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+Project Gutenberg's The Story of an Untold Love, by Paul Leicester Ford
+
+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 Story of an Untold Love
+
+Author: Paul Leicester Ford
+
+Release Date: June 15, 2011 [EBook #36439]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE STORY OF AN UNTOLD LOVE ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Lee Moffitt, Juliet Sutherland and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
+
+
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+
+
+
+
+
+                          THE STORY OF AN
+                            UNTOLD LOVE
+
+                        PAUL LEICESTER FORD
+
+   [Illustration]
+
+    NEW YORK
+    GROSSET & DUNLAP
+    PUBLISHERS
+
+    COPYRIGHT 1897 BY PAUL LEICESTER FORD
+    ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
+
+    SIXTY-FIFTH THOUSAND
+
+
+
+
+THE STORY OF AN UNTOLD LOVE
+
+
+
+
+I
+
+
+_February 20, 1890._ There is not a moment of my life that you have
+shared with me which I cannot recall with a distinctness fairly sunlit.
+My joys and my sorrows, my triumphs and my failures, have faded one by
+one from emotions into memories, quickening neither pulse nor thought
+when they recur to me, while you alone can set both throbbing. And
+though for years I have known that if you enshrined any one in your
+heart it would be some one worthier of you, yet I have loved you truly,
+and whatever I have been in all else, in that one thing, at least, I
+have been strong. Nor would I part with my tenderness for you, even
+though it has robbed me of contentment; for all the pleasures of which I
+can dream cannot equal the happiness of loving you. To God I owe life,
+and you, Maizie, have filled that life with love; and to both I bow my
+spirit in thanks, striving not to waste his gift lest I be unworthy of
+the devotion I feel for you.
+
+If I were a stronger man, I should not now be sobbing out my heart's
+blood through the tip of a pen. Instead of writing of my sorrow, I
+should have battled for my love despite all obstacles. But I am no
+Alexander to cut the knot of entanglements which the fates have woven
+about me, and so, Midas-like, I sit morbidly whispering the hidden
+grief, too great for me to bear in silence longer.
+
+I can picture my first glimpse of you as vividly as my last. That dull
+rainy day of indoor imprisonment seems almost to have been arranged as a
+shadowbox to intensify the image graved so deeply on my memory. The sun
+came, as you did, towards the end of the afternoon, as if light and
+warmth were your couriers. When I shyly entered the library in answer to
+my father's call, you were standing in the full sunlight, and the
+thought flashed through my mind that here was one of the angels of whom
+I had read. You were only a child of seven,--to others, I suppose,
+immature and formless; yet even then your eyes were as large and as
+serious as they are to-day, and your curling brown hair had already a
+touch of fire, as if sunshine had crept thereinto, and, liking its
+abiding-place, had lingered lovingly.
+
+"Don," cried my father, as I stood hesitating in the doorway, "here's a
+new plaything for you. Give it a welcome and a kiss."
+
+I hung back, half in shyness, and half in fear that you were of heaven,
+and not of earth, but you came forward and kissed me without the
+slightest hesitation. The details are so clear that I remember you
+hardly had to raise your head, though I was three years the older. Your
+kiss dispelled all my timidity, and from the moment of that caress I
+loved you. Not that I am so foolish as to believe I then felt for you
+what now I feel, but by the clear light of retrospect I can see that
+your coming brought a new element into my life,--an element which I
+loved from the first, though with steadily deepening intensity, and I
+cannot even now determine at what point a boy's devotion became a
+lover's.
+
+To the silent and lonely lad you were an inspiration. What I might have
+grown to be had you not been my father's ward I do not like to think,
+for I was not a strong boy, and my shyness and timidity had prompted me
+to much solitude and few friends, to much reading and to little play.
+But it was decreed that you were to be the controlling influence of my
+life, and in the first week you worked a revolution in my habits. I
+wonder if now, when you see so many men eager to gratify your slightest
+wish, you ever think of your earliest slave, whom you enticed to the
+roof to drop pebbles or water on the passers-by, and into the cellar to
+bury a toy soldier deep in the coal? Does memory ever bring back to you
+how we started to paint the illustrations in Kingsborough's Mexican
+Antiquities, or how we built a fire round a doll on the library rug, in
+imitation of the death of an Inca of Peru as pictured in dear old
+Garcilasso de la Vega's Royal Commentaries? You were a lazy child about
+reading, but when not tempting me into riotous mischief, you would sit
+by me in the library and let me show you the pictures in the old books,
+and I smile now to think what my running versions of the texts must have
+been. Our favorite books were the Nuremberg Chronicle and De Bry's
+Voyages, for the pictures of which, since the Latin was beyond me, I
+invented explanations and even whole stories,--stories over which you
+grew big-eyed and sleepless, and which we both came to believe so firmly
+that we never dreamed them to be the cause for the occasional outburst
+of laughter from my father, when he was in the library.
+
+Even in those days you veiled your witchery and mischief-loving nature
+behind that serious face with its curved but unsmiling mouth. Keen as
+many of our pleasures were and blithe as were our pranks, I can scarcely
+remember a smile upon your face. Now and then the merriest of laughs
+rang out, fairly infectious in its happiness and joy, but of so rare
+recurrence as to win for you the sobriquet of "Madam Gravity." Your
+inscrutability allured and charmed me then as I have seen it fascinate
+others since. I shall never understand you, and yet I think I
+misunderstand you less than others do, for you cannot hide from me the
+quick thought and merry nature which you keep so well hidden from them;
+and often when others think you most abstracted or sedate, I know you
+are holding high carnival with Puck and Momus. Again and again I have
+noted your gravity in the most humorous situations or with the most
+ridiculous of persons, and have smiled in secret with you. Last summer,
+when my mother won such a laugh by telling, as something that had
+happened to her personally, the old story from Peele's "Merrie Conceits"
+which we had read as children, you looked grave, though the incident had
+twice the humor to you that it had to the others. In my own merriment I
+could not help glancing at you, and though neither of us laughed, we
+understood each other's amusement. Evidently you were not used to having
+your mood comprehended, for after a moment you seemed to realize that I
+was responding to what you had thought unknown to all. You looked
+startled and then puzzled, and I suppose that I became even more of a
+mystery to you than ever. You could not know that my knowledge of you
+came from those early days when your nature was taking shape. Without my
+memory of you as a child you would be as great an enigma to me as to the
+rest of your friends, and so no doubt it is a small thing in which to
+glory. But it gives me joy to feel that I understand you better, and at
+this very moment know more of your thoughts than your husband ever will.
+
+I owe to you many dark closetings and whippings that I never deserved.
+My mother complained that from being a troublesome child I had become a
+fiend of mischief, but my father laughed and predicted that you would
+make a man of me. I wonder if you ever think of him, and what your
+thought is? We both so loved him that I cannot believe he has passed
+entirely out of your heart. How ready he was to be our comrade! Whether
+tired or busy he would join us, not as mentor but as playfellow; and
+now that I know what there was to depress his spirits at that time, I
+marvel at his cheer and courage. Would that I had one half of the
+bravery with which he met his troubles!
+
+Perhaps he was right in his assumption that you would have made a man of
+me. I do not recollect any act of mine which bore the semblance of
+courage except the rescue of the street dog from those boys. I hated to
+see the poor beast tortured, but I feared the roughs, and so stood
+faltering while you charged among them. Not till one of them struck you
+was I driven to help, but I can still feel the fury which then took
+possession of me. I was blind with rage, and a great weight seemed
+pressing on my chest as I rushed among the boys and fought, hardly
+conscious of the blows I gave or received; indeed, the whole thing was a
+haze until I found myself sitting on the sidewalk, crying. For days I
+went about with a bandage over my eye; but my father drank my health
+that night, and I remember his pat of approval, and hear his "Bravo,
+Donald, I'm proud of you." It was significant that I received all the
+praise, and you none; my courage was questionable, yours was not.
+
+Those happy, thoughtless years! The one kill-joy was my mother, and she
+made your life and mine so grievous with her needless harshness, quick
+temper, and neglect of our comfort that I think she must have made my
+father's equally miserable. Dimly I can recollect her sudden gusts of
+temper, and his instant dismissal of us from the room when they began.
+Do you remember how he used to come up to the nursery to smoke, often
+staying till our bedtime, and then how we could hear him go downstairs
+and out of the front door? We did not know that he went to his club, nor
+at what hour he returned; and if we had it would have meant nothing to
+us. But we both knew he found no pleasure with my mother, and we felt
+he was right, for in avoiding her he was but doing what was our chief
+endeavor. I have heard many express admiration for her beauty, for her
+church and charitable work, for her brilliancy in society, for her
+executive ability, and for her general public spirit. Her neglect of
+family duties, her extravagance, her frequent absences, and her fatigued
+petulance when at home were known only to her household. Our servants
+rarely remained a month with us,--were changed so often as to destroy
+all possibility of comfort; but we three were not free to follow their
+example, and so our misery made us the dearer to one another. I am proud
+to think that, close as we drew together, my father never uttered in my
+presence a single word of criticism or complaint against my mother, and
+I should be the better man if, instead of writing these unfilial words,
+I left them unsaid. Indeed, I will not spend more of my evening on
+these old memories, but begin on my work.
+
+Do you remember, Maizie, how my father taught us to give him and each
+other a parting word? "Good-night, father. Good-night, Maizie. God bless
+you both," it used to be. He sleeps now in his grave, and three years
+ago you barred your door to me, but still I can say as of old,
+"Good-night, Maizie. God bless and keep you, dear."
+
+
+
+
+II
+
+
+_February 21._ To put all this on paper is weak and aimless, yet it
+seems to ease my sadness. I suppose a scribbler unconsciously comes to
+write out whatever he feels, as a nervous woman plays her emotions away
+on a piano. If this is so, why should not I salve my grief in any way
+that lessens it? Those old days had such happiness in them that the mere
+memory brings some to me, and to sit here at my study table and write of
+the past is better than idle dwelling on the present.
+
+You were jubilant when first told that we were all to go to Europe for a
+summer, and laughed at my fears and despondency. Could I have had an
+intuition of coming evil, or was my alarm due to the engravings of
+those terrible sea-monsters with which Mercator populated the oceans in
+his "Atlas sive Cosmographicæ," and to the pictures and tales in
+bloodthirsty old Exquemelin's "Bucaniers of America"? Our notions of
+what the trip meant were evidently not very clear, for at once we set to
+storing up provisions, and weeks before the time of sailing we were the
+proud possessors of a cracker-box full of assorted edibles, a jar of
+olives we had pilfered, and a small pie you had cajoled the cook into
+making for us. How we loved and gloated over that pie! Daily we sorted
+our sea-stores, added new supplies, and ate what clearly could be kept
+no longer. My mother found us one day deeply engrossed in the
+occupation, cuffed us both, and sent the olives back to the pantry and
+the tin box to the ash-barrel. As for the pie, such hot words passed
+about it between "Madame" and "Monsieur Philippe" that our cook left us
+without warning. We were again punished for being the cause of his
+desertion, and that evening father dined at his club.
+
+The different effects my mother's gusts of anger had on you and on me
+were curiously distinctive. You met them fearlessly and stubbornly,
+while to me the moments of her fury were moments in which I could
+scarcely breathe, and of which I felt the terror for hours after. I
+sometimes wonder if the variance was because I had learned to fear the
+outbursts even as a baby, whereas your character had partly formed
+before you encountered them. Who knows but a change of circumstances
+might have made me the fearless one, and you the timorous? At least I
+should be glad to think that I might have been like you in courage and
+spirit, even though it is impossible to imagine that you could ever be
+like me. It is a singular turn of life's whirligig that when my mother
+tried to pain you last autumn by her cruel remarks, you were helpless
+to retort, and owed your escape to my help.
+
+What a delight the ocean voyage was to us! Those were the times of
+ten-day trips, still dear to all true lovers of the sea; and had our
+wishes been consulted, thrice ten would have been none too long for our
+passage. The officers, the crew, the stewards, and the passengers were
+no more proof against your indefinable spell than was I, and it seemed
+quite as if the boat were your private yacht, with all on board seeking
+only to serve you. Our pleasure was so intense that we planned an ideal
+future, in which I was to become the captain of a steam-ship, and you
+were to live on the vessel in some equally delightful if impossible
+capacity.
+
+The last time I was in Paris, I walked several miles merely to look at
+the outside of our pension, and then went on and sat dreaming in the
+little park near it in which we passed so many hours of our stay in
+that city. As of old, the place was full of children and nurses, and I
+understood what had puzzled me not a little in recollection,--how you
+and I, without mingling with them, had learned so quickly the language
+they chattered. Do you remember their friendly advances, met only by
+rebuffs? My coldness flowed from shyness, and yours from a trait that
+people to this day call haughtiness, but which I know to be only a
+fastidious refinement that yields acquaintance to few and friendship to
+fewer. From the moment you came into my life I craved no other friend,
+and you seemed equally content. What was there in me that won for me
+what you gave so rarely? Was there an instinct of natural sympathy, or
+was it merely pity for me in the loving heart you masked behind that
+subtle face?
+
+It is indicative of what children we still were that during the whole of
+our sojourn in Paris neither of us was conscious that our standard of
+living had changed. We lodged in a cheap pension; instead of our own
+carriage we used the omnibus; and a thousand other evidences told the
+story of real economy; yet not one we observed except the disappearance
+of our _bonne_, and this was noted, not as a loss, but as a joy to both.
+
+After the nurse was gone my father became more than ever our comrade,
+and a better one two children never had. Oh, those long excursions to
+Versailles, Montmartre, and Fontainebleau, our boat trips up and down
+the Seine, and our shorter jaunts within the city! What happiness it was
+to us when he came in whistling and cried, "Donald, Maizie, you are
+horribly bad children, and I'm going to take you on a lark to punish
+you!" After time spent in filling our lunch-basket with big rolls bought
+at the _boulangerie_, a few sous' worth of cherries or other fruit
+lengthily bargained for with the _fruitier_, and a half litre of cheap
+wine, plus whatever other luxuries our imaginations or our appetites
+could suggest, away we would go for a long day of pure delight, whether
+passed under green trees or wandering through galleries and museums. My
+father was an encyclopædia of information, and had the knack of making
+knowledge interesting to the child mind. He could re-create a bygone
+period from a battle-axe or a _martel de fer_, the personality of a
+queen from her lace ruff or stomacher, and the history of plant growth
+from a fern or flower. If his mind had been allowed to expand when he
+was young, instead of being stunted in a broker's office, I believe he
+might have been one of the world's great writers or critics.
+
+Under such stimulating tutelage our progress in those two years was
+really wonderful. No subject my father touched upon could remain dull;
+we were at a receptive age when the mind is fresh and elastic for all
+that interests it, and Paris was a great picture-book to illustrate
+what he taught us. We did not know we were studying far deeper into
+subjects than many educated people ever go. I laugh still at your
+telling the old German on the train to Sèvres the history of the Faust
+plot, and at his amazed "Ach, zo!" to hear such erudition pour from your
+childish lips. I think you were the cleverer and the quicker, but there
+was no competition, only fellowship about our learning. I suppose you
+were above rivalry, as you are above all mean things.
+
+And that is your chief glory to me. In those seven years of closest
+companionship, and in these last three years of lesser intercourse but
+far keener observation, I have never known you to do a mean thing or to
+speak a mean thought. I almost feel it treason to couple the word with
+you, or deny a trait so impossible for you to possess, and of which you
+have always shown such scorn and hatred. At this moment I know that I
+should only have to speak to part you forever from--Ah, what
+foolishness I am writing, tempting me to even greater meanness than his,
+and so to deserve the greater contempt from you! Thinking me base, you
+closed your doors to me three years ago, and I love you the better that
+not even for auld lang syne could you pardon what is so alien to you. If
+the day ever comes when you again admit me to your friendship, I shall
+be happy in knowing that you think me above baseness or meanness; for
+you would not compound with them, Maizie, be the circumstances what they
+might.
+
+Our Paris life would not have been so happy and careless but for the
+slight part my mother had in it. So little did we see of her in those
+years that I think of her scarcely as one of us. I remember dimly a
+scene of hot anger between her and my father,--he standing passively by
+the high porcelain stove, while she raged about the room. So great was
+her fury that once, in passing, as I crouched scared and silent on the
+sofa, she struck me,--a blow which brought my father to my side, where
+he stood protectingly while the storm lasted, with his hand resting
+lovingly on my shoulder. My vague impression is that the outburst was
+only a protest against the poor lodgings, but it may have occurred when
+some explanation took place between my parents. I can see my mother now,
+sitting on the little balcony overlooking the garden of our pension,
+snarling an ill-natured word at us as you and I tried to play
+consultation games of chess against my father. He gave us odds at first
+of the rook and two pawns, but finally only of a knight. Oh, the triumph
+of those victories! How we gloried in them, and how delighted our
+antagonist was when we conquered him! Little we minded what my mother
+did except when we happened to be alone with her, and I think that the
+dear father played bad chess with us rather than good at the cafés, and
+made us his companions wherever he went, to save us from her severity.
+
+I can recall very clearly her constant difficulties with our landlady
+and the servants, which finally culminated in a request that we should
+seek lodgings elsewhere. Do you recollect Madame Vanott's clasping us
+both in her arms and filling our hands with bonbons, when the time of
+parting came? I do not know where we removed to, my sole remembrance of
+the next few weeks being of my mother's complaints of lodgings, food,
+servants, and French life generally. We moved three times within a
+month, fairly expelled by our landlords because they could not live at
+peace with "la Madame." Our last exodus began in an angry scene between
+her and the housewife, in which a gendarme played a part, and from which
+you and I fled. The next morning we learned that my mother had
+determined to return to America, and leave us to live our own life.
+Three days later we said emotionless good-bys, my father going as far as
+Havre with her.
+
+Her departure set us asking questions, and my father's replies explained
+many things which, in our childish talks, we had gravely discussed. He
+told us how his own wealth had been lost in Wall Street, barely enough
+being left for a competence even in Europe. Of my mother's leaving us he
+spoke sadly. "She never pretended to care for me," he said, "but I loved
+her and was willing to marry her. The wrong was mine, and we should not
+blame her if, when I can no longer give what was her price, she does not
+choose to continue the one-sided bargain." At the time her absence
+seemed to you and me only a relief, but now, as I look back, I know that
+my father never ceased to love her,--all the more, perhaps, because his
+love had never been requited,--and that separation must have been the
+final wrecking of his life. Yet from the day she left us I never heard
+him speak an angry word, and sorrow that would have crushed most men
+seemed to make him the gentler and sweeter. I wish--Ah! the clock is
+striking three, and if I am to bring working power to working hours I
+must stop writing.
+
+Good-night, dear one.
+
+
+
+
+III
+
+
+_February 22._ After my mother left us we did not stay in Paris, but
+went to Ischl, which we made merely the point of departure for walking
+tours which often lasted for weeks. Several times I have spoken of the
+region to you, hoping to draw from you some remark proving a
+recollection of those days, but you always avoid reply. Yet I am sure
+they are not forgotten, for miles of the Tyrol and Alps are as familiar
+to me as the garnishings of a breakfast-table. My father had the tact
+and kindly humor that make a man equally at home and welcome in
+_Gasthaus_ and _Schloss_. Though we traveled with only a knapsack, his
+breeding and education were so patent to whomsoever we met that we spent
+many a night inside of doors with armorial coats of many quarterings
+carved above them, and many a day's shooting and fishing followed. Yet
+pleasant as was this impromptu and "gentle" hospitality, I think we were
+all quite as happy when our evenings were spent among the peasants,
+drinking beer, talking of farming and forestry, singing songs, or
+listening to the blare of the peripatetic military band.
+
+My father was a fine German scholar, and you and I acquired the language
+as quickly and as easily as we learned French. We always had books in
+our pockets, and used to lie for hours under the trees, reading aloud.
+Long discussions followed over what we had conned, enriched by the
+thousand side-lights my father could throw on any subject. To most
+people reading is a resort to save themselves from thinking, but my
+father knew that pitfall, and made us use books as a basis for thought
+on our own part. After a volume was finished we would each write a
+criticism of it, and the comparison of my boyish attempts with his
+brilliant, comprehensive, and philosophic work taught me more of writing
+than all the tuition I ever had.
+
+My craving for knowledge, always strong, became inordinate, probably
+because the acquisition of it was made so fascinating that I learned
+without real exertion. I began to find limits even to my father's
+erudition, and chafed under them. He reviewed his Greek that he might
+impart it to us, as he had long before taught us Latin, and together we
+all three studied Spanish and Italian. I was not satisfied, for my
+desire for the one thing my father was unable to teach was not appeased
+by the twenty which he could. I begged for regular tuition, and,
+indulgent as he always was, he took us to Heidelberg, where I was
+enrolled in the gymnasium. Yet the long hours of separation that this
+entailed made little difference in our relations, since except for these
+we were inseparable. Whenever my school-work left us time to quit
+Heidelberg we made walking tours, and we availed ourselves of the summer
+holiday to see far-away lands. The great libraries were our chief goals,
+but everything interested us, from the archaic plough we saw in the
+field to the masterpiece of the gallery. I do not know whether I was
+dull for my years, but I do know that you were precocious and had no
+difficulty in keeping up with me in my studies. Indeed, thanks to your
+own brightness and to the long hours spent with my father while I was
+reciting, you went ahead of me in many respects. It makes me very happy
+now to think of what you two were to each other, and to know that you
+are so largely indebted to him for the depth and brilliance of mind that
+I hear so often commented upon. And I love you all the better because
+you made those years so happy to him by your love and companionship.
+
+Last winter Mrs. Blodgett accused me of being a misogynist, and proved
+her point by asking me to tell the color of Agnes's eyes. You and Agnes
+only laughed when I miscolored them, but Mrs. Blodgett was really
+nettled. "There!" she said. "Apparently, Agnes and I are the only women
+you ever go to see or pretend to care for, and yet you think so little
+of us that you don't know the color of our eyes." Had she only asked me
+to describe your eyes in place of Agnes's I should not have erred, but I
+suppose even then the world would be justified in thinking I do not care
+for woman's society. Certainly you, of all others, have the right to
+think so, after my twice refusing your friendship; and yet it is my love
+of you far more than my studies or shyness that has made me indifferent
+to other women. And so far from being a misogynist, I care for as few
+men as women. You perhaps recall how much apart I kept myself from my
+fellow students, and how my father had to urge me to join them in the
+fencing and chess contests? Later, at the university, after you had
+left us, I entered more eagerly into the two pastimes, and succeeded in
+making myself a skilled swordsman. As for chess, I learned to play the
+game you tested last October on the veranda of My Fancy. You looked
+courteously grave when, after our initial battle, I had to ask from you
+the odds of a pawn, and never dreamed that I fathomed your secret
+triumph over your victory. You are so delightfully human and womanly,
+after all, Maizie, to any one who can read your thoughts. It is a
+pleasure to see your happiness in the consciousness of your own power,
+and I grudge you victory over me no more than over other men. Yet while
+you play better chess, I think you could not conquer me quite as easily
+if I were not much more interested in studying the player than the play.
+Perhaps but for you I should have made friends, for later, at Leipzig,
+despite my shyness and studiousness, I seemed fairly popular; but so
+long as I had you I cared for no other friend, and after our separation
+I could form no new tie. Neither in love nor in friendship have you ever
+had a rival in my heart.
+
+Our happiness ended the day when Johann, the poor factotum of our
+lodging-place, found us in the castle park and summoned us back to the
+house, where my father and Mr. Walton were awaiting you. The news that
+we were to be parted came so suddenly that we could not believe it. I
+stood in stunned silence, while you declared that you would not go with
+your uncle; even in that terrible moment speaking more like a queen
+issuing orders than like a rebel resisting authority. We both appealed
+to my father, and the tears stood in his eyes as he told us we must be
+parted. Mr. Walton sat with the cool and slightly bored look that his
+worldly face wears so constantly, and I presume it was impossible for
+him to understand our emotion.
+
+Your luggage had been packed while we were being summoned, and I carried
+your bag down to the carriage, in the endeavor to do you some last
+little service. We did not even go through the form of a farewell, but,
+tearless and speechless, held each other's hands till my father gently
+separated us. To this day the snap of a whip causes me to catch my
+breath, it brings back so vividly the crack with which Mr. Walton's
+cabman whipped up his horse. Fate was merciful, for she gave me no
+glimpse of the future, and so left me the hope that we should not be
+parted long. I question if the delicate lad of those days could have
+borne the thought that our separation, enforced by others, would in time
+be continued by you.
+
+The life was too happy to last; and yet I do not know why I write that,
+for I do not believe that God's children are born to be wretched, and I
+would sooner renounce my faith in him than believe him so cruel to his
+own creations. The sadness and estrangement in my life are all of human
+origin, and mine, it seems to me, has been a fuller cup of bitterness
+than most men have to drink. Or am I only magnifying my own sufferings,
+and diminishing those of my fellow mortals? To the world I am a
+fortunate man, with promise of even greater success. Do all the people
+about me, who seem to be equally prosperous, bury away from sight some
+grief like mine that beggars joy?
+
+Can you, Maizie, in the tide and triumph of your beauty and wealth, hide
+any such death-wound to all true happiness? Pray God you do not.
+Good-night, my darling.
+
+
+
+
+IV
+
+
+_February 23._ After you were gone I fled to my room, crawling under the
+window-seat, much as a mortally wounded animal tries to hide itself.
