and encouraged by the greeting
+of the invalid, she came to the bedside and placed them in his
+outstretched hand--a faded blossom of scarlet geranium, a bachelor's
+button, and a sprig of parsley, probably begged of a street dealer as
+she came along. “Some blooms,” she said.
+
+“Bless you, my dear,” said Father Damon; “they are very pretty.”
+
+“Dey smells nice,” the child exclaimed, her eyes dancing with pleasure
+at the reception of her gift. She stood staring at him, and then, her
+eye catching the violets, she added, “Dose is pooty, too.”
+
+“If you can stay half an hour or so, I should like to step round to the
+chapel,” Father Monies said to the doctor in the front room, taking up
+his hat.
+
+The doctor could stay. The little girl had moved a chair up to the
+bedside, and sat quite silent, her grimy little hand grasped in the
+father's. Ruth, saying that she hoped the father wouldn't mind, began
+to put in order the front room, which the incidents of the night had
+somewhat disturbed. Father Damon, holding fast by that little hand to
+the world of poverty to which he had devoted his life, could not refrain
+from watching her, as she moved about with the quick, noiseless way
+that a woman has when she is putting things to rights. This was indeed
+a novel invasion of his life. He was still too weak to reason about
+it much. How good she was, how womanly! And what a sense of peace and
+repose she brought into his apartment! The presence of Brother Monies
+was peaceful also, but hers was somehow different. His eyes had not
+cared to follow the brother about the room. He knew that she was
+unselfish, but he had not noticed before that her ways were so graceful.
+As she turned her face towards him from time to time he thought its
+expression beautiful. Ruth Leigh would have smiled grimly if any one had
+called her beautiful, but then she did not know how she looked sometimes
+when her feelings were touched. It is said that the lamp of love can
+illumine into beauty any features of clay through which it shines. As
+he gazed, letting himself drift as in a dream, suddenly a thought
+shot through his mind that made him close his eyes, and such a severe
+priestly look came upon his face that the little girl, who had never
+taken her eyes off him, exclaimed:
+
+“It is worse?”
+
+“No, my dear,” he replied, with a reassuring smile; “at least, I hope
+not.”
+
+But when the doctor, finishing her work, drew a chair into the doorway,
+and sat by the foot of his bed, the stern look still remained on his
+pale face. And the doctor, she also was the doctor again, as matter of
+fact as in any professional visit.
+
+“You are very kind,” he said.
+
+There was a shade of impatience on her face as she replied, “But you
+must be a little kind to yourself.”
+
+“It doesn't matter.”
+
+“But it does matter. You defeat the very work you want to do. I'm going
+to report you to your order.” And then she added, more lightly, “Don't
+you know it is wrong to commit suicide?”
+
+“You don't understand,” he replied. “There is more than one kind of
+suicide; you don't believe in the suicide of the soul. Ah, me!” And a
+shade of pain passed over his face.
+
+She was quick to see this. “I beg your pardon, Father Damon. It is none
+of my business, but we are all so anxious to have you speedily well
+again.”
+
+Just then Father Monies returned, and the doctor rose to go. She took
+the little girl by the hand and said, “Come, I was just going round to
+see your father. Good-by. I shall look in again tomorrow.”
+
+“Thank you--thank you a thousand times. But you have so much to do that
+you must not bother about me.”
+
+Whether he said this to quiet his own conscience, secretly hoping that
+he might see her again on the morrow, perhaps he himself could not have
+decided.
+
+Late the next afternoon, after an unusually weary round of visits, made
+in the extreme heat and in a sort of hopeless faithfulness, Dr. Leigh
+reached the tenement in which Father Damon lodged: In all the miserable
+scenes of the day it had been in her mind, giving to her work a pleasure
+that she did not openly acknowledge even to herself, that she should see
+him.
+
+The curtains were down, and there was no response to her knock, except
+from a door in the passage opposite. A woman opened the door wide enough
+to show her head and to make it evident that she was not sufficiently
+dressed to come out, and said that Father Damon had gone. He was very
+much better, and his friend had taken him up-town. Dr. Leigh thanked
+her, and said she was very glad.
+
+She was so glad that, as she walked away, scarcely heeding her steps or
+conscious of the chaffing, chattering crowd, all interest in her work
+and in that quarter of the city seemed dead.
+
+
+
+
+XIII
+
+It is well that there is pleasure somewhere in the world. It is possible
+for those who have a fresh-air fund of their own to steam away in a
+yacht, out of the midsummer ennui and the weary gayety of the land. It
+is a costly pleasure, and probably all the more enjoyed on that
+account, for if everybody had a yacht there would be no more feeling
+of distinction in sailing one than in going to any of the second-rate
+resorts on the coast. There is, to be sure, some ennui in yachting on
+a rainy coast, and it might be dull but for the sensation created
+by arrivals at watering-places and the telegraphic reports of these
+sensations.
+
+If there was any dullness on the Delancy yacht, means were taken
+to dispel it. While still in the Sound a society was formed for the
+suppression of total abstinence, and so successful was this that Point
+Judith was passed, in a rain and a high and chopping sea, with a kind of
+hilarious enjoyment of the commotion, which is one of the things desired
+at sea. When the party came round to Newport it declared that it had had
+a lovely voyage, and inquiry brought out the great general principle,
+applicable to most coast navigation for pleasure, that the enjoyable way
+to pass Point Judith is not to know you are passing Point Judith.
+
+Except when you land, and even after you have got your sea-legs on,
+there is a certain monotony in yachting, unless the weather is very bad,
+and unless there are women aboard. A party of lively women make even the
+sea fresh and entertaining. Otherwise, the game of poker is much what it
+is on land, and the constant consulting of charts and reckoning of speed
+evince the general desire to get somewhere--that is, to arrive at
+a harbor. In the recollections of this voyage, even in Jack's
+recollections of it after he had paid the bills, it seemed that it had
+been simply glorious, free from care, generally a physical setting-up
+performance, and a lark of enormous magnitude. And everybody envied the
+fortunate sailors.
+
+Mavick actually did enjoy it, for he had that brooding sort of nature,
+that self-satisfied attitude, that is able to appropriate to its own
+uses whatever comes. And being an unemotional and very tolerable sailor,
+he was able to be as cynical at sea as on land, and as much of an
+oracle, in his wholly unobtrusive way. The perfect personal poise of
+Mavick, which gave him an air of patronizing the ocean, and his lightly
+held skeptical view of life, made his company as full of flavor on ship
+as it was on shore. He didn't know anything more about the weather than
+the Weather Bureau knows, yet the helmsman of the yacht used to consult
+him about the appearances of the sky and a change of wind with a
+confidence in his opinion that he gave to no one else on board. And
+Mavick never forfeited this respect by being too positive. It was so
+with everything; he evidently knew a great deal more than he cared to
+tell. It is pleasing to notice how much credit such men as Mavick
+obtain in the world by circumspect reticence and a knowing manner.
+Jack, blundering along in his free-hearted, emotional way, and never
+concealing his opinion, was really right twice where Mavick was right
+once, but he never had the least credit for wisdom.
+
+It was late in August that the Delancy yacht steamed into the splendid
+Bar Harbor, making its way slowly through one of the rare fogs which are
+sometimes seen by people who do not own real estate there. Even before
+they could see an island those on board felt the combination of mountain
+and sea air that makes this favored place at once a tonic and a sedative
+to the fashionable world.
+
+The party were expected at Bar Harbor. It had been announced that the
+yacht was on its way, and some of the projected gayeties were awaiting
+its coming, for the society reenforcement of the half-dozen men on
+board was not to be despised. The news went speedily round that Captain
+Delancy's flag was flying at the anchorage off the landing.
+
+Among the first to welcome them as they landed and strolled up to the
+hotel was Major Fairfax.
+
+“Oh yes,” he said; “we are all here--that is, all who know where they
+ought to be at the right moment.”
+
+To the new-comers the scene was animated. The exotic shops sparkled
+with cheap specialties; landaus, pony-phaetons, and elaborate buckboards
+dashed through the streets; aquatic and law-tennis costumes abounded.
+If there was not much rowing and lawn-tennis, there was a great deal
+of becoming morning dressing for these sports, and in all the rather
+aimless idleness there was an air of determined enjoyment. Even here it
+was evident that there was a surplus of women. These lovers of nature,
+in the summer season, who had retired to this wild place to be free
+from the importunities of society, betrayed, Mavick thought, the common
+instinct of curiosity over the new arrival, and he was glad to take
+it as an evidence that they loved not nature less but man more. Jack
+tripped up this ungallant speech by remarking that if Mavick was in this
+mood he did not know why he came ashore. And Van Dam said that sooner or
+later all men went ashore. This thin sort of talk was perhaps pardonable
+after the weariness of a sea voyage, but the Major promptly said it
+wouldn't do. And the Major seemed to be in charge of the place.
+
+“No epigrams are permitted. We are here to enjoy ourselves. I'm ordered
+to bring the whole crew of you to tea at the Tavish cottage.”
+
+“Anybody else there?” asked Jack, carelessly.
+
+“Well, it's the most curious coincidence, but Mrs. Henderson arrived
+last night; Henderson has gone to Missouri.”
+
+“Yes, he wrote me to look out for his wife on this coast,” said Mavick.
+
+“You kept mighty still about it,” said Jack.
+
+“So did you,” retorted Mavick.
+
+“It is very curious,” the Major explained, “how fashionable intelligence
+runs along this coast, apparently independent of the telegraph;
+everybody knows where everybody else is.”
+
+The Tavish cottage was a summer palace of the present fashion, but
+there was one good thing about it: it had no tower, nor any make-believe
+balconies hung on the outside like bird-cages. The rooms were spacious,
+and had big fireplaces, and ample piazzas all round, so that the sun
+could be courted or the wind be avoided at all hours of the day. It was,
+in short, not a house for retirement and privacy, but for entertainment.
+It was furnished luxuriously but gayly, and with its rugs and portieres
+and divans it reminded Mavick of an Oriental marquee. Miss Tavish called
+it her tepee, an evolution of the aboriginal dwelling. She liked to
+entertain, and she never appeared to better advantage than when her
+house was full, and something was going on continually-lively breakfasts
+and dinners, dances, theatricals, or the usual flowing in and out of
+callers and guests, chattering groups, and flirtatious couples. It was
+her idea of repose from the winter's gayety, and in it she sustained the
+role of the non-fatigueable society girl. It is a performance that many
+working-girls regard with amazement.
+
+There was quite a flutter in the cottage, as there always is when those
+who know each other well meet under new circumstances after a short
+separation.
+
+“We are very glad to see you,” Miss Tavish said, cordially; “we have
+been awfully dull.”
+
+“That is complimentary to me,” said the Major.
+
+“You can judge the depths we have been in when even the Major couldn't
+pull us out,” she retorted. “Without him we should have simply died.”
+
+“And it would have been the liveliest obsequies I ever attended.”
+
+Carmen was not effusive in her greeting; she left that role to Miss
+Tavish, taking for herself that of confidential friend. She was almost
+retiring in her manner, but she made Jack feel that she had a strong
+personal interest in his welfare, and she asked a hundred questions
+about the voyage and about town and about Edith.
+
+“I'm going to chaperon you up here,” she said, “for Miss Tavish will
+lead you into all sorts of wild adventures.”
+
+There was that in the manner of the demure little woman when she made
+this proposal that convinced Jack that under her care he would be
+perfectly safe--from Miss Tavish.
+
+After cigarettes were lighted she contrived to draw Mavick away to the
+piazza. She was very anxious to know what Henderson's latest moves were.
+Mavick was very communicative, and told her nothing that he knew she did
+not already know. And she was clever enough to see, without any apparent
+distrust, that whatever she got from him must be in what he did not
+say. As to Jack's speculations, she made little more progress. Jack gave
+every sign of being prosperous; he entertained royally on his yacht.
+
+Mavick himself was puzzled to know whether Carmen really cared for Jack,
+or whether she was only interested as in a game, one of the things that
+amused her life to play, to see how far he would go, and to watch his
+ascension or his tumble. Mavick would have been surprised if he had
+known that as a result of this wholly agreeable and confidential talk,
+Carmen wrote that night in a letter to her husband:
+
+“Your friend Mavick is here. What a very clever man he is! If I were you
+I would keep an eye on him.”
+
+A dozen plans were started at the tea for relieving the tedium of the
+daily drives and the regulation teas and receptions. For one thing,
+weather permitting, they would all breakfast at twelve on the yacht, and
+then sail about the harbor, and come home in the sunset.
+
+The day was indeed charming, so stimulating as to raise the value of
+real estate, and incite everybody to go off in search of adventure, in
+wagons, in walking parties, in boats. There is no happiness like the
+anticipation of pleasure begot by such a morning. Those who live there
+said it was regular Bar Harbor weather.
+
+Captain Delancy was on deck to receive his guests, who came out in small
+boats, chattering and fluttering and “ship-ahoying,” as gay in
+spirits as in apparel. Anything but high spirits and nonsense would be
+unpardonable on such a morning. Breakfast was served on deck, under
+an awning, in sight of the mountains, the green islands, the fringe
+of breaking sea in the distant opening, the shimmer and sparkle of
+the harbor, the white sails of pleasure-boats, the painted canoes, the
+schooners and coal-boats and steamers swinging at anchor just enough to
+make all the scene alive. “This is my idea,” said the Major, “of going
+to sea in a yacht; it would be perfect if we were tied up at the dock.”
+
+“I move that we throw the Major overboard,” cried Miss Tavish.
+
+“No,” Jack exclaimed; “it is against the law to throw anything into the
+harbor.”
+
+“Oh, I expected Miss Tavish would throw me overboard when Mavick
+appeared.”
+
+Mavick raised his glass and proposed the health of Miss Tavish.
+
+“With all my heart,” the Major said; “my life is passed in returning
+good for evil.”
+
+“I never knew before,” and Miss Tavish bowed her acknowledgments, “the
+secret of the Major's attractions.”
+
+“Yes,” said Carmen, sweetly, “he is all things to all women.”
+
+“You don't appear to have a friend here, Major,” Mavick suggested.
+
+“No; my friends are all foul-weather friends; come a bright day, they
+are all off like butterflies. That comes of being constant.”
+
+“That's no distinction,” Carmen exclaimed; “all men are that till they
+get what they want.”
+
+“Alas! that women also in these days here become cynical! It was not so
+when I was young. Here's to the ever young,” and he bowed to Carmen and
+Miss Tavish.
+
+“He's been with Ponce de Leon!” cried Miss Tavish.
+
+“He's the dearest man living, except a few,” echoed Carmen. “The Major's
+health.”
+
+The yellow wine sparkled in the glasses like the sparkling sea, the wind
+blew softly from the south, the sails in the bay darkened and flashed,
+and the breakfast, it seemed to go along of itself, and erelong the
+convives were eating ambrosia and sipping nectar. Van Dam told a shark
+story. Mavick demonstrated its innate improbability. The Major sang
+a song--a song of the forties, with a touch of sentiment. Jack, whose
+cheerful voice was a little of the cider-cellar order, and who never
+sang when he was sad, struck up the latest vaudeville ditty, and Carmen
+and Miss Tavish joined in the chorus.
+
+“I like the sea,” the Major declared. They all liked it. The breakfast
+lasted a long time, and when they rose from the table Jack said that
+presently they would take a course round the harbor. The Major remarked
+that that would suit him. He appeared to be ready to go round the world.
+
+While they were preparing to start, Carmen and Jack strolled away to the
+bow, where she perched herself, holding on by the rigging. He thought
+he had never seen her look so pretty as at that moment, in her trim
+nautical costume, sitting up there, swinging her feet like a girl, and
+regarding him with half-mocking, half-admiring eyes.
+
+What were they saying? Heaven only knows. What nonsense do people so
+situated usually talk? Perhaps she was warning him against Miss Tavish.
+Perhaps she was protesting that Julia Tavish was a very, very old
+friend. To an observer this admirable woman seemed to be on the
+defensive--her most alluring attitude. It was not, one could hear,
+exactly sober talk; there was laughter and raillery and earnestness
+mingled. It might be said that they were good comrades. Carmen
+professed to like good comradeship and no nonsense. But she liked to be
+confidential.
+
+Till late in the afternoon they cruised about among the islands, getting
+different points of view of the coast, and especially different points
+of view of each other, in the freedom of talk and repartee permitted on
+an excursion. Before sunset they were out in the open, and could feel
+the long ocean swell. The wind had risen a little, and there was a low
+band of clouds in the south. The skipper told Mr. Delancy that it would
+be much fresher with the sinking of the sun, but Jack replied that it
+wouldn't amount to anything; the glass was all right.
+
+       “Now the great winds shoreward blow;
+        Now the salt tides seaward flow;
+        Now the wild white horses play,
+        Champ and chafe and toss in the spray.”
+
+Miss Tavish was in the wheel-house, and had taken the wheel. This clever
+girl knew her right hand from her left, instantly, without having
+to stop and think and look at her rings, and she knew what port and
+starboard meant, as orders, and exactly how to meet a wave with a turn
+of the wheel.
+
+“I say, Captain Delancy,” she cried out, “the steamer is about due.
+Let's go down and meet her, and race in.”
+
+“All right,” replied Jack. “We can run round her three times and then
+beat her in.”
+
+The steamer's smoke was seen at that instant, and the yacht was headed
+for it. The wind was a little fresher, but the tight little craft took
+the waves like a duck, and all on board enjoyed the excitement of the
+change, except the Major, who said he didn't mind, but he didn't believe
+the steamer needed any escort.
+
+By the time the steamer was reached the sun was going down in a band of
+clouds. There was no gale, but the wind increased in occasional puffs of
+spite, and the waves were getting up. The skipper took the wheel to turn
+the yacht in a circle to her homeward course. As this operation created
+strange motions, and did not interest the Major, he said he would go
+below and reflect.
+
+In turning, the yacht came round on the seaward side of the steamer,
+but far behind. But the little craft speedily showed her breeding and
+overhauled her big rival, and began to forge ahead. The little group on
+the yacht waved their handkerchiefs as if in good-by, and the passengers
+on the steamer cheered. As the wind was every moment increasing, the
+skipper sheered away to allow plenty of sea-room between the boats. The
+race appeared to be over.
+
+“It's a pity,” said Miss Tavish.
+
+“Let's go round her,” said Jack; “eh, skipper?”
+
+“If you like, sir,” responded the skipper. “She can do it.”
+
+The yacht was well ahead, but the change in the direction brought the
+vessels nearer together. But there was no danger. The speed they were
+going would easily bring her round away ahead of the steamer.
+
+But just then something happened. The yacht would not answer to her
+helm. The wheel flew around without resistance. The wind, hauled now
+into the east, struck her with violence and drove her sideways. The
+little thing was like a chip on the sea. The rudder-chain had broken.
+The yacht seemed to fly towards the long, hulking steamer. The danger
+was seen there, and her helm was put hard down, and her nose began to
+turn towards the shore. But it was too late. It seemed all over in an
+instant. The yacht dashed bow on to the side of the steamer, quivered
+an instant, and then dropped away. At the same moment the steamer slowed
+down and began to turn to assist the wounded.
+
+The skipper of the yacht and a couple of hands rushed below. A part
+of the bow had been carried away and a small hole made just above the
+waterline, through which the water spurted whenever she encountered a
+large wave. It was enough to waterlog her and sink her in such a sea.
+The two seamen grasped whatever bedding was in reach below, rammed it
+into the opening, and held it there. The skipper ran on deck, and by the
+aid of the men hauled out a couple of sails and dropped them over the
+bow. These would aid in keeping out the water. They could float now, but
+where were they going? “Going ashore,” said Mavick, grimly. And so they
+were.
+
+“Was there a panic on board?” it was asked afterwards. Not exactly.
+Among well-bred people a panic is never good form. But there were white
+faces and trembling knees and anxious looks. The steamer was coming
+towards them, and all eyes were fixed on that rather than on the rocks
+of the still distant shore.
+
+The most striking incident of the moment--it seemed so to some of those
+who looked back upon it--was a singular test of character, or rather of
+woman's divination of character. Carmen instinctively flew to Jack and
+grasped and held his arm. She knew, without stopping to reason about it,
+that he would unhesitatingly imperil his life to save that of any woman.
+Whatever judgment is passed upon Jack, this should not be forgotten. And
+Miss Tavish; to whom did she fly in this peril? To the gallant Major?
+No. To the cool and imperturbable Mavick, who was as strong and sinewy
+as he was cool? No. She ran without hesitation to Van Dam, and clung
+to him, recognizing instinctively, with the woman's feeling, the same
+quality that Jack had. There are such men, who may have no great gifts,
+but who will always fight rather than run under fire, and who will
+always protect a woman.
+
+Mavick saw all this, and understood it perfectly, and didn't object to
+it at the time--but he did not forget it.
+
+The task of rescue was not easy in that sea and wind, but it was
+dexterously done. The steamer approached and kept at a certain distance
+on the windward side. A boat was lowered, and a line was brought to the
+yacht, which was soon in tow with a stout cable hitched to the steamer's
+anchor windlass.
+
+It was all done with much less excitement than appeared from the
+telegraphic accounts, and while the party were being towed home the
+peril seemed to have been exaggerated, and the affair to look like an
+ordinary sea incident. But the skipper said that it was one escape in a
+hundred.
+
+The captain of the steamer raised his hat gravely in reply to the
+little cheer from the yacht, when Carmen and Miss Tavish fluttered their
+handkerchiefs towards him. The only chaff from the steamer was roared
+out by a fat Boston man, who made a funnel of his hands and shouted,
+“The race is not always to the swift.”
+
+As soon as Jack stepped ashore he telegraphed to Edith that the yacht
+had had an accident in the harbor, but that no one was hurt. When he
+reached the hotel he found a letter from Edith of such a tenor that he
+sent another despatch, saying that she might expect him at once, leaving
+the yacht behind. There was a buzz of excitement in the town, and there
+were a hundred rumors, which the sight of the yacht and its passengers
+landed in safety scarcely sufficed to allay.
+
+When Jack called at the Tavish cottage to say good-by, both the ladies
+were too upset to see him. He took a night train, and as he was whirled
+away in the darkness the events of the preceding forty-eight hours
+seemed like a dream. Even the voyage up the coast was a little
+unreal--an insubstantial episode in life. And the summer city by the
+sea, with its gayety and gossip and busy idleness, sank out of sight
+like a phantom. He drew his cap over his eyes, and was impatient that
+the rattling train did not go faster, for Edith, waiting there in the
+Golden House, seemed to stretch out her arms for him to come. Still
+behind him rose a picture of that bacchanalian breakfast--the Major and
+Carmen and Mavick and Miss Tavish dancing a reel on the sloping deck,
+then the rising wind, the reckless daring of the race, and a vision of
+sudden death. He shuddered for the first time in a quick realization of
+how nearly it came to being all over with life and its pleasures.
+
+
+
+
+XIV
+
+Edith had made no appeal to Jack to come home. His going, therefore, had
+the merit in his eyes of being a voluntary response to the promptings of
+his better nature. Perhaps but for the accident at Mount Desert he might
+have felt that his summer pleasure was needlessly interfered with,
+but the little shock of that was a real, if still temporary, moral
+turning-point for him. For the moment his inclination seemed to run with
+his duty, and he had his reward in Edith's happiness at his coming, the
+loving hunger in her eyes, the sweet trust that animated her face, the
+delightful appropriation of him that could scarcely brook a moment's
+absence from her sight. There could not be a stronger appeal to his
+manhood and his fidelity.
+
+“Yes, Jack dear, it was a little lonesome.” She was swinging in her
+hammock on the veranda in sight of the sea, and Jack sat by her with his
+cigar. “I don't mind telling you now that there were times when I longed
+for you dreadfully, but I was glad, all the same, that you were enjoying
+yourself, for it is tiresome down here for a man with nothing to do but
+to wait.”
+
+“You dear thing!” said Jack, with his hand on her head, smoothing her
+glossy hair and pushing it back from her forehead, to make her look more
+intellectual--a thing which she hated. “Yes, dear, I was a brute to go
+off at all.”
+
+“But you wanted to comeback?” And there was a wistful look in her eyes.
+
+“Indeed I did,” he answered, fervently, as he leaned over the hammock
+to kiss the sweet eyes into content; and he was quite honest in the
+expression of a desire that was nearly forty-eight hours old, and by a
+singular mental reaction seemed to have been always present with him.
+
+“It was so good of you to telegraph me before I could see the
+newspaper.”
+
+“Of course I knew the account would be greatly exaggerated;” and he made
+light of the whole affair, knowing that the facts would still be
+capable of shocking her, giving a comic picture of the Major's seafaring
+qualities, and Carmen's and Miss Tavish's chaff of the gallant old beau.