+Here my father found me many hours later, speechless and shivering. He
+drew me from my retreat, and I still remember the sting of the brandy as
+he poured it down my throat. Afterwards the doctor came, to do nothing;
+but all that night my father sat beside me, and towards morning he broke
+down my silence, and we talked together over the light which had gone
+out of our lives, till I fell asleep. He told me that the death of your
+two aunts had made you a great heiress, and rendered your continuance
+with us, in our poverty, impossible. "She's gone away out of our class,
+Donald," my father said sadly, "and in the change of circumstances her
+mother wouldn't have made me her guardian. It was better for all of us
+to let her uncle take her back to New York." Even in my own grief I felt
+his sorrow, and though he did not dodge my questions, I could see how
+the subject pained him, and avoided it thenceforth. How strangely
+altered my life would have been if I had insisted on knowing more!
+
+The doctor came several times afterwards, for I did not rally as I
+should have done, and at last he ordered a year's cessation of studies
+and plenty of exercise. It was a terrible blow to me at the time, for I
+was on the point of entering the University of Leipzig; but now I can
+see it was all for the best, since the time given to our tours through
+Spain and Italy was well spent, and the delay made me better able to get
+the full value of the lectures. Moreover, that outdoor life added three
+inches to the height and seventeen pounds to the weight of the hitherto
+puny boy. For a time my father made my health his care, and insisted on
+my walking and fencing daily; but after that long holiday he need not
+have given it a thought, for I grew steadily to my present height, and
+while always of slender build, I can outwalk or outwork many a stockier
+man.
+
+My university career was successful; it could hardly have failed to be,
+with my training. I fear that I became over-elated with my success, not
+appreciating how much it was due to my father's aid and to the kindness
+of two of my instructors. For my Ph. D. I made a study of the great race
+movements of the world, in which my predilection for philology,
+ethnology, and history gave me an especial interest. I so delighted my
+professor of philology by my enthusiasm and tirelessness that he stole
+long hours from the darling of his heart to aid me. (I need hardly add
+that I do not allude to Frau Jastrow, but to his Verb-Roots of Fifty-Two
+Languages and Dialects of Indo-Germanic Origin, to be published some day
+in seventeen volumes, quarto.) He even brought me bundles of his
+manuscript to read and criticise. Our relations were as intimate as were
+possible between a professor and a student, and despite his reputation
+for ill temper the only evidence he ever gave me of it was a certain
+querulousness over the gaps in human knowledge.
+
+My doctor's thesis on A Study of the Influence of Religion in the
+Alienation and Mixture of Races--which, with a vanity I now laugh over,
+I submitted not merely in Latin, but as an original work in four other
+languages--was not only the delight of both my dear professors, but was
+well considered outside the university. At Jastrow's urging, poor
+Buchholtz printed editions in all five languages; and as only the German
+had any sale worth mentioning, he ever after looked gloomy at a mere
+allusion to the title. But though it earned me no royalties, it won me
+the Kellermann prize, given every fifth year for the best original work
+on an historical subject.
+
+On our first arrival in Leipzig my father sought literary employment
+from the great publishers of that city of books, and soon obtained all
+the "review" and "hack" writing that he wished. He encouraged me to help
+him in the work, and in my training probably lay his chief inducement,
+for he was paid at starvation rates in that land of hungry authors. The
+labor quickly taught me the technical part of authorship, the rock which
+has wrecked so many hopes. Our work brought us, too, the acquaintance of
+many literary men, and thus gave us our pleasantest society, and one
+peculiarly fitted to develop me. Furthermore, we secured command of the
+unlimited books stored on the publishers' shelves, which we used as
+freely as if they were our own private library.
+
+Very quickly I began to do more than help my father in his work; I
+myself tried to write. He put many a manuscript in the fire, after going
+over the faults with me, but finally I wrote something that he let me
+send to an editor. His admirable judgment must have been warped by his
+fatherly love, for the article was rejected. A like fate befell many
+others, but at last one was accepted, and I do not know which of us was
+the more delighted when it was published in the "Zeitschrift für
+Deutsche Philologie." By my father's advice it was signed with a
+pseudonym; for he pointed out that I was still too young for editors who
+knew me to give my manuscript a reading, and that a German name would
+command greater respect from them than an English one.
+
+I received twenty marks for that first article, and spent it in secret
+the next day. Had you known of my pleasure in the gift, and the hopes
+that went with it, I think you would have sent a line of acknowledgment
+to the hungry-hearted fellow who, after four years of separation, still
+longed for a token from you. Three times had I written, without
+response, but I thought the beauty of the photograph would so appeal to
+you that it must bring me back a word from you, and lived in the hope
+for six months. My father joked me genially about what I had done with
+that vast wealth, pretending at moments that he believed it had been
+avariciously hoarded, and at other times that it had been squandered in
+riotous living, till one day, when all hope of acknowledgment had died,
+his chaff wrung from me an exclamation of pain, suppressed too late to
+be concealed from him. So closely attuned had we become that he
+understood in an instant what it meant, and, laying his hand on my
+shoulder, he appealed, "Forgive me, my boy! I have been very cruel in
+my thoughtlessness!"
+
+Nothing more was said then, but later that evening, when we rose from
+our work, he asked, "She never replied?" and when I shook my head, the
+saddest look I ever saw in him came upon his face. He seemed about to
+speak impulsively, faltered, checked himself, and finally entreated,
+"Bear up, Donald, and try to forget her." I could only shake my head
+again, but he understood. "She's feminine quicksilver," he groaned, "and
+I can't get the dear girl out of my blood, either." We gripped each
+other's hands for a moment, and I said, "Good-night, father," and he
+replied, "God help you, my boy." How happy we should have been could we
+have bidden you, "Good-night, Maizie!"
+
+
+
+
+V
+
+
+_February 24._ I cannot clearly fix the time when first I decided upon a
+life of letters, and presume it was my father's influence which
+determined me. After the publication of my first article, all the time I
+could spare from my studies was devoted to writing. Most of it was
+magazine work, but two text-books were more ambitious flights.
+Undertaken at my father's suggestion, the books were revised by him,
+till they should have been published with his name, and not my
+pseudonym, on the title-page. This I urged, but he would not hear of it,
+insisting that his work was trivial compared with mine. I understand his
+motive now, and see how wise and loving he was in all his plans. Thanks
+to his skill in clarifying knowledge and fitting it to the immature
+mind, both books attained a large sale almost immediately on their
+publication.
+
+My father's abnegation went further, and occasioned the only quarrel we
+ever had. After the publication of several of my articles, in reading
+the Deutsche Rundschau I found an interesting critique signed with the
+name I had adopted as a pseudonym. I laughingly called my father's
+attention to it, yet really feeling a little sore that the credit of my
+work should go to another, for the first literary offspring are very
+dear to an author's heart. From that time I was constantly meeting with
+the name, but stupidly failed to recognize my father's brilliant,
+luminous touch till the publication of another article of my writing
+revealed the truth to me; for at the end of this I found again my
+pseudonym, though I had signed my own name. On my sending an indignant
+letter to the editor, he returned me the revised proof of my article, at
+the bottom of which "Donald Maitland" was struck out, and "Rudolph
+Hartzmann" substituted. My father had made the change in the last
+revision, and had returned the sheets without letting me see them.
+
+In a moment the veil was gone from my eyes, and, grieved and angry, I
+charged him with the deception. I do not like to think of what I said or
+of the gentleness with which he took it. The next day, when I was
+cooler, he pleaded with me to let him continue signing the name to his
+articles; but I insisted that I would not permit the double use, and the
+only concession he could win from me was that I would still keep the
+name provided he refrained from using it again. How could I resist his
+"Don, I never asked anything but this of you. I am an old man with no
+possibility of a career. You are all I have to love or work for in this
+world. Let me try to help you gain a name." Oh, father, if I had only
+understood, I would not have been so cruel as to deny your request, but
+would have sacrificed my own honesty and allowed the lie rather than
+have refused what now I know to have been so dear a wish. I even
+resented what I thought a foolish joke of his, when he registered us
+constantly at hotels as "Rudolph Hartzmann and father." It is poetic
+justice that in time I should stoop to so much greater dishonesty than
+that which I was intolerant of in him.
+
+Owing as much to his articles as to those I subsequently wrote, my
+pseudonym became a recognized one in the world of letters, and my work
+soon commanded a good price. Furthermore, considerable interest was
+excited as to the author. There is a keen delight in anonymous
+publication, for one does not get the one-sided chatter that
+acknowledged authors receive, and often I have sat in the midst of a
+group of littérateurs and scholars and heard my articles talked over. I
+was tempted even to discuss one,--disparaging it, of course,--and can
+remember the way my father hid his laughter when a member of the party
+said, "Maitland, you ought to write an article refuting Hartzmann, for
+you've got the knowledge to do it." It amuses me to think how vain and
+elated I became over what now I see was only 'prentice work. I am glad
+you did not know me in those years of petty victory, and that before we
+met I had been saddened and humbled.
+
+Some one at Mr. Whitely's dinner, this winter, asked what was a
+sufficient income, and you, Maizie, gravely answered, "A little more
+than one has," which made us all laugh. If you had not been the quicker
+and the wittier, and thus forestalled me, I should have said, "Enough to
+satisfy the few or many wishes each person creates within himself which
+money can satisfy." Thanks to my prize, my writings, and the profits of
+my text-books, I obtained this. In fact, the three so lengthened my
+purse that I fancy few millionaires have ever felt so truly rich; for I
+was enabled to gratify my greatest wish. In our visits to Spain, Italy,
+and Constantinople, I had garnered all that I could find bearing on the
+two great race movements of the Moors and Turks, which so changed the
+world's history; but I had discovered that I needed more than the
+documentary materials to write clearly of them. I longed to go to their
+source, and then follow the channels along which those racial floods had
+rushed, till, encountering the steel armor and gunpowder of Europe, they
+had dashed in scattered spray, never to gather force again. In my
+eagerness I had been for making the attempt before, but my father had
+urged our limited means and the shortness of my university vacations as
+bars to my wishes. My degree removed the one objection, and my earnings
+and prize the other. Few persons would care to undertake the travel we
+planned with the pittance we had earned, but it was enough for us. How
+fortunate it is for me that my student life and travels trained me to
+absolute self-denial and frugality! Otherwise these last three years of
+closest economy and niggardliness would have been hard to bear.
+
+By the influence of Professor Humzel, working first through his former
+pupil, Baron Weiseman, secondly through Giers, and thirdly through I
+know not whom, we secured permission to join a Russian surveying party,
+and thus safely and expeditiously reached the mountains of the Altai
+range. We did not stay with the party after they began their work, but
+assuming native dress we turned southward; plunging instantly among the
+medley of peoples and tongues which actually realizes the mythical
+Babel. Turkish, Hebrew, Arabic, and Sanskrit I had mastered in varying
+degrees, and they were an "open sesame" to the dialects we encountered,
+while the hot sun and open-air life soon colored us so deeply that we
+passed for men of a distant but not alien race. Following nature's
+routes, once man's only paths, we wandered leisurely: to Tashkend on
+horseback, to Bokhara on foot, by boat down the Amoo to Khiva, and on to
+Teheran, then by caravan to Bagdad, up the Euphrates, gradually working
+through Asia Minor. Stopping at Smyrna for a brief rest, we took boat to
+Cyprus, from thence crossed to Damascus, and from Jerusalem traveled
+along the caravan route to Mecca. Passing over the Red Sea to Egypt, we
+skirted the south coast of the Mediterranean, till we reached the
+Pillars of Hercules.
+
+You ought to have made that pilgrimage. In speaking of my book you
+expressed the wish that you might make such a trip, and those years
+would have been as great a playtime to you as to us. You could have
+borne the exposure, rough though the life was, and it would have been as
+compound oxygen to your brave and venturesome nature. I confess I do not
+like to think of that dazzlingly pure skin burned to any such blackness
+as I saw in my mirror on reaching the end of our journeyings; for truly
+no better Arab in verisimilitude strolled about the native quarter of
+Tangier in May, 1886, than Donald Maitland.
+
+My long study of those older races and three years' life spent among
+them have not made me accept their dogma of fatalism, yet I must believe
+that something stronger than chance produced our meeting in that Moorish
+town. Down streams, over mountains, and across deserts, seas, and
+oceans, our paths had converged; on foot, mounted, by rail or boat, we
+came together as if some hidden magnet were drawing us both. A thousand
+chances were against our meeting, even when we were in the same town;
+for you were housed in the best hotel, while we lodged in a little
+Jewish place in the Berber quarter. In another day my father and I
+should have crossed to Spain, without so much as a visit to the European
+section. But for that meeting I should have returned to Leipzig, and
+passed a contented life as a Herr Doctor and Professor; for though my
+heart was still warm with love of you, it had been denied and starved
+too long to have the strength to draw me from the path my head had
+marked out. Yet I would not now accept the unemotional and peaceful
+career I had planned in lieu of my present life; for if my love is
+without hope, it is still love, and though you turned me away from your
+door with far less courtesy than you would shut out a beggar, yet I am
+near you and see you constantly, and that is worth more to me than
+peace. Good-night, my love. God bless you.
+
+
+
+
+VI
+
+
+_February 25._ It was thought of you which led to our meeting. After the
+evening meal of dried salt fish, pancakes, dates, and coffee, my father
+and I wandered out to the Sok, and, as was our wont, sat down among the
+people. Refusing the hasheesh water and sweetmeats which the venders
+urged upon us, "to make you dream of your love joyfully," we listened to
+the story-tellers and the singers. Some one with a fine natural voice
+sang presently an Arabic love-song:--
+
+    "My love, so lovely yet so cruel,
+    Why came you so to torture me?
+    Could I but know the being who
+    Has caused you thus to hate me!
+    Once I saw and gazed upon your lovely form each hour,
+    But now you ever shun me.
+    Yet still each night you come in dreams
+    For me to ask, Who sent you?
+    Your answer is, Him whom I love,
+    And you bid me then forget my passion.
+    But I reply, If it was not for love, how could the world go on?"
+
+It was a song I had heard and loved in many lands and many dialects, but
+that night it stirred me deeply, and brought to mind your image, ever
+dear. I sat and dreamed of you till the farrago about me became
+unbearable; and whispering a word to my father, I rose and strode away,
+with a yearning truly mastering. I could have had no thought that you
+were near, for when we stood far closer I was still unconscious of your
+presence. But if not an intuition, I ask what could it be?
+
+Wandering through the narrow streets without purpose or goal, I
+presently saw looming above me the great hill on which stands the
+Alcassaba. Climbing in the brilliant moonlight up the steep and
+ill-conditioned road, and passing that jumble of buildings upon which
+so many races and generations have left their impress, I strolled along
+the wall to a ruined embrasure at the corner overlooking the sea. How
+long I stood there leaning upon the parapet I do not know. Not till you
+were close upon me was I conscious that my solitude was ended.
+
+I heard footsteps, but was too incurious to turn and glance at the
+intruders. Nay, more, when that harsh, strident, American voice
+demanded, "There, isn't that great?" I felt so irritated by both tone
+and words that but for the seeming rudeness I should have moved away at
+once. You spoke so low I could not hear your reply, and I wonder what
+you said,--for his "great" applied to such beauty must have rasped much
+more on your artistic sense than it did on mine.
+
+"And this black fellow in the turban standing here," continued the
+strident voice, "he fits, too, like the paper on the wall, though
+probably he's a sentry taking forty winks on the sly. It makes an
+American mad to see how slack things are run over here."
+
+I heard a gentle "Hush," and then a murmur as you went on speaking.
+
+"None of these black fellows speak English," came the self-assured voice
+again. Then, though I could have heard his natural tone full fifty feet
+away, the man called much louder: "Hey! what's the name of that point
+out there?"
+
+I should have chosen to make no answer; but remembering the courtesy and
+dignity of the race I was impersonating, I replied without turning,
+"Cape Spartel."
+
+You must have said something, for a moment later he laughed, saying,
+"Not a bit of it. Now see me jolly him up." I heard footsteps, and then
+some one leaned against the parapet, close beside me. "Backsheesh," he
+intimated, and jingled some coins in his pocket.
+
+I stood silent, so he tapped me on the shoulder and asked, "Are you one
+of the palace guards?" Unsuppressed by my monosyllabic "No," he
+persisted by saying, "What's your business, then?" jingling his coins
+again. "Stop pulling me, Mai," he added, as an aside.
+
+"I am a stranger in Tangier," I answered quietly.
+
+"From whereabouts?" he questioned.
+
+"The East."
+
+"Oh, you're one of the wise men, are you?" he observed jocosely. "Are
+you a Jew or a Mohammedan?"
+
+"Not the latter, fortunately for you."
+
+"And why fortunately?" he nagged.
+
+"Because a true believer would have taken the question as a deadly
+insult."
+
+"They'd be welcome," he laughed, "though it is rather irritating to be
+mistaken for a Jew. I shouldn't like it myself."
+
+I thought of the dignified Jew traders who had made part of our caravan
+in the journey from Bagdad to Damascus, and answered, "There is little
+danger of that."
+
+"I guess not," he assented. "But if you aren't a Jew or a Mohammedan,
+what are you?"
+
+He had spoiled my mood, and since it was gone I thought I would amuse
+myself with the man. "A seeker of knowledge from the Altai Mountains," I
+responded.
+
+"Never heard of them," he announced; "or is it your Choctaw for those?"
+he added, pointing towards the dark masses of the Atlas Mountains.
+
+I smiled and answered, "They are many moons' travel from here."
+
+"Oh!" he exclaimed. "How did you happen to come?"
+
+"To follow after those gone before."
+
+"I see," he said. "Relatives, I suppose? Hope you found them well?"
+
+"No," I replied, carrying on the humor, "dying."
+
+He jingled his coins, and asked, "Anything to be done for them?"
+
+"Nothing."
+
+"What's the complaint?"
+
+"Civilization in the abstract, repeating rifles and rapid-firing guns in
+the concrete."
+
+"Eh!" he ejaculated.
+
+Then the lowest and sweetest of voices said, "Won't you tell us what you
+mean?"
+
+Was it my irritation that the man before me, rather than the
+subtler-passioned people I knew so well, was the dominant type of the
+moment, or was it the sympathy your voice stirred within me, which made
+me speak? In a moment I was sketching broadly the inhumanity of this
+thing we call Christian civilization, which, more grasping than the
+Inquisition, has overrun the world, tearing the lands from their owners,
+and, not content with this spoliation, demands of its victims that they
+shall give up the customs of many centuries' evolution, and conform to
+habits, governments, and religions which their very instincts make
+impossible; and because they cannot change, but break out, these
+believers in the golden rule shoot them down. I protested at the mockery
+of calling civilized a world held at peace by constant slaughter, or of
+styling the national Jack Ketches of humanity Christian nations! I
+protested against the right of one man to hold another barbaric because
+he will not welcome his master, greet with joy the bands of steel we
+call railroads, and crush his nature within the walls of vast factories,
+to make himself the threefold slave of society, government, and
+employer. And finally, I gloried in the fact that though the white races
+had found a weapon against the black and yellow ones which enabled them
+to overrun and subjugate, yet nature had provided nature's people with
+the defense of climate,--a death-line to the whites; and behind that
+line the colored races are unconquerable in the sense of conquest
+being extinction. I knew the other side, that altruistic tenet of
+political economy defined in brief as "the greatest good of the greatest
+number," and in my mind held the even balance of the historian between
+the two; but to this utilitarian, modern, self-satisfied American I had
+to urge the rights of races thousands of years our senior, and far in
+advance of us in the knowledge and amenities that make life worth the
+most.
+
+You both were silent till I ended; but I had best left unspoken what
+your companion could not understand, for when I finished he inquired,
+"What mountains did you say you came from?" And when I told him, he
+added laughingly, "You must have some pretty good stump speaking in your
+elections."
+
+"We are very grateful for your explanation," you thanked me gently.
+
+"Never been in America?" he surmised; and except for you I should have
+told him that I was his countryman, it would have been so adequate a
+retort to his inference. But your voice and manner had made me so
+ashamed of my earlier mood that I merely answered, "Yes."
+
+"Humph!" he grunted in surprise; and as if to prove his incorrigibility
+he continued, "Thought your ideas were too back-number for that."
+
+I could not help laughing, and the moment my laugh became articulate
+yours too overflowed your lips, as a spring breaks past its edges and
+falls rippling over pebbles.
+
+That laugh, so well remembered, revealed your presence to me. My heart
+beat quickly and my head whirled dizzily, and in my bewilderment I took
+a step backward, quite forgetting the embrasure, till a stone gave way
+and I felt that I was falling. Then my consciousness went from me, and
+when thought came surging backward I lay a moment quiet, thinking it
+must have been a dream.
+
+"He's coming round all right," I heard, and at the sound I opened my
+eyes. You were leaning over me with the moonlight shining on your face,
+and I caught my breath, you were so beautiful.
+
+"You've given us a scare," continued the man, on whose knee my head was
+resting. "You want to keep your wits about you better. Pretty poor
+business tumbling off walls, but that's what comes of having ruins. You
+won't be quite so cocky in the future about your run-out races."
+
+I felt his laughter justified, but hardly heeded it, my thoughts were so
+engaged. You were wetting my forehead with brandy, and I lay there too
+happy to speak.
+
+"Now let me raise you a bit higher," the man offered kindly, "so you can
+get your addled senses back." He lifted me, and I groaned at the sudden
+terrible pain that shot up my leg.
+
+"Hello!" he cried, laying me gently down. "Something wrong, after all?
+What is it?"
+
+"My leg," I moaned.
+
+"Here, Maizie, hold his head, while I appoint an investigating
+committee," he ordered, and in another moment I felt your arms about me,
+and in my joy at your touch I almost forgot my torture.
+
+"Well, you've broken one of your walking-sticks," the man informed me,
+after a gentler touching of it than I thought possible to his nature.
+"Now, Maizie, if you'll sit and hold his head, I'll get a litter. You
+won't mind staying here alone, will you?"
+
+"It is my wish," you acceded calmly.
+
+"O. K.," he said, rising, and even in his kindness he could not help but
+seize the opportunity to glorify his country. "If this had happened in
+New York, Mr. Altai, we'd have had an ambulance here five minutes ago!
+Civilization isn't all bad, I tell you, as you'd find out if you'd
+give it a chance."
+
+The moment he was gone I tried to speak, and murmured "Maizie;" but you
+let me get no further, saying "Hush," and putting your hand softly over
+my lips. I suppose you thought me merely repeating the name he had
+called you, while I loved your touch too deeply to resist the hand I
+longed to kiss. Now I am glad I did not speak, for if I had it would
+have robbed me of my last sweet moment with you.
+
+Long before I thought it possible, and far too soon, indeed, despite my
+suffering, we heard men approaching. When the torch-bearers came
+climbing over the rocks, my first desire was to see how much of your
+beauty was owing to the moonlight, and my heart leaped with exultation
+to find that you were beautiful even in the livid glare of the torches.
+
+"Now, Mr. Altai," your companion remarked, "where shall we take you?"
+and I gave him the name of the hotel. A moment later, as they lifted me,
+I again fainted, but not till I had kissed your hand. You snatched it
+away, and did not hear my weakly whispered "Good-night, Maizie."
+
+
+
+
+VII
+
+
+_February 26._ The setting of my leg, that night, was so long and
+exhausting an operation that after it was done I was given an opiate.
+Instead of bringing oblivion the drug produced a dreamy condition, in
+which I was cognizant of nothing that happened about me, and saw only
+your face. I knew I ought to sleep, and did my best to think of other
+things; but try as I might, my thought would return and dwell upon your
+beauty.
+
+I have often wished I had been born an artist, that I might try to paint
+your portrait, for words can no more picture you than they can transmit
+the fragrance of a violet. Indeed, to me the only word which even
+expresses your charm is "radiant," and that to others, who have never
+seen you, would suggest little. No real beauty can be described, for
+it rests in nothing that is tangible. In truth, to speak of your
+glorious hair, the whiteness of your brow and throat, the brilliant
+softness of your eyes, or the sweetness yet strength of your tender
+though unsmiling lips is to make but a travesty of description. I have
+heard painters talk of your hair and try to convey an idea of its
+beauty, but I know it too well even to make the attempt. When we were
+gazing at the rainbow, last autumn, and you said that if its tints could
+be transferred to a palette you believed it would be possible to paint
+anything, I could not help correcting, "Except your hair." You laughed,
+and declared, "I did not know you ever made that kind of a speech!"
+whereupon Agnes cried, "Didn't I ever tell you, Maizie, the compliment
+the doctor paid you last winter?" I thought she was alluding to my
+retort when my mother asserted that your eyes were so large and lustrous
+that, to her, they were "positively loud." Indignant at such a remark,
+Agnes had appealed to me to deny it. Not caring to treat the malicious
+speech seriously, I had answered that I could not agree, though I had
+sometimes thought your eyes "too dressy for the daytime,"--a joke I have
+heard so often quoted that it is apparently in a measure descriptive,
+yet one which I should have felt mortified at hearing repeated to you.
+Fortunately Agnes's reference was to another remark of mine, in which,
+speaking of your mouth, I had crudely translated a couple of lines from
+a Persian poem:--
+
+    "In vain you strive to speak a bitter word--
+    It meets the sweetness of your lips ere it is heard."
+
+You were too used to compliments to be embarrassed when the lines were
+repeated, and only looked at me in a puzzled way. I do not wonder you
+were surprised at the implied admiration of the two speeches, after my
+apparent coldness and indifference. My behavior must seem to you as
+full of contradictions as your beauty is to me. To say your great
+attraction is the radiance--the verve, spirit, and capacity for
+enthusiasm--of which one cannot fail to be conscious is to deny the calm
+dignity with which you bear yourself, yet both these qualities belong to
+you. The world insists that you are proud and distant, and your face has
+the clean-cut features which we associate with patrician blood, while
+your height and figure, and the set and carriage of your head upon that
+slender throat, suggest a goddess. But I, who understand you so much
+better than the world, know that your proud face overlies the tenderest
+of natures, and is not an index, but a mask of feelings you do not care
+to show. As for the people who criticise you most, they would be the
+last to do so if they were not conscious of the very superiority they
+try to lessen.--Ah, how foolish it is to write all this, as if I needed
+to convince myself of what I know so well! And even if this were for
+the eye of others, to those who know you not it would be but the
+extravagant idealism for which a lover is proverbial.
+
+When I awoke from the sleep my dreaming had drifted into, my first
+request of my father was to find your whereabouts. He told me that a
+dragoman had come that morning to inquire for me,--and had left what now
+he showed me,--a great bunch of roses and a basket of fruit, with the
+card of "Mr. Foster G. Blodgett, 547 Fifth Avenue," on the back of which
+was written:--
+
+"With sincere regrets that a previously formed plan of leaving Tangier
+this morning prevents our seeing our courteous instructor of last night,
+and with hopes that he may have a quick and easy recovery from his
+accident."
+
+The card was a man's, but the handwriting was feminine, and the moment
+my father turned his back I kissed it. I was further told that the
+servant had asked my name and taken it down, giving me the instant
+hope that when you knew to whom you had been so merciful, you would even
+disarrange your plans to let me have a moment's glimpse of you. But
+though I listened all the afternoon hopefully and expectantly, you never
+came. I felt such shyness about you, I did not speak to my father of
+your beauty, and he did not question me at all.
+
+Our native hotel, built in Eastern fashion about a court, with only
+blank outside walls, was no place in which to pass a long invalidism,
+and three days later my father had me carried to the steamer, and,
+crossing to Gibraltar, we traveled by easy railroad trips to Leipzig. We
+had left our belongings with Jastrow, and he begged us, on our arrival,
+to become members of his household, which we were only too glad to do
+for a time. His joy over my return was most touching, and he and Humzel
+both seemed to regard me very much as if I were the creation of their
+own brains, who was to bring them immortal fame in time. My father had
+long before counseled me to be a pursuer of knowledge, and not of money;
+telling me the winning of the latter narrowed the intellect and stunted
+the finer qualities of one's nature, making all men natural enemies,
+while the acquisition of the former broadened one's mind, developed the
+nobility within, and engendered love of one's associates. These two men
+illustrated his theory, and had my tendency been avaricious I think
+their unselfish love and example would have made me otherwise. And yet,
+how dare I claim to be free from sordidness, when all my thoughts and
+hopes and daily life are now bent on winning money?
+
+My leg was far too troublesome to permit me to sit at a desk, but my
+father insisted on being my scribe; and thus, lying on a lounge, I began
+part of the work I had so long planned, taking up for my first book the
+Turkish irruption, the crusades against the Saracens, and their
+subsequent history. Thinking so much of you, both as the child who had
+won my boyish heart and as the beautiful woman whose face had fascinated
+and moved me so deeply, I do not know how, except for my work, I should
+have lived through those long and weary months of enforced inaction
+while my leg so slowly knit.
+
+More as recreation from this serious endeavor than as supplementary
+labor, I gathered the articles I had written for the Deutsche Rundshau
+and the Revue des Deux Mondes from time to time in our travels, and with
+new material from my journal I worked the whole into a popular account
+of what we had seen and done. While I still used a walking-stick I was
+reading proof of the German edition, and my English replica, rather than
+translation, was under negotiation through my publisher for London and
+New York editions. My father, who busied himself with a French version,
+insisted that the book would be a great success, and the articles under
+my assumed name had been so well noticed that I was myself hopeful of
+what better work in book form might do for my reputation; for against
+his advice, I had determined to abandon my pseudonym.
+
+But all these schemes and hopes were forgotten in the illness of my
+father. Contrary to my wishes, he had overworked himself in the French
+translation, while his life, for months of my enforced inactivity, had
+been one long service, impossible for me to avoid or refuse without
+giving him pain. This double exertion proved too great a strain. The day
+after he sent the manuscript to Paris, as he sat conning the sheets of
+the concluding chapter of my history, he laid them down without a word,
+and, leaning forward, quietly rested his head upon the table. I was by
+his side and had him on the sofa in an instant, where he lay
+unconscious till the doctor came. We were told that it was a slight
+stroke, and by the next day he seemed quite well. But slowly he lost the
+use of one side, and within a week was helpless. I like to remember that
+I was well enough to tend him as he had tended me. He lingered for a
+month, sweet and gentle as always; then, one evening, as I sat beside
+him, he opened his eyes and said, "Good-night, Don. Good-night, Maizie."
+And with those words his loving soul went back to its Creator.
+
+I found about his neck a ribbon to which was attached a locket
+containing the long tress you cut off for him that day in the Bois, one
+of my mother's curls, and a little tow-colored lock which I suppose was
+my own hair before it darkened,--a locket I have since worn unchanged,
+because, sadly discordant though such association has become, I cannot
+bring myself to separate what he tied together. It seems to symbolize
+his love for all of us.
+
+The kindness of my friends I can never forget. I was so broken down as
+really to be unfit for thought, and their generous foresight did
+everything possible to spare me trouble or pain. Especially to Professor
+and Frau Jastrow do I owe an unpayable debt, for they made me feel that
+there was still some one in whose love I stood first; and had I been the
+child who had never come to them, I question if they could have done
+more for me than they did.
+
+One thing that I had to do myself was to notify my mother of my father's
+death. From the time she had quitted us my father and I had avoided
+mention of her; but during his illness he asked me to write in case of
+his death, and gave me her New York address, from which I inferred that
+in some way he had kept himself informed concerning her, though I feel
+very certain that she had never written him. That I had never tried to
+learn anything myself was due to the estrangement, but still more to my
+interest in my studies and work. Now I wrote her, as I had promised,
+telling her briefly the circumstances of my father's illness and death,
+and offering to write fuller details if she wished to know them. I would
+not feign love for her, but I wrote tenderly of him and without coldness
+to her. She never replied.
+
+Kind as were all my intimates, I craved more than friendship, however
+loving it might be. One of the two great loves of my life had gone out
+from it, and, in the gap it left, the other became doubly dear to me.
+The wish to see you grew and strengthened each day, until at last it
+shaped my plans, and I announced my intention to visit America; making
+the specious explanation that, after my long invalidism and grief, the
+change would be the best specific for me.
+
+At this time I received the offer of appointment as professor
+extraordinarius of philology and ethnology under Jastrow, another
+manifestation of his love; but till I had seen you I would not bind
+myself by accepting, and through his influence I was given three months
+to consider my answer. I seem doomed never to requite the services of
+those I love the most, but I am glad that in the nine months which I
+passed under his roof my knowledge of the Eastern dialects had pushed
+his work so much nearer completion.
+
+Leaving all my possessions behind except the manuscript of my history, I
+started on my voyage of love. For two days I tarried in Paris, settling
+my little property. I had long known that the flotsam of my father's
+fortune, wrecked in Wall Street, was a few bonds deposited with Paris
+bankers; and when I called upon the firm it was merely to continue the
+old arrangement, by which they cut the coupons and placed them to my
+bank credit. It was in this visit that I searched out our old pension,
+and sat dreaming in the park. How could I imagine, remembering those
+days of closest love and sympathy, and knowing too your kindness to one
+you thought a mere Eastern stroller, that you could have changed so to
+your former friend?
+
+The most curious fact to me, in looking back upon that time, is that the
+idea never occurred to me that you were a married woman. It never
+entered my thoughts that a beauty which fascinated and drew me so far
+from my natural orbit must be an equally powerful charm to other men. As
+for Mr. Blodgett, I never gave him a second thought, not even accounting
+for his relations with you. My foolishness, I suppose, is typical of the
+scholar's abstraction and impracticality.
+
+As the steamer neared New York, my impatience to see you increased
+apace. Far from longing for our old ten-day passage, I found a voyage of
+seven days too long. Ridiculous as it may seem, I almost lost my temper
+at the slowness of the customs examination. I believe I was half mad,
+and only marvel that I did so sane a thing as to go to a hotel, change
+my clothes, and dine, before attempting to see you.
+
+I ascertained Mr. Walton's address the moment I reached my hotel, and
+sent a messenger there to inquire your whereabouts. He brought me back
+word that Mr. Walton was absent from the city, but the servant had
+informed him that you still lived with your uncle and that you were in
+town.
+
+I cannot tell you the surprise and joy I felt when, on arriving at your
+house on Madison Avenue that evening, I discovered it to be our old
+habitat. It seemed as if your selection of that as your home, probably
+from sentiment, was a bow of promise for the future, and I rang the
+bell, almost trembling with emotion and happiness.
+
+The footman showed me to the drawing-room and took my card. All inside,
+so far as I could see, was changed past the point of recognition, but
+everything was beautiful, and I felt in that one room that no
+decorator's conventional taste had formed its harmony, but that an
+artistic sense had planned the whole. What a contrast it was to the old
+days of untasteful and untidy richness!
+
+I sat but a moment before the footman returned. Looking not at me, but
+over my head, and with an attitude and air as deferential as if I were
+the guest of all others most welcome, he said, "Miss Walton declines the
+honor of Mr. Maitland's acquaintance, and begs to be excused."
+
+The blow came so suddenly, and was so crushing, that for a moment I lost
+my dignity. "There must be some mistake!" I exclaimed. "You gave Miss
+Walton my card?"
+
+The footman only bowed assent.
+
+"Go to Miss Walton and say I must see her a moment."
+
+"Miss Walton instructed me to add, in case Mr. Maitland persisted, that
+she prefers to hold no intercourse with Mr. Maitland and will receive no
+messages from him."
+
+Pride came to my rescue, and I passed silently into the hall. The
+servant opened the door, and I went out from my old home, never to enter
+it more. At the foot of the steps I turned and looked back, hardly yet
+believing what I had been told. Even in the sting and humiliation of
+that moment my love was stronger than the newer sensations. I said,
+"Good-night, Maizie. God keep you," and walked away.
+
+
+
+
+VIII
+
+
+_February 27._ I sat for hours in my room, that night, trying to find
+some solution of the mystery and groping for a future course of action.
+I thought of a visit to my mother, on the chance that she would give me
+the key to the puzzle, but could not bring myself to it. Rejecting that
+idea, I decided to seek out Mr. Blodgett, who, being your friend, might
+know the reason for what you had done.
+
+Finding on inquiry, the next morning, that Mr. Blodgett was a member of
+one of the chief banking firms of New York, I went to his office. The
+ante-room was well filled with people anxious to see the great banker,
+and the door-boy refused me access to him without giving my name and
+business. Knowing that "Donald Maitland" would mean nothing to Mr.
+Blodgett, and might even fail to secure me an audience, I wrote on a
+slip of paper, "A seeker of knowledge from the Altai Mountains." Nor was
+I wrong, for the boy, on his return, gave me immediate entrance, and
+another moment brought me face to face with my once-disliked countryman.
+
+His hand was extended to greet me, but as he looked at my face his arm
+dropped in surprise. "Your name, please?" he demanded, with a
+business-like clip to his voice, at the same time picking up and
+glancing quickly at three or four cards and slips of paper that were on
+the corner of his desk.
+
+"I am the attorney for ancient peoples," I announced, smiling, "come to
+thank the New World for its kindness to a broken-legged man."
+
+Instantly Mr. Blodgett smiled too, and again extended his hand. "Glad to
+see you," he said. "Sit down." Then looking at me keenly, he added,
+"You've done a lot of bleaching or scrubbing since we met."
+
+"In the interval my face has been hidden from the sun-god of my
+fathers."
+
+"Ah!" Then his Americanism cropped out by a question: "Are you European
+or Asiatic?--for you are too dark to be the one, and too white to be the
+other."
+
+"My parents were American, and I was born in New York."
+
+"The deuce you were! Then why were you masquerading in Arab dress and
+with a brown face in Tangier, and why did you say you came from some
+mountains in Asia?"
+
+"I was for the time an Arab, and I was last from the Altai Mountains," I
+explained, and smilingly added, "Is my explanation satisfactory?"
+
+"Well, I suppose you spoke by the book," he replied. "Wherever you were
+born, I'm glad to see--Hold on!" he cried, interrupting his own speech.
+"Why did you call yourself Dr. Rudolph Hartzmann, of Leipzig, if you
+were an American?"
+
+"I did not," I denied, startled by his question, for my identity with
+the pseudonym was known only to my professors and publishers.
+
+"You weren't living in Tangier under the name of Hartzmann?" he
+inquired.
+
+"No."
+
+"Then how came it that when my servant was sent to leave some fruit and
+flowers for you and inquire your name, he was told that you were Dr.
+Rudolph Hartzmann, of Leipzig?"
+
+"Are you serious?" I questioned, as much puzzled as he for the moment.
+
+"Never more so. I remember our astonishment to think that any European
+should have so dark a skin and live in the native quarter."
+
+"Mr. Blodgett," I explained, "I did not know till this moment that a pen
+name I have used to sign my writings had been given you, but it was a
+joke of my father's to register me under it, and my only theory is that
+he had given some one in the hotel that name, and, by mischance, your
+servant was misinformed."
+
+He was too good a business man to look as skeptical as he probably felt,
+and merely asked, "What is your real name, then?"
+
+"Donald Maitland, son of William Maitland."
+
+His eyes gave a startled wink and he screwed his lips into position for
+a whistle, but checking the inclination, he merely turned his
+revolving-chair so that he looked out of a window. He sat thus for a
+moment, and then, facing me, he questioned, with a sudden curtness of
+voice and manner, "What is your business with me?"
+
+"I have taken the liberty of calling on the supposition that you are a
+friend of Miss Walton."
+
+"I am."
+
+"Miss Walton was once my father's ward, yet last night she refused to
+see me. Can you tell me why?"
+
+"The reason is rather obvious," he asserted crisply.
+
+"Will you tell me what it is?"
+
+He looked at me from under his gray eyebrows. "Is that all you want of
+me?" he demanded.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Well, then, Miss Walton refused to see you because she despises you."
+
+I felt my cheeks burn, but I gripped the arm of my chair and waited till
+I could speak coolly; then I asked, "For what?"
+
+"You are ignorant of the fact that your father embezzled a part of Miss
+Walton's fortune, and that you and he have since lived upon it?" he
+exclaimed, with no veiling of his contempt.
+
+I sat calmly, for the idea was too new, and I had too many connecting
+links to recall, to have the full horror of the disgrace come home to me
+at once. He did not give me time for thought, but interrogated, "Well?"
+
+Having to speak, I asked, "You are sure of what you say?"
+
+"Sure!" he ejaculated. "Why, it's been known to every one for years, and
+I was one of the trustees appointed by the court to look out for Miss
+Walton's interest in what property your father couldn't take with him!"
+
+"If you are a trustee of Miss Walton," I said, growing cool in my agony
+of shame, "can you spare me five minutes and answer some questions?"
+
+That I did not deny knowledge of the wrong seemed to raise me in his
+opinion, for he nodded his head and looked less stern.
+
+"How much did my father--How much did Miss Walton lose?" I inquired.
+
+"One hundred and thirty thousand was all the property he could
+negotiate, and we succeeded, by bidding in his house over the mortgage
+and by taking the library at a valuation, in recovering twenty-six
+thousand."
+
+"Was that amount net?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Then in 1879 the amount due Miss Walton was one hundred and four
+thousand dollars?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Thank you, Mr. Blodgett," I added, rising. "I am only sorry, after your
+former kindness, to have given you this further trouble. I am grateful
+for both." In my shame I did not dare to offer him my hand, but he held
+out his.
+
+"Mr. Maitland," he rejoined, "I'm a pretty good judge of men, and I
+don't believe you have done wrong knowingly."
+
+"I never dreamed it," I almost sobbed, shaking his hand.
+
+"It's pretty rough," he said. "I hope you won't show the white feather
+by doing anything desperate?"
+
+I shook my head, and walked to the door. As I reached it a new thought
+occurred to me, and, turning, I asked, "What has the legal rate of
+interest been since 1879?"
+
+For reply he touched an electric button on his desk, and I heard the
+lock click in the door by which I stood. He pulled a chair near his own,
+and commanded, "Come here and sit down," in such a peremptory tone that
+I obeyed. "Why did you ask that question?" he catechised.
+
+"That I may find out how much I owe Miss Walton."
+
+"What for?"
+
+"To attempt restitution."
+
+"I hope you know what you're talking about?"
+
+"I'm still rather confused, but so much I can see clearly enough."
+
+"How much property have you?"
+
+"My father left me something over thirty-one thousand dollars."
+
+"Thirty-one from one hundred and four leaves seventy-three."
+
+"And interest," I corrected.
+
+"I thought that was what you were driving at," he surmised calmly. He
+pulled out a volume from its repository in his desk, and turned
+backwards and forwards in the book for a few moments, taking off figures
+on a sheet of paper. "Eight years at five per cent makes the whole over
+one hundred and fifty-five thousand dollars less thirty-one."
+
+"Thank you."
+
+"Where can you get the balance?"
+
+"I must earn it."
+
+He looked at me with a slightly quizzical expression and asked, "How?"
+
+"That I have yet to think out."
+
+"Any business?"
+
+"I have the offer of a professorship at Leipzig, but that's out of the
+question now."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"It would give me only two thousand a year at first, and the interest on
+the debt will be over six thousand annually."
+
+"What do you know?" he questioned.
+
+"Most of the languages and dialects of Europe and Asia, and a good deal
+of history and ethnology. I am fairly read in arts, sciences, and
+religions, and I know something of writing," I answered, smiling at the
+absurdity of mentioning such knowledge in the face of such a condition.
+
+"Humph! And you'd have sold all that for two thousand a year?"
+
+"I think so."
+
+"Well, that only proves that a man had better cultivate his gumption,
+and not his brains!"
+
+"If he wishes to make money," I could not help retorting gently.
+
+"You're just like Maizie!" he sniffed, and his going back to your
+familiar name in my presence was the best compliment he could have paid
+me. "You two ought to have died young and gone to heaven, where there's
+nothing to do but cultivate the soul."
+
+"I wish we had!"
+
+"Why don't you go to your mother?"
+
+"For what?"
+
+"For the money."
+
+"Has she money?"
+
+"Yes. She had a little money when she married your father, which she
+kept tight hold of; her mother's death, two years ago, gave her more,
+and she has just married a rich man."
+
+"I don't know yet what I shall do," I replied, rising.
+
+"Well," he advised kindly, "before you blow your brains out or do
+anything else that's a waste of good material, come and see me again."
+
+"Thank you," I responded. "And, Mr. Blodgett, as a favor, I ask that all
+I have told you, and even my presence in New York, shall be confidential
+between us."
+
+"Nonsense!" he growled. "I shall tell Maizie all about it."
+
+"Miss Walton least of any," I begged.
+
+"Why don't you insist, too, that Mrs. Blodgett, who intends that I shall
+inform her nightly of everything I know, sha'n't be told?" he queried.
+
+"It grieves me to be a marplot of connubial confidences," I rejoined,
+responding to his smile, "but this must be between us."
+
+"Have your own way," he acceded, and then laughed. "I'll have a good
+time over it, for I'll let Mrs. Blodgett see there is a secret, and
+she'll go crazy trying to worm it out of me."
+
+He shook my hand again, and I felt ashamed to think that his voice and
+manner had once made me hold him in contempt.
+
+I went back to the hotel, and thought over the past, seeing how blind I
+had been. Now for the first time everything became clear. I understood
+the trip to Europe and our remaining there, why my mother had left us,
+why Mr. Walton had been permitted to take you from us without protest,
+why we had not mingled with Americans, and my father's motives in making
+me write under a pen name, in registering me at hotels by it, and in
+giving that name to your servant. Now it was obvious why he never signed
+his articles, and why he appealed to me to let him aid me to make a
+reputation: it was his endeavor to atone to me for the wrong he had
+done.
+
+Good-night, my love.
+
+
+
+
+IX
+
+
+_February 28._ Many times in the last three years I have begun a letter
+to you, for the thought that you, like the rest of the world, may rank
+my father with other embezzlers stings me almost to desperation. Each
+time it has been to tear the attempted justification--or I should say,
+extenuation--into fragments, long before it was completed. In all my
+trials I have come to realize that nothing I can say can stand him in
+stead; for whatever I urge is open to suspicion, not merely because it
+is my interest to condone his act, but still more because it inevitably
+becomes an indirect justification of myself, and therefore, in a sense,
+a plea for pardon.
+
+At moments, too, when with you, I have had to exercise the greatest
+self-control not to tell you what I feel. If I were only some one else
+than Donald Maitland, so that I might say to you:--
+
+"You should know that your guardian was incapable of the lowness the
+world imputes to him! I am not trying to belittle the sin, but to
+distinguish the motive. His wrong was no mean attempt to enrich himself
+at the expense of one he loved, for his nature was wholly unmercenary,
+and his transgression originated, not through greed, but through lack of
+it. Like all men of true intellect, he was heedless in money matters,
+and I am conscious that there was in him, as there is in me, the certain
+weakness which is almost inevitable with mind cultivation,--an
+engulfing, as it were, of the big principles of right and wrong in the
+complexities and the refinements of cultivated thought. His birthright
+was scholarship, but in place of the life he was fitted for he was
+forced into Wall Street, and toiled there without sympathy or aptitude
+for his work. Do you not remember how, aside from our companionship, his
+books were his one great pleasure? The wealth of mind he gave to us
+tells the story of how he must have neglected his office in favor of his
+library. Yet though this preference might have made him a poor man, I
+cannot think his studies would ever have led him into dishonesty. I have
+never had the heart to trace the history of his act, but Mr. Blodgett
+tells me that shortly after his marriage he first began to speculate,
+and knowing as I do my mother's extravagance and my father's love for
+her, I can understand the motive. The inevitable result came presently,
+and, as a temporary expedient, a small part of your property was used.
+Then a desperate attempt was made to recover this by the risking of a
+larger portion, and after that there was nothing left but confession or
+flight. I wish he had spoken, but the weakness that produced the first
+wrong accounts for the second, and I believe his chief thought was of
+me, and how I might be saved from the consequences of his guilt. Unless
+you have put him wholly out of your heart, you must appreciate that it
+was no sordid scheme to cheat you, but a surrender to the love strong
+enough to overcome his honesty. You must know that he loved you too well
+to wrong you willingly, and I think with pain of what I am sure he must
+have suffered in his shame at having robbed you. Do you not remember the
+sadness in his face in those later years, and his tenderness to both of
+us? Can you not see that his kindness, his patience, and his care of us
+were his endeavored atonement?"
+
+Oh, Maizie, I ask nothing for myself, but if you could be brought to
+think of him, to love him, as you once did, my greatest grief would be
+ended.
+
+Bitter as my misery was after Mr. Blodgett's revelation, there was
+still some sweetness to make it bearable. For years I had thought of
+you as heartless and forgetful, and even in my love had hated and
+despised you at moments, as only love can hate and despise. The world
+thinks that animosity is always strongest against enemies, though daily
+it sees the intensest feuds between those nations and individuals who
+are most closely related, and never learns that the deepest hatred comes
+from love. Now I knew that you had cause for slighting my letters and
+gift, and the knowledge of my injustice and the thought that you were
+more lovable than ever were the silver lining to my cloud of shame.
+
+My first meeting with you was a pure chance, yet it shaped my life. For
+three weeks after my call on Mr. Blodgett I pondered and vacillated over
+what I should do, without reaching any decision. At the end of that time
+I went to his office again.
+
+"Mr. Blodgett has asked two or three times if you hadn't called," the
+boy informed me; adding, as he opened the door to the private office,
+"He told me, if you ever came again, sir, to show you right in."
+
+I passed through the doorway, and then faltered, for you were sitting
+beside the banker, overlooking a paper that he was commenting upon.
+Could I have escaped unnoticed, I should have done so; but you both
+glanced up as I entered.
+
+The moment you saw me you rose, with an exclamation of recognition and
+surprise, which meant to me that you knew your old friend in spite of
+the changes. Do you wonder that, not foreseeing what was to come, I
+stood there as if turned to stone? My manner evidently made you question
+your own eyes, for you asked, "Is not this Dr. Hartzmann?"
+
+"Of course it is!" cried Mr. Blodgett, with a quickness and heartiness
+which proved that your question was almost as great a relief to him as
+it was to me.
+
+"I did not think, Miss Walton," I replied, steadying my voice as best I
+could, "that you saw my face clearly enough that evening, to recollect
+it?"
+
+"The moonlight was so strong," you explained, "that I should have known
+you anywhere."
+
+"Then your eyes are better than mine," asserted Mr. Blodgett. "I accused
+the doctor of using blondine, to atone for my not recognizing him,
+though I must confess he will have to use a good deal more if he wants
+to be thought anything but Italian."