+
+Even with this light sketching of the event she could not avoid a
+retrospective pang of apprehension, and the tightened grasp of his hand
+was as if she were holding him fast from that and all other peril.
+
+The days went by in content, on the whole, shaded a little by anxiety
+and made grave by a new interest. It could not well be but that the
+prospect of the near future, with its increase of responsibility, should
+create a little uneasiness in Jack's mind as to his own career. Of this
+future they talked much, and in Jack's attitude towards her Edith saw,
+for the first time since her marriage, a lever of suggestion, and it
+came naturally in the contemplation of their future life that she
+should encourage his discontent at having no occupation. Facing, in this
+waiting-time of quiet, certain responsibilities, it was impressed upon
+him that the collecting of bric-a-brac was scarcely an occupation,
+and that idling in clubs and studios and dangling about at the beck of
+society women was scarcely a career that could save him from ultimate
+ennui. To be sure, he had plenty of comrades, young fellows of fortune,
+who never intended to do anything except to use it for their personal
+satisfaction; but they did not seem to be of much account except in the
+little circle that they ornamented. Speaking of one of them one day,
+Father Damon had said that it seemed a pity a fellow of such family and
+capacity and fortune should go to the devil merely for the lack of an
+object in life. In this closer communion with Edith, whose ideas he
+began to comprehend, Jack dimly apprehended this view, and for the
+moment impulsively accepted it.
+
+“I'm half sorry,” he said one day, “that I didn't go in for
+a profession. But it is late now. Law, medicine, engineering,
+architecture, would take years of study.”
+
+“There was Armstrong,” Edith suggested, “who studied law after he was
+married.”
+
+“But it looks sort of silly for a fellow who has a wife to go to school,
+unless,” said Jack, with a laugh, “he goes to school to his wife. Then
+there's politics. You wouldn't like to see me in that.”
+
+“I rather think, Jack”--she spoke musingly--“if I were a man I should go
+into politics.”
+
+“You would have nice company!”
+
+“But it's the noblest career--government, legislation, trying to do
+something to make the world better. Jack, I don't see how the men of New
+York can stand it to be governed by the very worst elements.”
+
+“My dear, you have no idea what practical politics is.”
+
+“I've an idea what I'd make it. What is the good of young men of leisure
+if they don't do anything for the country? Too fine to do what Hamilton
+did and Jay did! I wish you could have heard my father talk about it.
+Abdicate their birthright for a four-in-hand!”
+
+“Or a yacht,” suggested Jack.
+
+“Well, I don't see why a man cannot own a yacht and still care something
+about the decent management of his city.”
+
+“There's Mavick in politics.”
+
+“Not exactly. Mavick is in office for what he can make. No, I will
+not say that. No doubt he is a good civil servant, and we can't expect
+everybody to be unselfish. At any rate, he is intelligent. Do you
+remember what Mr. Morgan said last winter?” And Edith lifted herself up
+on her elbow, as if to add the weight of her attitude to her words, as
+Jack was still smiling at her earnestness.
+
+“No; you said he was a delightful sort of pessimist.”
+
+“Mr. Morgan said that the trouble with the governing and legislation now
+in the United States is that everybody is superficially educated, and
+that the people are putting their superficial knowledge into laws, and
+that we are going to have a nice time with all these wild theories
+and crudities on the statute-book. And then educated people say that
+politics is so corrupt and absurd that they cannot have anything to do
+with it.”
+
+“And how far do you think we could get, my dear, in the crusade you
+propose?”
+
+“I don't know that you would get anywhere. Yet I should think the young
+men of New York could organize its intelligence and do something.
+But you think I'm nothing but a woman.” And Edith sank back, as if
+abandoning the field.
+
+“I had thought that; but it is hard to tell, these days. Never mind,
+when we go back to town I'll stir round; you'll see.”
+
+This was an unusual sort of talk. Jack had never heard Edith break out
+in this direction before, and he wondered if many women were beginning
+to think of men in this way, as cowardly about their public duties.
+Not many in his set, he was sure. If Edith had urged him to go into
+Neighborhood Guild work, he could have understood that. Women and
+ethical cranks were interested in that. And women were getting queerer
+every day, beginning, as Mavick said, to take notice. However, it was
+odd, when you thought over it, that the city should be ruled by the
+slums.
+
+It was easy to talk about these things; in fact, Jack talked a great
+deal about them in the clubs, and occasionally with a knot of men after
+dinner in a knowing, pessimistic sort of way. Sometimes the discussions
+were very animated and even noisy between these young citizens. It
+seemed, sometimes, about midnight, that something might be done; but the
+resolution vanished next morning when another day, to be lived through,
+confronted them. They illustrated the great philosophic observation that
+it is practically impossible for an idle man who has nothing to do to
+begin anything today.
+
+To do Jack justice, this enforced detention in the country he did not
+find dull exactly. To be sure it was vacation-time, and his whole life
+was a vacation, and summer was rather more difficult to dispose of than
+winter, for one had to make more of an effort to amuse himself. But
+Edith was never more charming than in this new dependence, and all his
+love and loyalty were evoked in caring for her. This was occupation
+enough, even if he had been the busiest man in the world-to watch over
+her, to read to her, to anticipate her fancies, to live with her in that
+dream of the future which made life seem almost ideal. There came a time
+when he looked back upon this month at the Golden House as the happiest
+in his life.
+
+The talk about an occupation was not again referred to. Edith seemed
+entirely happy to have Jack with her, more entirely her own than he had
+ever been, and to have him just as he was. And yet he knew, by a sure
+instinct, that she saw him as she thought he would be, with some aim and
+purpose in life. And he made many good resolutions.
+
+That which was nearest him attracted him most, and very feeble now were
+the allurements of the life and the company he had just left. Not that
+he would break with it exactly; it was not necessary to do that; but he
+would find something to do, something worth a man's doing, or, at any
+rate, some occupation that should tax his time and his energies. That,
+he knew, would make Edith happy, and to make her happy seemed now
+very much like a worthy object in life. She was so magnanimous, so
+unsuspicious, so full of all nobility. He knew she would stand by him
+whatever happened. Down here her attitude to life was no longer a
+rebuke to him nor a restraint upon him. Everything seemed natural and
+wholesome. Perhaps his vanity was touched, for there must be something
+in, him if such a woman could love him. And probably there was, though
+he himself had never yet had a chance to find it out. Brought up in the
+expectation of a fortune, bred to idleness as others are to industry,
+his highest ambition having been to amuse himself creditably and to
+take life easily, what was to hinder his being one of the multitude of
+“good-for-nothings” in our modern life? If there had been war, he had
+spirit enough to carry him into it, and it would have surprised no one
+to hear that Jack had joined an exploring expedition to the North Pole
+or the highlands of Central Asia. Something uncommon he might do if
+opportunity offered.
+
+About his operations with Henderson he had never told Edith, and he did
+not tell her now. Perhaps she divined it, and he rather wondered that
+she had never asked him about his increased expenditures, his yacht, and
+all that. He used to look at her steadily at times, as if he were trying
+to read the secrets of her heart.
+
+“What are you looking at, Jack?”
+
+“To see if I can find out how much you know, you look so wise.”
+
+“Do I? I was just thinking about you. I suppose that made me look so.”
+
+“No; about life and the world generally.”
+
+“Mighty little, Jack, except--well, I study you.”
+
+“Do you? Then you'll presently lose your mind:”
+
+Jack and most men have little idea that they are windows through which
+their wives see the world; and how much more of the world they know in
+that way than men usually suspect or wives ever tell!
+
+He did not tell her about Henderson, but he almost resolved that when
+his present venture was over he would let stocks alone as speculations,
+and go into something that he could talk about to his wife as he talked
+about stocks to Carmen.
+
+From the stranded mariners at Bar Harbor Captain Jack had many and
+facetious letters. They wanted to know if his idea was that they should
+stick by the yacht until he got leisure to resume the voyage, or if he
+expected them to walk home. He had already given orders to the skipper
+to patch it up and bring it to New York if possible, and he advised his
+correspondents to stay by the yacht as long as there was anything in the
+larder, but if they were impatient, he offered them transportation on
+any vessel that would take able-bodied seamen. He must be excused from
+commanding, because he had been assigned to shore duty. Carmen and
+Miss Tavish wrote that it was unfair to leave them to sustain all the
+popularity and notoriety of the shipwreck, and that he owed it to the
+public to publish a statement, in reply to the insinuations of the
+newspapers, in regard to the sea-worthiness of the yacht and the object
+of this voyage. Jack replied that the only object of the voyage was
+to relieve the tedium of Bar Harbor, and, having accomplished this, he
+would present the vessel to Miss Tavish if she would navigate it back to
+the city.
+
+The golden autumn days by the sea were little disturbed by these echoes
+of another life, which seemed at the moment to be a very shallow one.
+Yet the time was not without its undertone of anxieties, of grave perils
+that seemed to sanctify it and heighten its pleasures of hope. Jack saw
+and comprehended for the first time in his life the real nature of a
+pure woman, the depths of tenderness and self-abnegation, the heroism
+and calm trust and the nobility of an unworldly life. No wonder that
+he stood a little in awe of it, and days when he wandered down on the
+beach, with only the waves for company, or sat smoking in the arbor,
+with an unread book in his hand, his own career seemed petty and empty.
+Such moods, however, are not uncommon in any life, and are not of
+necessity fruitful. It need not be supposed that Jack took it too
+seriously, on the one hand, or, on the other, that a vision of such a
+woman's soul is ever without influence.
+
+By the end of October they returned to town, Jack, and Edith with a
+new and delicate attractiveness, and young Fletcher Delancy the most
+wonderful and important personage probably who came to town that season.
+It seemed to Edith that his advent would be universally remarked, and
+Jack felt relieved when the boy was safely housed out of the public
+gaze. Yes, to Edith's inexpressible joy it was a boy, and while Jack
+gallantly said that a girl would have suited him just as well, he
+was conscious of an increased pride when he announced the sex to
+his friends. This undervaluation of women at the start is one of the
+mysteries of life. And until women themselves change their point of
+view, it is to be feared that legislation will not accomplish all that
+many of them wish.
+
+“So it is a boy. I congratulate you,” was the exclamation of Major
+Fairfax the first time Jack went down to the Union.
+
+“I'm glad, Major, to have your approval.”
+
+“Oh, it's what is expected, that's all. For my part, I prefer girls. The
+announcement of boys is more expensive.”
+
+Jack understood, and it turned out in all the clubs that he had hit upon
+the most expensive sex in the view of responding to congratulations.
+
+“It used to seem to me,” said the Major, “that I must have a male heir
+to my estates. But, somehow, as the years go on, I feel more like being
+an heir myself. If I had married and had a boy, he would have crowded me
+out by this time; whereas, if it had been a girl, I should no doubt
+have been staying at her place in Lenox this summer instead of being
+shipwrecked on that desert island. There is nothing, my dear boy, like a
+girl well invested.”
+
+“You speak with the feelings of a father.”
+
+“I speak, sir, from observation. I look at society as it is, not as it
+would be if we had primogeniture and a landed aristocracy. A daughter
+under our arrangements is more likely to be a comfort to her parent in
+his declining years than a son.”
+
+“But you seem, Major, to have preferred a single life?”
+
+“Circumstances--thank you, just a drop more--we are the creatures of
+circumstances. It is a long story. There were misrepresentation and
+misunderstanding. It is true, sir, that at that time my property was
+encumbered, but it was not unproductive. She died long ago. I have
+reason to believe that her married life was not happy. I was hot-blooded
+in those days, and my honor was touched, but I never blamed her. She
+was, at twenty, the most beautiful woman in Virginia. I have never seen
+her equal.”
+
+This was more than the Major had ever revealed about his private life
+before. He had created an illusion about himself which society accepted,
+and in which he lived in apparent enjoyment of metropolitan existence.
+This was due to a sanguine temperament and a large imagination. And
+he had one quality that made him a favorite--a hearty enjoyment of
+the prosperity of others. With regard to himself, his imagination was
+creative, and Jack could not now tell whether this “most beautiful woman
+of Virginia” was not evoked by the third glass, about which the Major
+remarked, as he emptied it, that only this extraordinary occasion could
+justify such an indulgence at this time of day.
+
+The courtly old gentleman had inquired about madam--indeed, the second
+glass had been dedicated to “mother and child”--and he exhibited a
+friendly and almost paternal interest, as he always did, in Jack.
+
+“By-the-way,” he said, after a silence, “is Henderson in town?”
+
+“I haven't heard. Why?”
+
+“There's been a good deal of uneasiness in the Street as to what he is
+doing. I hope you haven't got anything depending on him.”
+
+“I've got something in his stocks, if that is what you mean; but I don't
+mind telling you I have made something.”
+
+“Well, it's none of my business, only the Henderson stocks have gone off
+a little, as you know.”
+
+Jack knew, and he asked the Major a little nervously if he knew anything
+further. The Major knew nothing except Street rumors. Jack was uneasy,
+for the Major was a sort of weathercock, and before he left the club he
+wrote to Mavick.
+
+He carried home with him a certain disquiet, to which he had been for
+months a stranger. Even the sight of Edith, who met him with a happy
+face, and dragged him away at once to see how lovely the baby looked
+asleep, could not remove this. It seemed strange that such a little
+thing should make a change, introduce an alien element into this
+domestic peace. Jack was like some other men who lose heart not
+when they are doing a doubtful thing, but when they have to face the
+consequences--cases of misplaced conscience. The peace and content that
+he had left in the house in the morning seemed to have gone out of it
+when he returned at night.
+
+Next day came a reassuring letter from Mavick.
+
+Henderson was going on as usual. It was only a little bear movement,
+which wouldn't amount to anything. Still, day after day, the bears kept
+clawing down, and Jack watched the stock-list with increasing eagerness.
+He couldn't decide to sacrifice anything as long as he had a margin of
+profit.
+
+In this state of mind it was impossible to consider any of the plans he
+had talked over with Edith before the baby was born. Inquiries he did
+make about some sort of position or regular occupation, and these he
+reported to Edith; but his heart was not in it.
+
+As the days went by there was a little improvement in his stocks, and
+his spirits rose. But this mood was no more favorable than the other for
+beginning a new life, nor did there seem to be, as he went along, any
+need of it. He had an appearance of being busy every day; he rose late
+and went late to bed. It was the old life. Stocks down, there was a
+necessity of bracing up with whomever he met at any of the three or four
+clubs in which he lounged in the afternoon; and stocks up, there was
+reason for celebrating that fact in the same way.
+
+It was odd how soon he became accustomed to consider himself and to
+be regarded as the father of a family. That, also, like his marriage,
+seemed something done, and in a manner behind him. There was a
+commonplaceness about the situation. To Edith it was a great event. To
+Jack it was a milestone in life. He was proud of the boy; he was proud
+of Edith. “I tell you, fellows,” he would say at the club, “it's a great
+thing,” and so on, in a burst of confidence, and he was quite sincere
+in this. But he preferred to be at the club and say these things rather
+than pass the same hours with his adorable family. He liked to think
+what he would do for that family--what luxuries he could procure for
+them, how they should travel and see the world. There wasn't a better
+father anywhere than Jack at this period. And why shouldn't a man of
+family amuse himself? Because he was happy in his family he needn't
+change all the habits of his life.
+
+Presently he intended to look about him for something to do that
+would satisfy Edith and fill up his time; but meantime he drifted on,
+alternately anxious and elated, until the season opened. The Blunts and
+the Van Dams and the Chesneys and the Tavishes and Mrs. Henderson had
+called, invitations had poured in, subscriptions were asked, studies and
+gayeties were projected, and the real business of life was under way.
+
+
+
+
+XV
+
+To the nurse of the Delancy boy and to his mother he was by no means
+an old story or merely an incident of the year. He was an increasing
+wonder--new every morning, and exciting every evening. He was the centre
+of a world of solicitude and adoration. It would be scarcely too much to
+say that his coming into the world promised a new era, and his traits,
+his likes and dislikes, set a new standard in his court. If he had
+apprehended his position his vanity would have outgrown his curiosity
+about the world, but he displayed no more consciousness of his royalty
+than a kicking Infanta of Spain. This was greatly to his credit in
+the opinion of the nurse, who devoted herself to the baby with that
+enthusiasm of women for infants which fortunately never fails, and won
+the heart of Edith by her worship. And how much they found to say about
+this marvel! To hear from the nurse, over and over again, what the baby
+had done and had not done, in a given hour, was to Edith like a fresh
+chapter out of an exciting romance.
+
+And the boy's biographer is inclined to think that he had rare powers
+of discrimination, for one day when Carmen had called and begged to be
+permitted to go up into the nursery, and had asked to take him in her
+arms just for a moment, notwithstanding her soft dress and her caressing
+manner, Fletcher had made a wry face and set up a howl. “How much he
+looks like his father” (he didn't look like anything), Carmen said,
+handing him over to the nurse. What she thought was that in manner and
+disposition he was totally unlike Jack Delancy.
+
+When they came down-stairs, Mrs. Schuyler Blunt was in the drawing-room.
+“I've had such a privilege, Mrs. Blunt, seeing the baby!” cried Carmen,
+in her sweetest manner.
+
+“It must have been,” that lady rejoined, stiffly.
+
+Carmen, who hated to be seen through, of all things, did not know
+whether to resent this or not. But Edith hastened to the rescue of her
+guest.
+
+“I think it's a privilege.”
+
+“And you know, Mrs. Blunt,” said Carmen, recovering herself and smiling,
+“that I must have some excitement this dull season.”
+
+“I see,” said Mrs. Blunt, with no relaxation of her manner; “we are all
+grateful to Mrs. Delancy.”
+
+“Mrs. Henderson does herself injustice,” Edith again interposed. “I can
+assure you she has a great talent for domesticity.”
+
+Carmen did not much fancy this apology for her, but she rejoined: “Yes,
+indeed. I'm going to cultivate it.”
+
+“How is this privileged person?” Mrs. Blunt asked.
+
+“You shall see,” said Edith. “I am glad you came, for I wanted very much
+to consult you. I was going to send for you.”
+
+“Well, here I am. But I didn't come about the baby. I wanted to consult
+you. We miss you, dear, every day.” And then Mrs. Blunt began to speak
+about some social and charitable arrangements, but stopped suddenly.
+“I'll see the baby first. Good-morning, Mrs. Henderson.” And she left
+the room.
+
+Carmen felt as much left out socially as about the baby, and she also
+rose to go.
+
+“Don't go,” said Edith. “What kind of a summer have you had?”
+
+“Oh, very good. Some shipwrecks.”
+
+“And Mr. Henderson? Is he well?”
+
+“Perfectly. He is away now. Husbands, you know, haven't so much talent
+for domesticity as we have.”
+
+“That depends,” Edith replied, simply, but with that spirit and air of
+breeding before which Carmen always inwardly felt defeat--“that depends
+very much upon ourselves.”
+
+Naturally, with this absorption in the baby, Edith was slow to resume
+her old interests. Of course she knew of the illness of Father Damon,
+and the nurse, who was from the training-school in which Dr. Leigh was
+an instructor, and had been selected for this important distinction by
+the doctor, told her from time to time of affairs on the East Side. Over
+there the season had opened quite as usual; indeed, it was always open;
+work must go on every day, because every day food must be obtained
+and rent-money earned, and the change from summer to winter was only
+a climatic increase of hardships. Even an epidemic scare does not
+essentially vary the daily monotony, which is accepted with a dogged
+fatality:
+
+There had been no vacation for Ruth Leigh, and she jokingly said, when
+at length she got a half-hour for a visit to Edith, that she would
+hardly know what to do with one if she had it.
+
+“We have got through very well,” she added. “We always dread the summer,
+and we always dread the winter. Science has not yet decided which is
+the more fatal, decayed vegetables or unventilated rooms. City residence
+gives both a fair chance at the poor.”
+
+“Are not the people learning anything?” Edith asked.
+
+“Not much, except to bear it, I am sorry to say. Even Father Damon--”
+
+“Is he at work again? Do you see him often?”
+
+“Yes, occasionally.”
+
+“I should so like to see him. But I interrupted you.”
+
+“Well, Father Damon has come to see that nothing can be done without
+organization. The masses”--and there was an accent of bitterness in her
+use of the phrase--“must organize and fight for anything they want.”
+
+“Does Father Damon join in this?”
+
+“Oh, he has always been a member of the Labor League. Now he has been
+at work with the Episcopal churches of the city, and got them to agree,
+when they want workmen for any purpose, to employ only union men.”
+
+“Isn't that,” Edith exclaimed, “a surrender of individual rights and a
+great injustice to men not in the unions?”
+
+“You would see it differently if you were in the struggle. If the
+working-men do not stand by each other, where are they to look for help?
+What have the Christians of this city done?” and the little doctor got
+up and began to pace the room. “Charities? Yes, little condescending
+charities. And look at the East Side! Is its condition any better? I
+tell you, Mrs. Delancy, I don't believe in charities--in any charities.”
+
+“It seems to me,” said Edith, with a smile calculated to mollify this
+vehemence, “that you are a standing refutation of your own theory.”
+
+“Me? No, indeed. I'm paid by the dispensary. And I make my patients
+pay--when they are able.”
+
+“So I have heard,” Edith retorted. “Your bills must be a terror to the
+neighborhood.”
+
+“You may laugh. But I'm establishing a reputation over there as a
+working-woman, and if I have any influence, or do any little good, it's
+owing to that fact. Do you think they care anything about Father Damon's
+gospel?”
+
+“I should be sorry to think they did not,” Edith said, gravely.
+
+“Well, very little they care. They like the man because they think he
+shares their feelings, and does not sympathize with them because they
+are different from him. That is the only kind of gospel that is good for
+anything over there.”
+
+“I don't think Father Damon would agree with you in that.”
+
+“Of course he would not. He's as mediaeval as any monk. But then he is
+not blind. He sees that it is never anything but personal influence
+that counts. Poor fellow,” and the doctor's voice softened, “he'll kill
+himself with his ascetic notions. He is trying to take up the burden of
+this life while struggling under the terror of another.”
+
+“But he must be doing a great deal of good.”
+
+“Oh, I don't know. Nothing seems to do much good. But his presence is
+a great comfort. That is something. And I'm glad he is going about
+now rousing opposition to what is, rather than all the time preaching
+submission to the lot of this life for the sake of a reward somewhere
+else. That's a gospel for the rich.”
+
+Edith was accustomed to hear Ruth Leigh talk in this bitter strain when
+this subject was introduced, and she contrived to turn the conversation
+upon what she called practical work, and then to ask some particulars of
+Father Damon's sudden illness.
+
+“He did rest,” the doctor said, “for a little, in his way. But he will
+not spare himself, and he cannot stand it. I wish you could induce him
+to come here often--to do anything for diversion. He looks so worn.”
+
+There was in the appeal to Edith a note of personal interest which her
+quick heart did not fail to notice. And the thought came to her with a
+painful apprehension. Poor thing! Poor Father Damon!
+
+Does not each of them have to encounter misery enough without this?
+
+Doesn't life spare anybody?
+
+She told her apprehension to Jack when he came home.
+
+Jack gave a long whistle. “That is a deadlock!”
+
+“His vows, and her absolute materialism! Both of them would go to the
+stake for what they believe, or don't believe. It troubles me very
+much.”
+
+“But,” said Jack, “it's interesting. It's what they call a situation.
+There. I didn't mean to make light of it. I don't believe there is
+anything in it. But it would be comical, right here in New York.”
+
+“It would be tragical.”
+
+“Comedy usually is. I suppose it's the human nature in it. That is so
+difficult to get rid of. But I thought the missionary business was safe.
+Though, do you know, Edith, I should think better of both of them for
+having some human feeling. By-the-way, did Dr. Leigh say anything about
+Henderson?”
+
+“No. What?”
+
+“He has given Father Damon ten thousand dollars. It's in strict secrecy,
+but Father Damon said I might tell you. He said it was providential.”
+
+“I thought Mr. Henderson was wholly unscrupulous and cold as ice.”
+
+“Yes, he's got a reputation for freeze-outs. If the Street knew this it
+would say it was insurance money. And he is so cynical that he wouldn't
+care what the Street said.”
+
+“Do you think it came about through Mrs. Henderson?”
+
+“I don't think so. She was speaking of Father Damon this morning in the
+Loan Exhibition. I don't believe she knows anything about it. Henderson
+is a good deal shut up in himself. They say at the Union that years
+ago he used to do a good many generous things--that he is a great deal
+harder than he used to be.”