+
+"Then you have met before?" you questioned.
+
+"Yes," replied Mr. Blodgett. "I was going to tell you when we got
+through with that mortgage. I knew you would be interested to hear that
+the doctor was in New York. Seems like Tangier, doesn't it?"
+
+"In reminiscence," I assented, merely to gain time.
+
+"None of your rickety ruins," chuckled Mr. Blodgett.
+
+"But more ruin," you said.
+
+"And more danger," I added, pointing out of the window at the passers-by
+in Wall Street. "Nowhere in my travels, even among races that have to go
+armed, have I ever seen so many anxious and careworn faces."
+
+"Most of them look worried," suggested Mr. Blodgett, "only because they
+are afraid they'll take more than three minutes to eat their lunch."
+
+For a moment you spoke with Mr. Blodgett on business, and then offered
+me your hand in farewell, saying, "I am very glad, Dr. Hartzmann, for
+this chance reunion. Mr. Blodgett and I have often spoken of the
+mysterious Oriental who fell in--and out--of our knowledge so
+strangely."
+
+"I have wished to meet you, Miss Walton," I responded warmly, "to thank
+you for your kindness and help to me when"--
+
+"That was nothing, Dr. Hartzmann," you interrupted, in evident
+deprecation of my thanks. "Indeed, I have always felt that we were in a
+measure responsible for your accident, and that we made but a poor
+return by the little we did. Good-morning."
+
+Mr. Blodgett took you to your carriage, and when he returned he gave a
+whistle. "Well!" he exclaimed. "I haven't gone through such a ten-second
+scare since I proposed to my superior moiety."
+
+"I ought"--I began.
+
+But he went on: "There's nothing frightens me so much as a wrought-up
+woman. Dynamite or volcanoes aren't a circumstance to her, because they
+have limits; but woman!"
+
+I laughed and said, "The Hindoos have a paradox to the effect that
+women fear mice, mice fear men, and men fear women."
+
+"She got so much better and longer look at you in Tangier than I did
+that I don't wonder she recognized Dr. Hartzmann when I didn't. But why
+did she stop there in her recollections?"
+
+"It appeared incomprehensible to me for a moment, yet, as a fact, her
+knowing me as Donald Maitland would have been the greater marvel of the
+two. When she knew me, I was an undersized, pallid, stooping lad of
+seventeen. In the ten years since, my hair and skin have both darkened
+greatly, I have grown a mustache, and my voice has undergone the change
+that comes with manhood, as well as that which comes by speaking foreign
+tongues. Your very question as to whether I was of Eastern birth tells
+the whole story, for such a doubt would seem absurd to one who
+remembered the boy of ten years ago. Then, too, Miss Walton, having
+recognized me as Dr. Hartzmann, was, as it were, disarmed of all
+suspicion by having no question-mark in her mind as to my exact
+identity."
+
+Mr. Blodgett nodded his head in assent. "And you don't know it all," he
+informed me. "I'm going to be frank, doctor, and acknowledge that I've
+expressed a pretty low opinion of you to her more than once. If Maizie
+were asked what man in this world she'd be least likely to meet in my
+office on a friendly footing, she would probably think of you. Your
+presence here was equivalent to saying that you weren't Donald Maitland,
+let alone the fact that I greeted you as Dr. Hartzmann, and that she
+could never dream of my having a reason to deceive her in your
+identity."
+
+"Such a chain of circumstances almost makes one believe in kismet," I
+sighed. Then I laughed, and added, "How easy it is to show that one need
+not be scared--after the danger is all over!"
+
+"That isn't the only scare I owe to you," muttered Mr. Blodgett. "I
+didn't take your address because I told you to come again. Why didn't
+you?"
+
+"I am here."
+
+"Yes. But for three weeks I've been worrying over what you were doing
+with yourself, and not knowing that you hadn't cut your throat."
+
+"I am sorry to have troubled you. I stayed away to save troubling you."
+
+"You're as considerate as the Fiji islander was of the missionary, when
+he asked him if he had rather be cooked _à la maître d'hôtel_ or _en
+papillote_. What have you been doing?"
+
+"Very little to any purpose. I have written to my publisher, offering to
+sell my rights in my text-books; to a friend, asking him to learn for
+what price he can sell my library; and to my bankers, directing them to
+send me the bonds and a draft for my balance. I received the securities
+and a bill of exchange yesterday, and am so ignorant of business
+methods that I came to you this morning to learn how to turn them into
+cash."
+
+"I'll do better than that," volunteered Mr. Blodgett, touching a button.
+"Give them to me, and I'll have it done." Then, after he had turned the
+matter over to a clerk, he asked, "What does your publisher offer?"
+
+"Thirty-five hundred."
+
+"And what are your royalties?"
+
+"Last year they were over six hundred dollars."
+
+"Humph! That's equivalent to investing money at eighteen per cent. You
+ought to get more than that."
+
+"A little more or less is nothing compared with paying so much on my
+debt."
+
+"What will your library bring?"
+
+"Perhaps four thousand, if I can find some one who wants so technical a
+collection."
+
+"And you can get along without it?"
+
+"I must," I declared, though wincing a little.
+
+"Rather goes against the grain, eh?" he rejoined kindly.
+
+I tried to laugh, and said, "My books have been such good comrades that
+I haven't quite accustomed myself yet to thinking of them as
+merchandise. I feel a little as the bankrupt planter must have felt when
+he saw his slave children offered for sale."
+
+"And what do you plan to do with yourself?"
+
+"I haven't been able to make up my mind."
+
+We were interrupted at this point by some business matter, and I took my
+leave. The next morning Mr. Blodgett called at my boarding-place on his
+way down town.
+
+"I haven't come to talk business," he announced. "I told my wife and
+daughter, last night, about the fellow from the backwoods of Asia, and
+made them so curious that Mrs. Blodgett has given me permission to
+furnish him board and lodgings for a week. I'll promise you a better
+room than this," he added, glancing at the box I had moved into as soon
+as I realized how much worse than a pauper I was.
+
+I could hardly express my gratitude as I tried to thank him, but he
+pretended not to perceive my emotion, and said briskly: "That's settled,
+then. Send your stuff round any time to-day, and be on deck for a
+seven-o'clock dinner."
+
+You, who know Mrs. Blodgett so much better than I, can understand my
+bewilderment during the first day or two of my visit. Her husband had
+jokingly pictured me as of an Eastern race, which made the meeting
+rather embarrassing; but the moment she comprehended that I did not
+habitually sit on the floor, did not carry a scimiter or kris, and was
+not unwashed and ferine, but only a dark skinned, dark haired, and very
+silent German scholar, she took possession of me as I have seen her do
+of others. She preceded me to my room, ringing for a servant on the
+way, made me open my trunk, and directed the maid where to put each
+article it contained. She told me what time to be ready for dinner, what
+to wear for it, and at that meal she had me helped twice to such dishes
+as she chose, while refusing to let me have more than one cup of coffee.
+To a man who had never had any one to look after him in small things it
+was a novel and rather pleasant if surprising experience, and when I
+grew accustomed to it I easily understood Mr. Blodgett's chuckles of
+enjoyment when she told him he shouldn't have a third cigar, when she
+decided how close he was to sit to the fire, and finally when she made
+all of us--Agnes, Mr. Blodgett, and myself--go to bed at her own hour
+for retiring. Best of all I understood Mr. Blodgett's familiar name for
+her, "the boss." That visit was a perfect revelation to me of
+affectionate, thoughtful, and persistently minute domineering. I do not
+believe that the man lives, though he be the veriest woman-hater, who
+could help loving her after a fortnight of her tyranny. Certainly I
+could not.
+
+By Mr. Blodgett's aid I secured a "paper" cable transfer of the money
+realized from the bonds and draft, in order that it might seem to come
+from Europe, and sent it to you, writing at his suggestion, "The
+inclosed draft on Foster G. Blodgett & Co. for the sum of thirty-three
+thousand dollars is part payment of principal and interest due you from
+estate of William G. Maitland." I wonder what your thoughts were as you
+read the unsigned and typewritten note?
+
+It was your greeting of me by my alias that led me to accept the
+incognito. Perhaps it was cowardly to shirk my shame by such a means,
+but it was not done from cowardice; the thought did not even occur to me
+until it opened a way to knowing you. And in that hope my very misery
+became almost happiness, for its possibilities seemed those of the
+Oriental poet who wrote:--
+
+    "My love once offered me a bitter draught
+    From which in cowardice I flinched.
+    But still she tendered to me;
+    And bowing to her wish, I then no longer shrank,
+    But took the cup and put it to my lips.
+    Oh, marvel! gazing still at her,
+    The potion turned to sweetness as I drank."
+
+If your old friend, Donald Maitland, were dead to you, your new lover,
+Rudolph Hartzmann, might fill his place. I never stopped to think if
+such trickery were right, or rather my love was stronger than my
+conscience.
+
+Good-night, my dearest.
+
+
+
+
+X
+
+
+_March 1._ During my visit I heard much about you from Mrs. Blodgett and
+Agnes, for your name was constantly on their lips. From them I learned
+that your birth, wealth, and the influence of your uncle had involved
+you in a fashionable society for which you cared nothing, and that,
+aside from the gayety which that circle forced upon you, your time was
+spent in travel, and in reading, music, and charitable work. Except for
+themselves, they averred, you had no intimate friends, and their
+explanation of this fact proved to me that you had taken our separation
+as seriously as had I.
+
+"After Mr. Walton brought her to America she spent the first few months
+with us," Mrs. Blodgett told me, "and was the loneliest child I ever
+saw. Her big eyes used to look so wistfully at times that I could
+hardly bear it, yet not a word did she ever speak of her sorrow. And all
+on account of that wretch and his son! I think the worse men are, the
+more a good woman loves them! When Maizie was old enough to understand,
+and Mr. Walton told her how she had been robbed, she wouldn't believe
+him till Mr. Blodgett confirmed the story. She used to be always talking
+of the two, but she has never spoken of them since that night."
+
+Even more cruel to me was something Agnes related. She worshiped you
+with the love and admiration a girl of eighteen sometimes feels for a
+girl of twenty-three, and in singing your praises,--to a most willing
+listener,--one day, she exclaimed, "Oh, I wish I were a man, so that I
+could be her lover! I'd make her believe in love." Then seeing my
+questioning look, Agnes continued: "What with her selfish old uncle, and
+the men who want to marry her for her money, and those hateful
+Maitlands, she has been made to distrust all love and friendship. She
+has the idea that she isn't lovable,--that people don't like her for
+herself; and I really think she will never marry, just because of it."
+
+Better far than this knowledge of you at second-hand was Mr. Blodgett's
+telling me that you were to dine with them during my visit. It may seem
+absurd, but not the least part of my eagerness that night was to see you
+in evening dress. If I had not loved you already, I should have done so
+from that meeting; and although you are dear to me for many things
+besides your beauty, I understand why men love you so deeply who know
+nothing of your nature. That all men should not love you is my only
+marvel whenever I recall that first glimpse of you as you entered the
+Blodgetts' drawing-room.
+
+Before we had finished our greetings Mr. Whitely entered, and though I
+little realized how vital a part he was to be of my life, I yet regarded
+him with instant interest, for something in his manner towards you
+suggested to me that he coveted the hand you offered him.
+
+A lover does not view a rival kindly, but I am compelled to own that he
+is handsome. If I had the right to cavil, I could criticise only his
+mouth, which it seems to me has slyness with a certain cruel firmness;
+but I did not notice this until I knew him better, and perhaps it is
+only my imagination, born of later knowledge. I am not so blinded by my
+jealousy as to deny his perfect manner, for one feels the polished
+surface, touch the outside where one will.
+
+Your demeanor towards him was friendly, yet with all its graciousness it
+seemed to me to have a quality not so much of aloofness as of limit;
+conveying in an indefinable way the fact that such relations as then
+existed between you were the only possible ones. It was a shading so
+imperceptible that I do not think the Blodgetts realized it, and I
+should have questioned if Mr. Whitely himself were conscious of it, but
+for one or two things he said in the course of the evening, which had to
+me, under the veil of a general topic, individual suggestion.
+
+We were discussing that well-worn question of woman's education, Mrs.
+Blodgett having introduced the apple of discord by a sweeping
+disapproval of college education for women, on the ground that it
+prevented their marrying.
+
+"They get to know too much, eh?" laughed Mr. Blodgett.
+
+"No," cried Mrs. Blodgett, "they get to know too little! While they
+ought to be out in the world studying life and men, so as to choose
+wisely, they're shut up in dormitories filling their brains with Greek
+and mathematics."
+
+"You would limit a woman's arithmetic to the solution of how to make
+one and one, one?" I asked, smiling.
+
+"Surely, Mrs. Blodgett, you do not mean that an uncultivated woman makes
+the best wife?" inquired Mr. Whitely.
+
+"I mean," rejoined Mrs. Blodgett, "that women who know much of books
+know little of men. That's why over-intellectual women always marry
+fools."
+
+"How many intellectual wives there must be!" you said.
+
+"I shouldn't mind if they only married fools," continued Mrs. Blodgett,
+"but half the time they don't marry at all."
+
+"Does that prove or disprove their intellect?" you asked.
+
+"It means," replied Mrs. Blodgett, "that they are so puffed up with
+their imaginary knowledge that they think no man good enough for them."
+
+"I've known one or two college boys graduate with the same large ideas,"
+remarked Mr. Blodgett.
+
+"But a man gets over it after a few years," urged Mrs. Blodgett, "and
+is none the worse off; but by the time a girl overcomes the idea, she's
+so old that no man worth having will look at her."
+
+"I rather think, Mrs. Blodgett," said Mr. Whitely, in that charmingly
+deferential manner he has with women, "that some men do not try to win
+highly educated women because they are abashed by a sense of their own
+inferiority."
+
+"Where do those men hide themselves, Whitely?" interrogated Mr.
+Blodgett.
+
+"I'll not question the reason," retorted Mrs. Blodgett. "The fact that
+over-educated girls think themselves above men is all I claim."
+
+"I don't think, Mrs. Blodgett," you corrected, "it is so much a feeling
+of superiority as it is a change in the aims of marriage. Formerly,
+woman married to gain a protector, and man to gain a housewife. Now,
+matrimony is sought far less for service, and far more for
+companionship."
+
+"But, Miss Walton," questioned Mr. Whitely, "does not the woman ask too
+much nowadays? She has the leisure to read and study, but a business man
+cannot spare the time. Is it fair, then, to expect that he shall be as
+cultivated as she can make herself?"
+
+"That is, I think, the real cause for complaint," you answered. "The
+business man is so absorbed in money-making that he sacrifices his whole
+time to it. I can understand a woman falling in love with a lance or a
+sword, dull companions though they must have been, but it seems to me
+impossible for any woman to love a minting-machine, even though she
+might be driven to marry it for its product."
+
+"That's rough on us, Whitely," laughed Mr. Blodgett good-naturedly; but
+Mr. Whitely reddened, and you, as if to divert the subject from this
+personal tendency, turned and surmised to me:--
+
+"I suppose that as a German, Dr. Hartzmann, you think a woman should be
+nothing more than a housekeeper?"
+
+"Why not suggest, Miss Walton," I replied, smiling, "that as an
+Orientalist I must think the seraglio woman's proper sphere?"
+
+"But, Miss Walton," persisted Mr. Whitely, not accepting your diversion,
+"a man, to be successful nowadays, must give all his attention to his
+business.
+
+"I presume that is so," you acceded; "but could he not be content with a
+little less success in money-making, and strive to acquire a few more
+amenities?"
+
+"Maizie wants us all to be painters and poets and musicians," asserted
+Mr. Blodgett.
+
+"Not at all," you denied.
+
+"Oh, Maizie!" cried Agnes. "You know you said the other day that you
+hoped I wouldn't marry a business man."
+
+"I said '_only_ a business man,' Agnes," you replied, without a trace
+of the embarrassment so many women would have shown. "Because men cannot
+all be clergymen is no reason for their knowing nothing of religion.
+There would be no painters, poets, or musicians if there were no
+dilettanti."
+
+"Yet I think," argued Mr. Whitely, still as if he were trying to
+convince you of something, "that the successful business man has as much
+brain as most writers or artists."
+
+"I have no doubt that is true," you assented. "So, too, a day laborer
+may have a good mind. But of what avail is a brain if it has never been
+trained, or has been trained to know only one thing?"
+
+"But authors and painters are only specialists," urged Mr. Whitely.
+
+"They are specialists of a very different type," you responded, "from
+the man whose daily thoughts are engrossed with the prices of pig-iron
+or cotton sheetings. I think one reason why American girls frequently
+marry Europeans is that the foreign man is so apt to be more broadly
+cultivated."
+
+"That's what I mean by saying that books unfit women to marry wisely,"
+interjected Mrs. Blodgett. "They marry foreigners because they are more
+cultivated, without a thought of character."
+
+"Indeed, Mrs. Blodgett," you observed, "has not the day gone by for
+thinking dullness a sign of honesty? And certainly a business career is
+far more likely to corrupt and harden men's natures than the higher
+professions, for its temptations and strifes are so much greater."
+
+Your opinion was so in accord with what my father had often preached
+that I could not but wonder if his teachings still colored your
+thoughts. To test this idea as well as to learn your present view, I
+recurred to another theory of his by saying, "Does not the broader and
+more sensitive nature of the scholar or artist involve defects fully as
+serious as the hardness and narrowness of the business man? Some one has
+said that 'to marry a literary man is to domesticate a bundle of
+nerves.'"
+
+"A nervous irritability," you replied, "which came from fine mental
+exertion, would be as nothing compared to my own fretting over enforced
+companionship with an unsympathetic or sordid nature." Then you laughed,
+and added, "I must have a very bad temper, for it is the only one which
+ever really annoys me."
+
+That last speech told me how thoroughly the woman of twenty-three was a
+development of the child of fourteen, for I remembered how little my
+mother's anger used to disturb you, but how deeply and strongly your
+emotions affected you. I suppose it was absurd, but I felt happy to
+think that you had changed so little in character from the time when I
+knew you so well. And from that evening I never for an instant believed
+that you would marry Mr. Whitely, for I was sure that you could never
+love him. How could I dream that you, with beauty, social position, and
+wealth, would make a loveless marriage?
+
+Good-night, my love.
+
+
+
+
+XI
+
+
+_March 2._ The truth of the difference of quality between the business
+man and the scholar was quickly brought home to me. On the last evening
+of my visit, Mr. Blodgett revealed the reason for his latest kindness.
+"I got you here," he explained, "to look you over and see what you were
+fit for, thinking I might work you in somewhere. No," he continued, as
+he saw the questioning hopefulness on my face, "you wouldn't do in
+business. You've got a sight too much conscience and sympathy, and a
+sight too little drive. All business is getting the best of somebody
+else, and you're the kind of chap who'd let a fellow up just because
+you'd got him down." Seeing the sadness in my face, for I knew too well
+he had fathomed me, he added kindly, "Don't get chicken-hearted over
+what I say. It's easy enough to outwit a man; the hard thing is not to
+do it. I'd go out of the trade to-morrow, if it weren't for the boss and
+Agnes, for I get tired of the meanness of the whole thing. But they want
+to cut a figure, and that isn't to be done in this town for nothing.
+I'll find something for you yet that sha'n't make you sell your heart
+and your soul as well as your time."
+
+I was too full of my love and my purpose, however, for this to
+discourage me. The moment my determination to remain in New York was
+taken, I wrote to Jastrow, Humzel, and others of my German friends,
+telling them that for business reasons I had decided to be known as
+Rudolph Hartzmann, and asking if they would stretch friendship so far as
+to give me letters in that name to such American publishers and editors
+as they knew. Excepting Jastrow, they all responded with introductions
+so flattering that I was almost ashamed to present them, and he wrote
+me that he had not offered my books for sale, and begged me to
+reconsider my refusal of the professorship. He even offered, if I would
+accept the appointment, to divide with me his tuition fees, and
+suggested that his own advancing years were a pledge that his position
+would erelong be vacant for me to step into. It almost broke my heart to
+have to write him that I could not accept his generous offer. In July I
+received a second letter from him, most touching in its attempt to keep
+back the grief he felt, but yielding to my determination. He sent me
+many good introductions, and submitted a bid for my library from a
+bookseller; but knowing the books to be worth at least double the offer,
+I held the sale in abeyance.
+
+My first six months in New York disheartened me greatly, though now I
+know that I succeeded far better than I could have expected to do, in
+the dullness of the summer. My work was the proof-reading of my book of
+travel in its varying polyglots, seeing through the press English
+versions of my two text-books, and writing a third in both English and
+German. Furthermore, my letters of introduction had made me known to a
+number of the professors of Columbia College, and by their influence I
+received an appointment to deliver a course of lectures on race
+movements the following winter; so I prepared my notes in this leisure
+time. But this work was far too little to fill my time, and I wrote all
+kinds of editorials, essays, and reviews, fairly wearing out the editors
+of the various magazines and newspapers with my frequent calls and
+articles. Finally I attempted to sell my books to several libraries; but
+though the tomes and the price both tempted several, none had the money
+to spend on such a collection.
+
+My book of travel was published in September, was praised by the
+reviews, and at once sprang into a good sale for a work of that class;
+for Europe is interested in whatever bears on her cancer growth,
+commonly called the Eastern question. Since Europeans approved the book,
+Americans at once bought and discussed it; to prove, I suppose, that as
+a nation we are no longer tainted with provincialism,--as if that very
+subservience to transatlantic opinion were not the best proof that the
+virus still works within us. It was issued anonymously, through the fear
+that if I put my pseudonym on the title-page it might lead to inquiry
+about the author which would reveal his identity with Donald Maitland,
+for whom I only wished oblivion. As a result the question of authorship
+was much mooted, some declaring a well-known Oxford professor to be the
+man, others ascribing the volume to a famous German traveler, and Humzel
+being named by some; but most of the reviews suggested that it was the
+work of an Eastern savant, and I presume that my style was tinged with
+orientalism.
+
+You cannot tell what a delight it was to me to learn, at our first
+meeting in the autumn, that you had read my book. I went in November to
+the Lenox Library to verify a date, and found you there. I could not
+help interrupting your reading for a moment,--I had so longed for a
+glimpse and a word,--and you took my intrusion in good part. I drew a
+book and pretended to read, merely to veil my covert watching of you;
+and when you rose to go, I asked permission to walk with you.
+
+"Your notebook suggests that you are a writer by profession, Dr.
+Hartzmann?" you surmised.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"And you have to come to America for material?"
+
+"I have come to America permanently."
+
+"How unusual!"
+
+"In what respect?"
+
+"For a European writer to come to New York to do more than lecture about
+himself, have his vanity and purse fed, and return home to write a book
+about us that we alone read."
+
+I laughed and said, "You make me very glad that I am the exception to
+the rule."
+
+"I presume more would make the venture if they found the atmosphere less
+uncongenial. New York as a whole is so absorbed in the task of
+trans-shipping the products of the busiest nations of two continents
+that everything is ranked as secondary that does not subserve that end:
+and the Muses starve."
+
+"I suppose New York is not the best of places in which to live by art or
+letters, if compared with London or Paris; yet if a man can do what the
+world wants done, he can earn a livelihood here."
+
+"But he cannot gain the great prizes that alone are worth the winning,
+I fear. I have noticed that American writers only reach American
+audiences, while European authors not merely win attention at home, but
+have vogue and sale here. The London or Paris label is quite as
+effective in New York or Chicago in selling books as in selling
+clothes."
+
+"I suppose cultivated Europe is as heedless of the newer peoples as the
+peoples of the Orient are of those of the Occident. Yet I think that if
+as good work were turned out in this country as in the Old World, the
+place of its production would not seriously militate against its
+success."
+
+"And have you found it so?"
+
+"Nothing I have yet written in this country merits Continental
+attention."
+
+"I hope you have succeeded to your own satisfaction?"
+
+"It may amuse you to know that though I had many good letters of
+introduction to editors in this country, I could not get a single
+article accepted till some friends of mine in Asia came to my aid."
+
+"You speak in riddles."
+
+"Perhaps you remember reading, last August, of an outbreak of some
+tribes in the Hindoo Kush? Those hill peoples are in a state of
+perennial ferment, and usually Europe pays no attention to their
+bellicose proceedings; but luckily for me, the English premier, at that
+particular moment, was holding his unwilling Parliament together in an
+attempt to pass something, and finding it intractable in that matter, he
+cleverly used this outbreak to divert attention and excite enthusiasm.
+Rising in the House of Commons, he virtually charged the outbreak to
+Russian machination against the beloved Emir, and pledged the nation to
+support that civilized humanitarian against the barbaric despot of
+Russia. At once the papers were full of unintelligible cablegrams
+telling of the doings in those far-away mountains; and my hurriedly
+written editorials and articles, which nevertheless showed some
+comprehension of the geography and people, were snapped up avidly, and
+from that time I have found papers or periodicals glad to print what I
+write."
+
+You laughed, and said, "How strangely the world is tied together in
+these days, that the speech of an English prime minister about some
+Asian septs should give a German author entrée to New York editorial
+sanctums!"
+
+"The cables have done more in aid of the brotherhood of man than all the
+efforts of the missionaries."
+
+"I thought you were a conservative, and disapproved of modern
+innovations," you suggested archly.