+
+This talk was before dinner. She did not ask anything now about Carmen,
+though she knew that Jack had fallen into his old habit of seeing much
+of her. He was less and less at home, except at dinner-time, and he
+was often restless, and, she saw, often annoyed. When he was at home he
+tried to make up for his absence by extra tenderness and consideration
+for Edith and the boy. And this effort, and its evidence of a double if
+not divided life, wounded her more than the neglect. One night, when he
+came home late, he had been so demonstrative about the baby that Edith
+had sent the nurse out of the room until she could coax Jack to go into
+his own apartment. His fits of alternate good-humor and depression she
+tried to attribute to his business, to which he occasionally alluded
+without confiding in her.
+
+The next morning Father Damon came in about luncheon-time. He apologized
+for not coming before since her return, but he had been a little upset,
+and his work was more and more interesting. His eyes were bright and his
+manner had quite the usual calm, but he looked pale and thinner, and so
+exhausted that Edith ran immediately for a glass of wine, and began to
+upbraid him for not taking better care of himself.
+
+“I take too much care of myself. We all do. The only thing I've got to
+give is myself.”
+
+“But you will not last.”
+
+“That is of little moment; long or short, a man can only give himself.
+Our Lord was not here very long.” And then Father Damon smiled, and said
+“My dear friend, I'm really doing very well. Of course I get tired. Then
+I come up again. And every now and then I get a lift. Did Jack tell you
+about Henderson?”
+
+“Yes. Wasn't it strange?”
+
+“I never was more surprised. He sent for me to come to his office.
+Without any circumlocution, he asked me how I was getting on, and,
+before I could answer, he said, in the driest business way, that he had
+been thinking over a little plan, and perhaps I could help him. He had a
+little money he wanted to invest--RR.” 'In our mission chapel?' I asked.
+
+“'No,' he said, without moving a muscle. 'Not that. I don't know much
+about chapels, Father Damon. But I've been hearing what you are doing,
+and it occurred to me that you must come across a good many cases not
+in the regular charities that you could help judiciously, get them
+over hard spots, without encouraging dependence. I'm going to put ten
+thousand dollars into your hands, if you'll be bothered with it, to use
+at your discretion.'
+
+“I was taken aback, and I suppose I showed it, and I said that was a
+great deal of money to intrust to one man.
+
+“Henderson showed a little impatience. It depended upon the man. That
+was his lookout. The money would be deposited, he said, in bank to my
+order, and he asked me for my signature that he could send with the
+deposit.
+
+“Of course I thanked him warmly, and said I hoped I could do some good
+with it. He did not seem to pay much attention to what I was saying. He
+was looking out of the window to the bare trees in the court back of
+his office, and his hands were moving the papers on his table aimlessly
+about.
+
+“'I shall know,' he said, 'when you have drawn this out. I've got a
+fancy for keeping a little fund of this sort there.' And then he added,
+still not looking at me, but at the dead branches, 'You might call it
+the Margaret Fund.'”
+
+“That was the name of his first wife!” Edith exclaimed.
+
+“Yes, I remember. I said I would, and began to thank him again as I rose
+from my chair. He was still looking away, and saying, as if to himself,
+'I think she would like that.' And then he turned, and, in his usual
+abrupt office manner, said: 'Good-morning, good-morning. I am very much
+obliged to you.'”
+
+“Wasn't it all very strange!” Edith spoke, after a moment. “I didn't
+suppose he cared. Do you think it was just sentiment?”
+
+“I shouldn't wonder. Men like Henderson do queer things. In the hearts
+of such hardened men there are sometimes roots of sentiment that you
+wouldn't suspect. But I don't know. The Lord somehow looks out for his
+poor.”
+
+Notwithstanding this windfall of charity, Father Damon seemed somewhat
+depressed. “I wish,” he said, after a pause, “he had given it to the
+mission. We are so poor, and modern philanthropy all runs in other
+directions. The relief of temporary suffering has taken the place of the
+care of souls.”
+
+“But Dr. Leigh said that you were interesting the churches in the labor
+unions.”
+
+“Yes. It is an effort to do something. The church must put herself into
+sympathetic relations with these people, or she will accomplish nothing.
+To get them into the church we must take up their burdens. But it is a
+long way round. It is not the old method of applying the gospel to men's
+sins.”
+
+“And yet,” Edith insisted, “you must admit that such people as Dr. Leigh
+are doing a good work.”
+
+Father Damon did not reply immediately. Presently he asked: “Do you
+think, Mrs. Delancy, that Dr. Leigh has any sympathy with the higher
+life, with spiritual things? I wish I could think so.”
+
+“With the higher life of humanity, certainly.”
+
+“Ah, that is too vague. I sometimes feel that she and those like her are
+the worst opponents to our work. They substitute humanitarianism for the
+gospel.”
+
+“Yet I know of no one who works more than Ruth Leigh in the
+self-sacrificing spirit of the Master.”
+
+“Whom she denies!” The quick reply came with a flush in his pale face,
+and he instantly arose and walked away to the window and stood for some
+moments in silence. When he turned there was another expression in
+his eyes and a note of tenderness in his voice that contradicted the
+severity of the priest. It was the man that spoke. “Yes, she is the best
+woman I ever knew. God help me! I fear I am not fit for my work.”
+
+This outburst of Father Damon to her, so unlike his calm and trained
+manner, surprised Edith, although she had already some suspicion of his
+state of mind. But it would not have surprised her if she had known more
+of men, the necessity of the repressed and tortured soul for sympathy,
+and that it is more surely to be found in the heart of a pure woman than
+elsewhere.
+
+But there was nothing that she could say, as she took his hand to bid
+him good-by, except the commonplace that Dr. Leigh had expressed anxiety
+that he was overworking, and that for the sake of his work he must be
+more prudent. Yet her eyes expressed the sympathy she did not put in
+words.
+
+Father Damon understood this, and he went away profoundly grateful for
+her forbearance of verbal expression as much as for her sympathy. But
+he did not suspect that she needed sympathy quite as much as he did, and
+consequently he did not guess the extent of her self-control. It would
+have been an immense relief to have opened her heart to him--and to whom
+could she more safely do this than to a priest set apart from all human
+entanglements?--and to have asked his advice. But Edith's peculiar
+strength--or was it the highest womanly instinct?--lay in her
+discernment of the truth that in one relation of life no confidences are
+possible outside of that relation except to its injury, and that to ask
+interference is pretty sure to seal its failure. As its highest joys
+cannot be participated in, so its estrangements cannot be healed by any
+influence outside of its sacred compact. To give confidence outside
+is to destroy the mutual confidence upon which the relation rests, and
+though interference may patch up livable compromises, the bloom of love
+and the joy of life are not in them. Edith knew that if she could not
+win her own battle, no human aid could win it for her.
+
+And it was all the more difficult because it was vague and indefinite,
+as the greater part of domestic tragedies are. For the most part life
+goes on with external smoothness, and the public always professes
+surprise when some accident, a suit at law, a sudden death, a contested
+will, a slip from apparent integrity, or family greed or feminine
+revenge, turns the light of publicity upon a household, to find how
+hollow the life has been; in the light of forgotten letters, revealing
+check-books, servants' gossip, and long-established habits of aversion
+or forbearance, how much sordidness and meanness!
+
+Was not everything going on as usual in the Delancy house and in the
+little world of which it was a part? If there had been any open neglect
+or jealousy, any quarrel or rupture, or any scene, these could be
+described. These would have an interest to the biographer and perhaps to
+the public. But at this period there was nothing of this sort to
+tell. There were no scenes. There were no protests or remonstrances or
+accusations, nor to the world was there any change in the daily life of
+these two.
+
+It was more pitiful even than that. Here was a woman who had set her
+heart in all the passionate love of a pure ideal, and day by day she
+felt that the world, the frivolous world, with its low and selfish
+aims, was too strong for her, and that the stream was wrecking her
+life because it was bearing Jack away from her. What could one woman
+do against the accepted demoralizations of her social life? To go with
+them, not to care, to accept Jack's idle, good-natured, easy philosophy
+of life and conduct, would not that have insured a peaceful life? Why
+shouldn't she conform and float, and not mind?
+
+To be sure, a wise woman, who has been blessed or cursed with a long
+experience of life, would have known that such a course could not
+forever, or for long, secure happiness, and that a man's love ultimately
+must rest upon a profound respect for his wife and a belief in her
+nobility. Perhaps Edith did not reason in this way. Probably it was her
+instinct for what was pure and true-showing, indeed, the quality of her
+love-that guided her.
+
+To Jack's friends he was much the same as usual. He simply went on in
+his ante-marriage ways. Perhaps he drank a little more, perhaps he was
+a little more reckless at cards, and it was certain that his taste for
+amusing himself in second-hand book-shops and antiquity collections had
+weakened. His talked-of project for some regular occupation seemed
+to have been postponed, although he said to himself that it was only
+postponed until his speculations, which kept him in a perpetual fever,
+should put him in a position to command a business.
+
+Meantime he did not neglect social life--that is, the easy, tolerant
+company which lived as he liked to live. There was at first some
+pretense of declining invitations which Edith could not accept, but
+he soon fell into the habit of a man whose family has temporarily
+gone abroad, with the privileges of a married man, without the
+responsibilities of a bachelor. Edith could see that he took great
+credit to himself for any evenings he spent at home, and perhaps he had
+a sort of support in the idea that he was sacrificing himself to his
+family. Major Fairfax, whom Edith distrusted as a misleader of youth,
+did not venture to interfere with Jack again, but he said to himself
+that it was a blank shame that with such a wife he should go dangling
+about with women like Carmen and Miss Tavish, not that the Major himself
+had any objection to their society, but, hang it all, that was no reason
+why Jack should be a fool.
+
+In midwinter Jack went to Washington on business. It was necessary to
+see Mavick, and Mr. Henderson, who was also there. To spend a few
+weeks at the capital, in preparation for Lent, has become a part of the
+program of fashion. There can be met people like-minded from all parts
+of the Union, and there is gayety, and the entertainment to be had in
+new acquaintances, without incurring any of the responsibilities of
+social continuance. They meet there on neutral ground. Half Jack's set
+had gone over or were going. Young Van Dam would go with him. It will be
+only for a few days, Jack had said, gayly, when he bade Edith good-by,
+and she must be careful not to let the boy forget him.
+
+It was quite by accident, apparently, that in the same train were the
+Chesneys, Miss Tavish, and Carmen going over to join her husband. This
+gave the business expedition the air of an excursion. And indeed at the
+hotel where they stayed this New York contingent made something of
+an impression, promising an addition to the gayety of the season, and
+contributing to the importance of the house as a centre of fashion.
+Henderson's least movements were always chronicled and speculated on,
+and for years he had been one of the stock subjects, out of which even
+the dullest interviewers, who watch the hotel registers in all parts of
+the country, felt sure that they could make an acceptable paragraph. The
+arrival of his wife, therefore, was a newspaper event.
+
+They said in Washington at the time that Mrs. Henderson was one of the
+most fascinating of women, amiable, desirous to please, approachable,
+and devoted to the interests of her husband. If some of the women,
+residents in established society, were a little shy of her, if some,
+indeed, thought her dangerous--women are always thinking this of each
+other, and surely they ought to know-nothing of this appeared in the
+reports. The men liked her. She had so much vivacity, such esprit, she
+understood men so well, and the world, and could make allowances, and
+was always an entertaining companion. More than one Senator paid marked
+court to her, more than one brilliant young fellow of the House thought
+himself fortunate if he sat next her at dinner, and even cabinet
+officers waited on her at supper. It could not be doubted that a smile
+and a confidential or a witty remark from Mrs. Henderson brightened many
+an evening. Wherever she went her charming toilets were fully described,
+and the public knew as well as her jewelers the number and cost of her
+diamonds, her necklaces, her tiaras. But this was for the world and
+for state occasions. At home she liked simplicity. And this was what
+impressed the reporters when, in the line of their public duty, they
+were admitted to her presence. With them she was very affable, and she
+made them feel that they could almost be classed with her friends, and
+that they were her guardians against the vulgar publicity, which she
+disliked and shrank from.
+
+There went abroad, therefore, an impression of her amiability, her
+fabulous wealth in jewels and apparel, her graciousness and her
+cleverness and her domesticity. Her manners seemed to the reporters
+those of a “lady,” and of this both her wit and freedom from prudishness
+and her courteous treatment of them convinced them. And the best of all
+this was that while it was said that Henderson was one of the boldest
+and shrewdest of operators, and a man to be feared in the Street, he
+was in his family relations one of the most generous and kind-hearted of
+men.
+
+Henderson himself had not much time for the frivolities of the season,
+and he evaded all but the more conspicuous social occasions, at
+which Carmen, sometimes with a little temper, insisted that he should
+accompany her. “You would come here,” he once said, “when you knew I was
+immersed in most perplexing business.”
+
+“And now I am here,” she had replied, in a tone equally wanting in
+softness, “you have got to make the best of me.”
+
+Was Jack happy in the whirl he was in? Some days exceedingly so. Some
+days he sulked, and some days he threw himself with recklessness born
+of artificial stimulants into the always gay and rattling moods of Miss
+Tavish. Somehow he could get no nearer to Henderson or to Mavick than
+when he was in New York. Not that he could accuse Mavick of trying
+to conceal anything; Mavick bore to him always the open, “all right”
+ attitude, but there were things that he did not understand.
+
+And then Carmen? Was she a little less dependent on him, in this wide
+horizon, than in New York? And had he noticed a little disposition
+to patronize on two or three occasions? It was absurd. He laughed at
+himself for such an idea. Old Eschelle's daughter patronize him! And yet
+there was something. She was very confidential with Mavick. They seemed
+to have a great deal in common. It so happened that even in the little
+expeditions of sightseeing these two were thrown much together, and at
+times when the former relations of Jack and Carmen should have made them
+comrades. They had a good deal to say to each other, and momentarily
+evidently serious things, and at receptions Jack had interrupted their
+glances of intelligence. But what stuff this was! He jealous of the
+attentions of his friend to another man's wife! If she was a coquette,
+what did it matter to him? Certainly he was not jealous. But he was
+irritated.
+
+One day after a round of receptions, in which Jack had been specially
+disgruntled, and when he was alone in the drawing-room of the hotel with
+Carmen, his manner was so positively rude to her that she could not but
+notice it. There was this trait of boyishness in Jack, and it was one of
+the weaknesses that made him loved, that he always cried out when he was
+hurt.
+
+Did Carmen resent this? Did she upbraid him for his manner? Did she
+apologize, as if she had done anything to provoke it? She sank down
+wearily in a chair and said:
+
+“I'm so tired. I wish I were back in New York.”
+
+“You don't act like it,” Jack replied, gruffly.
+
+“No. You don't understand. And now you want to make me more miserable.
+See here, Mr. Delancy,” and she started up in her seat and turned to
+him, “you are a man of honor. Would you advise me to make an enemy
+of Mr. Mavick, knowing all that he does know about Mr. Henderson's
+affairs?”
+
+“I don't see what that has got to do with it,” said Jack, wavering.
+“Lately your manner--”
+
+“Nonsense!” cried Carmen, springing up and approaching Jack with a smile
+of animation and trust, and laying her hand on his shoulder. “We are
+old, old friends. And I have just confided to you what I wouldn't to any
+other living being. There!” And looking around at the door, she tapped
+him lightly on the cheek and ran out of the room.
+
+Whatever you might say of Carmen, she had this quality of a wise person,
+that she never cut herself loose from one situation until she was
+entirely sure of a better position.
+
+For one reason or another Jack's absence was prolonged. He wrote often,
+he made bright comments on the characters and peculiarities of the
+capital, and he said that he was tired to death of the everlasting whirl
+and scuffle. People plunged in the social whirlpool always say they are
+weary of it, and they complain bitterly of its exactions and its tax on
+their time and strength. Edith judged, especially from the complaints,
+that her husband was enjoying himself. She felt also that his letters
+were in a sense perfunctory, and gave her only the surface of his life.
+She sought in vain in them for those evidences of spontaneous love, of
+delight in writing to her of all persons in the world, the eagerness of
+the lover that she recalled in letters written in other days. However
+affectionate in expression, these were duty letters. Edith was not
+alone. She had no lack of friends, who came and went in the common round
+of social exchange, and for many of them she had a sincere affection.
+And there were plenty of relatives on the father's and on the mother's
+side. But for the most part they were old-fashioned, home-keeping
+New-Yorkers, who were sufficient to themselves, and cared little for the
+set into which Edith's marriage had more definitely placed her. In any
+real trouble she would not have lacked support. She was deemed fortunate
+in her marriage, and in her apparent serene prosperity it was believed
+that she was happy. If she had had mother or sister or brother, it is
+doubtful if she would have made either a confidant of her anxieties,
+but high-spirited and self-reliant as she was, there were days when she
+longed with intolerable heartache for the silent sympathy of a mother's
+presence.
+
+It is singular how lonely a woman of this nature can be in a gay and
+friendly world. She had her interests, to be sure. As she regained her
+strength she took up her social duties, and she tried to resume her
+studies, her music, her reading, and she occupied herself more and more
+with the charities and the fortunes of her friends who were giving their
+lives to altruistic work. But there was a sense of unreality in all
+this. The real thing was the soul within, the longing, loving woman
+whose heart was heavy and unsatisfied. Jack was so lovable, he had in
+his nature so much nobility, if the world did not kill it, her life
+might be so sweet, and so completely fulfill her girlish dreams. All
+these schemes of a helpful, altruistic life had been in her dream, but
+how empty it was without the mutual confidence, the repose in the one
+human love for which she cared.
+
+Though she was not alone, she had no confidant. She could have none.
+What was there to confide? There was nothing to be done. There was
+no flagrant wrong or open injustice. Some women in like circumstances
+become bitter and cynical. Others take their revenge in a career
+reckless, but within social conventions, going their own way in a sort
+of matrimonial truce. These are not noticeable tragedies. They are
+things borne with a dumb ache of the heart. There are lives into which
+the show of spring comes, but without the song of birds or the scent of
+flowers. They are endured bravely, with a heroism for which the world
+does not often give them credit. Heaven only knows how many noble
+women-noble in this if in nothing else--carry through life this burden
+of an unsatisfied heart, mocked by the outward convention of love.
+
+But Edith had one confidant--the boy. And he was perfectly safe; he
+would reveal nothing. There were times when he seemed to understand,
+and whether he did or not she poured out her heart to him. Often in the
+twilight she sat by him in this silent communion. If he were asleep--and
+he was not troubled with insomnia--he was still company. And when he was
+awake, his efforts to communicate the dawning ideas of the queer world
+into which he had come were a never-failing delight. He wanted so many
+more things than he could ask for, which it was his mother's pleasure to
+divine; later on he would ask for so many things he could not get. The
+nurse said that he had uncommon strength of will.
+
+These were happy hours, imagining what the boy would be, planning what
+she would make his life, hours enjoyed as a traveler enjoys wayside
+flowers, snatched before an approaching storm. It is a pity, the nurse
+would say, that his father cannot see him now. And at the thought Edith
+could only see the child through tears, and a great weight rested on her
+heart in all this happiness.
+
+
+
+
+XVI
+
+When Father Damon parted from Edith he seemed to himself strengthened
+in his spirit. His momentary outburst had shown him where he stood-the
+strength of his fearful temptation. To see it was to be able to conquer
+it. He would humiliate himself; he would scourge himself; he would fast
+and pray; he would throw himself more unreservedly into the service of
+his Master. He had been too compromising with sin and sinners, and with
+his own weakness and sin, the worst of all.
+
+The priest walked swiftly through the wintry streets, welcoming as a
+sort of penance the biting frost which burned his face and penetrated
+his garments. He little heeded the passers in the streets, those who
+hurried or those who loitered, only, if he met or passed a woman or
+a group of girls, he instinctively drew himself away and walked more
+rapidly. He strode on uncompromisingly, and his clean-shaved face was
+set in rigid lines. Those who saw him pass would have said that there
+went an ascetic bent on judgment. Many who did know him, and who
+ordinarily would have saluted him, sure of a friendly greeting, were
+repelled by his stern face and determined air, and made no sign. The
+father had something on his mind.
+
+As he turned into Rivington Street there approached him from the
+opposite direction a girl, walking slowly and undecidedly. When he came
+near her she looked up, with an appealing recognition. In a flash of
+the quick passing he thought he knew her--a girl who had attended his
+mission and whom he had not seen for several months-but he made no sign
+and passed on.
+
+“Father Damon!”
+
+He turned about short at the sound of the weak, pleading voice, but with
+no relaxation of his severe, introverted mood. “Well?”
+
+It was the girl he remembered. She wore a dress of silk that had once
+been fine, and over it an ample cloak that had quite lost its freshness,
+and a hat still gay with cheap flowers. Her face, which had a sweet and
+almost innocent expression, was drawn and anxious. The eyes were those
+of a troubled and hunted animal.
+
+“I thought,” she said, hesitatingly, “you didn't know me.”
+
+“Yes, I know you. Why haven't you been at the mission lately?”
+
+“I couldn't come. I--”
+
+“I'm afraid you have fallen into bad ways.”
+
+She did not answer immediately. She looked away, and, still avoiding
+his gaze, said, timidly: “I thought I would tell you, Father Damon, that
+I'm--that I'm in trouble. I don't know what to do.”
+
+“Have you repented of your sin?” asked he, with a little softening of
+his tone. “Did you want to come to me for help?”
+
+“He's deserted me,” said the girl, looking down, absorbed in her own
+misery, and not heeding his question.
+
+“Ah, so that is what you are sorry for?” The severe, reproving tone had
+come back to his voice.
+
+“And they don't want me in the shop any more.”
+
+The priest hesitated. Was he always to preach against sin, to strive to
+extirpate it, and yet always to make it easy for the sinner? This girl
+must realize her guilt before he could do her any good. “Are you sorry
+for what you have done?”
+
+“Yes, I'm sorry,” she replied. Wasn't to be in deep trouble to be sorry?
+And then she looked up, and continued with the thought in her mind, “I
+didn't know who else to go to.”
+
+“Well, my child, if you are sorry, and want to lead a different life,
+come to me at the mission and I will try to help you.”
+
+The priest, with a not unkindly good-by, passed on. The girl stood a
+moment irresolute, and then went on her way heavily and despondent. What
+good would it do her to go to the mission now?
+
+Three days later Dr. Leigh was waiting at the mission chapel to speak
+with the rector after the vesper service. He came out pale and weary,
+and the doctor hesitated to make known her errand when she saw how
+exhausted he was.
+
+“Did you wish me for anything?” he asked, after the rather forced
+greeting.
+
+“If you feel able. There is a girl at the Woman's Hospital who wants to
+see you.”
+
+“Who is it?”
+
+“It is the girl you saw on the street the other afternoon; she said she
+had spoken to you.”
+
+“She promised to come to the mission.”
+
+“She couldn't. I met the poor thing the same afternoon. She looked so
+aimless and forlorn that, though I did not remember her at first, I
+thought she might be ill, and spoke to her, and asked her what was the
+matter. At first she said nothing except that she was out of work and
+felt miserable; but the next moment she broke down completely, and said
+she hadn't a friend in the world.”
+
+“Poor thing!” said the priest, with a pang of self-reproach.
+
+“There was nothing to do but to take her to the hospital, and there she
+has been.”
+
+“Is she very ill?”
+
+“She may live, the house surgeon says. But she was very weak for such a
+trial.”
+
+Little more was said as they walked along, and when they reached the
+hospital, Father Damon was shown without delay into the ward where the
+sick girl lay. Dr. Leigh turned back from the door, and the nurse took
+him to the bedside. She lay quite still in her cot, wan and feeble, with
+every sign of having encountered a supreme peril.
+
+She turned her head on the low pillow as Father Damon spoke, saying he
+was very glad he could come to her, and hoped she was feeling better.
+
+“I knew you would come,” she said, feebly. “The nurse says I'm better.
+But I wanted to tell you--” And she stopped.
+
+“Yes, I know,” he said. “The Lord is very good. He will forgive all your
+sins now, if you repent and trust Him.”
+
+“I hope--” she began. “I'm so weak. If I don't live I want him to know.”
+
+“Want whom to know?” asked the father, bending over her.
+
+She signed for him to come closer, and then whispered a name.
+
+“Only if I never see him again, if you see him, you will tell him that I
+was always true to him. He said such hard words. I was always true.”
+
+“I promise,” said the father, much moved. “But now, my child, you ought
+to think of yourself, of your--”
+
+“He is dead. Didn't they tell you? There is nothing any more.”
+
+The nurse approached with a warning gesture that the interview was too
+prolonged.
+
+Father Damon knelt for a moment by the bedside, uttering a hardly
+articulate prayer. The girl's eyes were closed. When he rose she opened
+them with a look of gratitude, and with the sign of blessing he turned
+away.
+
+He intended to hasten from the house. He wanted to be alone. His trouble
+seemed to him greater than that of the suffering girl. What had he done?
+What was he in thought better than she? Was this intruding human element
+always to cross the purpose of his spiritual life?
+
+As he was passing through the wide hallway the door of the
+reception-room was open, and he saw Dr. Leigh seated at the table, with
+a piece of work in her hands. She looked up, and stopped him with an
+unspoken inquiry in her face. It was only civil to pause a moment and
+tell her about the patient, and as he stepped within the room she rose.
+
+“You should rest a moment, Father Damon. I know what these scenes are.”
+
+Yielding weakly, as he knew, he took the offered chair. But he raised
+his hand in refusal of the glass of wine which she had ready for him on
+the table, and offered before he could speak.
+
+“But you must,” she said, with a smile. “It is the doctor's
+prescription.”
+
+She did not look like a doctor. She had laid aside the dusty
+walking-dress, the business-jacket, the ugly little hat of felt, the
+battered reticule. In her simple house costume she was the woman,
+homelike, sympathetic, gentle, with the everlasting appeal of the strong
+feminine nature. It was not a temptress who stood before him, but a
+helpful woman, in whose kind eyes-how beautiful they were in this moment
+of sympathy--there was trust--and rest--and peace.
+
+“So,” she said, when he had taken the much-needed draught; “in the
+hospital you must obey the rules, one of which is to let no one sink in
+exhaustion.”
+
+She had taken her seat now, and resumed her work. Father Damon was
+looking at her, seeing the woman, perhaps, as he never had seen her
+before, a certain charm in her quiet figure and modest self-possession,
+while the thought of her life, of her labors, as he had seen her now for
+months and months of entire sacrifice of self, surged through his brain
+in a whirl of emotion that seemed sweeping him away. But when he spoke
+it was of the girl, and as if to himself.
+
+“I was sorry to let her go that day. Friendless, I should have known. I
+did know. I should have felt. You--”
+
+“No,” she said, gently, interrupting him; “that was my business. You
+should not accuse yourself. It was a physician's business.”
+
+“Yes, a physician--the great Physician. The Master never let the sin
+hinder his compassion for the sinner.”
+
+To this she could make no reply. Presently she looked up and said: “But
+I am sure your visit was a great comfort to the poor girl! She was very
+eager to see you.”
+
+“I do not know.”
+
+His air was still abstracted. He was hardly thinking of the girl, after
+all, but of himself, of the woman who sat before him. It seemed to him
+that he would have given the world to escape--to fly from her, to fly
+from himself. Some invisible force held him--a strong, new, and yet not
+new, emotion, a power that seemed to clutch his very life. He could not
+think clearly about it. In all his discipline, in his consecration,
+in his vows of separation from the world, there seemed to have been
+no shield prepared for this. The human asserted itself, and came in,
+overwhelming his guards and his barriers like a strong flood in the
+spring-time of the year, breaking down all artificial contrivances.
+“They reckon ill who leave me out,” is the everlasting cry of the human
+heart, the great passion of life, incarnate in the first man and the
+first woman.
+
+With a supreme effort of his iron will--is the Will, after all, stronger
+than Love?--Father Damona rose. He stretched out his hand to say
+farewell. She also stood, and she felt the hand tremble that held hers.
+
+“God bless you!” he said. “You are so good.”
+
+He was going. He took her other hand, and was looking down upon her
+face. She looked up, and their eyes met. It was for an instant, a flash,
+glance for glance, as swift as the stab of daggers.
+
+All the power of heaven and earth could not recall that glance nor undo
+its revelations. The man and the woman stood face to face revealed.
+
+He bent down towards her face. Affrighted by his passion, scarcely
+able to stand in her sudden emotion, she started back. The action, the
+instant of time, recalled him to himself. He dropped her hands, and was
+gone. And the woman, her knees refusing any longer to support her, sank
+into a chair, helpless, and saw him go, and knew in that moment the
+height of a woman's joy, the depth of a woman's despair.
+
+It had come to her! Steeled by her science, shielded by her
+philanthropy, schooled in indifference to love, it had come to her! And
+it was hopeless. Hopeless? It was absurd. Her life was determined. In no
+event could it be in harmony with his opinions, with his religion, which
+was dearer to him than life. There was a great gulf between them which
+she could not pass unless she ceased to be herself. And he? A severe
+priest! Vowed and consecrated against human passion! What a government
+of the world--if there were any government--that could permit such a
+thing! It was terrible.
+
+And yet she was loved! That sang in her heart with all the pain, with
+all the despair. And with it all was a great pity for him, alone, gone
+into the wilderness, as it would seem to him, to struggle with his
+fierce temptation.
+
+It had come on darker as she sat there. The lamps were lighted, and she
+was reminded of some visits she must make. She went, mechanically, to
+her room to prepare for going. The old jacket, which she took up,
+did look rather rusty. She went to the press--it was not much of a
+wardrobe--and put on the one that was reserved for holidays. And the
+hat? Her friends had often joked her about the hat, but now for the
+first time she seemed to see it as it might appear to others. As she
+held it in her hand, and then put it on before the mirror, she smiled a
+little, faintly, at its appearance. And then she laid it aside for her
+better hat. She never had been so long in dressing before. And in the
+evening, too, when it could make no difference! It might, after all,
+be a little more cheerful for her forlorn patients. Perhaps she was not
+conscious that she was making selections, that she was paying a little
+more attention to her toilet than usual. Perhaps it was only the woman
+who was conscious that she was loved.
+
+It would be difficult to say what emotion was uppermost in the mind of
+Father Damon as he left the house--mortification, contempt of himself,
+or horror. But there was a sense of escape, of physical escape, and the
+imperative need of it, that quickened his steps almost into a run. In
+the increasing dark, at this hour, in this quarter of the town, there
+were comparatively few whose observation of him would recall him to
+himself. He thought only of escape, and of escape from that quarter of
+the city that was the witness of his labors and his failure. For
+the moment to get away from this was the one necessity, and without
+reasoning in the matter, only feeling, he was hurrying, stumbling in
+his haste, northward. Before he went to the hospital he had been tired,
+physically weary. He was scarcely conscious of it now; indeed, his body,
+his hated body, seemed lighter, and the dominant spirit now awakened to
+contempt of it had a certain pleasure in testing it, in drawing upon
+its vitality, to the point of exhaustion if possible. It should be seen
+which was master. His rapid pace presently brought him into one of the
+great avenues leading to Harlem. That was the direction he wished to go.
+That was where he knew, without making any decision, he must go, to the
+haven of the house of his order, on the heights beyond Harlem. A train
+was just clattering along on the elevated road above him. He could see
+the faces at the windows, the black masses crowding the platforms. It
+went pounding by as if it were freight from another world. He was in
+haste, but haste to escape from himself. That way, bearing him along
+with other people, and in the moving world, was to bring him in touch
+with humanity again, and so with what was most hateful in himself. He
+must be alone. But there was a deeper psychological reason than that for
+walking, instead of availing himself of the swiftest method of escape.
+He was not fleeing from justice or pursuit. When the mind is in torture
+and the spirit is torn, the instinctive effort is to bodily activity, to
+force physical exertion, as if there must be compensation for the mental
+strain in the weariness of nature. The priest obeyed this instinct, as
+if it were possible to walk away from himself, and went on, at first
+with almost no sense of weariness.
+
+And the shame! He could not bear to be observed. It seemed to him that
+every one would see in his face that he was a recreant priest, perjured
+and forsworn. And so great had been his spiritual pride! So removed he
+had deemed himself from the weakness of humanity! And he had yielded at
+the first temptation, and the commonest of all temptations! Thank God,
+he had not quite yielded. He had fled. And yet, how would it have been
+if Ruth Leigh had not had a moment of reserve, of prudent repulsion! He
+groaned in anguish. The sin was in the intention. It was no merit of his
+that he had not with a kiss of passion broken his word to his Lord and
+lost his soul.
+
+It was remorse that was driving him along the avenue; no room for any
+other thought yet, or feeling. Perhaps it is true in these days that
+the old-fashioned torture known as remorse is rarely experienced except
+under the name of detection. But it was a reality with this highly
+sensitive nature, with this conscience educated to the finest edge of
+feeling. The world need never know his moment's weakness; Ruth Leigh
+he could trust as he would have trusted his own sister to guard his
+honor--that was all over--never, he was sure, would she even by a look
+recall the past; but he knew how he had fallen, and the awful measure of
+his lapse from loyalty to his Master. And how could he ever again stand
+before erring, sinful men and women and speak about that purity which
+he had violated? Could repentance, confession, penitence, wipe away this
+stain?
+
+As he went on, his mind in a whirl of humiliation, self-accusation,
+and contempt, at length he began to be conscious of physical weariness.
+Except the biscuit and the glass of wine at the hospital, he had taken
+nothing since his light luncheon. When he came to the Harlem Bridge
+he was compelled to rest. Leaning against one of the timbers and half
+seated, with the softened roar of the city in his ears, the lights
+gleaming on the heights, the river flowing dark and silent, he began
+to be conscious of his situation. Yes, he was very tired. It seemed
+difficult to go on without help of some sort. At length he crossed
+the bridge. Lights were gleaming from the saloons along the street.
+He paused in front of one, irresolute. Food he could not taste, but
+something he must have to carry him on. But no, that would not do; he
+could not enter that in his priest's garb. He dragged himself along
+until he came to a drug-shop, the modern saloon of the respectably
+virtuous. That he entered, and sat down on a stool by the soda-water
+counter. The expectant clerk stared at him while waiting the order, his
+hand tentatively seeking one of the faucets of refreshment.
+
+“I feel a little feverish,” said the father. “You may give me five
+grains of quinine in whisky.”
+
+
+“That'll put you all right,” said the boy as he handed him the mixture.
+“It's all the go now.”
+
+It seemed to revive him, and he went out and walked on towards the
+heights. Somehow, seeing this boy, coming back to common life, perhaps
+the strong and unaccustomed stimulant, gave a new shade to his thoughts.
+He was safe. Presently he would be at the Retreat. He would rest, and
+then gird up his loins and face life again. The mood lasted for some
+time. And when the sense of physical weariness came back, that seemed to
+dull the acuteness of his spiritual torment. It was late when he reached
+the house and rang the night-bell. No one of the brothers was up except
+Father Monies, and it was he who came to the door.
+
+“You! So late! Is anything the matter?”
+
+“I needed to come,” the father said, simply, and he grasped the
+door-post, steadying himself as he came in.
+
+“You look like a ghost.”
+
+“Yes. I'm tired. I walked.”
+
+“Walked? From Rivington Street?”
+
+“Nearly. I felt like it.”
+
+“It's most imprudent. You dined first?”
+
+“I wasn't hungry.”
+
+“But you must have something at once.” And Father Monies hurried away,
+heated some bouillon by a spirit-lamp, and brought it, with bread, and
+set it before his unexpected guest.
+
+“There, eat that, and get to bed as soon as you can. It was great
+nonsense.”
+
+And Father Damon obeyed. Indeed, he was too exhausted to talk.
+
+
+
+
+XVII
+
+Father Damon slept the sleep of exhaustion. In this for a time the mind
+joined in the lethargy of the body. But presently, as the vital currents
+were aroused, the mind began to play its fantastic tricks. He was a
+seminary student, he was ordained, he was taking his vows before the
+bishop, he was a robust and consecrated priest performing his first
+service, shining, it seemed to him, before the congregation in the
+purity of his separation from the world. How strong he felt. And then
+came perplexities, difficulties, interests, and conflicting passions
+in life that he had not suspected, good that looked like evil, and evil
+that had an alloy of virtue, and the way was confused. And then there
+was a vision of a sort of sister of charity working with him in the evil
+and the good, drawing near to him, and yet repelling him with a cold,
+scientific skepticism that chilled him like blasphemy; but so patient
+was she, so unconscious of self, that gradually he lost this feeling
+of repulsion and saw only the woman, that wonderful creation, tender,
+pitiful comrade, the other self. And then there was darkness and
+blindness, and he stood once more before his congregation, speaking
+words that sounded hollow, hearing responses that mocked him, stared at
+by accusing eyes that knew him for a hypocrite. And he rushed away
+and left them, hearing their laughter as he went, and so into the
+street--plainly it was Rivington Street--and faces that he knew had a
+smile and a sneer, and he heard comments as he passed “Hulloa, Father
+Damon, come in and have a drink.” “I say, Father Damon, I seen her going
+round into Grand Street.”
+
+When Father Monies looked in, just before daylight, Father Damon was
+still sleeping, but tossing restlessly and muttering incoherently; and
+he did not arouse him for the early devotions.
+
+It was very late when he awoke, and opened his eyes to a confused sense
+of some great calamity. Father Monies was standing by the bedside with a
+cup of coffee.
+
+“You have had a good sleep. Now take this, and then you may get up. The
+breakfast will wait for you.”
+
+Father Damon started up. “Why didn't you call me? I am late for the
+mission.”
+
+“Oh, Bendes has gone down long ago. You must take it easy; rest today.
+You'll be all right. You haven't a bit of fever.”
+
+“But,” still declining the coffee, “before I break my fast, I have
+something to say to you. I--”
+
+“Get some strength first. Besides, I have an engagement. I cannot wait.
+Pull yourself together; I may not be back before evening.”
+
+So it was fated that he should be left still with himself. After his
+coffee he dressed slowly, as if it were not he, but some one else going
+through this familiar duty, as if it were scarcely worth while to do
+anything any more. And then, before attempting his breakfast, he went
+into the little oratory, and remained long in the attitude of prayer,
+trying to realize what he was and what he had done. He prayed for
+himself, for help, for humility, and he prayed for her; he had been
+used of late to pray for her guidance, now he prayed that she might be
+sustained.
+
+When he came forth it was in a calmer frame of mind. It was all clear
+now. When Father Monies returned he would confess, and take his penance,
+and resolutely resume his life. He understood life better now. Perhaps
+this blow was needed for his spiritual pride.
+
+It was a mild winter day, bright, and with a touch of summer, such as
+sometimes gets shuffled into our winter calendar. The book that he took
+up did not interest him; he was in no mood for the quiet meditation
+that it usually suggested to him, and he put it down and strolled out,
+directing his steps farther up the height, and away from the suburban
+stir. As he went on there was something consonant with his feelings in
+the bare wintry landscape, and when he passed the ridge and walked along
+the top of the river slope, he saw, as it seemed to him he had not seen
+it before, that lovely reach of river, the opposite wooded heights, the
+noble pass above, the peacefulness and invitation of nature. Had he a
+new sense to see all this? There was a softness in the distant outline,
+villas peeped out here and there, carriages were passing in the road
+below, there was a cheerful life in the stream--there was a harmony in
+the aspect of nature and humanity from this height. Was not the world
+beautiful? and human emotion, affection, love, were they alien to the
+Divine intention?
+
+She loved beauty; she was fond of flowers; often she had spoken to him
+of her childish delight in her little excursions, rarely made, into the
+country. He could see her now standing just there and feasting her eyes
+on this noble panorama, and he could see her face all aglow, as she
+might turn to him and say, “Isn't it beautiful, Father Damon?” And
+she was down in those reeking streets, climbing about in the foul
+tenement-houses, taking a sick child in her arms, speaking a word of
+cheer--a good physician going about doing good!
+
+And it might have been! Why was it that this peace of nature should
+bring up her image, and that they should seem in harmony? Was not the
+love of beauty and of goodness the same thing? Did God require in His
+service the atrophy of the affections? As long as he was in the world
+was it right that he should isolate himself from any of its sympathies
+and trials? Why was it not a higher life to enter into the common lot,
+and suffer, if need be, in the struggle to purify and ennoble all? He
+remembered the days he had once passed in the Trappist monastery of
+Gethsemane. The perfect peace of mind of the monks was purchased at
+the expense of the extirpation of every want, all will, every human
+interest. Were these men anything but specimens in a Museum of Failures?
+And yet, for the time being, it had seemed attractive to him, this
+simple vegetable existence, whose only object was preparation for death
+by the extinction of all passion and desire. No, these were not soldiers
+of the Lord, but the fainthearted, who had slunk into the hospital.
+
+All this afternoon he was drifting in thought, arraigning his past life,
+excusing it, condemning it, and trying to forecast its future. Was this
+a trial of his constancy and faith, or had he made a mistake, entered
+upon a slavish career, from which he ought to extricate himself at any
+cost of the world's opinion? But presently he was aware that in all
+these debates with himself her image appeared. He was trying to fit his
+life to the thought of her. And when this became clearer in his tortured
+mind, the woman appeared as a temptation. It was not, then, the love
+of beauty, not even the love of humanity, and very far from being the
+service of his Master, that he was discussing, but only his desire for
+one person. It was that, then, that made him, for that fatal instant,
+forget his vow, and yield to the impulse of human passion. The thought
+of that moment stung him with confusion and shame. There had been
+moments in this afternoon wandering--when it had seemed possible for him
+to ask for release, and to take up a human, sympathetic life with her,
+in mutual consecration in the service of the Lord's poor. Yes, and by
+love to lead her into a higher conception of the Divine love. But this
+breaking a solemn vow at the dictates of passion was a mortal sin--there
+was no other name for it--a sin demanding repentance and expiation.
+
+As he at last turned homeward, facing the great city and his life there,
+this became more clear to him. He walked rapidly. The lines of his face
+became set in a hard judgment of himself. He thought no more of escaping
+from himself, but of subduing himself, stamping out the appeals of his
+lower nature. It was in this mood that he returned.
+
+Father Monies was awaiting him, and welcomed him with that look of
+affection, of more than brotherly love, which the good man had for the
+younger priest.
+
+“I hope your walk has done you good.”
+
+“Perhaps,” Father Damon replied, without any leniency in his face; “but
+that does not matter. I must tell you what I could not last night. Can
+you hear me?”
+
+They went together into the oratory. Father Damon did not spare himself.
+He kept nothing back that could heighten the enormity of his offense.
+
+And Father Monies did not attempt to lessen the impression upon himself
+of the seriousness of the scandal. He was shocked. He was exceedingly
+grave, but he was even more pitiful. His experience of life had been
+longer than that of the penitent. He better knew its temptations. His
+own peace had only been won by long crucifixion of the natural desires.
+
+“I have nothing to say as to your own discipline. That you know. But
+there is one thing. You must face this temptation, and subdue it.”
+
+“You mean that I must go back to my labor in the city?”
+
+“Yes. You can rest here a few days if you feel too weak physically.”
+
+“No; I am well enough.” He hesitated. “I thought perhaps some other
+field, for a time?”
+
+“There is no other field for you. It is not for the moment the question
+of where you can do most good. You are to reinstate yourself. You are
+a soldier of the Lord Jesus, and you are to go where the battle is most
+dangerous.”
+
+That was the substance of it all. There was much affectionate counsel
+and loving sympathy mingled with all the inflexible orders of obedience,
+but the sin must be faced and extirpated in presence of the enemy.
+
+On the morrow Father Damon went back to his solitary rooms, to his
+chapel, to the round of visitations, to his work with the poor, the
+sinful, the hopeless. He did not seek her; he tried not to seem to avoid
+her, or to seem to shun the streets where he was most likely to meet
+her, and the neighborhoods she frequented. Perhaps he did avoid them a
+little, and he despised himself for doing it. Almost involuntarily he
+looked to the bench by the chapel door which she occasionally occupied
+at vespers. She was never there, and he condemned himself for thinking
+that she might be; but yet wherever he walked there was always the
+expectation that he might encounter her. As the days went by and she
+did not appear, his expectation became a kind of torture. Was she ill,
+perhaps? It could not be that she had deserted her work.
+
+And then he began to examine himself with a morbid introspection. Had
+the hope that he should see her occasionally influenced him at all in
+his obedience to Father Monies? Had he, in fact, a longing to be in the
+streets where she had walked, among the scenes that had witnessed her
+beautiful devotion? Had his willingness to take up this work again been
+because it brought him nearer to her in spirit?
+
+No, she could not be ill. He heard her spoken of, here and there, in his
+calls and ministrations to the sick and dying. Evidently she was going
+about her work as usual. Perhaps she was avoiding him. Or perhaps
+she did not care, after all, and had lost her respect for him when he
+discovered to her his weakness. And he had put himself on a plane so
+high above her.
+
+There was no conscious wavering in his purpose. But from much dwelling
+upon the thought, from much effort rather to put it away, his desire
+only to see her grew stronger day by day. He had no fear. He longed to
+test himself. He was sure that he would be impassive, and be all the
+stronger for the test. He was more devoted than ever in his Work. He was
+more severe with himself, more charitable to others, and he could not
+doubt that he was gaining a hold-yes, a real hold-upon the lives of many
+about him. The attendance was better at the chapel; more of the penitent
+and forlorn came to him for help. And how alone he was! My God, never
+even to see her!
+
+In fact, Ruth Leigh was avoiding him. It was partly from a womanly
+reserve--called into expression in this form for the first time--and
+partly from a wish to spare him pain. She had been under no illusion
+from the first about the hopelessness of the attachment. She
+comprehended his character so thoroughly that she knew that for him any
+fall from his ideal would mean his ruin. He was one of the rare spirits
+of faith astray in a skeptical age. For a time she had studied curiously
+his efforts to adapt himself to his surroundings. One of these was
+joining a Knights of Labor lodge. Another was his approach to the
+ethical-culture movement of some of the leaders in the Neighborhood
+Guild. Another was his interest in the philanthropic work of agnostics
+like herself. She could see that he, burning with zeal to save the souls
+of men, and believing that there was no hope for the world except in
+the renunciation of the world, instinctively shrank from these contacts,
+which, nevertheless, he sought in the spirit of a Jesuit missionary to a
+barbarous tribe.
+
+It was possible for such a man to be for a time overmastered by human
+passion; it was possible even that he might reason himself temporarily
+into conduct that this natural passion seemed to justify; yet she never
+doubted that there would follow an awakening from that state of mind as
+from a horrible delusion. It was simply because Ruth Leigh was guided by
+the exercise of reason, and had built up her scheme of life upon facts
+that she believed she could demonstrate, that she saw so clearly their
+relations, and felt that the faith, which was to her only a vagary of
+the material brain, was to him an integral part of his life.
+
+Love, to be sure, was as unexpected in her scheme of life as it was in
+his; but there was on her part no reason why she should not yield to it.
+There was every reason in her nature and in her theory why she should,
+for, bounded as her vision of life was by this existence, love was the
+highest conceivable good in life. It had been with a great shout of joy
+that the consciousness had come to her that she loved and was loved.
+Though she might never see him again, this supreme experience for man or
+woman, this unsealing of the sacred fountain of life, would be for her
+an enduring sweetness in her lonely and laborious pilgrimage. How strong
+love is they best know to whom it is offered and denied.
+
+And why, so far as she was concerned, should she deny it? An ordinary
+woman probably would not. Love is reason enough. Why should artificial
+conventions defeat it? Why should she sacrifice herself, if he were
+willing to brave the opinion of the world for her sake? Was it any new
+thing for good men to do this? But Ruth Leigh was not an ordinary woman.
+Perhaps if her intellect had not been so long dominant over her heart it
+would have been different. But the habit of being guided by reason was
+second nature. She knew that not only his vow, but the habit of life
+engendered by the vow, was an insuperable barrier. And besides, and this
+was the touchstone of her conception of life and duty, she felt that if
+he were to break his vow, though she might love him, her respect for him
+would be impaired.
+
+It was a singular phenomenon--very much remarked at the time--that the
+women who did not in the least share Father Damon's spiritual faith,
+and would have called themselves in contradistinction materialists, were
+those who admired him most, were in a way his followers, loved to attend
+his services, were inspired by his personality, and drawn to him in
+a loving loyalty. The attraction to these very women was his
+unworldliness, his separateness, his devotion to an ideal which in their
+reason seemed a delusion. And no women would have been more sensitive
+than they to his fall from his spiritual pinnacle.
+
+It was easy with a little contrivance to avoid meeting him. She did not
+go to the chapel or in its neighborhood when he was likely to be going
+to or from service. She let others send for him when in her calls his
+ministration was required, and she was careful not to linger where he
+was likely to come. A little change in the time of her rounds was made
+without neglecting her work, for that she would not do, and she trusted
+that if accident threw him in her way, circumstances would make it
+natural and not embarrassing. And yet his image was never long absent
+from her thoughts; she wondered if he were dejected, if he were ill, if
+he were lonely, and mostly there was for him a great pity in her heart,
+a pity born, alas! of her own sense of loneliness.