+
+"With innovators, yes."
+
+"Then the Levantine does not entirely disapprove of our Hesperian city?"
+
+"My knowledge of New York is about as deep," I answered, smiling, "as my
+Eastern blood."
+
+"Only skin-deep," you said.
+
+"Just sufficient for a disguise."
+
+"As long as you are silent, yes."
+
+"Is my English so unmistakable?"
+
+"Not your tongue, but your thought. Of course your vicinage, costume,
+and complexion made me for a moment accept your joke of nationality, at
+that first meeting, but before you had uttered half your defense of the
+older races I felt sure that you were not a product of one of them."
+
+"Why was that?"
+
+"Because it is only Christians who recognize and speak for the rights of
+other peoples."
+
+"You forget that the religion of Buddha is toleration. We Christians
+preach the doctrine, but practice extermination, forgiving our enemies
+after killing them," I corrected. "I do not think we differ much in
+works from even El Mahdi."
+
+"Would El Mahdi ever have spoken for other races?"
+
+"You know the weak spot in my armor, Miss Walton," I was obliged to
+confess.
+
+"That is due to you, Dr. Hartzmann. What you stated that night
+interested me so deeply that I have been reading up about the Eastern
+races and problems. I wonder if you have seen this new book of travel,
+The Debatable Lands between the East and West?"
+
+"Yes," I assented, thinking that twenty over-lookings of it in
+manuscript and proof entitled me to make the claim.
+
+"You will be amused to hear that, when reading it, I thought of you as
+the probable writer, not merely because it begins in the Altai range and
+ends at Tangier, but as well because some of the ideas resemble yours.
+Mr. Whitely, however, tells me he has private information that Professor
+Humzel is the author. Do you know him?"
+
+"He was my professor of history at Leipzig."
+
+"That accounts for the agreement in thought. You admire the book?"
+
+"I think it is a conscientious attempt to describe what the author saw."
+
+"Ah, it is much more than that!" you exclaimed. "At a dinner in London,
+this autumn, I sat next the Earl---- next a member of the Indian
+Council, and he told me he considered it a far more brilliant book than
+Kinglake's Eothen."
+
+I knew I had no right to continue this subject, but I could not help
+asking, "You liked it?"
+
+"Very much. It seems to me a deep and philosophic study of present and
+future problems, besides being a vivid picture of most interesting
+countries and peoples. It made me long to be a nomad myself, and wander
+as the author did. The thought of three years of such life, of such
+freedom, seems to stir in me all the inherited tendency to prowl that we
+women supposedly get from Mother Sphinx."
+
+"Civilization steals nature from us and compounds the theft with art."
+
+"Tell me about Professor Humzel," you went on, "for I know I should like
+him, merely from the way he writes. One always pictures the German
+professor as a dried-up mind in a dried-up body, but in this book one is
+conscious of real flesh and blood. He is a young man, I'm sure."
+
+"Sixty-two."
+
+"He has a young heart, then," you asserted. "Is he as interesting to
+talk with as he makes himself in his book?"
+
+"Professor Humzel is very silent."
+
+"The people who have something to say are usually so," you sighed.
+
+"A drum must be empty to make a noise," I said, smiling, "and perhaps
+the converse is true."
+
+I cannot say what there was in that walk which cheered me so, except
+your praise of my book,--sweeter far though that was than the world's
+kindly opinion; yet over and above that, in our brief interchange of
+words, I was made conscious that there was sympathy between us,--a
+sympathy so positive that something like our old-time friendship seemed
+beginning. And the thought made me so happy that for a time my troubles
+were almost forgotten.
+
+Good-night, Maizie.
+
+
+
+
+XII
+
+
+_March 3._ Fate seemed determined that our lives should be closely
+connected. In December Mr. Blodgett wrote asking me to call at his
+office, and he was already smiling when his boy passed me through the
+door at which so many had to tarry.
+
+"There are a good many kinds of fools," was his welcoming remark, "but
+one of the commonest is the brand who think because they can do one
+thing well, they ought to be able to do the exact opposite. I've known
+men who could grow rich out of brewing beer, who kept themselves poor
+through thinking they knew all about horses; I've known women who
+queened it in parlors, who went to smash because they believed
+themselves inspired actresses; I've sat here in this office thirty
+years, and grown rich through the belief of clergymen, doctors,
+merchants, farmers,--the whole box and dice,--that they were heaven-born
+financiers, and could play us Wall Street men even at our own game.
+Whatever else you do in this world, doctor, don't think that because you
+can talk a dozen languages, they fit you to be a successful mute."
+
+"When you are in this mood, Mr. Blodgett, I can be nothing else," I
+interpolated, as he paused a moment for breath.
+
+"Alexander Whitely," he went on, smiling, "probably knows more about
+petroleum and kerosene than any other man in the world, and he's made
+himself rich by his knowledge. But it doesn't satisfy him to be on the
+top of his own heap; he wants to get on the top of some other fellow's.
+In short, he has an itch to be something he isn't, and the darned fool's
+gone and bought a daily newspaper with the idea that he is going to be
+a great editor!"
+
+"His lamp of genius will not go out for want of oil," I remarked.
+
+"For a moment he showed one glimmer of sense: he came to me for advice,"
+said Mr. Blodgett in evident enjoyment. "I told him to get an A 1
+business manager, to make you chief editor, let you pick your staff, and
+then blow in all the money you and the business end asked for, and never
+go inside the building himself. It was too good sense for him, for he's
+daft with the idea of showing the world how to edit a paper. But my
+advice simmered down to this: if you want to be his private secretary,
+at four thousand a year, and pretend to revise his editorials, but
+really write them for him, I guess you can have the position. Of course
+he is to think he writes the rubbish."
+
+"A Voltaire in miniature," I laughed.
+
+"A what?"
+
+"The great Frederic thought himself a poet, and induced Voltaire to come
+and be his literary counselor. The latter showed a bundle of manuscripts
+to some one and sneered, 'See all this dirty linen of the king's he has
+sent me to wash.'"
+
+"That was one for his nibs," chuckled Mr. Blodgett appreciatively. "But
+you mustn't make such speeches as that of Whitely."
+
+"In spite of my many tongues, I can be mute."
+
+"Do you think I haven't seen that? And I've seen something more, which
+is that you always give a dollar's worth of work for seventy-five cents
+of wages. Now, Whitely's a hard man, and if you made the terms with him
+he'd be sure to get the better of you. So I've arranged to have him meet
+you here, and I'm going to see fair play. I've told him you won't do it
+for less than four thousand, and he'll not get you a cent cheaper. The
+work will be very light."
+
+"The work is easy," I assented, "but is it honest?"
+
+"Seems to me we had better leave that to Whitely to settle."
+
+"And is Mr. Whitely an honest man?"
+
+Mr. Blodgett smiled as he looked at me, and observed, "Whitely wouldn't
+steal a red-hot stove unless it had handles! But he probably thinks this
+all right. Few people know how much successful men use other men's
+brains. Here's a report on a Southern railroad by an expert in my
+employ. I've never even been over the road, yet I'll sign my name to the
+report as if it was my work. Now, in oil Whitely hires all kinds of men
+to do different things for him, and he gets whatever credit follows; and
+I suppose he thinks that if he pays you to write editorials, they are as
+much his as any other thing he buys."
+
+"He must be conscious of a distinction."
+
+"That's his lookout, if he is. Don't start in to keep other people's
+consciences in order, doctor, for it's the hardest-worked and
+poorest-paid trade in the world."
+
+When Mr. Whitely arrived, Mr. Blodgett was as good as his word, taking
+the matter practically out of my hands, and letting me sit a passive and
+amused spectator of the contest between the two shrewd men, who dropped
+all thought of personal friendship while they discussed the matter. Mr.
+Blodgett won, and made the further stipulation that since Mr. Whitely
+intended to be at the office only in the afternoon, I might be equally
+privileged as to my hours of attendance. His forethought and kindness
+did more, for his last speech to Mr. Whitely was, "Then it's understood
+that the doctor writes your letters and revises your editorials, but
+nothing else." And as soon as we were alone he intimated, "Remember
+that, or before you know it he'll be screwing you to death. Don't you
+write anything extra for him unless there's extra pay. Now, don't waste
+my time by thanks in business hours, but come in to-night to dinner, so
+as to let the boss and Agnes congratulate you."
+
+My employment began the first of the year, at which time the paper came
+into the hands of its new proprietor; and it amuses me to recall him as
+he sat at his desk that first day, thrumming it nervously, and trying to
+dictate an editorial on The Outlook for the New Year. A more hopeless
+bit of composition I have seldom read, and four times it was rewritten
+as I built it into shape.
+
+The man has no more sense of form than he has of English. Even worse, he
+is almost without ideas. It has become his invariable custom to remark
+to me suavely, as he takes his seat at his desk about two o'clock, "Dr.
+Hartzmann, possibly you can suggest a good subject for me to write about
+to-day?" And when I propose one, he continues: "That is satisfactory.
+Jot down what you think I had better say, while I run over my mail." An
+hour later I lay the typewritten sheets before him, and, after reading
+them with the most evident pleasure, he puts his initials at the top and
+sends the editorial out to the managing editor; to have a second
+pleasure when, after two hours, the galley slips of proof come back to
+him.
+
+Fortunately for me, he cares no more for politics than I do, and thus
+saves me from the necessity of studying and mastering that shifting
+quicksand against which beat the tides of men, ebbing as private greed
+obtains the mastery, and flowing in those curious revulsions of
+selfishly altruistic public spirit called patriotism. Except for this
+subject his taste is catholic, and his foible is to pose as omniscient.
+"I wish new subjects,--something, if possible, that intellectual people
+do not know about,"--is his constant command; and nothing delights him
+more than an editorial on a subject of which he has never heard.
+Speaking only his mother tongue, he has an inordinate desire for foreign
+words, and will observe, "A quotation in another language gives an
+editorial page an air of culture which I desire my paper to have." Our
+composing-room, I imagine, is the only one in New York which has Greek
+type, and if I gave him the smallest encouragement he would buy fonts of
+Sanskrit and Hebrew characters. He always makes me teach him how to
+pronounce the sentences, catching them with a wonderful parrot-like
+facility. Usually he carries clippings of the last half dozen editorials
+with him, and his delight is to make an opportunity to read one aloud,
+prefaced by the announcement that he is the writer. Sometimes, indeed,
+he cannot contain his pleasure over the articles till their appearance
+in type, and I repeatedly hear him request a visitor, "If you have ten
+minutes to spare, let me read you this editorial I have just written
+for to-morrow's issue."
+
+At first, in spite of Mr. Blodgett's explanation, I thought this real
+dishonesty, and despised not merely him, but myself as well for aiding
+in such trickery. As I grow to know him better, however, I find he is
+not cozening the public so much as imposing on himself. The man has a
+fervent and untrained imagination, which has never, in the
+practicalities of oil, had a safety-valve. As a result, it has rioted in
+dreams of which he is the hero, until it has brought him to the point of
+thinking his wildest fancies quite possible realities. His self-faith is
+so great that his imagination sets no limit to his powers, and thus he
+can believe everything of himself. I have heard him tell what he would
+do under given circumstances, and, with my knowledge of him, I know he
+is conceiving himself to be actually doing what he describes. Thus, in a
+smaller sense, he really imagines that he writes the editorials, and he
+even reads them to Mr. Blodgett, apparently unconscious that there can
+be the slightest question of authorship in the latter's mind.
+
+With this singular weakness the man is yet a strong one. His capacity to
+judge and manage men or facts is truly marvelous. He rules his paper as
+he rules everything, with the firmest hand, and not a man in his employ
+but knows who is master. Within a year he turned the journal into a
+great earner of money, and in the business office they have to confess
+that it is all his work, ignorant though he is to this day of the
+details. He knows by instinct where money should be spent, and where it
+should be scrimped. Yet with all this business shrewdness he cares not
+half so much that his investment is paying him twenty per cent as that
+people are talking about his ability as an editor, and my only influence
+over him even now is the praise my editorials have won him.
+
+Perhaps the most singular quality of his nature is his heedlessness of
+individual opinion, and his dread of it in mass. He is so absolutely
+self-centred--every thought directed inward--that he never tries to make
+the individual like him, yet he craves intensely the world's esteem. He
+longs for notoriety, and even stoops to an almost daily mention of
+himself in his paper, taking endless pains to get his name into other
+journals as well. Even his philanthropy, for which the world admires
+him, is used for this purpose. Ridiculous as it may seem, the most
+grating task I have to do is the writing of the fulsome press dispatches
+which he invariably sends out whenever he makes one of his gifts. He
+writes, too, to his fellow editors, asking them to comment on the
+largess; and since he makes it a point to cultivate the pleasantest
+relations with his confrères, they give him good measure, though with
+many a smile and wink among themselves when they get together. "Mr.
+White-Lie" is his sobriquet in the fraternity.
+
+How curiously diverse the same man is to different people! To the world
+Mr. Whitely is a man of great business ability, of wide knowledge, of
+great benevolence, and of fine manners. I do not wonder, Maizie, that he
+imposes on you; for though you have discernment, yet you are not of a
+suspicious nature, and his acting is so wonderful and his manner so
+frank, through his own unconsciousness of his self-deceit, that not a
+dozen people dream the man is other than he seems. You might, perhaps,
+in spite of his taciturnity, have discovered his charlatan pretense of
+learning if you had been born inquisitive, but you take his writings for
+the measure of his intellect, and have no more reason to suspect that
+his skillful reservations are the refuge of a sciolist than that my
+silence covers such little erudition as I have.
+
+Why I can do naught else but sit here and write of the past I do not
+understand. Until a month ago I was working every evening till far into
+the night, but now, try as I may, I can no longer force myself to my
+task. I should think it was physical exhaustion, were it not that I can
+chronicle this stale record of what I know so well. I suppose it is
+mental discouragement at my slight progress in reducing that crushing
+debt, and, even more, my sadness at the thought of you as his wife.
+
+Good-night, my darling. May happiness be yours.
+
+
+
+
+XIII
+
+
+_March 4._ My impressions of that first winter in New York are curiously
+dim except for the extreme loneliness of my life, which, after the close
+companionship with my father for so many years, seemed at times almost
+unbearable. Indeed, I doubt if I could have borne the long hours of
+solitude and toil but for my occasional glimpses of you. I should think
+myself fatuous in claiming that you influence me physically,--that I am
+conscious of a material glow, ecstasy, thrill, call it what you please,
+when with you,--if I had not once heard Agnes declare that she always
+felt, when you were in the room, as if she had been drinking champagne;
+showing that I am not the only one you can thus affect.
+
+My pleasantest recollection is of our long talk in my employer's study;
+and strangely enough, it was my books which gained it for me. Mr.
+Whitely, when I first came into his service, had just endowed a free
+library in one of the Western cities where some of his oil interests
+centred, and I hinted to him the purchase of my books as a further gift
+to his hobby. The suggestion did not meet with his approval,--I fear
+because there was not the self-advertising in it that there is in a
+money gift,--but after a week he told me that he might buy the
+collection to furnish his editorial study. "I plan," he said, "to make
+my office attractive, and then have informal literary receptions once a
+week. I shall therefore require some books, and as your library should
+be marked by breadth and depth of learning, I presume it will serve my
+purpose."
+
+"There are quite a number of Eastern manuscripts of value," I told him,
+"and few of the books are in languages that can be read by the average
+New Yorker."
+
+"That gives the suggestion of scholarship which I wish," he
+acknowledged.
+
+We easily came to terms under these circumstances, and I cannot tell you
+how happy I was to find myself once more surrounded by my books. As soon
+as they were in place and the study was handsomely furnished, my
+employer issued cards; and though he had nothing in common with the
+literary and artistic set, the mere fact that he controlled the columns
+of a great paper brought them all flocking to his afternoons. It is a
+case of mutual cultivation, and I am sick of being told to write puffs
+of books and pictures. Even foreigners do not seem above this
+log-rolling, and toady to the editor of the influential journal. And yet
+we think Johnson mean-spirited for standing at Chesterfield's door! It
+humiliates me to see writers and artists stooping so low merely to get
+notices that are worthless in a critical sense, and doubly am I
+degraded that mine is the pen that aids in this contemptible chicane.
+
+You, Mrs. Blodgett, and Agnes came to one of these afternoons, and made
+me happy, not alone by your presence, but by an insinuated reproof,
+which meant, I thought, that you had become enough interested in me to
+care what I did. You expressed surprise at my being there, and so I
+explained to you that I had become Mr. Whitely's secretary.
+
+"And is your work congenial?" you asked.
+
+I shrugged my shoulders, and quoted, "Civilized man cannot live without
+dining."
+
+"But you told me you were making a living. Is not a crust with
+independence and a chance to make a name better than such work?"
+
+"If one is free, yes. But if one must earn money?"
+
+"I had somehow fixed it in my mind that you were _en garçon_. One's
+fancies are sometimes very ridiculous. Who invented the mot that a
+woman's intuitions were what she had when she was wrong?"
+
+"Some man, of course," I laughed. "And you were right in supposing me a
+bachelor."
+
+"How little people really know about one another," you observed, "and
+yet we talk of the realism of life! I believe it is only in fiction that
+we get it."
+
+"Napoleon said, 'Take away history and give me a novel: I wish the
+truth!' Certainly, our present romance writers attempt it."
+
+"Only to prove that truth is not art."
+
+"How so?"
+
+"To photograph life in literature is no more art than a reproduction of
+our street sounds would be music."
+
+"Painting and sculpture are copying."
+
+"And the closer the copy, the less the art."
+
+"Then you would define art as"--
+
+"The vivifying of work with the personality of the workman."
+
+"That is not very far from Saadi's thought that art is never produced
+without love."
+
+"I have to confess that you mention an author of whom I had never even
+heard till I read The Debatable Lands. The extracts printed there made
+me think he must be one of the great philosopher poets of the world. Yet
+there is no copy of his works at the Lenox."
+
+"There are copies of all his writings here."
+
+"I think I shall disobey Polonius by trying to be a borrower," you
+announced, and turning to Mr. Whitely, you asked, "Do you ever loan your
+books?"
+
+"To lend to you would be a pleasure, and give added value to the
+volume," assented Mr. Whitely, joining us. "Take anything you wish."
+
+"Thank you so much. Will you let me see what you have of Saadi, so that
+I may take my choice?"
+
+"You were speaking of"--hemmed Mr. Whitely.
+
+"Saadi."
+
+"Ah, yes. Dr. Hartzmann knows where it is."
+
+When I had led the way to the proper shelf, you selected the Gulistan,
+opened it, and then laughed. "You have the best protection against
+borrowers. I envy both of you the ability to read him in the original,
+but it is beyond me."
+
+"As you read Latin, you can read Gentius' translation of the Bostan," I
+suggested, taking the book down.
+
+"How do you know that I can read Latin?" you asked.
+
+I faltered for a moment, too much taken aback to think what to reply,
+and fortunately Mr. Whitely interposed quickly, "Miss Walton's
+reputation for learning is so well recognized that knowledge of Latin is
+taken for granted."
+
+Taking advantage of the compliment, I surmised, "Perhaps you will care
+less to read the poet if I quote a stanza of his:--
+
+    'Seek truth from life, and not from books, O fool!
+    Look at the sky to find the stars, not in the pool.'"
+
+"You only make me the more eager," you said, running over the pages.
+
+"The book is worth reading," vouched Mr. Whitely.
+
+"How good that is!" you appealed to him, laying your finger on lines to
+the effect that a dozen poor men will sleep in peace on a straw heap,
+while the greatest empire is too narrow for two kings.
+
+"Very," answered my employer, after looking at the text with a critical
+air. If you could only have enjoyed the joke with me!
+
+Suddenly, as I watched you, you became pale, and glancing down to learn
+the cause, I saw a manuscript note in my father's handwriting on the
+margin of the page. "Mr. Whitely," you asked huskily, "how did you get
+this book?"
+
+Had you looked at me you would have seen one paler than yourself, as I
+stood there expecting the axe to fall. Oh! the relief when Mr. Whitely
+replied, "I bought it in Germany."
+
+You closed the volume, remarking, "I do not think I will ask the loan,
+after all. He seems an author one ought to own."
+
+"I hoped you would add an association to the book," urged Mr. Whitely.
+
+"Thank you," you parried gravely, "but so old a volume can hardly be
+lacking in association. I think we must be going."
+
+I took you down to the carriage, and Mrs. Blodgett kindly offered me the
+fourth seat. You were absolutely silent in the drive up-town, and I was
+scarcely less so as I tried to read your thoughts. What feelings had
+that scrap of writing stirred in you?
+
+I have often since then recalled our parting words that afternoon, and
+wondered if I allowed a mere scruple--a cobweb that a stronger man would
+have brushed aside without a second thought--to wreck my life. If I had
+taken what you offered? Perhaps the time might have come when I could
+have told you of my trick, and you would have forgiven it. Perhaps--
+
+You said to me graciously, when we separated at your door, "I shall be
+very happy, Dr. Hartzmann, if you will come to see me."
+
+I flushed with pleasure, for I felt it was not a privilege you gave to
+many. But even as I hesitated for words with which to express my
+gratitude, I realized that I had no moral right to gain your hospitality
+by means of my false name; and when I spoke it was to respond, "I thank
+you for the favor most deeply, Miss Walton, but I am too busy a man for
+social calls."
+
+Oh, my darling, if you had known what those few words cost me, and the
+struggle it was to keep my voice steady as I spoke them! For I knew you
+could only take them to mean that I declined your friendship. Hide my
+shame as I might try to do, I could not escape its pains. God keep you
+from such suffering, Maizie, and good-night.
+
+
+
+
+XIV
+
+
+_March 5._ Though I committed the rudeness of refusing to call, you
+never in our subsequent intercourse varied your manner by the slightest
+shade, treating me always with a courtesy I ill deserved. After such a
+rebuff, it is true, you were too self-respecting to offer me again any
+favor tending to a better acquaintance, but otherwise you bore yourself
+towards me as you did towards the thousand other men whom you were
+obliged to meet.
+
+Your life as a social favorite, and mine as a literary hack, gave little
+opportunity for our seeing each other, yet we met far more frequently
+than would have seemed possible. Occasionally I found you at the
+Blodgetts', though not as often as our informal footing in that
+household had led me to hope; for you were in such social demand that
+your morning hours were the time you usually took to run in upon them.
+But now and then we lunched or dined there, and Mrs. Blodgett little
+dreamed how willingly I obeyed her positive command that I was to come
+to every one of her afternoons when Agnes told me that you were to
+receive or pour tea. Little I had of your attention, for you were a
+magnet to many, but I could stand near you and could watch and listen,
+and that was happiness.
+
+A cause of meeting more discordant to me was furnished by my employer. I
+wrote for him an editorial on the folk-leid basis of the Wagner trilogy,
+which I suppose he sent or read to you; for it resulted in a box-party
+to attend the series, and I was asked to be one of the guests. "Nothing
+like having your books of reference under your arm," was Mr. Whitely's
+way of telling me for what purpose I was wanted; and I presume that
+was, in truth, the light in which he viewed me. Though I scorned such
+service, the mere fact that you were to be there was enough to make me
+accept. How low love can bring a man if his spirit is once mastered by
+it!
+
+I would have sunk far deeper, I believe, to obtain what I earned, for
+there were delightful moments of mutually absorbing discussions, only
+too quickly interrupted by Mr. Whitely or others of the party breaking
+in on our conversation. What was equal happiness to me was the
+association of you in my mind with the noblest of music. I can never
+hear certain movements of those operas without your image coming before
+me as clearly as if I saw your reflection in a mirror. And from that
+time one of my keenest pleasures has been to beg tickets from the
+musical critic of our staff, whenever one of the trilogy is to be given,
+and sit through the opera dreaming of those hours. I could write here
+every word you uttered, but what especially impressed itself upon my
+memory was something called out by the fate of Brunhilde. As we stood in
+the lobby waiting for the carriages, at the end of Die Walküre, you
+withdrew a little, as if still feeling the beauty and tragedy of the
+last act too deeply to take part in the chit-chat with which the rest of
+the party beguiled the time. I stood near you, but, respecting your
+mood, was silent too, until you finally broke the pause by saying, "I do
+not know whether it is Wagner's music or because Brunhilde appeals to
+me, but I always feel that I have suffered as she does. It almost makes
+me believe in the theory of metempsychosis."
+
+"Is it so much consciousness of a past, Miss Walton," I suggested, "as
+prescience of the future? Woman's story is so unvaryingly that of
+self-sacrifice for love that I should suppose Brunhilde's fate would
+appeal to the sex as a prophecy rather than as a memory."
+
+"Her punishment could have been far worse."
+
+"Left a defenseless prey to the first comer?"
+
+"But surrounded by fire, so that the first comer must be a brave man."
+
+"Do you value courage so highly?"
+
+"Yes. The truly brave, I think, cannot be mean, and without meanness
+there must be honor. I almost envy Brunhilde her walls of fire, which
+put to absolute proof any man who sought her. The most successful of
+men; the most intellectually brilliant, may be--By what can we to-day
+test courage and honor?"
+
+"There is as much as ever, Miss Walton. Is it no gain that courage has
+become moral rather than physical?"
+
+"Is it no loss that of all the men I know, there is not one of whom I
+can say with certainty, 'He is a brave man'?"