+
+How much she was repressing her own emotions she knew one evening when
+she returned from her visits and found a letter in his handwriting. The
+sight of it was a momentary rapture, and then the expectation of what it
+might contain gave her a feeling of faintness. The letter was long. Its
+coming needs a word of explanation.
+
+Father Damon had begun to use the Margaret Fund. He found that its
+judicious use was more perplexing than he had supposed. He needed
+advice, the advice of those who had more knowledge than he had of the
+merits of relief cases. And then there might be many sufferers whom he
+in his limited field neglected. It occurred to him that Dr. Leigh would
+be a most helpful co-almoner. No sooner did this idea come to him than
+he was spurred to put it into effect. This common labor would be a
+sort of bond between them, a bond of charity purified from all personal
+alloy. He went at once to Mr. Henderson's office and told him his
+difficulties, and about Dr. Leigh's work, and the opportunities she
+would have. Would it not be possible for Dr. Leigh to draw from the fund
+on her own checks independent of him? Mr. Henderson thought not. Dr.
+Leigh was no doubt a good woman, but he didn't know much about woman
+visitors and that sort; their sympathies were apt to run away with them,
+and he should prefer at present to have the fund wholly under Father
+Damon's control. Some time, he intimated, he might make more lasting
+provisions with trustees. It would be better for Father Damon to give
+Dr. Leigh money as he saw she needed it.
+
+The letter recited this at length; it had a check endorsed, and the
+writer asked the doctor to be his almoner. He dwelt very much upon the
+relief this would be to him, and the opportunity it would give her in
+many emergencies, and the absolute confidence he had in her discretion,
+as well as in her quick sympathy with the suffering about them. And also
+it would be a great satisfaction to him to feel that he was associated
+with her in such a work.
+
+In its length, in its tone of kindliness, of personal confidence,
+especially in its length, it was evident that the writing of it had been
+a pleasure, if not a relief, to the sender. Ruth read it and reread it.
+It was as if Father Damon were there speaking to her. She could hear
+the tones of his voice. And the glance of love--that last overmastering
+appeal and cry thrilled through her soul.
+
+But in the letter there was no love; to any third person it would have
+read like an ordinary friendly philanthropic request. And her reply,
+accepting gratefully his trust, was almost formal, only the writer felt
+that she was writing out of her heart.
+
+
+
+
+XVIII
+
+The Roman poet Martial reckons among the elements of a happy life “an
+income left, not earned by toil,” and also “a wife discreet, yet blythe
+and bright.” Felicity in the possession of these, the epigrammatist
+might have added, depends upon content in the one and full appreciation
+of the other.
+
+Jack Delancy returned from Washington more discontented than when he
+went. His speculation hung fire in a most tantalizing way; more than
+that, it had absorbed nearly all the “income not earned by toil,” which
+was at the hazard of operations he could neither control nor comprehend.
+And besides, this little fortune had come to seem contemptibly
+inadequate. In his associations of the past year his spendthrift habits
+had increased, and he had been humiliated by his inability to keep
+pace with the prodigality of those with whom he was most intimate.
+Miss Tavish was an heiress in her own right, who never seemed to give
+a thought to the cost of anything she desired; the Hendersons, for any
+whim, drew upon a reservoir of unknown capacity; and even Mavick began
+to talk as if he owned a flock of geese that laid golden eggs.
+
+To be sure, it was pleasant coming home into an atmosphere of sincerity,
+of worship--was it not? It was very flattering to his self-esteem. The
+master had come! The house was in commotion. Edith flew to meet him,
+hugged him, shook him, criticised his appearance, rallied him for a
+recreant father. How well she looked-buoyant, full of vivacity, running
+over with joy, asking a dozen questions before he could answer one,
+testifying her delight, her affection, in a hundred ways. And the boy!
+He was so eager to see his papa. He could converse now--that is, in his
+way. And that prodigy, when Jack was dragged into his presence, and also
+fell down with Edith and worshiped him in his crib, did actually smile,
+and appear to know that this man belonged to him, was a part of his
+worldly possessions.
+
+“Do you know,” said Edith, looking at the boy critically, “I think of
+making Fletcher a present, if you approve.”
+
+“What's that?”
+
+“He'll want some place to go to in the summer. I want to buy that old
+place where he was born and give it to him. Don't you think it would be
+a good investment?”
+
+“Yes, permanent,” replied Jack, laughing at such a mite of a real-estate
+owner.
+
+“I know he would like it. And you don't object?”
+
+“Not in the least. It's next to an ancestral feeling to be the father of
+a land-owner.”
+
+They were standing close to the crib, his arm resting lightly across
+her shoulders. He drew her closer to him, and kissed her tenderly. “The
+little chap has a golden-hearted mother. I don't know why he should not
+have a Golden House.”
+
+Her eyes filled with sudden tears. She could not speak. But both arms
+were clasped round his neck now. She was too happy for words. And the
+baby, looking on with large eyes, seemed to find nothing unusual in
+the proceeding. He was used to a great deal of this sort of nonsense
+himself.
+
+It was a happy evening. In truth, after the first surprise, Jack was
+pleased with this contemplated purchase. It was something removed beyond
+temptation. Edith's property was secure to her, and it was his honorable
+purpose never to draw it into his risks. But he knew her generosity, and
+he could not answer for himself if she should offer it, as he was sure
+she would do, to save him from ruin.
+
+There was all the news to tell, the harmless gossip of daily life, which
+Edith had a rare faculty of making dramatically entertaining, with her
+insight and her feeling for comedy. There had been a musicale at the
+Blunts'--oh, strictly amateur--and Edith ran to the piano and imitated
+the singers and took off the players, until Jack declared that it
+beat the Conventional Club out of sight. And she had been to a parlor
+mind-cure lecture, and to a Theosophic conversation, and to a Reading
+Club for the Cultivation of a Feeling for Nature through Poetry. It was
+all immensely solemn and earnest. And Jack wondered that the managers
+did not get hold of these things and put them on the stage. Nothing
+could draw like them. Not burlesques, though, said Edith; not in the
+least. If only these circles would perform in public as they did in
+private, how they would draw!
+
+And then Father Damon had been to consult her about his fund. He had
+been ill, and would not stay, and seemed more severe and ascetic than
+ever. She was sure something was wrong. For Dr. Leigh, whom she had
+sought out several times, was reserved, and did not voluntarily speak of
+Father Damon; she had heard that he was throwing himself with more than
+his usual fervor into his work. There was plenty to talk about. The
+purchase of the farm by the sea had better not be delayed; Jack might
+have to go down and see the owner. Yes, he would make it his first
+business in the morning. Perhaps it would be best to get some
+Long-Islander to buy it for them.
+
+By the time it was ten o'clock, Jack said he thought he would step down
+to the Union a moment. Edith's countenance fell. There might be letters,
+he explained, and he had a little matter of business; he wouldn't be
+late.
+
+It was very agreeable, home was, and Edith was charming. He could
+distinctly feel that she was charming. But Jack was restless. He felt
+the need of talking with somebody about what was on his mind. If only
+with Major Fairfax. He would not consult the Major, but the latter was
+in the way of picking up all sorts of gossip, both social and Street
+gossip.
+
+And the Major was willing to unpack his budget. It was not very
+reassuring, what he had to tell; in fact, it was somewhat depressing,
+the general tightness and the panicky uncertainty, until, after a couple
+of glasses of Scotch, the financial world began to open a little and
+seem more hopeful.
+
+“The Hendersons are going to build,” Jack said at length, after a remark
+of the Major's about that famous operator.
+
+“Build? What for? They've got a palace.”
+
+“Carmen says it's for an object-lesson. To show New York millionaires
+how to adorn their city.”
+
+“It's like that little schemer. What does Henderson say?”
+
+“He appears to be willing. I can't get the hang of Henderson. He doesn't
+seem to care what his wife does. He's a cynical cuss. The other night,
+at dinner, in Washington, when the thing was talked over, he said: 'My
+dear, I don't know why you shouldn't do that as well as anything. Let's
+build a house of gold, as Nero did; we are in the Roman age.' Carmen
+looked dubious for a moment, but she said, 'You know, Rodney, that you
+always used to say that some time you would show New York what a house
+ought to be in this climate.' 'Well, go on,' and he laughed. 'I suppose
+lightning will not strike that sooner than anything else.'” “Seems to
+me,” said the Major, reflectively, reaching out his hand for the brown
+mug, “the way he gives that woman her head, and doesn't care what she
+does, he must have a contempt for her.”
+
+“I wish somebody had that sort of contempt for me,” said Jack, filling
+up his glass also.
+
+“But, I tell you,” he continued, “Mrs. Henderson has caught on to the
+new notions. Her idea is the union of all the arts. She has already got
+the refusal of a square 'way up-town, on the rise opposite the Park, and
+has been consulting architects about it. It is to be surrounded with the
+building, with a garden in the interior, a tropical garden, under glass
+in the winter. The facades are to be gorgeous and monumental. Artists
+and sculptors are to decorate it, inside and out. Why shouldn't there
+be color on the exterior, gold and painting, like the Fugger palaces in
+Augsburg, only on a great scale? The artists don't see any reason why
+there should not. It will make the city brilliant, that sort of thing,
+in place of our monotonous stone lanes. And it's using her wealth for
+the public benefit-the architects and artists all say that. Gad, I don't
+know but the little woman is beginning to regard herself as a public
+benefactor.”
+
+“She is that or nothing,” echoed the Major, warmly.
+
+“And do you know,” continued Jack, confidentially, “I think she's got
+the right idea. If I have any luck--of course I sha'n't do that--but
+if I have any luck, I mean to build a house that's got some life in
+it--color, old boy--something unique and stunning.”
+
+“So you will,” cried the Major, enthusiastically, and, raising his
+glass, “Here's to the house that Jack built!”
+
+It was later than he thought it would be when he went home, but Jack was
+attended all the way by a vision of a Golden House--all gold wouldn't be
+too good, and he will build it, damme, for Edith and the boy. The next
+morning not even the foundations of this structure were visible. The
+master of the house came down to a late breakfast, out of sorts with
+life, almost surly. Not even Edith's bright face and fresh toilet and
+radiant welcome appealed to him. No one would have thought from her
+appearance that she had waited for him last night hour after hour, and
+had at last gone to bed with a heavy heart, and not to sleep-to toss,
+and listen, and suffer a thousand tortures of suspense. How many
+tragedies of this sort are there nightly in the metropolis, none the
+less tragic because they are subjects of jest in the comic papers and on
+the stage! What would be the condition of social life if women ceased
+to be anxious in this regard, and let loose the reins in an easy-going
+indifference? What, in fact, is the condition in those households where
+the wives do not care? One can even perceive a tender sort of loyalty to
+women in the ejaculation of that battered old veteran, the Major, “Thank
+God, there's nobody sitting up for me!”
+
+Jack was not consciously rude. He even asked about the baby. And he
+sipped his coffee and glanced over the morning journal, and he referred
+to the conversation of the night before, and said that he would look
+after the purchase at once. If Edith had put on an aspect of injury, and
+had intimated that she had hoped that his first evening at home might
+have been devoted to her and the boy, there might have been a scene,
+for Jack needed only an occasion to vent his discontent. And for the
+chronicler of social life a scene is so much easier to deal with, an
+outburst of temper and sharp language, of accusation and recrimination,
+than the well-bred commonplace of an undefined estrangement.
+
+And yet estrangement is almost too strong a word to use in Jack's case.
+He would have been the first to resent it. But the truth was that Edith,
+in the life he was leading, was a rebuke to him; her very purity
+and unworldliness were out of accord with his associations, with his
+ventures, with his dissipations in that smart and glittering circle
+where he was more welcome the more he lowered his moral standards. Could
+he help it if after the first hours of his return he felt the
+restraint of his home, and that the life seemed a little flat? Almost
+unconsciously to himself, his interests and his inclinations were
+elsewhere.
+
+Edith, with the divination of a woman, felt this. Last night her
+love alone seemed strong enough to hold him, to bring him back to the
+purposes and the aspirations that only last summer had appeared to
+transform him. Now he was slipping away again. How pitiful it is, this
+contest of a woman who has only her own love, her own virtue, with the
+world and its allurements and seductions, for the possession of her
+husband's heart! How powerless she is against these subtle invitations,
+these unknown and all-encompassing temptations! At times the whole drift
+of life, of the easy morality of the time, is against her. The current
+is so strong that no wonder she is often swept away in it. And what
+could an impartial observer of things as they are say otherwise than
+that John Delancy was leading the common life of his kind and his time,
+and that Edith was only bringing trouble on herself by being out of
+sympathy with it?
+
+He might not be in at luncheon, he said, when he was prepared to go
+down-town. He seldom was. He called at his broker's. Still suspense. He
+wrote to the Long Island farmer. At the Union he found a scented note
+from Carmen. They had all returned from the capital. How rejoiced she
+was to be at home! And she was dying to see him; no, not dying, but very
+much living; and it was very important. She should expect him at the
+usual hour. And could he guess what gown she would wear?
+
+And Jack went. What hold had this woman on him? Undoubtedly she had
+fascinations, but he knew--knew well enough by this time--that her
+friendship was based wholly on calculation. And yet what a sympathetic
+comrade she could be! How freely he could talk with her; there was no
+subject she did not adapt herself to. No doubt it was this adaptability
+that made her such a favorite. She did not demand too much virtue or
+require too much conventionality. The hours he was with her he was
+wholly at his ease. She made him satisfied with himself, and she didn't
+disturb his conscience.
+
+“I think,” said Jack--he was holding both her hands with a swinging
+motion--when she came forward to greet him, and looking at her
+critically--“I think I like you better in New York than in Washington.”
+
+“That is because you see more of me here.”
+
+“Oh, I saw you enough in Washington.”
+
+“But that was my public manner. I have to live up to Mr. Henderson's
+reputation.”
+
+“And here you only have to live up to mine?”
+
+“I can live for my friends,” she replied, with an air of candor, giving
+a very perceptible pressure with her little hands. “Isn't that enough?”
+
+Jack kissed each little hand before he let it drop, and looked as if he
+believed.
+
+“And how does the house get on?”
+
+“Famously. The lot is bought. Mr. Van Brunt was here all the morning.
+It's going to be something Oriental, mediaeval, nineteenth-century,
+gorgeous, and domestic. Van Brunt says he wants it to represent me.”
+
+“How?” inquired Jack; “all the four facades different?”
+
+“With an interior unity--all the styles brought to express an individual
+taste, don't you know. A different house from the four sides of
+approach, and inside, home--that's the idea.”
+
+“It appears to me,” said Jack, still bantering, “that it will look like
+an apartment-house.”
+
+“That is just what it will not--that is, outside unity, and inside a
+menagerie. This won't look gregarious. It is to have not more than
+three stories, perhaps only two. And then exterior color, decoration,
+statuary.”
+
+“And gold?”
+
+“Not too much--not to give it a cheap gilded look. Oh, I asked him about
+Nero's house. As I remember it, that was mostly caverns. Mr. Van Brunt
+laughed, and said they were not going to excavate this house. The Roman
+notion was barbarous grandeur. But in point of beauty and luxury, this
+would be as much superior to Nero's house as the electric light is to a
+Roman lamp.”
+
+“Not classic, then?”
+
+“Why, all that's good in classic form, with the modern spirit. You ought
+to hear Mr. Van Brunt talk. This country has never yet expressed itself
+in domestic inhabitation.”
+
+“It's going to cost! What does Mr. Henderson say?”
+
+“I think he rather likes it. He told Mr. Van Brunt to consult me and go
+ahead with his plans. But he talks queerly. He said he thought he would
+have money enough at least for the foundation. Do you think, Jack,”
+ asked Carmen, with a sudden change of manner, “that Mr. Henderson is
+really the richest man in the United States?”
+
+“Some people say so. Really, I don't know how any one can tell. If he
+let go his hand from his affairs, I don't know what a panic would do.”
+
+Carmen looked thoughtful. “He said to me once that he wasn't afraid of
+the Street any more. I told him this morning that I didn't want to begin
+this if it was going to incommode him.”
+
+“What did he say?”
+
+“He was just going out. He looked at me a moment with that speculative
+sort of look-no, it isn't cynical, as you say; I know it so well--and
+then said: 'Oh, go ahead. I guess it will be all right. If anything
+happens, you can turn it into a boardinghouse. It will be an excellent
+sanitarium.' That was all. Anyway, it's something to do. Come, let's
+go and see the place.” And she started up and touched the bell for the
+carriage. It was more than something to do. In those days before her
+marriage, when her mother was living, and when they wandered about
+Europe, dangerously near to the reputation of adventuresses, the girl
+had her dream of chateaux and castles and splendor. Her chance did not
+come in Europe, but, as she would have said, Providence is good to those
+who wait.
+
+The next day Jack went to Long Island, and the farm was bought, and the
+deed brought to Edith, who, with much formality, presented it to the
+boy, and that young gentleman showed his appreciation of it by trying
+to eat it. It would have seemed a pretty incident to Jack, if he had not
+been absorbed in more important things.
+
+But he was very much absorbed, and apparently more idle than ever. As
+the days went on, and the weeks, he was less and less at home, and in a
+worse humor--that is, at home. Carmen did not find him ill-humored, nor
+was there any change towards the fellows at the Union, except that it
+was noticed that he had his cross days. There was nothing specially to
+distinguish him from a dozen others, who led the same life of vacuity,
+of mild dissipation, of enforced pleasure. A wager now and then on an
+“event”; a fictitious interest in elections; lively partisanship in
+society scandals: Not much else. The theatres were stale, and only
+endurable on account of the little suppers afterwards; and really there
+wasn't much in life except the women who made it agreeable.
+
+Major Fairfax was not a model; there had not much survived out of his
+checkered chances and experiences, except a certain instinct of being a
+gentleman, sir; the close of his life was not exactly a desirable goal;
+but even the Major shook his head over Jack.
+
+
+
+
+XIX
+
+The one fact in which men universally agree is that we come into the
+world alone and we go out of the world alone; and although we travel in
+company, make our pilgrimage to Canterbury or to Vanity Fair in a great
+show of fellowship, and of bearing one another's burdens, we carry our
+deepest troubles alone. When we think of it, it is an awful lonesomeness
+in this animated and moving crowd. Each one either must or will carry
+his own burden, which he commonly cannot, or by pride or shame will not,
+ask help in carrying.
+
+Henderson drew more and more apart from confidences, and was alone
+in building up the colossal structure of his wealth. Father Damon was
+carrying his renewed temptation alone, after all his brave confession
+and attempt at renunciation. Ruth Leigh plodded along alone, with her
+secret which was the joy and the despair of her life--the opening of a
+gate into the paradise which she could never enter. Jack Delancy, the
+confiding, open-hearted good fellow, had come to a stage in his journey
+where he also was alone. Not even to Carmen could he confess the extent
+of his embarrassments, nor even in her company, nor in the distraction
+of his increasingly dissipated life, could he forget them. Not only had
+his investments been all transferred to his speculations, but his home
+had been mortgaged, and he did not dare tell Edith of the lowering cloud
+that hung over it; and that his sole dependence was the confidence of
+the Street, which any rumor might shatter, in that one of Henderson's
+schemes to which he had committed himself. Edith, the one person who
+could have comforted him, was the last person to whom he could have told
+this, for he had the most elementary, and the common conception of what
+marriage is.
+
+But Edith's lot was the most pitiful of all. She was not only alone, but
+compelled to inaction. She saw the fair fabric of her life dissolving,
+and neither by cries nor tears, by appeals nor protest, by show of anger
+nor by show of suffering, could she hinder the dissolution. Strong in
+herself and full of courage, day by day and week by week she felt her
+powerlessness. Heaven knows what it cost her--what it costs all women
+in like circumstances--to be always cheerful, never to show distrust. If
+her love were not enough, if her attractions were not enough, there was
+no human help to which she could appeal.
+
+And what, pray, was there to appeal? There was no visible neglect, no
+sufficient alienation for gossip to take hold of. If there was a little
+talk about Jack's intimacy elsewhere, was there anything uncommon
+in that? Affairs went on as usual. Was it reasonable to suppose that
+society should notice that one woman's heart was full of foreboding,
+heavy with a sense of loss and defeat, and with the ruin of two lives?
+Could simple misery like this rise to the dignity of tragedy in a world
+that has its share of tragedies, shocking and violent, but is on the
+whole going on decorously and prosperously?
+
+The season wore on. It was the latter part of May. Jack had taken Edith
+and the boy down to the Long Island house, and had returned to the city
+and was living at his club, feverishly waiting for some change in his
+affairs. It was a sufficient explanation of his anxiety that money
+was “tight,” that failures were daily announced, and that there was
+a general fear of worse times. It was fortunate for Jack and other
+speculators that they could attribute their ill-luck to the general
+financial condition. There were reasons enough for this condition. Some
+attributed it to want of confidence, others to the tariff, others to
+the action of this or that political party, others to over-production,
+others to silver, others to the action of English capitalists in
+withdrawing their investments. It could all be accounted for without
+referring to the fact that most of the individual sufferers, like Jack,
+owed more than they could pay.
+
+Henderson was much of the time absent--at the West and at the South. His
+every move was watched, his least sayings were reported as significant,
+and the Street was hopeful or depressed as he seemed to be cheerful or
+unusually taciturn. Uncle Jerry was the calmest man in town, and his
+observation that Henderson knew what he was about was reassuring. His
+serenity was well founded. The fact was that he had been pulling in and
+lowering canvas for months. Or, as he put it, he hadn't much hay out...
+“It's never a good plan,” said Uncle Jerry, “to put off raking up till
+the shower begins.”
+
+It seems absurd to speak of the East Side in connection with the
+financial situation. But that was where the pinch was felt, and felt
+first. Work was slack, and that meant actual hunger for many families.
+The monetary solidarity of the town is remarkable. No one flies a kite
+in Wall Street that somebody in Rivington Street does not in consequence
+have to go without his dinner. As Dr. Leigh went her daily rounds she
+encountered painful evidence of the financial disturbance. Increased
+number of cases for the doctor followed want of sufficient food and the
+eating of cheap, unwholesome food. She was often obliged to draw upon
+the Margaret Fund, and to invoke the aid of Father Damon when the
+responsibility was too great for her. And Father Damon found that
+his ministry was daily diverted from the cure of souls to the care of
+bodies. Among all those who came to the mission as a place of refuge
+and rest, and to whom the priest sought to offer the consolations of
+religion and of his personal sympathy, there were few who did not have
+a tale of suffering to tell that wrung his heart. Some of them were
+actually ill, or had at home a sick husband or a sick daughter. And such
+cases had to be reported to Dr. Leigh.
+
+It became necessary, therefore, that these two, who had shunned each
+other for months, should meet as often as they had done formerly. This
+was very hard for both, for it meant only the renewal of heart-break,
+regret, and despair. And yet it had been almost worse when they did not
+see each other. They met; they talked of nothing but their work; they
+tried to forget themselves in their devotion to humanity. But the human
+heart will not be thus disposed of. It was impossible that some show of
+personal interest, some tenderness, should not appear. They were walking
+towards Fourth Avenue one evening--the priest could not resist the
+impulse to accompany her a little way towards her home--after a day of
+unusual labor and anxiety.
+
+“You are working too hard,” he said, gently; “you look fatigued.”
+
+“Oh no,” she replied, looking up cheerfully; “I'm a regular machine. I
+get run down, and then I wind up. I get tired, and then I get rested.
+It isn't the work,” she added, after a moment, “if only I could see any
+good of it. It seems so hopeless.”
+
+“From your point of view, my dear doctor,” he answered, but without
+any shade of reproof in his tone. “But no good deed is lost. There is
+nothing else in the world--nothing for me.” The close of the sentence
+seemed wholly accidental, and he stopped speaking as if he could not
+trust himself to go on.
+
+Ruth Leigh looked up quickly. “But, Father Damon, it is you who ought to
+be rebuked for overwork. You are undertaking too much. You ought to go
+off for a vacation, and go at once.”
+
+The father looked paler and thinner than usual, but his mouth was set
+in firm lines, and he said: “It cannot be. My duty is here. And”--he
+turned, and looked her full in the face--“I cannot go.”
+
+No need to explain that simple word. No need to interpret the swift
+glance that their eyes exchanged--the eager, the pitiful glance. They
+both knew. It was not the work. It was not the suffering of the world.
+It was the pain in their own hearts, and the awful chasm that his
+holy vows had put between them. They stood so only an instant. He was
+trembling in the extort to master himself, and in a second she felt the
+hot blood rising to her face. Her woman's wit was the first to break the
+hopeless situation. She turned, and hailed a passing car. “I cannot walk
+any farther. Good-night.” And she was gone.
+
+The priest stood as if a sudden blow had struck him, following the
+retreating car till it was out of sight, and then turned homeward,
+dazed, and with feeble steps. What was this that had come to him to
+so shake his life? What devil was tempting him to break his vows and
+forsake his faith? Should he fly from the city and from his work, or
+should he face what seemed to him, in the light of his consecration, a
+monstrous temptation, and try to conquer himself? He began to doubt his
+power to do this. He had always believed that it was easy to conquer
+nature. And now a little brown woman had taught him that he reckons ill
+who leaves out the strongest human passion. And yet suppose he should
+break his solemn vows and throw away his ideal, and marry Ruth Leigh,
+would he ever be happy? Here was a mediaeval survival confronted by a
+nineteenth-century skepticism. The situation was plainly insoluble.
+It was as plainly so to the clear mind of the unselfish little woman
+without faith as it was to him. Perhaps she could not have respected him
+if he had yielded. Strangely enough, the attraction of the priest for
+her and for other women who called themselves servants of humanity was
+in his consecration, in his attitude of separation from the vanities and
+passions of this world. They believed in him, though they did not share
+his faith. To Ruth Leigh this experience of love was as unexpected as it
+was to the priest. Perhaps because her life was lived on a less exalted
+plane she could bear it with more equanimity. But who knows? The habit
+of her life was endurance, the sturdy meeting of the duty of every day,
+with at least only a calm regard of the future. And she would go on.
+But who can measure the inner change in her life? She must certainly
+be changed by this deep experience, and, terrible as it was, perhaps
+ennobled by it. Is there not something supernatural in such a love
+itself? It has a wonderful transforming power. It is certain that a new
+light, a tender light, was cast upon her world. And who can say that
+some time, in the waiting and working future, this new light might not
+change life altogether for this faithful soul?
+
+There was one person upon whom the tragedy of life thus far sat lightly.
+Even her enemies, if she had any, would not deny that Carmen had an
+admirable temperament. If she had been a Moslem, it might be predicted
+that she would walk the wire 'El Serat' without a tremor. In these days
+she was busy with the plans of her new house. The project suited her
+ambition and her taste. The structure grew in her mind into barbaric
+splendor, but a barbaric splendor refined, which reveled in the
+exquisite adornment of the Alhambra itself. She was in daily conferences
+with her architect and her artists, she constantly consulted Jack about
+it, and Mavick whenever he was in town, and occasionally she
+awakened the interest of Henderson himself, who put no check upon her
+proceedings, although his mind was concerned with a vaster structure of
+his own. She talked of little else, until in her small world there grew
+up a vast expectation of magnificence, of which hints appeared from time
+to time in the newspapers, mysterious allusions to Roman luxury, to Nero
+and his Golden House. Henderson read these paragraphs, as he read the
+paragraphs about his own fortune, with a grim smile.
+
+“Your house is getting a lot of free advertising,” he said to Carmen one
+evening after dinner in the library, throwing the newspaper on the table
+as he spoke.
+
+“They all seem to like the idea,” replied Carmen. “Did you see what one
+of the papers said about the use of wealth in adorning the city? That's
+my notion.”
+
+“I suppose,” said Henderson, with a smile, “that you put that notion
+into the reporter's head.”
+
+“But he thought he suggested it to me.”
+
+“Let's look over the last drawing.” Henderson half rose from his chair
+to pull the sheet towards him, but instantly sank back, and put his hand
+to his heart. Carmen saw that he was very pale, and ran round to his
+chair.
+
+“What is it?”
+
+“Nothing,” he said, taking a long breath. “Just a stitch. Indigestion.
+It must have been the coffee.”
+
+Carmen ran to the dining-room, and returned with a wineglass of brandy.
+
+“There, take that.”
+
+He drank it. “Yes, that's better. I'm all right now.” And he sat still,
+slowly recovering color and control of himself.
+
+“I'm going to send for the doctor.”
+
+“No, no; nonsense. It has all passed,” and he stretched out his arms
+and threw them back vigorously. “It was only a moment's faintness. It's
+quite gone.”
+
+He rose from his chair and took a turn or two about the room. Yes, he
+was quite himself, and he patted Carmen's head as he passed and took his
+seat again. For a moment or two there was silence. Then he said, still
+as if reflecting:
+
+“Isn't it queer? In that moment of faintness all my life flashed through
+my mind.”
+
+“It has been a very successful life,” Carmen said, by way of saying
+something.
+
+“Yes, yes; but I wonder if it was worth while?”
+
+“If I were a man, I should enjoy the power you have, the ability to do
+what you will.”
+
+“I suppose I do. That is all there is. I like to conquer obstacles, and
+I like to command. And money; I never did care for money in itself.
+But there is a fascination in building up a great fortune. It is like
+conducting a political or a military campaign. Now, I haven't much
+interest in anything else.”
+
+As he spoke he looked round upon the crowded shelves of his library,
+and, getting up, went to the corner where there was a shelf of rare
+editions and took down a volume.
+
+“Do you remember when I got this, Carmen? It was when I was a bachelor.
+It was rare then. I saw it quoted the other day as worth twice the price
+I gave for it.”
+
+He replaced it carefully, and walked along the shelves looking at the
+familiar titles.
+
+“I used to read then. And you read still; you have time.”
+
+“Not those books,” she replied, with a laugh. “Those belong to the last
+generation.”
+
+“That is where I belong,” he said, smiling also. “I don't think I have
+read a book, not really read it, in ten years. This modern stuff
+that pretends to give life is so much less exciting than my own daily
+experience that I cannot get interested in it. Perhaps I could read
+these calm old books.”
+
+“It is the newspapers that take your time,” Carmen suggested.
+
+“Yes, they pass the time when I am thinking. And they are full of
+suggestions. I suppose they are as accurate about other things as about
+me. I used to think I would make this library the choicest in the city.
+It is good as far as it goes. Perhaps I will take it up some day--if
+I live.” And he turned away from the shelves and sat down. Carmen had
+never seen him exactly in this humor and was almost subdued by it.
+
+He began to talk again, philosophizing about life generally and his own
+life. He seemed to like to recall his career, and finally said: “Uncle
+Jerry is successful too, and he never did care for anything else--except
+his family. There is a clerk in my office on five thousand a year who is
+never without a book when he comes to the office and when I see him on
+the train. He has a wife and a nice little family in Jersey. I ask him
+sometimes about his reading. He is collecting a library, but not of rare
+books; says he cannot afford that. I think he is successful too, or will
+be if he never gets more than five thousand a year, and is content with
+his books and his little daily life, coming and going to his family. Ah,
+well! Everybody must live his life. I suppose there is some explanation
+of it all.”
+
+“Has anything gone wrong?” asked Carmen, anxiously.
+
+“No, not at all. Nothing to interfere with the house of gold.” He
+spoke quite gently and sincerely. “I don't know what set me into this
+moralizing. Let's look at the plans.”
+
+The next day--it was the first of June--in consultation with the
+architect, a project was broached that involved such an addition of cost
+that Carmen hesitated. She declared that it was a question of ways and
+means, and that she must consult the chairman. Accordingly she called
+her carriage and drove down to Henderson's office.
+
+It was a beautiful day, a little warm in the narrow streets of the lower
+city, but when she had ascended by the elevator to the high story that
+Henderson occupied in one of the big buildings that rise high enough to
+give a view of New York Harbor, and looked from the broad windows upon
+one of the most sparkling and animated scenes in the world, it seemed to
+her appreciative eyes a day let down out of Paradise.
+
+The clerks all knew Mrs. Henderson, and they rose and bowed as she
+tripped along smiling towards her husband's rooms. It did not seem to
+be a very busy day, and she found no one waiting in the anteroom, and
+passed into the room of his private secretary.
+
+“Is Mr. Henderson in?”
+
+“Yes, madam.”
+
+“And busy?”
+
+“Probably busy,” replied the secretary, with a smile, “but he is alone.
+No one has disturbed him for over half an hour.”
+
+“Then I will go in.”
+
+She tapped lightly at the door. There was no response. She turned the
+knob softly and looked in, and then, glancing back at the secretary,
+with a finger uplifted, “I think he is asleep,” opened the door, stepped
+in, and closed it carefully.
+
+The large room was full of light, and through the half-dozen windows
+burst upon her the enchanting scene of the Bay, Henderson sat at his
+table, which was covered with neatly arranged legal documents, but bowed
+over it, his head resting upon his arms.
+
+“So, Rodney, this is the way, old boy, that you wear yourself out in
+business!”
+
+She spoke laughingly, but he did not stir, and she tiptoed along to
+awaken him.
+
+She touched his hand. It moved heavily away from her hand. The left arm,
+released, dropped at his side.
+
+She started back, her eyes round with terror, and screamed.
+
+Instantly the secretary was at her side, and supported her, fainting, to
+a seat. Other clerks rushed in at the alarm. Henderson was lifted from
+his chair and laid upon a lounge. When the doctor who had been called
+arrived, Carmen was in a heap by the low couch, one arm thrown across
+the body, and her head buried in the cushion close to his.
+
+The doctor instantly applied restoratives; he sent for an electric
+battery; everything was done that science could suggest. But all was
+of no avail. There was no sign of life. He must have been dead half an
+hour, said the doctor. It was evidently heart-failure.
+
+Before the doctor had pronounced his verdict there was a whisper in the
+Stock Exchange.
+
+“Henderson is dead!”
+
+“It is not possible,” said one.
+
+“I saw him only yesterday,” said another.
+
+“I was in his office this morning,” said a third. “I never saw him
+looking in better health.”
+
+The whisper was confirmed. There was no doubt of it. Henderson's private
+secretary had admitted it. Yet it seemed incredible. No provision had
+been made for it. Speculation had not discounted it. A panic set in.
+No one knew what to do, for no one knew well the state of Henderson's
+affairs. In the first thirty minutes there was a tremendous drop in
+Henderson stocks. Then some of them rallied, but before the partial
+recovery hundreds of men had been ruined. It was a wild hour in the
+Exchange. Certain stocks were hopelessly smashed for the time, and some
+combinations were destroyed; among them was one that Uncle Jerry had
+kept out of; and Jack Delancy was hopelessly ruined.
+
+The event was flashed over the wires of the continent; it was
+bulletined; it was cried in the streets; it was the all-absorbing talk
+of the town. Already, before the dead man was removed to his own house,
+people were beginning to moralize about him and his career. Perhaps the
+truest thing was said by the old broker in the board whose reputation
+for piety was only equaled by his reputation of always having money to
+loan at exorbitant rates in a time of distress. He said to a group of
+downcast operators, “In the midst of life we are in death.”
+
+
+
+
+XX
+
+The place that Rodney Henderson occupied in the mind of the public was
+shown by the attention the newspapers paid to his death. All the great
+newspapers in all the cities of importance published long and minute
+biographies of him, with pictorial illustrations, and day after day
+characteristic anecdotes of his remarkable career. Nor was there, it
+is believed, a newspaper in the United States, secular, religious,
+or special, that did not comment upon his life. This was the more
+remarkable in that he was not a public man in the common use of the
+word: he had never interested himself in politics, or in public affairs,
+municipal or State or national; he had devoted himself entirely to
+building up his private fortune. If this is the duty of a citizen, he
+had discharged it with singleness of purpose; but no other duty of the
+citizen had he undertaken, if we except his private charities. And
+yet no public man of his day excited more popular interest or was the
+subject of more newspaper comment.
+
+And these comments were nearly all respectful, and most of them kindly.
+There was some justice in this, for Henderson had been doing what
+everybody else was trying to do, usually without his good-fortune. If
+he was more successful than others in trying to get rich, surely a great
+deal of admiration was mingled with the envy of his career. To be sure,
+some journals were very severe upon his methods, and some revived the
+old stories of his unscrupulousness in transactions which had laid him
+open to criminal prosecution, from the effects of which he was only
+saved by uncommon adroitness and, some said, by legal technicalities.
+His career also was denounced by some as wholly vicious in its effect
+upon the youth of the republic, and as lowering the tone of public
+morals. And yet it was remembered that he had been a frank, open-hearted
+friend, kind to his family, and generous in contrast with some of his
+close-fisted contemporaries. There was nothing mean about him; even his
+rascalities, if you chose to call his transactions by that name, were
+on a grand scale. To be sure, he would let nothing stand between him and
+the consummation of his schemes--he was like Napoleon in that--but
+those who knew him personally liked him. The building up of his colossal
+fortune--which the newspapers were saying was the largest that had been
+accumulated in one lifetime in America--had ruined thousands of people,
+and carried disaster into many peaceful houses, and his sudden death had
+been a cyclone of destruction for an hour. But it was hardly fair, one
+journal pointed out, to hold Henderson responsible for his untimely
+death.
+
+Even Jack Delancy, when the crushing news was brought him at the club,
+where he sat talking with Major Fairfax, although he saw his own ruin in
+a flash, said, “It wouldn't have happened if Henderson had lived.”
+
+“Not so soon,” replied the Major, hesitatingly.
+
+“Do you mean to say that Henderson and Mavick and Mrs. Henderson would
+have thrown me over?”
+
+“Why, no, not exactly; but a big machine grinds on regardless, and when
+the crash comes everybody looks out for himself.”
+
+“I think I'll telegraph to Mavick.”
+
+“That wouldn't do any good now. He couldn't have stopped the panic. I
+tell you what, you'd better go down to your brokers and see just how
+matters stand.”
+
+And the two went down to Wall Street. It was after hours, but the
+brokers' office was full of excitement. No one knew what was left from
+the storm, nor what to expect. It was some time before Jack could get
+speech with one of the young men of the firm.
+
+“How is it?” he asked.
+
+“It's been a----of a time.”
+
+“And Henderson?”
+
+“Oh, his estate is all right, so far as we know. He was well out of the
+Missouris.”
+
+“And the Missouri?”
+
+“Bottom dropped out; temporarily, anyway.”
+
+“And my account?”
+
+“Wiped out, I am sorry to say. Might come up by-and-by, if you've got a
+lot of money to put up, and wait.”
+
+“Then it's all up,” said Jack, turning to the Major. He was very pale.
+He knew now that his fortune was gone absolutely--house, everything.
+
+Few words were exchanged as they made their way back to the club. And
+here the Major did a most unusual thing for him. He ordered the drinks.
+But he did this delicately, apologetically.
+
+“I don't know as you care for anything, but Wall Street has made me
+thirsty. Eh?”
+
+“I don't mind if I do,” Jack replied.
+
+And they sat down.
+
+The conversation was not cheerful; it was mainly ejaculatory. After a
+second glass, Jack said, “I don't suppose it would do any good, but I
+should like to see Mavick.” And then, showing the drift of his thoughts,
+“I wonder what Carmen will do?”
+
+“I should say that will depend upon the will,” replied the Major.
+
+“She is a good-hearted woman,” and Jack's tone was one of inquiry.
+
+“She hasn't any, Jack. Not the least bit of a heart. And I believe
+Henderson found it out. I shall be surprised if his will doesn't show
+that he knew it.”
+
+A servant came to the corner where they were sitting and handed Jack a
+telegram.
+
+“What's this? Mavick?” He tore it open. “No; Edith.” He read it with
+something like a groan, and passed it over to the Major.
+
+What he read was this: “Don't be cast down, Jack. The boy and I are
+well. Come. Edith.”
+
+“That is splendid; that is just like her,” cried the Major. “I'd be out
+of this by the first train.”
+
+“It is no use,” replied Jack gloomily. “I couldn't 'face Edith now. I
+couldn't do it. I wonder how she knew?”
+
+He called back the servant, and penned as reassuring a message as he
+could, but said that it was impossible to leave town. She must not
+worry about him. This despatched, they fell again into a talk about the
+situation. After another glass Jack was firm in his resolution to stay
+and watch things. It seemed not impossible that something might turn up.
+
+On the third day after, both the Major and Jack attended the funeral at
+the house. Carmen was not visible. The interment was private. The day
+following, Jack left his card of condolence at the door; but one day
+passed, and another and another, and no word of acknowledgment came
+from the stricken widow. Jack said to himself that it was not natural to
+expect it. But he did expect it, and without reason, for he should have
+known that Carmen was not only overwhelmed with the sudden shock of her
+calamity, but that she would necessarily be busy with affairs that even
+grief would not permit her to neglect. Jack heard that Mavick had been
+in the city, and that he went to the Henderson house, but he had not
+called at the club, and the visit must have been a flying one.
+
+A week passed, and Jack received no message from Carmen. His note
+offering his services if she needed the services of any one had not been
+answered.
+
+Carmen was indeed occupied. It could not be otherwise. The state of
+Henderson's affairs could not wait upon conventionalities. The day after
+the funeral Mr. Henderson's private secretary came to the house, and
+had a long interview with Mrs. Henderson. He explained to her that the
+affairs should be immediately investigated, the will proved, and the
+estate put into the hands of the executors. It would be best for Mrs.
+Henderson herself to bring his keys down to the office, and to see the
+opening of his desk and boxes. Meantime it would be well for her to see
+if there were any papers of importance in the house; probably everything
+was in the office safe.
+
+The next morning Carmen nerved herself to the task. With his keys
+in hand she went alone into the library and opened his writing-desk.
+Everything was in perfect order; letters and papers filed and
+labeled, and neatly arranged in drawers and pigeonholes. There lay his
+letter-book as he had last used it, and there lay fresh memoranda of his
+projects and engagements. She found in one of the drawers some letters
+of her own, mostly notes, and most of them written before her marriage.
+In another drawer were some bundles of letters, a little yellow with
+age, endorsed with the name of “Margaret.” She shut the drawer without
+looking at them. She continued to draw papers from the pigeon-holes and
+glance at them. Most of them related to closed transactions. At length
+she drew out one that instantly fixed her attention. It was endorsed,
+“Last Will and Testament.” She looked first at the date at the end--it
+was quite recent--and then leaned back in her chair and set herself
+deliberately to read it.
+
+The document was long and full of repetitions and technicalities, but
+the purport of it was plain. As she read on she was at first astonished,
+then she was excited to trembling, and felt herself pale and faint;
+but when she had finished and fully comprehended it her pretty face was
+distorted with rage. The great bulk of the property was not for her. She
+sprang up and paced the floor. She came back and took up the document
+with a motion of tearing it in pieces. No--it would be better to
+burn it. Of course there must be another will deposited in the safe.
+Henderson had told her so. It was drawn up shortly after their marriage.
+It could not be worse for her than this. She lighted the gas-jet by the
+fireplace, and held the paper in her hand. Then a thought struck her.
+What if somebody knew of this will, and its execution could be proved!
+She looked again at the end. It was signed and sealed. There were the
+names of two witnesses. One was the name of their late butler, who had
+been long in Henderson's service, and who had died less than a month
+ago. The other name was Thomas Mavick. Evidently the will had been
+signed recently, on some occasion when Mavick was in the house. And
+Henderson's lawyer probably knew it also!
+
+She folded the document carefully, put it back in the pigeon-hole,
+locked the desk, and rang the bell for her carriage. She was ready when
+the carriage came to the door, and told the coachman to drive to the
+office of Mr. Sage in Nassau Street. Mr. Sage had been for many years
+Henderson's most confidential lawyer.
+
+He received Carmen in his private office, with the subdued respect due
+to her grief and the sudden tragedy that had overtaken her. He was a man
+well along in years, a small man, neat in his dress, a little formal and
+precise in his manner, with a smoothly shaven face and gray eyes,
+keen, but not unkindly in expression. He had the reputation, which he
+deserved, for great ability and integrity. After the first salutations
+and words of condolence were spoken, Carmen said, “I have come to
+consult you, Mr. Sage, about my husband's affairs.”
+
+“I am quite at your service, madam.”
+
+“I wanted to see you before I went to the office with the keys of his
+safe.”
+
+“Perhaps,” said Mr. Sage, “I could spare you that trouble.”
+
+“Oh no; his secretary thought I had better come myself, if I could.”
+
+“Very well,” said Mr. Sage.
+
+Carmen hesitated a moment, and then said, in an inquiring tone, “I
+suppose the first thing is the will. He told me long ago that his will
+was made. I suppose it is in the safe. Didn't you draw it, Mr. Sage?”
+
+“Oh yes,” the lawyer replied, leaning back in his chair, “I drew that; a
+long time ago; shortly after your marriage. And about a year ago I drew
+another one. Did he ever speak of that?”
+
+“No,” Carmen replied, with a steady voice, but trembling inwardly at her
+narrow escape.
+
+“I wonder,” continued Mr. Sage, “if it was ever executed? He took it,
+and said he would think it over.”
+
+“Executed?” queried Carmen, looking up. “How do you mean, before a
+magistrate?”
+
+“Oh, no; signed and witnessed. It is very simple. The law requires two
+witnesses; the testator and the witnesses must declare that they sign
+in the presence of each other. The witnesses prove the will, or, if they
+are dead, their signatures can be proved. I was one of the witnesses of
+the first will, and a clerk of Henderson's, who is still in his office,
+was the other.”
+
+“The last one is probably in the safe if it was executed.”
+
+“Probably,” the lawyer assented. “If not, you'd better look for it in
+the house.”
+
+“Of course. Whether it exists or not, I want to carry out my husband's
+intention,” Carmen said, sweetly. “Have you any memorandum of it?”
+
+“I think so, somewhere, but the leading provisions are in my mind. It
+would astonish the public.”
+
+“Why?” asked Carmen.
+
+“Well, the property was greater than any of us supposed, and--perhaps I
+ought not to speak to you of this now, Mrs. Henderson.”
+
+“I think I have a right to know what my husband's last wishes were,”
+ Carmen answered, firmly.
+
+“Well, he had a great scheme. The greater part of his property after
+the large legacies--” The lawyer saw that Carmen looked pale, and he
+hesitated a moment, and then said, in a cheery manner: “Oh, I
+assure you, madam, that this will gave you a great fortune; all the
+establishment, and a very great fortune. But the residue was in trust
+for the building and endowment of an Industrial School on the East Side,
+with a great library and a reading-room, all to be free. It was a great
+scheme, and carefully worked out.”
+
+“I am so glad to know this,” said Carmen. “Was there anything else?”
+
+“Only some legacies.” And Mr. Sage went on, trying to recall details
+that his attentive listener already knew. There were legacies to some of
+his relatives in New Hampshire, and there was a fund, quite a handsome
+fund, for the poor of the city, called the “Margaret Fund.” And there
+was something also for a relative of the late Mrs. Henderson.
+
+Carmen again expressed her desire to carry out her husband's wishes in
+everything, and Mr. Sage was much impressed by her sweet manner. When
+she had found out all that he knew or remembered of the new will, and
+arose to go, Mr. Sage said he would accompany her to the office. And
+Carmen gratefully accepted his escort, saying that she had wished to ask
+him to go with her, but that she feared to take up so much of his time.
+
+At the office the first will was found, but no other. The lawyer glanced
+through it, and then handed it to Mrs. Henderson, with the remark, “It
+leaves you, madam, pretty much everything of which he died possessed.”
+ Carmen put it aside. She did not care to read it now. She would go home
+and search for the other one.
+
+“If no other is found,” said Mr. Sage, in bidding her good-morning,
+“this one ought to be proved tomorrow. I may tell you that you and Mr.
+Hollowell are named as executors.”
+
+On her way home Carmen stopped at a telegraph station, and sent a
+message to Mavick, in Washington, to take an afternoon train and come to
+New York.
+
+When Carmen reached home she was in a serious but perfectly clear frame
+of mind. The revelation in the last will of Henderson's change of mind
+towards her was mortifying to a certain extent. It was true that his
+fortune was much increased since the first will was made, and that it
+justified his benevolent scheme. But he might have consulted her about
+it. If she had argued the matter with her conscience, she would have
+told her conscience that she would carry out this new plan in her own
+way and time. She was master of the situation, and saw before her a
+future of almost unlimited opportunity and splendor, except for one
+little obstacle. That obstacle was Mr. Mavick. She believed that she
+understood him thoroughly, but she could not take the next step until
+she had seen him. It was true that no one except herself positively knew
+that a second will now existed, but she did not know how much he might
+choose to remember.
+
+She was very impatient to see Mr. Mavick. She wandered about the house,
+restless and feverish. Presently it occurred to her that it would be
+best to take the will wholly into her own keeping. She unlocked the
+desk, took it out with a trembling hand, but did not open it again. It
+was not necessary. A first reading had burned every item of it into her
+brain. It seemed to be a sort of living thing. She despised herself for
+being so agitated, and for the furtive feeling that overcame her as she
+glanced about to be sure that she was alone, and then she ran up stairs
+to her room and locked the document in her own writing-desk.