+
+Our numbers were called at this point, and the conversation was never
+continued. Every word you had said recalled to me my former friend, and
+I understood your repugnance for anything cowardly.
+
+At the last of these operas, by another perverse joke of Dame Fortune,
+who seems to have so many laughs at my expense, I was introduced to the
+chaperon, "Mrs. Polhemus." Looking up, I found myself facing my mother.
+I cannot tell you how strangely I felt in making my bow. She was as
+handsome as ever, it appeared to me, and the smooth rich olive
+complexion seemed to have given her an undying youth. For a moment I
+feared recognition, but the difference was too great between the pallid
+stooping boy of fifteen she had last seen in Paris and the straight
+bronzed man of twenty-seven. As of old she was magnificently dressed and
+fairly glittered with diamonds, which curiously enough instantly brought
+to my mind the face of my father as I kissed him last. Was it the
+strong connection of contrast, or was it a quirk of my brain?
+
+This chance meeting had a sequel that pains me to this day. Dining the
+next evening at the Blodgetts' with you and your uncle, the latter spoke
+of my mother's diamonds. Mrs. Blodgett said, with a laugh, "One would
+think, after her rich marriage, that she might pay up the money her
+first husband stole from Maizie."
+
+"She could have done that years ago if she had cared to," sneered Mr.
+Walton.
+
+Your eyes were lowered, and you still kept them so as you replied, "I
+would not accept the money from Mrs. Polhemus."
+
+In my suffering I sat rigid and speechless, wincing inwardly at each
+blow of the lash, when Mr. Blodgett, with a kindness I can never reward
+or even acknowledge, observed, "I believe it was his wife's extravagance
+which made William Maitland a bankrupt and an embezzler. Till his
+marriage with her he was a man of simple habits and of unquestioned
+business honesty, but he was caught by her looks, just as Polhemus has
+been. In those first years he could deny her nothing, and when the
+disillusionment came he was too deep in to prevent the wreck."
+
+"You've been revising your views a bit," retorted Mr. Walton. "I never
+expected to hear you justify any of that family."
+
+"Perhaps I have reason to," replied Mr. Blodgett.
+
+"I don't believe any of those Maitlands have the least honesty!"
+exclaimed Agnes. "How I hate them!"
+
+"It is not a subject of which I like to speak," you stated in an
+evidently controlled voice, still with lowered eyes, "but it is only
+right to say that some one--I suppose the son--is beginning to pay back
+the debt."
+
+"Pay back the money, Maizie!" ejaculated Mr. Walton. "Why haven't you
+told me of it?"
+
+"It did not seem necessary," you answered.
+
+"I'm sure it's a trick," asserted Agnes. "He's probably trying to worm
+his way back to your friendship, to get something more out of you."
+
+"How much"--began Mr. Walton; but you interrupted him there by saying,
+"I would rather not talk about it."
+
+The subject was changed at once, but when we were smoking, Mr. Walton
+asked, "Blodgett, do you know anything about that Maitland affair?"
+
+"A little," replied the host.
+
+"The debt really is being paid?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"And you don't know by whom?"
+
+"So Maizie tells me."
+
+"Has she made no attempt to find out?"
+
+"When the first payment was made she came to me for advice."
+
+"Well?" asked Mr. Walton eagerly.
+
+"She got it," declared Mr. Blodgett.
+
+"What did she do?" persisted Mr. Walton.
+
+Mr. Blodgett was silent for a moment, and then responded, "The exact
+opposite of what I advised. Do you know, Walton, you and I remind me of
+the warm-hearted elephant who tried to hatch the ostrich eggs by sitting
+on them."
+
+"In what respect?"
+
+"We decided that we must break up Maizie's love of the Maitlands for her
+own good."
+
+"Well?"
+
+"Well, we made the whole thing so mean to her that finally we did break
+something. Then, manlike, we were satisfied. What was it we broke?"
+
+"Nonsense!" growled Mr. Walton, sipping his wine.
+
+Mr. Blodgett laughed slightly. "That's rather a good name for it," he
+assented; "but the trouble is, Walton, that nonsense is a very big part
+of every woman's life. You'll never get me to fool with it again."
+
+I often ponder over those three brief remarks of yours, and of what you
+said to me last autumn, in our ride and in the upper hall of My Fancy,
+trying to learn, if possible, what your feeling is towards us. Can you,
+despite all that has intervened, still feel any tenderness and love for
+my father and me? Perhaps it was best that you were silent; if you had
+spoken of him with contempt, I think--I know you would not, my darling,
+for you loved him once, and that, to you, would be reason enough to be
+merciful to the dead, however sinning.
+
+Dear love, good-night.
+
+
+
+
+XV
+
+
+_March 6._ You once said to me that you could conceive of no
+circumstances that would justify dishonesty; for, no matter what the
+seeming benefits might be, the indirect consequences and the effect on
+the misdoer's character more than neutralized them. The wrong I have
+done has only proved your view, and I have come to scorn myself for the
+dishonorable part I have played. Yet I think that you would pity more
+than blame me, if you could but know my sacrifices. I drifted into the
+fraud unconsciously, and cannot now decide at what point the actual
+stifling of my conscience began. I suppose the first misstep was when I
+entered Mr. Whitely's employment; yet though I knew it to be
+unscrupulous in him to impose my editorials as his own, it still seemed
+to me no distinct transgression in me to write them for him. With that
+first act those that followed became possible, and each involved so
+slight an increase in the moral lapse, and my debt to you was so potent
+an excuse to blind me, that at the time I truly thought I was doing
+right. I wonder what you would have done had you been in my position?
+
+Mr. Blodgett's shrewdness in stipulating what work I was to do for Mr.
+Whitely quickly proved itself. One of the magazines asked my employer to
+contribute an article on The Future of Journalism. Handing me the
+letter, he said, "Dr. Hartzmann, kindly write a couple of thousand words
+on that subject."
+
+"That surely is not part of my duty, Mr. Whitely," I had the courage to
+respond.
+
+He looked at me quickly, and his mouth stiffened into a straight line.
+"Does that mean that you do not choose to do it?" he asked suavely.
+
+My heart failed me at the thought that if I lost my position I might
+never get so good a one, and should drag my debt through life. For once
+thought of you made me cowardly. I answered, "I will write it, Mr.
+Whitely;" and he said, "I thank you," as if I had done him a favor.
+
+I told Mr. Blodgett of the incident, that evening, with a wry face and a
+laugh over my bravery, and he was furious at me.
+
+"Why, you--you"--he stuttered. "Haven't you learned yet that the man
+wouldn't part with you for anything? He's so stuck up over his
+editorials and what people say of them that he'd as soon think of
+discharging his own mother before she weaned him."
+
+Not content with venting his anger on me, he came into the office the
+next day and told Mr. Whitely I should not be imposed on, and finally
+forced him to agree that I should receive whatever the review paid for
+the article.
+
+After this I wrote several magazine articles for Mr. Whitely, and soon
+another development of our curious relations occurred. One afternoon he
+informed me, "The Library trustees request me to deliver an address at
+the dedication of the building. I shall be grateful for any suggestions
+you can make of a proper subject."
+
+"Books?" I replied, with an absolutely grave face.
+
+"That is eminently suitable," he responded. "Possibly you can spare the
+time to compose such a paper; and as it should be of a scholarly
+character some Greek and Latin seem to me advisable."
+
+"How much?" I asked, inwardly amused to note if he would understand my
+question, or would suppose it referred to the quantity of dead languages
+I was to inject.
+
+"What is the labor worth?" he inquired, setting my doubt at rest, and
+proving his business ability to recognize the most distant allusion to a
+dollar. When I named a price, he continued: "That is excessive. The
+profession of authorship is so little recompensed that there are many
+good writers in New York who would gladly do it for less."
+
+"I can do it cheaper, if, like them, I crib it from books at the Astor,"
+I asserted.
+
+"I do not see why an address composed in the Astor Library should not be
+entirely satisfactory?" he questioned, in his smooth, self-controlled
+manner.
+
+"Did you never hear of the man who left the theatre in the middle of
+Hamlet because, he said, he didn't care to hear a play that was all
+quotations?" I asked, with a touch of irony.
+
+"I presume the story has some connection in your mind with the subject
+in hand, but I am unable to see the appositeness?" he said
+interrogatively and evidently puzzled.
+
+"I merely mentioned it lest you might not know that Pope never lived in
+Grub Street."
+
+He looked at me, still ignorant that I was laughing at him. "You think
+it injudicious to have it done by Mather?" he questioned, naming a
+fellow who did special work for the paper at times.
+
+"Not at all," I replied, "provided you label the address 'hash,' so that
+people who have some discrimination won't suppose you ignorant that it
+is twice-cooked meat you are giving them," and, turning, I went on with
+my work as if the matter were ended.
+
+But the next day he told me, "I have concluded to have you compose that
+oration, Dr. Hartzmann;" and from that moment of petty victory I have
+not feared my employer.
+
+I wrote the address, and it so pleased Mr. Whitely that, not content
+with delivering it, he had it handsomely printed, and sent copies to
+all his friends.
+
+The resulting praise he received clearly whetted his appetite for
+authorship, for not long after he said to me, "Dr. Hartzmann, you told
+me, when you sold me this library, that you were writing a history of
+the Turks. How nearly completed is it?"
+
+"I hope to have it ready for press within three months."
+
+"For some time," he remarked, "I have meditated the writing of a book,
+and possibly yours will serve my purpose."
+
+I was so taken by surprise that for a moment I merely gazed at him,
+since it seemed impossible that even egotism so overwhelming as his
+could be capable of such blindness; but he was in earnest, and I could
+only revert to Mr. Blodgett's idea that a business man comes to think in
+time that anything he can buy is his. I smiled, and answered, "My book
+is not petroleum, Mr. Whitely."
+
+"If it is what I desire, I will amply remunerate you," he offered.
+
+"It is not for sale."
+
+"I presume," he replied, "that you know what disposition of your book
+suits you best. I have, however, noticed in you a strong desire to
+obtain money, and I feel sure that we could arrange terms that will
+bring you more than you would otherwise receive."
+
+Even before Mr. Whitely finished speaking, I realized that I was not a
+free agent. I owed a debt, and till it was paid I had no right to think
+of my own ambition or feelings. I caught my breath in anguish at the
+thought, and then, fearing that my courage would fail me, I spoke
+hastily: "What do you offer me?"
+
+He smiled blandly as he predicted: "It is hardly a work that will have a
+large sale. The Turkish nation has not played an important part in
+history."
+
+"Only conquered the key of the Old World, caused the Crusades, forced
+the discovery of America and of the Cape passage, compelled Europe to
+develop its own civilization instead of adopting that of the East, and
+furnished a question to modern statesmen that they have yet found no
+OEdipus to answer," I retorted.
+
+"Your special pleading does tend to magnify their position," he
+assented. "I shall be happy to look the work over, leaving the terms to
+be decided later."
+
+I am ashamed to confess what a night of suffering I went through,
+battling with the love and pride that had grown into my heart for my
+book. I knew from the first moment his proposition had been suggested
+that he would give me more than I could ever hope to make from the work,
+and therefore my course was only too plain; but I had a terrible
+struggle to force myself to carry my manuscript to him the following
+afternoon.
+
+For the next week he was full of what he was reading; and had the
+circumstances been different, I could have asked no higher compliment
+as regards its popular interest than the enthusiasm of this unlettered
+business man for my book.
+
+"It is quite as diverting as a romance!" he exclaimed. "I can already
+see how astonished people will be when they read of the far-reaching
+influence of that nation."
+
+Since the pound of flesh was to be sold, I took advantage of this mood.
+After much haggling, which irritated and pained me more than it should,
+Mr. Whitely agreed to give me six thousand dollars and the royalties.
+Good as the terms were, my heart nearly broke, the day the manuscript
+left my hands, for I had put so much thought into the book that it had
+almost become part of myself. My father, too, had toiled over it, with
+fondest predictions of the fame it would bring me; spending, as it
+proved, his very life in the endeavor to make it a great work. That his
+love, that the love of my dear professors, and that my own hopes should
+all be brought to market and sold as if they were mere merchandise was
+so mercenary and cruel that at the last moment it was all I could do to
+bring myself to fulfill the bargain. Nothing but my small progress in
+paying my debt would have forced me to sell, and I hope nothing but that
+would have led me to join in such dishonesty. It was, after all, part of
+the price I was paying for the original wrong, and but just retribution
+against which I had no right to cry out. Yet for a month I was so sad
+that I could scarcely go through my day's toil; and though that was a
+year ago, I have never been able to work with the same vim, life seems
+to have so little left in it for me. And idle as the thought is, when I
+think of your praise of the book I cannot help dreaming of what might
+have been if it had been published in my name; if--Ah, well, to talk of
+"ifs" is only to confess that I am beaten, and that I will not do. Nor
+is the fight over. I never hoped nor attempted to gain your love, and
+that he has won you does not mean failure. To pay my debt is all I have
+to do, and though I may feel more ill and disheartened than I do
+to-night, I will pay it, come what may.
+
+Good-night, my darling.
+
+
+
+
+XVI
+
+
+_March 7._ It is little to be proud of, yet I like to think that though
+I have behaved dishonestly, I have not entirely lost my sense of right
+and wrong. Twice at least have I faced temptation and been strong enough
+to resist.
+
+When I carried to Mr. Blodgett the money I received for my book, I was
+so profoundly discouraged that my mood was only too apparent. In his
+kindness he suggested that I buy certain bonds of a railroad his firm
+was then reorganizing,--telling me from his inside knowledge that a
+year's holding would give me a profit of thirty per cent. It was so sore
+a temptation to make money without exertion and practically without risk
+that I assented, and authorized him to buy the securities; but a night's
+reflection made the dishonesty of my act clear to me, and the next
+morning I went to his office and told him I wished to countermand my
+order.
+
+"What's that for?" he inquired.
+
+"I have thought better of the matter, and do not think I have the
+right."
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"If this money were a trust in my hands, it would not be honest to use
+it in speculation, would it?"
+
+"No."
+
+"That is practically what it is, since it was stolen from a trust, and
+is to be returned to it."
+
+He smiled rather grimly. "It's lucky for Wall Street," he said, "that
+you literary fellows don't have the making and enforcing of laws; and
+it's luckier still that you don't have to earn your living down here,
+for the money you'd make wouldn't pay your burial insurance." Yet though
+he laughed cynically, he shook my hand, I thought, more warmly than
+usual when we parted, as if he felt at heart that I had done right.
+
+Much easier to resist was an offer of another kind. Very foolishly, I
+told Mr. Whitely that I had received a letter from the literary editor
+of the leading American review asking if I would write the criticism of
+the History of the Turks.
+
+"That is a singular piece of good fortune," Mr. Whitely said cheerfully,
+"and guarantees me a complimentary notice in a periodical that rarely
+praises."
+
+"That is by no means certain," I answered. "You know as well as I that
+it does not gloze a poor book, nor pass over defects in silence."
+
+"But you can hardly write critically of your own book!" cried Mr.
+Whitely, for once giving me a share in our literary partnership. "For if
+there are defects you ought to have corrected them in proof."
+
+"Of course I do not intend to write the review!" I exclaimed.
+
+"Not write it? Why not?" he questioned in amazement equal to mine.
+
+"Because I am absolutely unfitted to do it."
+
+"Why, you know all about the subject!"
+
+"I mean that no author can for a moment write discriminatingly of his
+own work; and besides, the offer would never have been made if my
+connection with the book were known."
+
+"But they will never know."
+
+"I should."
+
+"You mean to say you do not intend to do it?"
+
+"I shall write to-night declining."
+
+"But I want you to do it."
+
+"And I don't."
+
+"What would they probably pay you for it?"
+
+"What it is worth."
+
+"If you will reconsider your determination, I will double the amount."
+
+"Unfortunately," I laughed bitterly, "there are limits to what even _I_
+will sell."
+
+"I will give you two hundred and fifty dollars if you will write a
+laudatory review of my book," he offered.
+
+"Have you ever dealt in consciences, Mr. Whitely?" I asked.
+
+"Occasionally."
+
+"Did you ever get any as cheap as that?"
+
+"Many."
+
+"I'm afraid you were buying shopworn and second-hand articles," I
+retorted; "or you may have gone to some bargain counter where they make
+a specialty of ninety-eight and forty-nine cent goods."
+
+He never liked this satirical mood into which he sometimes drove me. He
+hesitated an instant, and then bid, "Three hundred."
+
+"This reminds me of Faust," I remarked; but he was too intent on the
+matter in hand to see the point.
+
+"I suppose it's only a question of amount?" he suggested blandly.
+
+"You are quite right, Mr. Whitely. I will write you that review if you
+will pay me my price," I assented.
+
+"I knew it," he asserted exultingly. "But you are mistaken if you think
+I will pay any fancy price."
+
+"Then it's a waste of time to talk any more about it," I answered, and
+resumed my work.
+
+"It isn't worth three hundred, even," he argued, "but you may tell me
+what you will do it for."
+
+"I will write that review for one hundred and twenty-one thousand
+dollars," I replied.
+
+"What!"
+
+"And from that price I will not abate one cent," I added.
+
+Strangely enough, I did not write the notice.
+
+It was amusing to see his eagerness for the criticisms of the book. The
+three American critical journals had notices eminently characteristic of
+them. The first was scholarly, praising moderately, with a touch of
+lemon-juice in the final paragraph that really only heightened its
+earlier commendation, but which made the book's putative author wince;
+the second was discriminating and balanced, with far more that was
+complimentary; while the third was the publisher's puff so regularly
+served up,--a colorless, sugary mush,--which my employer swallowed with
+much delectation. I am ashamed to say that I greatly enjoyed his pain
+over any harsh words. He always took for granted that the criticisms
+were correct, never realizing that as between an author, who has spent
+years on a book, and the average critic, who is at best superficial in
+his knowledge of a subject, the former is the more often right of the
+two. I tried to make this clear to him one day by asking him if he had
+never read Lord Brougham's review of Byron or Baron Jeffrey's review of
+Coleridge, and even brought him the astonishing tirades of those
+world-renowned critics; but it was time wasted. He preferred a
+flattering panegyric in the most obscure of little sheets to a really
+careful notice which praised less inordinately; yet while apparently
+believing all the flattery, he believed all the censoriousness as well,
+even in those cases known to every author where one critic praises what
+another blames.
+
+"A Western paper says you do not know how to write English," he
+complained one day. "You ought to have taken more pains with the book,
+Dr. Hartzmann."
+
+"The Academy and The Athenæum both thought my style had merit," I
+answered, smiling.
+
+"Nevertheless there must be something wrong, or this critic, who in
+other respects praises with remarkable discrimination, would certainly
+not have gone out of his way to mention it," he replied discontentedly.
+
+Fortunately, unfavorable criticism, both in Europe and in America, was
+the exception, and not the rule; the book was generally praised, and
+sprang into an instant sale that encouraged and cheered me. Mr. Whitely
+was immensely gratified at the sudden reputation it achieved for him,
+and even while drinking deep of the mead of fresh authorship told me he
+thought he would publish another book. I knew it was an opportunity to
+make more money, but for some reason I felt unequal to beginning anew on
+what would be a purely mercenary task. I mentioned my plan of a work on
+the Moors, and promised, when I felt able to commence it, I would talk
+with him about terms. That was three months ago, yet every day I seem to
+feel less inclination, and in fact less ability, to undertake the labor.
+For three years I have toiled to the utmost of my strength, and forced
+myself to endure the most rigid economy. It is cowardly, but at times I
+find myself hoping my present want of spirit and energy is the
+forerunner of an illness which will end the hopeless struggle.
+
+Good-night, dear heart.
+
+
+
+
+XVII
+
+
+_March 8._ Each day I determine to spend my evening usefully, but try as
+I may, when the time comes I feel too weary to do good work, and so
+morbidly recur to these memories. I ought to fight the tendency, the
+more that in reverting to the past I seem only to dwell on its sadness,
+thus intensifying my own depression. Let me see if I cannot for one
+night write of the good fortune that has come to me in the last three
+years.
+
+Pleased with the success of my book of travel and text-books, and knowing
+of my wish for work, the American publishers offered me the position of
+assistant editor of their magazine and reader of manuscripts. By hard
+work and late hours the task could be done in my mornings and evenings,
+allowing me to continue in Mr. Whitely's employ; so I eagerly accepted
+the position. I can imagine few worse fates than reading the hopeless
+and impossible trash that comes to every publisher; but this was not my
+lot, for I was to read only the manuscripts that had been winnowed of
+the chaff. Yet this very immunity, as it proved, nearly lost me an
+opportunity of trying to be of service to you.
+
+Returning a bundle of stuff to the manuscript clerk one day, I saw "M.
+Walton, 287 Madison Avenue, New York City," in your handwriting, on the
+cover of a bulky pile of sheets on his desk. Startled, I demanded, "What
+is this?"
+
+"It's a rejected manuscript I was on the point of wrapping to return,"
+the clerk answered.
+
+Opening the cover, I saw, "A Woman's Problem, a Novel, by Aimez Lawton."
+It needed little perception to detect your name in the anagram.
+
+"Mrs. Graham has rejected it?" I asked, and he nodded.
+
+"Give me the file about it, please," I requested; and after a moment's
+search he handed me the envelope, and I glanced over its meagre
+contents: a brief formal note from you, submitting it, and the short
+opinion of the woman reader. "Traces of amateurishness, but a work of
+considerable power and feeling, marred by an inconclusive ending," was
+the epitome of her opinion, coupled with the recommendation not to
+accept.
+
+"Register it on my list, and I'll take it and look it over," I said, and
+went to my little editorial cuddy, feeling actually rich in the
+possession of the manuscript. Indeed, it was all I could do to go
+through my morning quota of proof-reading and "making up" dummy forms
+for the magazine's next issue, I was so eager for your book.
+
+A single reading told me you had put the problem of your life into the
+story. It is true the heroine was different enough in many respects to
+make analogy hardly perceptible, though she too was a tender, noble
+woman. She had never felt the slightest responsive warmth for any of her
+lovers, but she was cramped by the social conventions regarding
+unmarried women, and questioned whether her life would not be more
+potent if she married, even without love. One of her lovers was a man of
+force, brains, wealth, and ambition, outwardly an admirable match,
+respected by the world, and, most of all, able to draw about him the men
+of genius and intellect she wished to know, but whom her society lot
+debarred her from meeting. Yet your heroine was conscious of faults: she
+felt in him a touch of the soil that repels every woman instinctively;
+at times his nature seemed hard and unsympathetic, and his scientific
+work, for which he was famous, had narrowed his strong mind to think
+only of facts and practicalities, to the exclusion of everything ideal
+or beautiful. In the end, however, his persistent wooing convinced her
+of the strength of his feeling; and though she was conscious that she
+could never love him as she wished to love, the tale ended by her
+marrying him. Am I to blame for reading in this the story of Mr.
+Whitely's courtship of you? I only marveled at how much of his true
+character you had detected under his veneer.
+
+To me the story was sweet and noble. I loved your heroine from beginning
+to end. She was so strong even in her weaknesses; for you made her no
+unsubstantial ideal. I understood her craving something more than her
+allotted round of social amusements, and her desire for intercourse and
+friendship with finer and more purposeful people than she daily met. I
+even understood her willingness to accept love, when not herself feeling
+it; for my own life was so hungry-hearted that I had come to yearn for
+the slightest tenderness, no matter who the giver might be.
+
+As soon as I realized that the story was your own, I hoped it might tell
+me something of your thoughts of my father and myself; but that part of
+your life you passed over as if it never had been. Was the omission due
+to too much feeling or too little? I have always suspected that I served
+as a model for one of your minor characters: a dreamy, unsocial being,
+curiously variable in mood; at times talking learnedly and even wittily,
+but more often absolutely silent. He was by profession an artist, and
+you made him content to use his talent on book and magazine
+illustration, apparently without a higher purpose in life than to earn
+enough to support himself, in order that he might pass the remainder of
+his time in an intellectual indulgence scarcely higher in motive than
+more material dissipation. His evident sadness and lack of ambition was
+finally discovered to be due to a disappointment in love; and as a
+cure, your heroine introduced him to her best friend,--a young
+girl,--and through her influence he was roused to some ambition, and in
+the end he dutifully fell in love as your heroine wished. It was a
+sketch that made me wince, and yet at which I could not help but laugh.
+I suppose it was a true picture, and I am quite conscious that at times
+I must seem ridiculous to you; for often my mood is such, or my interest
+in you is so strong, that I forget even the ordinary courtesies and
+conventions. There is a general idea that a lover is always at his best
+when with the woman he loves, but, from my own experience, I think he is
+quite as likely to be at his worst. To watch your graceful movements, to
+delight in the play of expression on your face, and to catch every
+inflection in your voice and every word you speak are pleasures so
+engrossing to me that I must appear to you even more abstracted than I
+ordinarily am, though a dreamer at best. And yet now and then I have
+thought you were conscious of a tenderness in me, which, try as I will,
+I cannot altogether hide.
+
+The main fault of the novel was unquestionably that most accented by the
+reader, and, recognizing the story as the problem of your life, I
+understood why you supplied no solution to the riddle. You begged the
+question you propounded; the fact that your heroine married the hero
+being no answer, since only by the results of that marriage would it be
+possible to say if she had chosen the better part. It was this that
+convinced me you were putting on paper your own thoughts and mood. You
+were debating this theme, and could carry it in imagination to the point
+of marriage; but what lay beyond that was unknowable, and you made no
+attempt to invent a conclusion, the matter being too real to you to be
+merely a subject for artistic idealism and invention. Hitherto I had
+classed Mr. Whitely with your other lovers, feeling sure that you could
+not love him any more than you could any of them; but now for the first
+time I began to fear his success.