+
+What was that? Oh, it was only the door-bell. But who could it be?
+Some one from the office, from her lawyer? She could see nobody. In
+two minutes there was a rap at her door. It was only the servant with a
+despatch. She took it and opened it without haste.
+
+“Very well, Dobson; no answer. I expect Mr. Mavick on business at ten. I
+am at home to no one else.”
+
+At ten o'clock Mr. Mavick came, and was shown into the library, where
+Carmen awaited him.
+
+“It was very good of you to come,” she said, as she advanced to meet
+him and gave him her hand in the natural subdued manner that the
+circumstances called for.
+
+“I took the first train after I received your despatch.”
+
+“I am sorry to inconvenience you so,” she said, after they were seated,
+“but you know so much of Mr. Henderson's affairs that your advice will
+be needed. His will is to be proved tomorrow.”
+
+“Yes?” said Mavick.
+
+“I went to see--Mr. Sage today, and he went with me to the office. The
+will was in the safe. I did not read it, but Mr. Sage said that it left
+everything to me except a few legacies.”
+
+“Yes?”
+
+“He said it should be proved tomorrow, unless a later will turned up.”
+
+“Was there a later will?”
+
+“That is what he did not know. He had drawn a new will about a year
+ago, but he doubted if it had ever been executed. Mr. Henderson was
+considering it. He thought he had a memorandum of it somewhere, but he
+remembered the principal features of it.”
+
+“Was it a great change from the first?” Mavick asked.
+
+“Yes, considerable. In fact, the greater part of his property, as far
+as I could make out, was to go to endow a vast training-school, library,
+and reading-room on the East Side. Of course that would be a fine
+thing.”
+
+“Of course,” said Mavick. “And no such will has been found?”
+
+“I've looked everywhere,” replied Carmen, simply; “all over the house.
+It should be in that desk if anywhere. We can look again, but I feel
+pretty sure there is no such document there.”
+
+She took in her hand the bunch of keys that lay on the table, as if she
+were about to rise and unlock the desk. Then she hesitated, and looked
+Mavick full in the face.
+
+“Do you think, Mr. Mavick, that will was ever executed?”
+
+For a moment they looked steadily at each other, and then he said,
+deliberately, their eyes squarely meeting, “I do not think it was.”
+ And in a moment he added, “He never said anything to me about such a
+disposition of his property.”
+
+Two things were evident to Carmen from this reply. He saw her interests
+as she saw them, and it was pretty certain that the contents of the
+will were not made known to him when he witnessed it. She experienced an
+immense feeling of relief as she arose and unlocked the desk. They sat
+down before it together, and went over its contents. Mavick made a note
+of the fresh business memoranda that might be of service next day, since
+Mrs. Henderson had requested him to attend the proving of the will, and
+to continue for the present the business relations with her that he had
+held with Mr. Henderson.
+
+It was late when he left the house, but he took with him a note to Mr.
+Sage to drop into the box for morning delivery. The note said that she
+had searched the house, that no second will existed there, and that she
+had telegraphed to Mr. Mavick, who had much knowledge of Mr. Henderson's
+affairs, to meet him in the morning. And she read the note to Mavick
+before she sealed it.
+
+Before the note could have been dropped into the box, Carmen was in her
+room, and the note was literally true. No second will existed.
+
+The will was proved, and on the second day its contents were in all the
+newspapers. But with it went a very exciting story. This was the rumor
+of another will, and of Henderson's vast scheme of benevolence. Mr. Sage
+had been interviewed and Carmen had been interviewed. The memorandum
+(which was only rough and not wholly legible notes) had been found
+and sent to Carmen. There was no concealment about it. She gave the
+reporters all the details, and to every one she said that it was her
+intention to carry out her husband's wishes, so far as they could be
+ascertained from this memorandum, when his affairs had been settled. The
+thirst of the reporters for information amused even Carmen, who had seen
+much of this industrious tribe. One of them, to whom she had partially
+explained the situation, ended by asking her, “Are you going to contest
+the will?”
+
+“Contest the will?” cried Carmen. “There is nothing to contest.”
+
+“I didn't know,” said the young man, whose usual occupation was
+reporting sports, and who had a dim idea that every big will must be
+contested.
+
+Necessarily the affair made a great deal of talk. The newspapers
+discussed it for days, and turned over the scheme in every light, the
+most saying that it was a noble gift to the city that had been intended,
+while only one or two doubted if charity institutions of this sort
+really helped the poor. Regret, of course, was expressed that the second
+will had never been executed, but with this regret was the confidence
+that the widow would carry out, eventually, Henderson's plans.
+
+This revelation modified the opinion in regard to Henderson. He came
+to be regarded as a public benefactor, and his faithful wife shared the
+credit of his noble intention.
+
+
+
+
+XXI
+
+Waiting for something to turn up, Jack found a weary business. He
+had written to Mavick after the newspaper report that that government
+officer had been in the city on Henderson's affairs, and had received a
+very civil and unsatisfactory reply. In the note Mavick had asked him to
+come to Washington and spend a little time, if he had nothing better
+on hand, as his guest. Perhaps no offense was intended, but the reply
+enraged Jack. There was in the tone of the letter and in the manner of
+the invitation a note of patronage that was unendurable.
+
+“Confound the fellow's impudence!” said Jack to himself; and he did not
+answer the invitation.
+
+Personally his situation was desperate enough, but he was not inclined
+to face it. In a sort of stupor he let the law take its course. There
+was nothing left of his fortune, and his creditors were in possession of
+his house and all it contained. “Do not try to keep anything back that
+legally belongs to them,” Edith had written when he informed her of this
+last humiliation. Of course decency was observed. Jack's and Edith's
+wardrobes, and some pieces of ancestral furniture that he pointed out
+as belonging to his wife, were removed before the auction flag was
+hung out. When this was over he still temporized. Edith's affectionate
+entreaties to him to leave the dreadful city and come home were evaded
+on one plea or another. He had wild schemes of going off West or
+South--of disappearing. Perhaps he would have luck somewhere. He
+couldn't ask aid or seek occupation of his friends, but some place
+where he was not known he felt that he might do something to regain his
+position, get some situation, or make some money--lots of men had done
+it in a new country and reinstate himself in Edith's opinion.
+
+But he did not go, and days and weeks went by in irresolution. No word
+came from Carmen, and this humiliated Jack more than anything else--not
+the loss of her friendship, but the remembrance that he had ever danced
+attendance on her and trusted her. He was getting a good many wholesome
+lessons in these days.
+
+One afternoon he called upon Miss Tavish. There was no change in her.
+She received him with her usual gay cordiality, and with no affectation.
+
+“I didn't know what had become of you,” she said.
+
+“I've been busy,” he replied, with a faint attempt at a smile.
+
+“Yes, I know. It's been an awful time, what with Henderson's death and
+everything else. Almost everybody has been hit. But,” and she looked at
+him cheerfully, “they will come up again; up and down; it is always so.
+Why, even I got a little twist in that panic.” The girl was doing what
+she could in her way to cheer him up.
+
+“I think of going off somewhere to seek my fortune,” said Jack, with a
+rueful smile.
+
+“Oh, I hope not; your friends wouldn't like that. There is no place
+like New York, I'm sure.” And there was a real note of friendliness
+and encouragement in her tone. “Only,” and she gave him another bright
+smile, “I think of running away from it myself, for a time. It's a
+secret yet. Carmen wants me to go abroad with her.”
+
+“I have not seen Mrs. Henderson since her husband's death. How is she?”
+
+“Oh, she bears up wonderfully. But then she has so much to do, poor
+thing. And then the letters she gets, the begging letters. You've no
+idea. I don't wonder she wants to go abroad. Don't stay away so long
+again,” she said as Jack rose to go. “And, oh, can't you come in to
+dinner tomorrow night--just Carmen--I think I can persuade her--and
+nobody else?”
+
+“I'm sorry that I have an engagement,” Jack answered.
+
+“Well, some other time. Only soon.”
+
+This call did Jack temporarily a world of good. It helped his
+self-esteem. But it was only temporary. The black fact stared him in the
+face every morning that he was ruined. And it came over him gradually
+that he was a useless member of society. He never had done anything; he
+was not trained or fitted to do anything. And this was impressed upon
+him in the occasional attempts he made to get employment. He avoided as
+much as possible contact with those who knew him. Shame prevented him
+from applying to them for occupation, and besides he very well knew
+that to those who knew him his idle career was no recommendation. Yet
+he formed a habit of going down-town every day and looking for work. His
+appearance commanded civility, but everywhere he met with refusal, and
+he began to feel like a well-bred tramp. There had been in his mind
+before no excuse for tramps. He could see now how they were made.
+
+It was not that he lacked capacity. He knew a great deal, in an
+amateurish way, about pictures, books, bric-a-brac, and about society.
+Why shouldn't he write? He visited the Loan Exhibition, and wrote a
+careful criticism on the pictures and sent it to a well-known journal.
+It was returned with thanks: the journal had its own art critic. He
+prepared other articles about curious books, and one about porcelain and
+pottery. They were all returned, except one which gave the history of a
+rare bit of majolica, which had been picked up forty cents and then sold
+for five hundred dollars, and was now owned by a collector who had
+paid four thousand dollars for it. For that the newspaper sent him five
+dollars. That was not encouraging, and his next effort for the same
+journal was returned. Either he hadn't the newspaper knack, or the
+competition was too great.
+
+He had ceased going to his club. It was too painful to meet his
+acquaintances in his altered circumstances, and it was too expensive. It
+even annoyed him to meet Major Fairfax. That philosopher had not changed
+towards him any more than Miss Tavish had, but it was a melancholy
+business to talk of his affairs, and to listen to the repeated advice
+to go down to the country to Edith, and wait for some good opening. That
+was just what he could not do. His whole frivolous life he began now to
+see as she must have seen it. And it seemed to him that he could only
+retain a remnant of his self-respect by doing something that would
+reinstate him in her opinion.
+
+“Very well,” said the Major, at the close of the last of their talks at
+the club; “what are you going to do?”
+
+“I'm going into some business,” said Jack, stiffly.
+
+“Have you spoken to any of your friends?”
+
+“No. It's no use,” he said, bitterly; “they are all like me, or they
+know me.”
+
+“And hasn't your wife some relations who are in business?”
+
+“The last people I should apply to. No. I'm going to look around. Major,
+do you happen to know a cheap lodging-house that is respectable?”
+
+“I don't know any that is not respectable,” the Major replied, in a
+huffy manner.
+
+“I beg your pardon,” said Jack. “I want to reduce expenses.”
+
+The Major did know of a place in the neighborhood where he lived. He
+gave Jack the address, and thereafter the club and his usual resorts
+knew him no more.
+
+As the days went by and nothing happened to break the monotony of his
+waiting and his fruitless search, he became despondent. Day after day
+he tramped about the city, among the business portions, and often on
+the East Side, to see misery worse than his own. He had saved out of the
+wreck his ample wardrobe, his watch, and some jewelry, and upon these he
+raised money for his cheap lodgings and his cheap food. He grew careless
+of his personal appearance. Every morning he rose and went about the
+city, always with less hope, and every night he returned to his lodging,
+but not always sober.
+
+One day he read the announcement that Mrs. Rodney Henderson and Miss
+Tavish had sailed for Europe. That ended that chapter. What exactly
+he had expected he could not say. Help from Carmen? Certainly not. But
+there had never been a sign from her, nor any word from Mavick lately.
+There evidently was nothing. He had been thrown over. Carmen evidently
+had no more use for him. She had other plans. The thought that he had
+been used and duped was almost more bitter than his loss.
+
+In after-days Jack looked back upon this time with a feeling akin to
+thankfulness for Carmen's utter heartlessness in regard to his affairs.
+He trembled to think what might have happened to him if she had sent for
+him and consulted him and drawn him again into the fatal embrace of her
+schemes and her fascinations. Now he was simply enraged when he thought
+of her, and irritated with himself.
+
+These were dark days, days to which he looked back with a shudder. He
+wrote to Edith frequently--a brief note. He was straightening out his
+affairs; he was busy. But he did not give her his address, and he only
+got her letters when the Major forwarded them from the club, which was
+irregularly. A stranger, who met him at his lodgings or elsewhere, would
+have said that he was an idle and rather dissipated-looking man. He
+was idle, except in his feeble efforts to get work; he was worn and
+discouraged, but he was not doing anything very bad. In his way of
+looking at it, he was carrying out his notion of honor. He was only
+breaking a woman's heart.
+
+He was conscious of little except his own misfortunes and misery. He did
+not yet apprehend his own selfishness nor her nobility. He did not yet
+comprehend the unselfishness of a good woman's love.
+
+On the East Side one day, as he was sauntering along Grand Street, he
+encountered Dr. Leigh, his wife's friend, whom he had seen once at his
+house. She did not at first recognize him until he stopped and spoke his
+name.
+
+“Oh,” she said, with surprise at seeing him, and at his appearance, “I
+didn't expect to see you here. I thought everybody had gone from the
+city. Perhaps you are going to the Neighborhood Guild?”
+
+“No,” and Jack forced a little laugh, “I'm not so good as that. I'm kept
+in town on business. I strolled over here to see how the other side of
+life looks.”
+
+“It doesn't improve. It is one of the worst summers I ever saw. Since
+Mr. Henderson's death--”
+
+“What difference did Henderson's death make over here?”
+
+“Why, he had deposited a little fund for Father Damon to draw on, and
+the day after his death the bank returned a small check with the
+notice that there was no deposit to draw on. It had been such a help
+in extraordinary cases. Perhaps you saw some allusion to it in the
+newspapers?”
+
+“Wasn't it the Margaret Fund?”
+
+“Yes. Father Damon dropped a note to Mrs. Henderson explaining about it.
+No reply came.”
+
+“As he might have expected.” Dr. Leigh looked up quickly as if for an
+explanation, but Jack ignored the query, and went on. “And Father Damon,
+is he as active as ever?”
+
+“He has gone.”
+
+“What, left the city, quit his work? And the mission?”
+
+“I don't suppose he will ever quit his work while he lives, but he is
+much broken down. The mission chapel is not closed, but a poor woman
+told me that it seemed so.”
+
+“And he will not return? Mrs. Delancy will be so sorry.”
+
+“I think not. He is in retreat now, and I heard that he might go to
+Baltimore. I thought of your wife. She was so interested in his work. Is
+she well this summer?”
+
+“Yes, thank you,” said Jack, and they parted. But as she went on her
+way his altered appearance struck her anew, and she wondered what had
+happened.
+
+This meeting with Mr. Delancy recalled most forcibly Edith, her interest
+in the East Side work, her sympathy with Father Damon and the mission,
+the first flush of those days of enthusiasm. When Father Damon began
+his work the ladies used to come in their carriages to the little chapel
+with flowers and money and hearts full of sympathy with the devoted
+priest. Alone of all these Edith had been faithful in her visits,
+always, when she was in town. And now the whole glittering show of
+charity had vanished for the time, and Father Damon--The little doctor
+stopped, consulted a memorandum in her hand-bag, looked up at the
+tenement-house she was passing, and then began to climb its rickety
+stairway.
+
+Yes, Father Damon had gone, and Ruth Leigh simply went on with her work
+as before. Perhaps in all the city that summer there was no other person
+whose daily life was so little changed as hers. Others were driven
+away by the heat, by temporary weariness, by the need of a vacation
+and change of scene. Some charities and some clubs and schools were
+temporarily suspended; other charities, befitting the name, were more
+active, the very young children were most looked after, and the Good
+Samaritans of the Fresh-Air Funds went about everywhere full of this new
+enthusiasm of humanity. But the occupation of Ruth Leigh remained
+always the same, in a faithful pertinacity that nothing could wholly
+discourage, in a routine that no projects could kindle into much
+enthusiasm. Day after day she went about among the sick and the poor,
+relieving and counseling individuals, and tiring herself out in that
+personal service, and more and more conscious, when she had time, at
+night, for instance, to think, of the monstrous injustice somewhere, and
+at times in a mood of fierce revolt against the social order that made
+all this misery possible and hopeless.
+
+Yet a great change had come into her life--the greatest that can come to
+any man or woman in the natural order. She loved and she was loved. An
+ideal light had been cast upon her commonplace existence, the depths of
+her own nature had been revealed to herself. In this illuminating light
+she walked about in the misery of this world. This love must be denied,
+this longing of the heart for companionship could never be gratified,
+yet after all it was a sweet self-sacrifice, and the love itself brought
+its own consolation. She had not to think of herself as weak, and
+neither was her lover's image dimmed to her by any surrender of his own
+principle or his own ideal. She saw him, as she had first seen him, a
+person consecrated and set apart, however much she might disagree with
+his supernatural vagaries--set apart to the service of humanity. She had
+bitter thoughts sometimes of the world, and bitter thoughts of the false
+system that controlled his conduct, but never of him.
+
+It was unavoidable that she should recall her last interview with him,
+and that the image of his noble, spiritual face should be ever distinct
+in her mind. And there was even a certain comfort in this recollection.
+
+Father Damon had indeed striven, under the counsel of his own
+courage and of Brother Monies, to conquer himself on the field of his
+temptation. But with his frail physique it was asking too much. This at
+last was so evident that the good brother advised him, and the advice
+was in the nature of a command in his order, to retire for a while, and
+then take up his work in a fresh field.
+
+When this was determined on, his desire was nearly irresistible to see
+Ruth Leigh; he thought it would be cowardly to disappear and not say
+good-by. Indeed, it was necessary to see her and explain the stoppage
+of help from the Margaret Fund. The check that he had drawn, which was
+returned, had been for one of Dr. Leigh's cases. With his failure
+to elicit any response from Mrs. Henderson, the hope, raised by the
+newspaper comments on the unexecuted will, that the fund would be
+renewed was dissipated.
+
+In the interview which Father Damon sought with Dr. Leigh at the Women's
+Hospital all this was explained, and ways and means were discussed for
+help elsewhere.
+
+“I wanted to talk this over with you,” said Father Damon, “because I am
+going away to take a rest.”
+
+“You need it, Father Damon,” was Ruth's answer, in a professional
+manner.
+
+“And--and,” he continued, with some hesitation, “probably I shall not
+return to this mission.”
+
+“Perhaps that will be best,” she said, simply, but looking up at him
+now, with a face full of tender sympathy.
+
+“I am sure of it,” he replied, turning away from her gaze. “The fact
+is, doctor, I am a little hipped--overworked, and all that. I shall pull
+myself together with a little rest. But I wanted to tell you how much I
+appreciate your work, and--and what a comfort you have been to me in my
+poor labors. I used to hope that some time you would see this world in
+relation to the other, and--”
+
+“Yes, I know,” she interrupted, hastily, “I cannot think as you
+do, but--” And she could not go on for a great lump in her throat.
+Involuntarily she rose from her seat. The interview was too trying.
+Father Damon rose also. There was a moment's painful silence as they
+looked in each other's faces. Neither could trust the voice for speech.
+He took her hand and pressed it, and said “God bless you!” and went out,
+closing the door softly.
+
+A moment after he opened it again and stood on the threshold. She was
+in her chair, her head bowed upon her arms on the table. As he spoke she
+looked up, and she never forgot the expression of his face.
+
+“I want to say, Ruth”--he had never before called her by her first name,
+and his accent thrilled her--“that I shall pray for you as I pray for
+myself, and though I may never see you again in this world, the greatest
+happiness that can come to me in this life will be to hear that you have
+learned to say Our Father which art in heaven.”
+
+As she looked he was gone, and his last words remained a refrain in her
+mind that evening and afterwards--“Our Father which art in heaven”--a
+refrain recurring again and again in all her life, inseparable from the
+memory of the man she loved.
+
+
+
+
+XXII
+
+Along the Long Island coast lay the haze of early autumn. It was the
+time of lassitude. In the season of ripening and decay Nature seemed to
+have lost her spring, and lay in a sort of delicious languor. Sea and
+shore were in a kind of truce, and the ocean south wind brought cool
+refreshment but no incentive.
+
+From the sea the old brown farmhouse seemed a snug haven of refuge; from
+the inland road it appeared, with its spreading, sloping roofs, like
+an ancient sea-craft come ashore, which had been covered in and then
+embowered by kindly Nature with foliage. In those days its golden-brown
+color was in harmony with the ripening orchards and gardens.
+
+Surely, if anywhere in the world, peace was here. But to its owner this
+very peace and quietness was becoming intolerable. The waiting days were
+so long, the sleepless nights of uncertainty were so weary. When her
+work was done, and Edith sat with a book or some sewing under the arbor
+where the grape clusters hung, growing dark and transparent, and the
+boy played about near her, she had a view of the blue sea, and about
+her were the twitter of birds and the hum of the cicada. The very beauty
+made her heart ache. Seaward there was nothing--nothing but the leaping
+little waves and the sky. From the land side help might come at any
+hour, and at every roll of wheels along the road her heart beat faster
+and hope sprang up anew. But day after day nothing came.
+
+Perhaps there is no greater bravery than this sort of waiting, doing
+the daily duty and waiting. Endurance is woman's bravery, and Edith was
+enduring, with an almost broken but still with a courageous heart. It
+was all so strange. Was it simply shame that kept him away, or had he
+ceased to love her? If the latter, there was no help for her. She had
+begged him to come, she had offered to leave the boy with her cousin
+companion and go to him. Perhaps it was pride only. In one of his short
+letters he had said, “Thank God, your little fortune is untouched.” If
+it were pride only, how could she overcome it? Of this she thought night
+and day. She thought, and she was restless, feverish, and growing thin
+in her abiding anxiety.
+
+It was true that her own fortune was safe and in her control. But with
+the usual instinct of women who know they have an income not likely
+to be ever increased, she began to be economical. She thought not of
+herself; but of the boy. It was the boy's fortune now. She began to look
+sharply after expenses; she reduced her household; she took upon herself
+the care of the boy, and other household duties. This was all well for
+her, for it occupied her time, and to some extent diverted her thoughts.
+
+So the summer passed--a summer of anxiety, longing, and dull pain for
+Edith. The time came when the uncertainty of it could no longer be
+endured. If Jack had deserted her, even if he should die, she could
+order her life and try to adjust her heavy burden. But this uncertainty
+was quite beyond her power to sustain.
+
+She made up her mind that she would go to the city and seek him. It was
+what he had written that she must not on any account do, but nothing
+that could happen to her there could be so bad as this suspense.
+Perhaps she could bring him back. If he refused, and was angry at her
+interference, that even would be something definite. And then she had
+carefully thought out another plan. It might fail, but some action had
+now become for her a necessity.
+
+Early one morning--it was in September-she prepared for a journey to the
+city. This little trip, which thousands of people made daily, took on
+for her the air of an adventure. She had been immured so long that it
+seemed a great undertaking. And when she bade good-by to the boy for the
+day she hugged him and kissed him again and again, as if it were to
+be an eternal farewell. To her cousin were given the most explicit
+directions for his care, and after she had started for the train she
+returned to give further injunctions. So she told herself, but it was
+really for one more look at the boy.
+
+But on the whole there was a certain exhilaration in the preparation and
+the going, and her spirits rose as they had not done in months before.
+Arrived in the city, she drove at once to the club Jack most frequented.
+“He is not in,” the porter said; “indeed, Mr. Delancy has not been here
+lately.”
+
+“Is Major Fairfax in?” Edith asked.
+
+Major Fairfax was in, and he came out immediately to her carriage. From
+him she learned Jack's address, and drove to his lodging-house. The
+Major was more than civil; he was disposed to be sympathetic, but he had
+the tact to see that Mrs. Delancy did not wish to be questioned, nor to
+talk.
+
+“Is Mr. Delancy at home?” she asked the small boy who ran the elevator.
+
+“No'me.”
+
+“And he did not say where he was going?”
+
+“No'me.”
+
+“Is he not sometimes at home in the daytime?”
+
+“No'me.”
+
+“And what time does he usually come home in the evening?”
+
+“Don't know. After I've gone, I guess.”
+
+Edith hesitated whether she should leave a card or a note, but she
+decided not to do either, and ordered the cabman to take her to Pearl
+Street, to the house of Fletcher & Co.
+
+Mr. Fletcher, the senior partner, was her cousin, the son of her
+father's elder brother, and a man now past sixty years. Circumstances
+had carried the families apart socially since the death of her father
+and his brother, but they were on the most friendly terms, and the ties
+of blood were not in any way weakened. Indeed, although Edith had seen
+Gilbert Fletcher only a few times since her marriage, she felt that she
+could go to him any time if she were in trouble, with the certainty of
+sympathy and help. He had the reputation of the old-fashioned New York
+merchants, to whom her father belonged, for integrity and conservatism.