+
+After reading the story three times I carried it back to the manuscript
+clerk; and when I had allowed sufficient time for it to be returned, I
+wrote you a long letter, telling how I had come to read the story, and
+making a careful criticism and analysis of both its defects and its
+merits. I cannot tell you what a labor of love that letter was, or how
+much greater pains I took over your book than I have ever taken over any
+writing of my own. What was perhaps unfair, after pointing out the
+inconclusiveness of your ending, I sketched what I claimed was the
+logical end to the story. Thinking as I did that I knew the original in
+your mind, I was more influenced by my knowledge of him than I was by
+the character in your book, and therefore possibly my inference was
+unjust. But in hopes of saving you from Mr. Whitely, I pictured a sequel
+in which your heroine found only greater loneliness in her loveless
+union, her husband's love proving a tax, and not a boon; and marriage,
+instead of broadening her life, only bent and narrowed it by just so
+much as a strong-willed and selfish man would inevitably cramp the life
+of one over whom law and public opinion gave him control.
+
+I was richly rewarded by your letter of thanks. You were so winning in
+your sweet acceptance of all my criticisms, and so lovable in your
+simple gratitude, that I would have done a thousand times the work to
+earn such a letter. Yet even in this guerdon I could not escape the
+sting of my unhappy lot; for, unable to reconcile my distant conduct
+with the apparent trouble I had taken, you asked me to dinner, leaving
+me to select the day, and spoke of the pleasure it would give you to
+have an opportunity to talk over the book with me.
+
+I can think of few greater delights than to have gone over your story,
+line by line and incident by incident. My love pleaded with me to take
+the chance, pointing out that it would do you no harm, but on the
+contrary aid you, and I found a dozen specious reasons; but tempt me as
+they might, I always came back to the truth that if you knew who I
+really was you would not invite me, nor accept a favor at my hands. In
+the end I wrote you that my time was so mortgaged that I must deny
+myself the pleasure. A small compensation was my offer that if you chose
+to rewrite the story and send me the manuscript, I would gladly read it
+over again and make any further suggestions which occurred to me. You
+thanked me by letter gracefully, but I was conscious of your
+bewilderment in the very care with which you phrased your note; and when
+next we met I could see that I had become more an enigma than
+ever,--for which there is indeed small wonder.
+
+God keep you, my darling.
+
+
+
+
+XVIII
+
+
+_March 9._ What seemed my misfortune proved quite the reverse. You
+evidently mentioned to Agnes my refusing to dine with you, and the next
+time I saw her she took me to task for it.
+
+"It's too bad of you," she told me, "when I have explained to you how
+sensitive Maizie is, and how she has the idea that nice men do not like
+her, that you should go and confirm her in the feeling by treating her
+so! Why don't you like her?"
+
+"I do," was all I said.
+
+"No, you don't," she denied indignantly. "I suppose men dislike fine
+women because they make them feel what poor things they are themselves!"
+
+"I like you, Miss Blodgett," I replied.
+
+"I don't believe it," she retorted, "or you would be nice to my best
+friend. Besides, the idea of mentioning me in the same breath as Maizie!
+Men are born geese."
+
+"Then you should pity rather than upbraid us," I suggested.
+
+"I'll tell you what I intend to do," went on Agnes. "You promised us a
+visit this summer, and I am going to arrange for Maizie to be there at
+the time, so that you can really get to know her. And then, if you don't
+like her, I'll never forgive you."
+
+"Now, Agnes," ordered Mrs. Blodgett crossly, "stop teasing the doctor.
+I'm fond of Maizie, but I'm fairly tired with men falling in love with
+her, and I am glad to find one who hasn't."
+
+All last spring and summer, as I toiled over the proof sheets of my
+history, I was waiting and dreaming of that promised fortnight with you.
+I was so eager in my hope that when I found Agnes at the station, it was
+all I could do not to make my greeting a question whether you were
+visiting them. Luckily, she was almost as eager as I was, and hardly was
+I seated in the trap when she announced,--
+
+"Mamma wanted to ask you when we were alone, and wouldn't hear at first
+of even Maizie being with us; but I told papa of my plan, and he
+insisted that Maizie should be invited. Wasn't he an old love? And now,
+Dr. Hartzmann, you'll try to like Maizie, won't you? And even if you
+can't, just pretend that you do, please."
+
+If the groom had not mounted the rumble at this point, I believe I
+should have told her of my love for you, the impulse was so strong, in
+my gratitude and admiration for the unselfish love she had for you.
+
+A result of this misunderstanding was an amusing game of cross-purposes
+between mother and daughter. Agnes was always throwing us together,
+scarcely attempting to veil her wishes, while Mrs. Blodgett, thinking
+that I did not care for you, was always interfering to save me from your
+society. She proposed that I should teach Agnes chess, and left us
+playing; but when you joined us, Agnes insisted that she could learn
+more by watching us, only to play truant the moment you had taken her
+place. I shall never forget Mrs. Blodgett's amazement and irritation, on
+her return, at finding us playing, and Agnes not to be seen. Equally
+unsuccessful was an attempt to teach Agnes fencing, for she grew
+frightened before the foils had really been crossed, and made you take
+her place. At first I imagined she only pretended fear, but Mrs.
+Blodgett became so very angry over her want of courage that I had to
+think it genuine. When we went to drive as a party there was always much
+discussion as to how we should sit; and in fact my two friends kept at
+swords' points most of the time, in their endeavors to make me tolerate
+or save me from the companionship of the woman I loved. Even I could see
+the comedy of the situation.
+
+In one of our conversations you reverted to your novel, and questioned
+my view of the impossibility of the heroine being happy in her marriage,
+evidently influenced, but not convinced, by my opinion.
+
+"To me it is perfectly conceivable," you argued, "that, regardless of
+her loving, a woman can be as happy married as single, and that it all
+depends upon what she makes of her own life."
+
+"But in marriage," I contended, "she is not free to make her life at
+all."
+
+"Surely she is if her husband truly loves her."
+
+"Less so than if he does not."
+
+"You are not in earnest?"
+
+"Yes. Love makes women less selfish, but with many men it often has the
+opposite effect. The man you drew, Miss Walton, was so firm that he
+would not be other than selfish, and if my reading of your heroine is
+correct, she was a woman who would resign her own will, rather than
+lower her self-respect by conflicts with her husband."
+
+"But he loved her."
+
+"In a selfish man's way. If women knew better what that meant, there
+would be fewer unhappy marriages."
+
+"Then you are sure my heroine did wrong?"
+
+"I think she did what thousands of other women have done,--she married
+the love rather than the lover."
+
+"No. I did not intend that. She married for quite other things than
+love: for greater freedom, for"--
+
+"Would she have married," I interrupted, "if she had not been sure that
+the hero loved her?"
+
+You thought an instant, and then said, "No, I suppose not--and yet"--You
+stopped, and then continued impulsively, "I wonder if I shall shock you
+very much if I say that I have no faith in what we call love?"
+
+"You do not shock me, Miss Walton, because I do not believe you."
+
+"It is true, nevertheless. Perhaps it is my own fault, but I have never
+found any love that was wholly free from self-indulgence or
+self-interest."
+
+"If you rate love so low, why did you make your heroine crave it?"
+
+"One can desire love even when one cannot feel it."
+
+"Does one desire what one despises?"
+
+"To scorn money does not imply a preference for poverty."
+
+"The scorn of money is as genuine as your incapacity to love, Miss
+Walton."
+
+"You do not believe me?"
+
+"A person incapable of love does not crave it. It is only a loving
+nature which cares for love."
+
+"But if one cannot love, how can one believe in it?"
+
+"The unlighted torch does not believe in fire."
+
+"But some substances are incombustible."
+
+"The sun melts anything."
+
+"The sun is trans-terrestrial."
+
+"So is love."
+
+You looked at me in silence for a moment, and then asked, "Is love so
+much to you?"
+
+"Love is the only thing worth striving for in this life," I replied.
+
+"And if one fails to win it?"
+
+"One cannot fail, Miss Walton."
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"Because the best love is in one's own heart and depends only on one's
+self."
+
+"And if one has loved," you responded hurriedly, with a mistiness in
+your eyes which proved how deeply you were feeling, "if one gives
+everything--only to find the object base--if"--You stopped speaking and
+looked away.
+
+"One still has the love, Miss Walton; for it is that which is given,
+and not that which is received, that is worth the having." I faltered in
+my emotion, and then, almost unconscious of what I said, went on: "For
+many years I have loved,--a love from the first impossible and hopeless.
+Yet it is the one happiness of my present life, and rather than"--I
+recovered control of myself, and became silent as I heard Mrs. Blodgett
+coming along the veranda.
+
+You leaned forward, saying softly, "Thank you for the confidence." Then,
+as Mrs. Blodgett joined us, you said, "I envy you your happiness, Dr.
+Hartzmann."
+
+"What happiness is that?" asked Mrs. Blodgett, glancing from one to the
+other curiously.
+
+"Dr. Hartzmann," you explained calmly, without a trace of the emotion
+that had moved you a moment before, "has been proving to me that all
+happiness is subjective, and as I have never been able to rise to such
+a height I am very envious of him."
+
+"I don't know what you mean," remarked Mrs. Blodgett. "But if the doctor
+wants to know what real happiness is, he had better marry some nice girl
+and have his own home instead of living in a boarding-house."
+
+You laughed, and added, "Now our happiness becomes objective. Perhaps it
+is the best, after all, Dr. Hartzmann."
+
+"Do _you_ think so, Miss Walton?" I asked, unable to prevent an emphasis
+in the question.
+
+You rose, saying, "I must dress for dinner." But in the window you
+turned, and answered, "I have always thought it was, but there are
+evident exceptions, Dr. Hartzmann, and after what you have told me I
+think you are one of them."
+
+"And not yourself?" I could not help asking.
+
+You held up your hand warningly. "When the nature of dolls is too
+deeply questioned into, they are found to contain only sawdust."
+
+"And we often open the oyster, to find sometimes a pearl."
+
+"The result of a morbid condition," you laughed back.
+
+"Better disease and a pearl than health without it."
+
+"But suppose one incapable of the ailment? Should one be blamed if no
+pearl forms?"
+
+"An Eastern poet said:--
+
+    Diving and finding no pearl in the sea,
+    Blame not the ocean,--the fault is in thee.
+
+Have you ever tried to find a pearl, Miss Walton?"
+
+You hesitated a moment. "Like the Englishman's view of the conundrum,"
+you finally parried archly, "that would be a good joke if there only
+wasn't something to 'guess' in it."
+
+"Do you know what Maizie is talking about?" demanded Mrs. Blodgett
+discontentedly.
+
+"Better than Miss Walton does herself, I think," I averred.
+
+You had started to go, but again you turned, and asked with interest,
+"What _do_ I mean?"
+
+"That you believe what you think you don't."
+
+You stood looking at me for a moment. "We are becoming friends, Dr.
+Hartzmann," you affirmed, and passed through the window.
+
+Good-night, dear friend.
+
+
+
+
+XIX
+
+
+_March 10._ For the remainder of my visit, it seemed as if your prophecy
+of friendship were to be fulfilled. From the moment of my confidence to
+you, all the reserves that had been raised by my slighting of your
+invitations disappeared, perhaps because the secret I had shared with
+you served to make my past conduct less unreasonable; still more, I
+believe, because of the faith in you it evidenced in me. Certain I am
+that in the following week I felt able to be my true self when with you,
+for the first time since we were boy and girl together. The difference
+was so marked that you commented on the change.
+
+"Do you remember," you asked me, "our conversation in Mr. Whitely's
+study, when I spoke of how little people really knew one another? Here
+we have been meeting for over three years, and yet I find that I haven't
+in the least known you."
+
+It is a pleasure to me to recall that whole conversation, for it was by
+far the most intimate that we ever had,--so personal that I think I
+should but have had to question to learn what I long to know. In
+response to my slight assistance, to the sympathy I had shown, you
+opened for the moment your heart; willing, apparently, that I should
+fathom your true nature.
+
+We had gone to dinner at the Grangers' merely to please Mrs. Blodgett,
+for we mutually agreed that in the country formal dinners were a
+weariness of the flesh; and I presume that with you, as with me, this
+general objection of ours was greatly strengthened when we found Mrs.
+Polhemus among the guests. It is always painful to me to be near her,
+and her dislike of you is obvious enough to make me sure that her
+presence is equally disagreeable to you. It is a strange warp and woof
+life weaves, that I owe to one for whom we both feel such repulsion the
+most sympathetic, the tenderest conversation I have ever had with you.
+
+I was talking with Miss Granger, and thus did not hear the beginning of
+my mother's girds at you; but Agnes, who sat on my left, told me later
+that, as usual, Mrs. Polhemus set out to bait you by remarks
+superficially inoffensive, but covertly planned to embarrass or sting.
+The first thing which attracted my notice was her voice distinctly
+raised, as if she wished the whole table to listen, and in fact loud
+enough to make Miss Granger stop in the middle of a sentence and draw
+our attention to the speaker.
+
+"--sound very well," Mrs. Polhemus was saying, "and are to be expected
+from any one who strives to be thought romantically sentimental."
+
+"I did not know," you replied in a low voice, "that a 'romantically
+sentimental' nature was needed to produce belief in honesty."
+
+"It is easy enough to talk the high morals of honesty," retorted your
+assailant, "and I suppose, Miss Walton, that for you it is not difficult
+to live up to your conversational ideals. But we unfortunate earthly
+creatures, who cannot achieve so rarefied a life, dare not make a parade
+of our ethical natures. The saintly woman is an enormously difficult
+rôle to play since miracles went out of style."
+
+"Oh, leave us an occasional ideal, Mrs. Polhemus," laughed a guest. "I
+for one wish that fairy rings and genii were still the vogue."
+
+"But we have some kinds of miracles," asserted Mrs. Granger. "Remember
+the distich,--
+
+    'God still works wonders now and then:
+    Behold! two lawyers, honest men!'"
+
+"With all due deference to Miss Walton's championing of absolute
+perfection," continued my mother, with a cleverly detached manner, to
+veil what lay back of the sneer, "I find it much easier to accept the
+miracle of an honest lawyer than that of an absolutely uncattish
+woman,"--a speech which, like most of those of Mrs. Polhemus, drew a
+laugh from the men.
+
+"That's because you don't know Miss Walton!" exclaimed Agnes warmly,
+evidently fretted by such conduct towards you.
+
+"On the contrary," answered my mother, speaking coolly and evenly, "I
+presume I have known Miss Walton longer and better than any one else in
+this room; and I remember when her views of honesty were such that her
+ideal was personified by a pair of embezzlers."
+
+You had been meeting her gaze across the table as she spoke, but now you
+dropped your lids, hiding your eyes behind their long lashes; and
+nothing but the color receding from your cheeks, leaving them as white
+as your throat and brow, told of what you felt.
+
+"Oh, say something," appealed Agnes to me in a whisper. "Anything to
+divert the"--
+
+"And I really think," went on Mrs. Polhemus, smiling sweetly, with her
+eyes on you, "that if you were as thoroughly honest with us as, a moment
+ago, you were insistent on the world's being, you would confess to a
+_tendresse_ still felt for that particular form of obliquity."
+
+I shall recall the moment which followed that speech if it shall ever
+fall to me to sit in the jury-box and pass judgment on a murderer, for I
+know that had I been armed, and my mother a man, I should have killed
+her; and it taught me that murder is in every man's heart. Yet I was not
+out of my head, but was curiously clear-minded. Though allusion to my
+shame had hitherto always made me dumb, I was able to speak now without
+the slightest difficulty; I imagine because the thought of your pain
+made me forget my own.
+
+"Which is better, Mrs. Polhemus," I asked, with a calmness I marveled at
+afterwards, "to love dishonesty or to dishonestly love?"
+
+"Is this a riddle?" she said, though not removing her eyes from you.
+
+"I suppose, since right and wrong are evolutionary," I rejoined, "that
+every ethical question is more or less of a conundrum. But the thought
+in my mind was that there is only nobility in a love so great that it
+can outlast even wrongdoing." Then, in my controlled passion, I stabbed
+her as deeply as I could make words stab. "Compare such a love, for
+instance, with another of which I have heard,--that of a woman who so
+valued the world's opinion that she would not get a divorce from an
+embezzling husband, because of the social stigma it involved, yet who
+remarried within a week of hearing of her first husband's death, because
+she thought that fact could not be known. Which love is the higher?"
+
+The color blazed up in my mother's cheeks, as she turned from you to
+look at me, with eyes that would have killed if they could; and it was
+her manner, far more than even the implication of my words, which told
+the rest of the table that my nominally impersonal case was truly a
+thrust of the knife. A moment's appalling pause followed, and then,
+though the fruit was being passed, the hostess broke the terrible spell
+by rising, as if the time had come for the ladies to withdraw.
+
+When, later, the men followed them, Agnes intercepted me at the door,
+and whispered, "Oh, doctor, it was magnificent! I was so afraid Maizie
+would break down if--I never dreamed you could do it so splendidly.
+You're almost as much of a love as papa! It will teach the cat to let
+Maizie alone! Now, do you want to be extra good?"
+
+"So long as you don't want any more vitriol-throwing," I assented,
+smiling. "Remember that a hostess deserves some consideration."
+
+"I told Mrs. Granger that you did it at my request, and there wasn't a
+woman in the room who didn't want to cheer. We all love Maizie, and hate
+Mrs. Polhemus; and it isn't a bit because you geese of men think she's
+handsome and clever, either. Poor Maizie wanted to be by herself, and
+went out on the veranda. I think she's had time enough, and that it's
+best for some one to go to her. Won't you slip out quietly?"
+
+I nodded, and instantly she spoke aloud of the moon, and we went to the
+French window on the pretense of looking at it, where, after a moment, I
+left her. At first I could not discover you, the vines so shadowed your
+retreat; and when I did, it was to find you with bowed head buried in
+your arms as they rested on the veranda rail. The whole attitude was so
+suggestive of grief that I did not dare to speak, and moved to go away.
+Just as I turned, however, you looked up, as if suddenly conscious of
+some presence.
+
+"I did not intend to intrude, Miss Walton, and don't let me disturb you.
+I will rejoin"--
+
+"If you came out for the moonlight and quiet, sit down here," you said,
+making room for me.
+
+I seated myself beside you, but made no reply, thinking your allusion to
+quiet perhaps voiced your own preference.
+
+"It seems needless," you began, after a slight pause, "to ignore your
+kindness, even though it was veiled. I never felt so completely in
+another's power, and though I tried to--to say something--to strike
+back--I couldn't. Did my face so betray me that you knew I needed
+help?"
+
+"Your face told nothing, it seemed to me."
+
+"But that makes it positively uncanny. Over and over again you appear to
+divine my thoughts or moods. Do you?"
+
+"Little more than any one can of a person in whom one is interested
+enough to notice keenly."
+
+"Yet no one else does it with me. And several times, when we have caught
+each other's eyes, we have--at least I have felt sure that you were
+laughing with me, though your face was grave."
+
+"Who was uncannily mind-reading then?"
+
+"An adequate _tu quoque_," you said, laughing; then you went on
+seriously; "Still, to be frank, as now I think we can be, I have never
+made any pretense that I wasn't very much interested in you--while
+you--well--till very lately, I haven't been able to make up my mind that
+you did not actually--no, not dislike--for I knew that you--I could not
+be unconscious of the genuine esteem you have made so evident--yet there
+has always been, until the last two weeks, an indefinable barrier, of
+your making, as it appeared to me, and from that I could only infer
+some--I can give it no name."
+
+"Were there no natural barriers to a friendship between a struggling
+writer and Miss Walton?"
+
+"Surely you are above that!" you exclaimed. "You have not let such a
+distinction--Oh no, for it has not stood in the way of friendship with
+the Blodgetts."
+
+A moment's silence ensued, and then you spoke again: "Perhaps there was
+a motive that explains it. Please don't reply, if it is a question I
+ought not to put, but after your confidence of last week I feel as if
+you had given me the privilege to ask it. I have always thought--or
+rather hoped--that you cared for Agnes? If"--
+
+"And so you married me to her in the novel," I interrupted, in an
+effort to change the subject, dreading to what it might lead.
+
+You laughed merrily as you said, "Oh, I'm so glad you spoke of that. I
+have often wondered if you recognized the attempted portrait,--which now
+I know is not a bit of a likeness,--and have longed to ask you. I never
+should have dared to sketch it, but I thought my pen name would conceal
+my criminality; and then what a fatality for you to read it! I never
+suspected you were the publisher's reader. What have you thought of me?"
+
+"That you drew a very pleasant picture of my supposed mental and moral
+attainments, at the expense of my ambition and will. My true sympathy,
+however, went out to the girl whom you offered up as a heart-restorer
+for my earlier attachment."
+
+"I'm thankful we are in the shadow," you laughed, "so that my red cheeks
+don't show. You are taking a most thoroughgoing revenge."
+
+"That was the last thought in my mind."
+
+"Then, my woman's curiosity having been appeased, be doubly generous and
+spare my absurd blushes. I don't know when I have been made to feel so
+young and foolish."
+
+"Clearly you are no hardened criminal, Miss Walton. Usually matchmakers
+glory in their shame."
+
+"Perhaps I should if I had not been detected, or if I had succeeded
+better."
+
+"You took, I fear, a difficult subject for what may truly be called your
+maiden experiment."
+
+"Did I not? And yet--You see I recognized potentialities for loving in
+you. You can--Ah, you have suggested to me a revenge for your jokes. Did
+you--were you the man who coined the phrase that my eyes were too dressy
+for the daytime?"
+
+"Yes," I confessed guiltily, "but"--
+
+"No, don't dare to try to explain it away," you ordered. "How could you
+say it? We can never be friends, after all."
+
+Though you spoke in evident gayety, I answered gravely: "You will
+forgive me when I tell you that it was to parry a thrust of Mrs.
+Polhemus's at you, and I made a joke of it only because I did not choose
+to treat her gibe seriously. I hoped it would not come back to you."
+
+"Every friend I have has quoted it, not once, but a dozen times, in my
+presence. If you knew how I have been persecuted and teased with that
+remark! You are twice the criminal that I have been, for at least my
+libel was never published. Yet you are unblushing."
+
+We both sat silent for a little while, and then you began: "You
+interrupted a question of mine just now. Was it a chance or a purposed
+diversion? You see," you added hastily, "I am presuming that henceforth
+we are to be candid."
+
+"I confess to an intention in the dodging, not because I feared the
+question, for a simple negative was all it needed, but I was afraid of
+what might follow."
+
+"I hoped, after the trust of the other day--You do not want to tell me
+your story?"
+
+"Are there not some things that cannot be put into words, Miss Walton?
+Could you tell me your story?"
+
+"But mine is no mystery," you replied. "It has been the world's property
+for years. Why, your very help to-night proves that it is known to
+you,--that you know, indeed, facts that were unknown to me."
+
+"Facts, yes; feelings, no."
+
+"Do you appreciate the subtilty of the compliment? You really care for
+such valueless and indefinable things as feelings?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"A bargain, then, while you are in this mood of giving something for
+nothing. Question for question, if you choose."
+
+"You can tell your secrets?"
+
+"To you, yes, for you have told me your greatest."
+
+"Then, with the privilege of silence for both, begin."
+
+"Ah, you begin already to fear the gimlet! Yes. Nothing is to be told
+that--There again we lack a definition, do we not? Never mind. We shall
+understand. You knew her in Germany?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"And she--You wear a mask, at moments even merry-faced, but now and
+again I have surprised a look of such sadness in your eyes that--Is that
+why you came to America? She"--
+
+"No. She was, and is, in so different a class, that I never"--
+
+"You should not allow that to be a bar! Any woman"--
+
+"But even more, there are other claims upon me, which make marriage out
+of the question."
+
+"And this is why you have resigned reputation for money-making? Is
+there no escape? Oh, it seems too cruel to be!"
+
+"You draw it worse than it is, Miss Walton, forgetting that I told you
+of my happiness in loving."
+
+"You make me proud to feel that we are friends, Dr. Hartzmann," you said
+gently. "I hope she is worthy of such a love?"
+
+I merely nodded; and after a slight pause you remarked, "Now it is only
+fair to give you a turn."
+
+I had been pondering, after my first impulsive assent, over my right to
+win your confidence, with the one inevitable conclusion that was so
+clear, and I answered, "I have no questions to ask, Miss Walton."
+
+"Then I can ask no more, of course," you replied quietly, and at once
+turned the conversation into less personal subjects, until the time came
+for our return to My Fancy.
+
+When we parted in the upper hall, that evening, you said to me, "I
+always value your opinion, and it usually influences me. Do you, as your
+speech to-night implied, think it right to go on loving baseness?"
+
+"It is not a question of right and wrong, but only whether the love
+remains."
+
+"Then you don't think it a duty to crush it out?"
+
+"No. All love is noble that is distinct from self."
+
+You held out your hand. "I am so glad you think so, and that you spoke
+your thought. You have done me a great kindness,--greater far than you
+can ever know. Thank you, and good-night."