+
+It was to him that she went now. The great shop, or wholesale warehouse
+rather, into which she entered from the narrow and cart-encumbered
+street, showed her at once the nature of the business of Fletcher & Co.
+It was something in the twine and cordage way. There were everywhere
+great coils of ropes and bales of twine, and the dark rooms had a tarry
+smell. Mr. Fletcher was in his office, a little space partitioned off
+in the rear, with half a dozen clerks working by gaslight, and a little
+sanctum where the senior partner was commonly found at his desk.
+
+Mr. Fletcher was a little, round-headed man, with a shrewd face,
+vigorous and cheerful, thoroughly a man of business, never speculating,
+and who had been slowly gaining wealth by careful industry and cautious
+extension of his trade. Certain hours of the day--from ten to three--he
+gave to his business. It was a habit, and it was a habit that he
+enjoyed. He had now come back, as he told Edith, from a little holiday
+at the sea, where his family were, to get into shape for the fall trade.
+
+Edith was closeted with him for a full hour. When she came out her eyes
+were brighter and her step more elastic. At sundown she reached home,
+almost in high spirits. And when she snatched up the boy and hugged him,
+she whispered in his ear, “Baby, we have done it, and we shall see.”
+
+One night when Jack returned from his now almost aimless tramping about
+the city he found a letter on his table. It seemed from the printing on
+the envelope to be a business letter; and business, in the condition he
+was in--and it was the condition in which he usually came home--did not
+interest him. He was about to toss the letter aside, when the name of
+Fletcher caught his eye, and he opened it.
+
+It was a brief note, written on an office memorandum, which simply asked
+Mr. Delancy to call at the office as soon as it was convenient, as
+the writer wished to talk with him on a matter of business, and it was
+signed “Gilbert Fletcher.”
+
+“Why don't he say what his business is?” said Jack, throwing the letter
+down impatiently. “I am not going to be hauled over the coals by any
+of the Fletchers.” And he tumbled into bed in an injured and yet
+independent frame of mind.
+
+But the next morning he reread the formal little letter in a new light.
+To be sure, it was from Edith's cousin. He knew him very well; he was
+not a person to go out of his way to interfere with anybody, and more
+than likely it was in relation to Edith's affairs that he was asked
+to call. That thought put a new aspect on the matter. Of course if it
+concerned her interests he ought to go. He dressed with unusual care
+for him in these days, breakfasted at the cheap restaurant which he
+frequented, and before noon was in the Fletcher warehouse in Pearl
+Street.
+
+He had never been there before, and he was somewhat curious to see what
+sort of a place it was where Gilbert carried on the string business, as
+he used to call it when speaking to Edith of her cousin's occupation. It
+was a much more dingy and smelly place than he expected, but the carts
+about the doors, and the bustle of loading and unloading, of workmen
+hauling and pulling, and of clerks calling out names and numbers to be
+registered and checked, gave him the impression that it was not a dull
+place.
+
+Mr. Fletcher received him in the little dim back office with a cordial
+shake of the hand, gave him a chair, and reseated himself, pushing
+back the papers in front of him with the air of a very busy man who was
+dropping for a moment one thing in order to give his mind promptly to
+another.
+
+“Our fall trade is just starting up,” he said, “and it keeps us all
+pretty busy.”
+
+“Yes,” said Jack. “I could drop in any other time--”
+
+“No, no,” interrupted Mr. Fletcher; “it is just because I am busy that I
+wanted to see you. Are you engaged in anything?”
+
+“Nothing in particular,” replied Jack, hesitating. “I'd thought of going
+into some business.” And then, after a pause: “It's no use to mince
+matters. You know--everybody knows, I suppose--that I got hit in that
+Henderson panic.”
+
+“So did lots of others,” replied Mr. Fletcher, cheerfully. “Yes, I know
+about it. And I'm not sure but it was a lucky thing for me.” He spoke
+still more cheerfully, and Jack looked at him inquiringly.
+
+“Are you open to an offer?”
+
+“I'm open to almost anything,” Jack answered, with a puzzled look.
+
+“Well,” and Mr. Fletcher settled back in his chair, “I can give you
+the situation in five minutes. I've been in this business over thirty
+years--yes; over thirty-five years. It has grown, little by little,
+until it's a pretty big business. I've a partner, a first-rate man--he
+is in Europe now--who attends to most of the buying. And the business
+keeps spreading out, and needs more care. I'm not as young as I was I
+shall be sixty-four in October--and I can't work right along as I used
+to. I find that I come later and go away earlier. It isn't the 'work
+exactly, but the oversight, the details; and the fact is that I want
+somebody near me whom I can trust, whether I'm here or whether I'm
+away. I've got good, honest, faithful clerks--if there was one I did
+not trust, I wouldn't have him about. But do you know, Jack,” it was
+the first time in the interview that he had used this name--“there is
+something in blood.”
+
+“Yes,” Jack assented.
+
+“Well, I want a confidential clerk. That's it.”
+
+“Me?” he asked. He was thinking rapidly while Mr. Fletcher had been
+speaking; something like a revolution was taking place in his mind, and
+when he asked this, the suggestion took on a humorous aspect--a humorous
+view of anything had not occurred to him in months.
+
+“You are just the man.”
+
+“I can be confidential,” Jack rejoined, with the old smile on his face
+that had been long a stranger to it, “but I don't know that I can be a
+clerk.”
+
+Mr. Fletcher was good enough to laugh at this pleasantry.
+
+“That's all right. It isn't much of a position. We can make the salary
+twenty-five hundred dollars for a starter. Will you try it?”
+
+Jack got up and went to the area window, and looked out a moment upon
+the boxes in the dim court. Then he came back and stood by Mr. Fletcher,
+and put his hand on the desk.
+
+“Yes, I'll try.”
+
+“Good. When will you begin?”
+
+“Now.”
+
+“That's good. No time like now. Wait a bit, and I'll show you about the
+place before we go to lunch. You'll get hold of the ropes directly.”
+
+This was Mr. Fletcher's veteran joke.
+
+At three o'clock Mr. Fletcher closed his desk. It was time to take his
+train. “Tomorrow, then,” he said, “we will begin in earnest.”
+
+“What are the business hours here?” asked Jack.
+
+“Oh, I am usually here from ten to three, but the business hours are
+from nine till the business is done. By-the-way, why not run out with me
+and spend the night, and we can talk the thing over?”
+
+There was no reason why he should not go, and he went. And that was the
+way John Corlear Delancy was initiated in the string business in the old
+house of Fletcher & Co.
+
+
+
+
+XXII
+
+Few battles are decisive, and perhaps least of all those that are won by
+a sudden charge or an accident, and not as the result of long-maturing
+causes. Doubtless the direction of a character or a career is often
+turned by a sudden act of the will or a momentary impotence of the will.
+But the battle is not over then, nor without long and arduous fighting,
+often a dreary, dragging struggle without the excitement of novelty.
+
+It was comparatively easy for Jack Delancy in Mr. Fletcher's office to
+face about suddenly and say yes to the proposal made him. There was on
+him the pressure of necessity, of his own better nature acting under
+a sense of his wife's approval; and besides, there was a novelty that
+attracted him in trying something absolutely new to his habits.
+
+But it was one thing to begin, and another, with a man of his
+temperament, to continue. To have regular hours, to attend to the
+details of a traffic that was to the last degree prosaic, in short, to
+settle down to hard work, was a very different thing from the “business”
+ about which Jack and his fellows at the club used to talk so much, and
+to fancy they were engaged in. When the news came to the Union that
+Delancy had gone into the house of Fletcher & Co. as a clerk, there was
+a general smile, and a languid curiosity expressed as to how long he
+would stick to it.
+
+In the first day or two Jack was sustained not only by the original
+impulse, but by a real instinct in learning about business ways and
+details that were new to him. To talk about the business and about the
+markets, to hear plans unfolded for extension and for taking advantage
+of fluctuations in prices, was all very well; but the drudgery of
+details--copying, comparing invoices, and settling into the routine of a
+clerk's life, even the life of a confidential clerk--was contrary to the
+habits of his whole life. It was not to be expected that these habits
+would be overcome without a long struggle and many back-slidings.
+
+The little matter of being at his office desk at nine o'clock in the
+morning began to seem a hardship after the first three or four days. For
+Mr. Fletcher not to walk into his shop on the stroke of ten would have
+been such a reversal of his habits as to cause him as much annoyance as
+it caused Jack to be bound to a fixed hour. It was only the difference
+in training. But that is saying everything.
+
+Besides, while the details of his work, the more he got settled in them,
+were not to his taste, he was daily mortified to find himself ignorant
+of matters which the stupidest clerk in the office seemed to know by
+instinct. This acted, however, as a sort of stimulus, and touched his
+pride. He determined that he would not be humiliated in this way, and
+during office hours he worked as diligently as Mr. Fletcher could have
+desired. He had pledged himself to the trial, and he summoned all his
+intelligence to back his effort.
+
+And it is true that the satisfaction of having a situation, of doing
+something, the relief to the previous daily anxiety and almost despair,
+raised his spirits. It was only when he thought of the public opinion of
+his little world, of some other occupation more befitting his education,
+of the vast change from his late life of ease and luxury to this of
+daily labor with a clerk's pay, that he had hours of revolt and cursed
+his luck.
+
+No, Jack's battle was not won in a day, or a week, or a year. And before
+it was won he needed more help than his own somewhat irresolute will
+could give. It is the impression of his biographer that he would have
+failed in the end if he had been married to a frivolous and selfish
+woman.
+
+Mr. Fletcher was known as a very strict man of business, and as little
+else. But he was a good judge of character, and under his notions of
+discipline and of industry he was a kindly man, as his clerks, who
+feared his sharp oversight, knew. And besides, he had made a compact
+with Edith, for whom he had something more than family affection, and he
+watched Jack's efforts to adjust himself to the new life with sympathy.
+If it was an experiment for Jack, it was also an experiment for him,
+the result of which gave him some anxiety. The situation was not a
+very heroic one, but a life is often decided for good or ill by as
+insignificant a matter as Jack's ability to persevere in learning about
+the twine and cordage trade. This was a day of trial, and the element
+of uncertainty in it kept both Mr. Fletcher and Jack from writing of the
+new arrangement to Edith, for fear that only disappointment to her would
+be the ultimate result. Jack's brief notes to her were therefore, as
+usual, indefinite, but with the hint that he was beginning to see a way
+out of his embarrassment.
+
+After the passage of a couple of weeks, during which Mr. Fletcher
+had been quietly studying his new clerk, he suddenly said to him, one
+Saturday morning, after they had looked over and estimated the orders
+by the day's mail, “Jack, I think you'd better let up a little, and run
+down and see Edith.”
+
+“Oh!” said Jack, a little startled by the proposal, but recovering
+himself; “I didn't suppose the business could spare me.”
+
+“I didn't mean a vacation, but run down for over Sunday. It must be
+lovely there, and the change will make you as keen as a brier for
+business. It always does me. Stay over Monday if the weather is good.
+I have to be away myself the week after.” As Jack hesitated and did not
+reply, Mr. Fletcher continued:
+
+“I really think you'd better go, Jack. You have hardly had a breath of
+fresh air this summer. There's plenty of time to go up-town and get your
+grip and catch the afternoon train.”
+
+Jack was still silent. The thought of seeing Edith created a tumult in
+his mind. It seemed as if he were not quite ready, not exactly settled.
+He had been procrastinating so long, putting off going, on one pretext
+or another, that he had fallen into a sort of fear of going. At first,
+absorbed in his speculations, enthralled by the company of Carmen and
+the luxurious, easy-going view of life that her society created for him;
+he had felt Edith and his house as an irritating restraint. Later, when
+the smash came, he had been still more relieved that she was out of
+town. And finally he had fallen into a reckless apathy, and had made
+himself believe that he never would see her again until some stroke of
+fortune should set him on his feet and restore his self-respect.
+
+But since he had been with Fletcher & Co. his feelings had gradually
+undergone a change. With a regular occupation and regular hours, and in
+contact with the sensible mind and business routine of Mr. Fletcher,
+he began to have saner views of life, and to realize that Edith would
+approve what he was now attempting to do much more than any effort to
+relieve himself by speculation.
+
+As soon as he felt himself a little more firmly established, a little
+more sure of himself, he would go to Edith, and confess everything, and
+begin life anew. This had been his mood, but he was still irresolute,
+and it needed some outside suggestion to push him forward to overcome
+his lingering reluctance to go home.
+
+But this had come suddenly. It seemed to him at first thought that he
+needed time to prepare for it. Mr. Fletcher pulled out his watch. “There
+is a later train at four. Take that, and we will get some lunch first.”
+
+An hour of postponement was such a relief! Why, of course he could go at
+four. And instantly his heart leaped up with desire.
+
+“All right,” he said, as he rose and closed his desk. “But I think I'd
+better not stay for lunch. I want to get something for the boy on my way
+uptown.”
+
+“Very good. Tuesday, then. My best regards to Edith.”
+
+As Jack came down the stairway from the elevated road at Twenty-third
+Street he ran against a man who was hurrying up--a man in a pronounced
+traveling-suit, grip-sack and umbrella in hand, and in haste. It was
+Mavick. Recognition was instantaneous, and it was impossible for either
+to avoid the meeting if he had desired to do so.
+
+“You in town!” said Mavick.
+
+“And you!” Jack retorted.
+
+“No, not really. I'm just going to catch the steamer. Short leave. We
+have all been kept by that confounded Chile business.”
+
+“Going for the government?”
+
+“No, not publicly. Of course shall confer with our minister in London.
+Any news here?”
+
+“Yes; Henderson's dead.” And Jack looked Mavick squarely in the face.
+
+“Ah!” And Mavick smiled faintly, and then said, gravely: “It was an
+awful business. So sudden, you know, that I couldn't do anything.” He
+made a movement to pass on. “I suppose there has been no--no--”
+
+“I suppose not,” said Jack, “except that Mrs. Henderson has gone to
+Europe.”
+
+“Ah!” And Mr. Mavick didn't wait for further news, but hurried up, with
+a “Good-by.”
+
+So Mavick was following Carmen to Europe. Well, why not? What an unreal
+world it all was, that of a few months ago! The gigantic Henderson;
+Jack's own vision of a great fortune; Carmen and her house of Nero; the
+astute and diplomatic Mavick, with his patronizing airs! It was like a
+scene in a play.
+
+He stepped into a shop and selected a toy for the boy. It was a real
+toy, and it was for a real boy. Jack experienced a genuine pleasure at
+the thought of pleasing him. Perhaps the little fellow would not know
+him.
+
+And then he thought of Edith--not of Edith the mother, but of Edith the
+girl in the days of his wooing. And he went into Maillard's. The pretty
+girl at the counter knew him. He was an old customer, and she had often
+filled orders for him. She had despatched many a costly box to addresses
+he had given her. It was in the recollection of those transactions that
+he said: “A box of marrons glaces, please. My wife prefers that.”
+
+“Shall I send it?” asked the girl, when she had done it up.
+
+“No, thanks; we are not in town.”
+
+“Of course,” she said, beaming upon him; “nobody is yet.”
+
+And this girl also seemed a part of the old life, with her little
+affectation of familiarity with its ways.
+
+He went to his room--it seemed a very mean little room now--packed his
+bag, told the janitor he should be absent a few days, and hurried to the
+ferry and the train as if he feared that some accident would delay him.
+When he was seated and the train moved off, his thoughts took another
+turn. He was in for it now.
+
+He began to regret that he had not delayed, to think it all out more
+thoroughly; perhaps it would have been better to have written.
+
+He bought an evening journal, but he could not read it. What he read
+between the lines was his own life. What a miserable failure! What a
+mess he had made of his own affairs, and how unworthy of such a woman as
+Edith he had been! How indifferent he had been to her happiness in the
+pursuit of his own pleasure! How would she receive him? He could
+hardly doubt that; but she must know, she must have felt cruelly his
+estrangement. What if she met him with a royal forgiveness, as if he
+were a returned prodigal? He couldn't stand that. If now he were only
+going back with his fortune recovered, with brilliant prospects to
+spread before her, and could come into the house in his old playful
+manner, with the assumed deference of the master, and say: “Well, Edith
+dear, the storm is over. It's all right now. I am awfully glad to get
+home. Where's the rascal of an heir?”
+
+Instead of that, he was going with nothing, humiliated, a clerk in a
+twine-store. And not much of a clerk at that, he reflected, with his
+ready humorous recognition of the situation.
+
+And yet he was for the first time in his life earning his living. Edith
+would like that. He had known all along that his idle life had been a
+constant grief to her. No, she would not reproach him; she never did
+reproach him. No doubt she would be glad that he was at work. But, oh,
+the humiliation of the whole thing! At one moment he was eager to see
+her, and the next the rattling train seemed to move too fast, and he
+welcomed every wayside stop that delayed his arrival. But even the Long
+Island trains arrive some time, and all too soon the cars slowed up at
+the familiar little station, and Jack got out.
+
+“Quite a stranger in these parts, Mr. Delancy,” was the easy salutation
+of the station-keeper.
+
+“Yes. I've been away. All right down here?”
+
+“Right as a trivet. Hot summer, though. Calculate it's goin' to be a
+warm fall--generally is.”
+
+It was near sunset. When the train had moved on, and its pounding on the
+rails became a distant roar and then was lost altogether, the country
+silence so impressed Jack, as he walked along the road towards the sea,
+that he became distinctly conscious of the sound of his own footsteps.
+He stopped and listened. Yes, there were other sounds--the twitter of
+birds in the bushes by the roadside, the hum of insects, and the faint
+rhythmical murmur of lapsing waves on the shore.
+
+And now the house came in view--first the big roof, and then the
+latticed windows, the balconies, where there were pots of flowers, and
+then the long veranda with its hammocks and climbing vines. There was
+a pink tone in the distant water answering to the flush in the sky, and
+away to the west the sand-dune that made out into the Sound was a point
+of light.
+
+But the house! Jack's steps were again arrested. The level last rays of
+the disappearing sun flashed upon the window-panes so that they glowed
+like painted windows illuminated from within, with a reddish lustre, and
+the roofs and the brown sides of the building, painted by those great
+masters in color, the sun and the sea-wind, in that moment were like
+burnished gold. Involuntarily Jack exclaimed:
+
+“It is the Golden House!”
+
+He made his way through the little fore yard. No one was about. The
+veranda was deserted. There was Edith's work-basket; there were the
+baby's playthings. The door stood open, and as he approached it he heard
+singing--not singing, either, but a fitful sort of recitation, with the
+occasional notes of an accompaniment struck as if in absence of mind.
+The tune he knew, and as he passed through the first room towards the
+sitting-room that looked on the sea he caught a line:
+
+“Wely, wely, but love is bonny, for a little while--when it is new.”
+
+It was an old English ballad, the ballad of the “Cockle-shells,” that
+Edith used to sing often in the old days, when its note of melancholy
+seemed best to express her happiness. It was only that line, and the
+voice seemed to break, and there was silence.
+
+He stole along and looked in. There was Edith, seated, her head bowed on
+her hands, at the piano.
+
+In an instant, before she could turn to the sound of his quick
+footsteps, he was at her side, kneeling, his head bowed in the folds of
+her dress.
+
+“Edith! I've been such a fool!”
+
+She turned, slid from her seat, and was kneeling also, with her arms
+thrown about his neck.
+
+“Oh, Jack! You've come. Thank God! Thank God!”
+
+And presently they stood, and his arms were still around her, and she
+was looking up into his face, with her hands on his shoulders, and
+saying “You've come to stay.”
+
+“Yes, dear, forever.”
+
+
+
+
+XXIV
+
+The whole landscape was golden, the sea was silver, on that October
+morning. It was the brilliant decline of the year. Edith stood with Jack
+on the veranda. He had his grip-sack in hand and was equipped for town.
+Both were silent in the entrancing scene.
+
+The birds, twittering in the fruit-trees and over the vines, had the
+air of an orchestra, the concerts of the season over, gathering their
+instruments and about to depart. One could detect in the lapse of the
+waves along the shore the note of weariness preceding the change into
+the fretfulness and the tumult of tempests. In the soft ripening of the
+season there was peace and hope, but it was the hope of another day. The
+curtain was falling on this.
+
+Was life beginning, then, or ending? If life only could change and renew
+itself like the seasons, with the perpetually recurring springs! But
+youth comes only once, and thereafter the man gathers the fruit of it,
+sweet or bitter.
+
+Jack was not given to moralizing, but perhaps a subtle suggestion of
+this came to him in the thought that an enterprise, a new enterprise,
+might have seemed easier in May, when the forces of nature were with
+him, than in October. There was something, at least, that fell in with
+his mood, a mood of acquiescence in failure, in this closing season of
+the year, when he stood empty-handed in the harvest-time.
+
+“Edith,” he said, as they paced down the walk which was flaming with
+scarlet and crimson borders, and turned to look at the peaceful brown
+house, “I hate to go.”
+
+“But you are not going,” said Edith, brightly. “I feel all the time as
+if you were just coming back. Jack, do you know,” and she put her hand
+on his shoulder, “this is the sweetest home in the world now!”
+
+“It is the only one, dear;” and Jack made the statement with a humorous
+sense of its truth. “Well, there's the train, and I'm off with the other
+clerks.”
+
+“Clerk, indeed!” cried Edith, putting up her face to his; “you are going
+to be a Merchant Prince, Jack, that is what you are going to be.”
+
+On the train there was an atmosphere of business. Jack felt that he was
+not going to the New York that he knew--not to his New York, but to a
+city of traffic; down into the streets of commercial enterprise, not at
+all to the metropolis of leisure, of pleasure, to the world of clubs and
+drawing-rooms and elegant loiterings and the rivalries of society life.
+That was all ended. Jack was hurrying to catch the down-town car for the
+dingy office of Fletcher & Co. at an hour fixed.
+
+It was ended, to be sure, but the struggle with Jack in his new life was
+not ended, his biographer knows, for months and years.
+
+It was long before he could pass his club windows without a pang of
+humiliation, or lift his hat to a lady of his acquaintance in her
+passing carriage without a vivid feeling of separateness from his old
+life. For the old life--he could see that any day in the Avenue, any
+evening by the flaming lights--went by in its gilded chariots and
+entrancing toilets, the fascinating whirl of Vanity Fair crowned with
+roses and with ennui. Did he regret it? No doubt. Not to regret would
+have been to change his nature, and that were a feat impossible for his
+biographer to accomplish. In a way his life was gone, and to build up a
+new life, serene and enduring, was not the work of a day.
+
+One thing he did not regret in the shock he had received, and that was
+the absence of Carmen and her world. When he thought of her he had a
+sense of escape. She was still abroad, and he heard from time to time
+that Mavick was philandering about from capital to capital in her train.
+Certainly he would have envied neither of them if he had been aware, as
+the reader is aware, of the guilty secret that drew them together and
+must be forever their torment. They knew each other.
+
+But this glittering world, to attain a place in which is the object of
+most of the struggles and hungry competition of modern life, seemed
+not so real nor so desirable when he was at home with Edith, and in his
+gradually growing interest in nobler pursuits. They had decided to take
+a modest apartment in town for the winter, and almost before the lease
+was signed, Edith, in her mind, had transformed it into a charming home.
+Jack used to rally her on her enthusiasm in its simple furnishing; it
+reminded him, he said, of Carmen's interest in her projected house of
+Nero. It was a great contrast, to be sure, to their stately house by the
+Park, but it was to them both what that had never been. To one who knows
+how life goes astray in the solicitations of the great world, there was
+something pathetic in Edith's pleasure. Even to Jack it might some day
+come with the force of keen regret for years wasted, that it is enough
+to break a body's heart to see how little a thing can make a woman
+happy.
+
+It was another summer. Major Fairfax had come down with Jack to spend
+Sunday at the Golden House. Edith was showing the Major the view from
+the end of the veranda. Jack was running through the evening paper.
+“Hi!” he cried; “here's news. Mavick is to have the mission to Rome, and
+it is rumored that the rich and accomplished Mrs. Henderson, as the wife
+of the minister, will make the Roman season very gay.”
+
+“It's too bad,” said Edith. “Nothing is said about the training-school?”
+
+“Nothing.” “Poor Henderson!” was the Major's comment. “It was for this
+that he drudged and schemed and heaped up his colossal fortune! His life
+must look to him like a burlesque.”
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's The Golden House, by Charles Dudley Warner
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