+
+Good-night, Maizie.
+
+
+
+
+XX
+
+
+_March 11._ When I left My Fancy, after my visit, Agnes had nothing but
+praise for me. "I was certain that you and Maizie would be friends if
+you ever really knew each other," she said triumphantly. Unfortunately,
+our first meeting in the city served only to prove the reverse. In one
+of my daily walks up-town, I met you and Agnes outside a shop where you
+had been buying Christmas gifts for the boys of your Neighborhood Guild.
+You were looking for the carriage, about which there had been some
+mistake, and I helped you search. When our hunt was unsuccessful, you
+both said you would rather walk than let me get a cab, having been
+deterred only by the growing darkness, and not by the snow. So chatting
+merrily, away we went, through the elfin flakes which seemed so eager
+to kiss your cheeks, till your home was reached.
+
+"If we come in, will you give us some tea?" asked Agnes.
+
+"Tea, cake, chocolates, and conversation," you promised.
+
+"I am sorry," I said, "but I cannot spare the time."
+
+I thought you and Agnes exchanged glances. "Please, Doc--" she began;
+but you interrupted her by saying proudly, "We must not take any more of
+Dr. Hartzmann's time, Agnes. Will you come in?"
+
+"No," replied Agnes. "I'll go home before it's any darker. Good-night."
+
+I started to walk with her the short distance, but the moment we were
+out of hearing she turned towards me and cried, "I hate you!" As I made
+no reply, she demanded impatiently, "What makes you behave so
+abominably?" When I was still silent she continued: "I told you how
+Maizie felt, and I thought it was all right, and now you do it again.
+It's too bad! Well, can't you say something? Why do you do it?"
+
+"There is nothing for me to say, Miss Blodgett," I responded sadly.
+
+"You might at least do it to please me," she persisted, "even if you
+don't like Maizie."
+
+I made no answer, and we walked the rest of the distance in silence. At
+the stoop, however, Agnes asked, "Will you go with me to call on Maizie,
+some afternoon?"
+
+I shook my head.
+
+"Not even to please mamma and me?" she questioned.
+
+Again I gave the same answer, and without a word of parting she left me
+and passed through the doorway. From that time she has treated me
+coldly.
+
+Another complication only tended to increase the coldness, as well as to
+involve me with Mrs. Blodgett. In December, Mr. Blodgett came into Mr.
+Whitely's office and announced, "I've been taking a liberty with your
+name, doctor."
+
+"For what kindness am I indebted now?" I inquired.
+
+"I'm a member of the Philomathean," he said,--"not because I'm an
+author, or artist, or engineer, or scientist, but because I'm a big frog
+in my own puddle, and they want samples of us, provided we are good
+fellows, just to see what we're like. I was talking with Professor Eaton
+in September, and we agreed you ought to be one of us; so we stuck your
+name up, and Saturday evening the club elected you."
+
+"I can't afford it"--I began; but he interrupted with:--
+
+"I knew you'd say that, and so didn't tell you beforehand. I'll bet you
+your initiation fee and a year's dues against a share of R. T. common
+that you'll make enough out of your membership to pay you five times
+over."
+
+"How can I do that?"
+
+"All the editors and publishers are members," he replied, "and to meet
+them over the rum punch we serve on meeting nights is worth money to the
+most celebrated author living. Then you'll have the best club library in
+this country at your elbow for working purposes."
+
+"I don't think I ought, Mr. Blodgett."
+
+He was about to protest, when Mr. Whitely broke in upon us, saying,
+"Accept your membership, Dr. Hartzmann, and the paper shall pay your
+initiation and dues."
+
+I do not know whether Mr. Blodgett or myself was the more surprised at
+this unexpected and liberal offer. Our amazement was so obvious that Mr.
+Whitely continued: "I think it'll be an excellent idea for the paper to
+have a member of its staff in the Philomathean, and so the office shall
+pay for it."
+
+"Whitely," observed Mr. Blodgett admiringly, "you're a good business
+man, whatever else you are!"
+
+"I wish, Blodgett," inquired Mr. Whitely, "you would tell me why I have
+been kept waiting so long?"
+
+"Many a name's been up longer than yours," replied Mr. Blodgett in a
+comforting voice. "You don't seem to realize that the Philomathean's a
+pretty stiff club to get into."
+
+"But I've been posted for over three years, while here Dr. Hartzmann is
+elected within four months of his proposing."
+
+"Well, the doctor has the great advantage of being a sort of natural
+Philomath, you see," Mr. Blodgett explained genially. "He was born that
+way, and so is ripe for membership without any closet mellowing."
+
+"But my reputation as a writer is greater than Dr."--began Mr. Whitely;
+but a laugh from Mr. Blodgett made him halt.
+
+"Oh come, now, Whitely!"
+
+"What's the matter?" asked my employer.
+
+"Once St. Peter and St. Paul stopped at a tavern to quench their
+thirst," said Mr. Blodgett, "and when the time came to pay, they tossed
+dice for it. Paul threw double sixes, and smiled. Peter smiled back, and
+threw double sevens. What do you suppose Paul said, Whitely?"
+
+"What?"
+
+"'Oh, Peter, Peter! No miracles between friends.'"
+
+"I don't follow you," rejoined Mr. Whitely.
+
+Mr. Blodgett turned and said to me, "I'm going West for two months, and
+while I'm gone the Twelfth-night revel at the Philomathean is to come
+off. Will you see that the boss and Agnes get cards?" Then he faced
+about and remarked, "Whitely, I'd give a big gold certificate to know
+what nerve food you use!" and went out, laughing.
+
+When I took the invitations to Mrs. Blodgett, I found you all with your
+heads full of a benefit for the Guild, to be given at your home,--a
+musical evening, with several well-known stars as magnets, and admission
+by invitation as an additional attraction. Mrs. Blodgett said to me in
+her decisive way, "Dr. Hartzmann, the invitations are five dollars each,
+and you are to take one."
+
+I half suspected that it was only a device to get me within your doors,
+though every society woman feels at liberty to whitemail her social
+circle to an unlimited degree. But the fact that the entertainment was
+to be in your home, even more than my poverty, compelled me to refuse to
+be a victim of her charitable kindness or her charitable greed. I merely
+shook my head.
+
+"Oh, but you must," she urged. "It will be a delightful evening, and
+then it's such a fine object."
+
+"Do not ask it of Dr. Hartzmann," you protested, coming to my aid. "No
+one"--
+
+"I'm sure it's very little to ask," remarked Mrs. Blodgett, in a
+disappointed way.
+
+"Mrs. Blodgett," I said, in desperation, "for years I have denied myself
+every luxury and almost every comfort. I have lived at the cheapest of
+boarding-houses; I have walked down-town, rain or shine, to save ten
+cents a day; I have"--I stopped there, ashamed of my outbreak.
+
+"I suppose, Dr. Hartzmann," retorted Agnes, with no attempt to conceal
+the irritation she felt toward me, "that the Philomathean is one of your
+ten-cent economies?"
+
+Before I could speak you changed the subject, and the matter was
+dropped,--I hoped for all time. It was, however, to reappear, and to
+make my position more difficult and painful than ever.
+
+At Mrs. Blodgett's request, made that very day, I sent you an invitation
+to the Philomathean ladies' day. It was with no hope of being there
+myself, since my editorial duties covered the hours of the exhibition;
+but good or bad fortune aided me, for Mr. Whitely asked me for a ticket,
+and his absence from the office set me free. The crowd was great, but,
+like most people who try for one thing only, I attained my desire by
+quickly finding you, and we spent an enjoyable hour together, studying
+the delicious jokes and pranks of our artist members. The truly
+marvelous admixture of absurdity and cleverness called out the real
+mirth of your nature, and our happiness and gayety over the pictures
+strangely recalled to me our similar days spent in Paris and elsewhere.
+You too, I think, remembered the same experience, for when we had
+finished, and were ascending the stairs to the dining-room, you remarked
+to me, "I never dreamed that one could be so merry after one had ceased
+to be a child. For the last hour I have felt as if teens were yet
+unventured lands."
+
+I confess I sought a secluded spot in an alcove, hoping still to keep
+you to myself; but the project failed, for when I returned from getting
+you an ice, I found that Mr. Whitely had joined you. The pictures, of
+course, were the subject of discussion, and you asked him, "Are all the
+other members as clever in their own professions as your artists have
+shown themselves to be?"
+
+"The Philomathean is made up of an able body of men," replied Mr.
+Whitely in a delightfully patronizing tone. "Some few of the very
+ablest, perhaps, do not care to be members; but of the second rank, you
+may say, broadly speaking, that it includes all men of prominence in
+this city."
+
+"But why should the abler men not belong?"
+
+"They are too occupied with more vital matters," explained my employer.
+
+"Yet surely they must need a club, and what one so appropriate as this?"
+
+"It is natural to reason so," assented the would-be member. "But as an
+actual fact, some of the most prominent men in this city are not
+members," and he mentioned three well-known names.
+
+The inference was so unjust that I observed, "Should you not add, Mr.
+Whitely, that they are not members either because they know it is
+useless to apply, or because they have applied in vain; and that their
+exclusion, though superficially a small affair, probably means to them,
+by the implication it carries, one of the keenest mortifications of
+their lives?"
+
+"You mean that the Philomathean refuses to admit such men as Mr. Whitely
+named?" you asked incredulously.
+
+I smiled. "The worldly reputation and the professional reputation of men
+occasionally differ very greatly, Miss Walton. We do not accept a man
+here because his name appears often in the newspapers, but because of
+what the men of his own calling know and think of him."
+
+"And of course they are always jealous of a man who has surpassed them,"
+contended Mr. Whitely.
+
+"There must be something more against a man than envy of his confrères
+to exclude him," I answered. "My loyalty to the Philomathean, Miss
+Walton, is due to the influence it exerts in this very matter. Errors
+are possible, but the intention is that no man shall be of our
+brotherhood who is not honestly doing something worth the doing, for
+other reasons than mere money-making. And for that very reason, we are
+supposed, within these walls, to be friends, whether or not there is
+acquaintance outside of them. We are the one club in New York which
+dares to trust its membership list implicitly to that extent.
+Charlatanry and dishonesty may succeed with the world, but here they
+fail. Money will buy much, but the poorest man stands on a par here with
+the wealthiest."
+
+"You make me envious of you both," you sighed, just as Mrs. Blodgett and
+Agnes joined us.
+
+"What are you envying them?" asked Agnes, as she shook hands with
+you,--"that they were monopolizing you? How selfish men are!"
+
+"In monopolizing this club?"
+
+"Was that what you envied them?" ejaculated Mrs. Blodgett. "I for one am
+glad there's a place to which I can't go, where I can send my husband
+when I want to be rid of him." Then she turned to Mr. Whitely, and with
+her usual directness remarked, "So they've let you in? Mr. Blodgett told
+me you would surely be rejected."
+
+Mr. Whitely reddened and bit his lip, for which he is hardly to be
+blamed. But he only bowed slightly in reply, leaving the inference in
+your minds that he was a Philomath. How the man dares so often to--
+
+The striking clock tells me it is later than I thought, and I must stop.
+
+Good-night, dear heart.
+
+
+
+
+XXI
+
+
+_March 12._ Our talk at the Philomathean and Mr. Whitely's tacit
+assumption of membership had their penalty for me,--a penalty which, to
+reverse the old adage, I first thought an undisguised blessing. When we
+separated, he asked me to dinner the following evening, to fill in a
+place unexpectedly left vacant; and as I knew, from a chance allusion,
+that you were to be there, I accepted a courtesy at his hands.
+
+Although there were several celebrities at the meal, it fell to my lot
+to sit on your right; my host, who took you down, evidently preferring
+to have no dangerous rival in your attention. But Mrs. Blodgett, who sat
+on his other side, engaged him as much as she chose, and thus gave me
+more of your time than I should otherwise have had. If you knew how
+happy it made me that, whenever she interrupted his monopoly of you,
+instead of making a trialogue with them, you never failed to turn to me!
+
+"I have just re-read Mr. Whitely's book," you remarked, in one of these
+interruptions, "and I have been trying to express to him my genuine
+admiration for it. I thought of it highly when first I read it, last
+autumn, but on a second reading I have become really an enthusiast."
+
+I suppose my face must have shown some of the joy your words gave me,
+for you continued, "Clearly, you like it too, and are pleased to hear it
+praised. But then it's notorious that writers are jealous of one
+another! Tell me what you think of it?"
+
+I tried to keep all bitterness out of my voice as I laughed. "Think how
+unprofessional it would be in me to discuss my employer's book: if I
+praised it, how necessary; if I disparaged it, how disloyal!"
+
+"You are as unsatisfactory as Mr. Whitely," you complained. "I can't get
+him to speak about it, either. He smiles and bows his head to my praise,
+but not a word can he be made to say. Evidently he has a form of
+modesty--not stage fright, but book fright--that I never before
+encountered. Every other author I have met was fatiguingly anxious to
+talk about his own writings."
+
+"Remember in our behalf that a book stands very much in the same
+relation to a writer that a baby does to its mother. We are tolerant of
+her admiration; be equally lenient to the author's harmless prattle."
+
+"I suppose, too," you went on, "that the historian is less liable to the
+disease, because his work is so much less his own flesh and blood; so
+much less emotional than that of the poet or novelist."
+
+"No book worth reading ever fails to be steeped with the spirit of the
+person who wrote it. The man on the stage is instinct with emotion and
+feeling, but does he express more of his true individuality than the man
+in real life? The historian puts fewer of his own feelings into his
+work, but he plays far less to the gallery, and so is more truthful in
+what he reveals of himself."
+
+"Your simile reminds me of a thought of my own, after my first reading
+of this book: that the novelist is the demagogue of letters, striving to
+please, and suing for public favor by catering to all its whims and
+weaknesses; but the historian is the aristocrat of literature, knowing
+the right, and proudly above taking heed of popular prejudice or moods.
+I liked Mr. Whitely's book for many things, but most of all for its
+fearless attitude towards whatever it touched upon. I felt that it was
+the truth, because the whole atmosphere told me that a man was writing,
+too brave to tell what was untrue. That evidently pleases you, again,"
+you laughed. "Oh, it is horrible to see this consuming jealousy!"
+
+When the ladies withdrew, the men, as usual, clustered at one end of the
+table; but my host beckoned me to join him, and sat down apart from his
+guests.
+
+"Dr. Hartzmann, what is the matter at the Philomathean?" he demanded, in
+a low voice.
+
+"Matter?" I questioned.
+
+"Yes. What is the reason they don't elect me?"
+
+"I am not on the membership committee, Mr. Whitely," I replied.
+
+"Are you popular up there? Mr. Blodgett said that you were."
+
+"I have some good friends," I answered.
+
+"Then electioneer and get me put in," he explained, revealing to me in a
+flash why he had volunteered that the paper should pay the expenses of
+my membership.
+
+"I am hardly in a position to do that."
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"I am a new member, and my position under you is so well known that it
+would be very indelicate in me to appear in the matter."
+
+"For what do you suppose I helped you, then?" he asked severely.
+
+"I did not understand till now."
+
+"Well, then, drop your talk about delicacy, and get your friends to
+elect me."
+
+"I do not think I can do that," I answered mildly.
+
+"Then you won't earn your pay?"
+
+"Mr. Whitely, when you made the offer, you put it on an entirely
+different ground, and it is unfair to claim that it involved any
+condition that was not then expressed."
+
+"But you ought to be willing to do it. Haven't you any gratitude about
+you?"
+
+"I understood that you wanted one of your staff a member of that club.
+Had you mentioned your present motive, I should certainly have refused
+to accept the offer; and under these circumstances I decline to
+recognize any cause for gratitude."
+
+"What is your objection to doing it, though?" he persisted.
+
+"Indeed, Mr. Whitely, I do not think I am called upon to say more than I
+have said."
+
+"Do you want me in the club or not?" he demanded.
+
+"I shall certainly never oppose your election in any way whatsoever."
+
+"But you will not work for me?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Are you waiting to see how much I'll give?"
+
+My hand trembled at the insult, but I made no reply.
+
+"Come," he continued, "are you standing out in hopes I will offer you
+something?"
+
+"No."
+
+"How much?" he asked.
+
+"I have been elected to the Philomathean, Mr. Whitely," I said,
+concluding that an explanation might be the easiest escape, after all,
+"and to it I owe a distinct duty. If you were not my employer, I should
+feel called upon to work against you."
+
+"Why?" he exclaimed, in surprise.
+
+"Is it necessary to say?" I answered.
+
+"Yes. What is your objection to me?"
+
+"Did you never read Æsop's fable of the jackdaw?" I asked.
+
+"That's it, is it? And you are opposing my election?"
+
+"By not the slightest act."
+
+"Then why did Blodgett predict that I would surely be rejected? I've a
+reputation as a writer, as a philanthropist, and as a successful
+business man. What more do they want?"
+
+"As I told Miss Walton yesterday," I explained, "a man's true and
+eventual reputation depends, not on what the world thinks of him, but
+on what his fellow-craft decide."
+
+"Well?"
+
+"There is scarcely an author or editor at the Philomathean who is not
+opposed to your election, Mr. Whitely."
+
+"You have been telling tales," he muttered angrily.
+
+"You should know better."
+
+"Then what have they against me?"
+
+"Any man who works with his pen learns that no one can write either
+editorials or books, of the kind credited to you, without years of
+training. The most embarrassing ordeal I have to undergo is the joking
+and questioning with which the fraternity tease me. But you need never
+fear my not keeping faith."
+
+"Yet you won't help me into the Philomathean?"
+
+"No."
+
+"So you'll make money out of me, but think your club too good?"
+
+"I owe my club a duty."
+
+"I know," he went on smoothly, "that you're an awful screw, when there's
+a dollar in sight. How much do you want?"
+
+My silence should have warned him, but he was too self-absorbed to feel
+anything but his own mood.
+
+"How much do you want?" he repeated, and I still sat without speaking,
+though the room blurred, and I felt as if I were stifling. "The day I'm
+elected to the Philomathean, I'll give you"--
+
+I rose and interrupted him, saying, "Mr. Whitely, if you wish me to
+leave your house and employment, you can obtain my absence in an easier
+way than by insulting me."
+
+For a moment we faced each other in silence, and then he rose.
+"Hereafter, Dr. Hartzmann, you will pay those dues yourself," he said in
+a low voice, as he moved towards the door.
+
+I only bowed, glad that the matter was so easily ended; and for nearly
+two months our relations have been of the most formal kind that can
+exist between employer and employed.
+
+Far more bitter was another break. When the moment of farewell came,
+that evening, I waited to put you and Mrs. Blodgett into your carriages,
+and while we were delayed in the vestibule you thanked me again for the
+pleasure of the previous afternoon, and then continued: "I understand
+why you did not feel able to please Mrs. Blodgett about the concert. But
+won't you let me acknowledge the pleasure of yesterday by sending you a
+ticket? I have taken a number, and as all my circle have done the same,
+I am finding it rather difficult to get rid of them."
+
+"That's all right, Maizie," interjected Mrs. Blodgett, who had caught,
+or inferred from an occasional word that she heard, what you were
+saying. "We took an extra ticket, and I am going to use the doctor for
+an escort that evening."
+
+"I thank you both," I answered, "but I shall not be able to attend the
+concert."
+
+"Nonsense!" sniffed Mrs. Blodgett, as I helped her into her carriage.
+"You're going to do as I tell you."
+
+You did not speak in the moment we waited for your coupé to take its
+place, but as the tiger opened the door you looked in my face for the
+first time since my words, showing me eyes that told of the pain I had
+inflicted.
+
+"I am sorry," you said quietly. "I had thought--hoped--that we were to
+be friends."
+
+There was nothing for me to say, and we parted thus. From that time I
+have seen little of you, for when I meet you now you no longer make it
+possible for me to have much of your society. And my persistent refusal
+to go to the concert with Mrs. Blodgett and Agnes increased their
+irritation against me, so that I am no longer asked to their home, and
+thus have lost my most frequent opportunity of meeting you. But harder
+even than this deprivation is the thought that I have given you pain;
+made all the greater, perhaps, because so ill deserved and apparently
+unreasonable. I find myself longing for the hour when we shall meet at
+that far-away tribunal, where all our lives, and not alone that which is
+seen, will stand revealed. For two months I have not had a single moment
+of happiness or even hope. I am lonely and weary, while my strength and
+courage seem to lessen day by day. Oh, my darling, I pray God that
+thought of you will make me stronger and braver, that I may go on with
+my fight. Good-night.
+
+
+
+
+XXII
+
+
+_March 13._ Last night, at the Philomathean, Mr. Blodgett joined me, and
+asked me why I had not dined with them lately. He returned only a few
+days ago, and was thus ignorant that I have not been inside his door for
+weeks. I hesitated for an instant, and then replied, "I have been
+working very hard."
+
+"What are you usually doing?" he asked, smiling. "Come in to Sunday
+dinner to-morrow."
+
+"I shall be too busy with a lot of manuscripts I have on hand, that must
+be read," I told him.
+
+"Stop killing yourself," he ordered. "As it is, you look as if you were
+on the brink of a bad illness. You won't get on a bit faster by dying
+young."
+
+There the matter rested, and I did not go to dinner to-day, being
+indeed glad to stay indoors; for I very foolishly walked up town
+yesterday through the slush, and caught a bad cold. While I was trying
+to keep warm, this evening, a note was brought me from Mr. Blodgett,
+asking me to come to him at once; and fearing something important, I
+braved the cold without delay, ill though I felt. I was shown at once
+into his den, which was so cheerful with its open fire that I felt it
+was a good exchange for my cold room, where I had sat coughing and
+shivering all the afternoon.
+
+"Twice in my life I've really lost my temper with the boss," he began,
+before I had even sat down, though he closed the door while speaking.
+"Never mind about the first time, but to-day I got mad enough to last me
+for the rest of my life."
+
+"May I sit down?" I interrupted.
+
+He nodded his head, and took a position in front of me, with his back
+to the fire, as he continued: "Women are enough to make a man frantic
+when they get a fixed idea! Now, to-day, at dinner, I said I'd invited
+you, and I saw in a moment something was in the wind; so when we had
+finished I told them to come in here, and it didn't take me long to find
+out the trouble."
+
+"I didn't like to"--I began; but he went on:--
+
+"And that was the beginning of their trouble. I tell you, there was Cain
+here for about ten minutes, and there weren't two worse scared women
+this side of the grave, while I was ranting; for the boss remembered the
+other time, and Agnes had never seen me break loose. I told them they'd
+done their best to drive you crazy with grief; that if they'd searched
+for ten years they couldn't have found a meaner or crueler thing, or one
+that would have hurt you more; that nine men out of ten, in your shoes,
+would have acted dishonestly or cut their throat, but that you had toed
+the chalk-line right along, and never once winced. And I let them know
+that for five dollars they'd added the last straw of pain to a fellow
+who deserved only kindness and help from them."
+
+"Really, Mr. Blodgett"--I protested.
+
+"Hold on. Don't attempt to stop me, for the fit's on me still," he
+growled. "They tried to come the surprised, and then the offended, but
+they didn't fool me. I never let up on them till I had said all I wanted
+to say, and they won't forget it for a day or two. When I sent Agnes
+upstairs, she was sobbing her eyes out, and the boss would have given
+her pin money for ten years to have escaped with her."
+
+"It's too bad to"--
+
+"That's just what it was!" he cried. "To think of those screws trying to
+blackmail you, and then telling me you were a skinflint because you
+wouldn't do what they wanted! Well, after Agnes had gone, I gave the
+boss a supplementary and special dose of her own. I told her she could
+double discount you on meanness, and then give you forty-nine points;
+and to make sure of good measurement, I added in the whole female sex
+along with her. I told her that if she knew the facts of your life,
+she'd get down on her knees and crawl round to your place to ask your
+pardon, and then she wouldn't be fit to have it. I told her that when
+the day of judgment came, she'd just go the other way in preference to
+hearing what the recording angel had written of her."
+
+"I am afraid that your intended kindness will make my welcome scantier
+than ever."
+
+"Not a bit of it. I'm the master of this house, as they found out this
+afternoon, and I say who'll come into it, and who'll not. I shan't need
+to interfere in your case, for you'll get a warm welcome from both."
+
+"You didn't tell them?" I exclaimed, starting forward in my seat.
+
+"Not a word, though the boss nearly went crazy with curiosity. But I did
+say that you were making a splendid up-hill fight, and if they knew the
+facts of the case they'd be proud to black your boots. My word goes in
+this family about as well as it does on the Street, and you'll get all
+the welcome you can stand from now on."
+
+"You make me very proud and happy."
+
+"You have reason to be proud," he asserted. "I'm not a man who slobbers
+much, but I'm going to tell you what I think of you. When you first came
+here, I sized you up as rather a softy, your manner was so quiet and
+gentle. I got over that delusion precious quick, and I want to say that
+for pluck and grit you're a trump, and there's my hand on it."
+
+He went to the table, poured out a couple of glasses of whiskey and
+seltzer, and brought them to the fire. "You need something for that
+graveyard cough of yours," he said, handing one to me. "Well," he went
+on, "I didn't bring you out such a night as this to tell you of my
+scrap; but after the row, the boss was so ashamed of herself that she
+trumped up an A 1 excuse (as she thought) for having treated you as she
+had, and that led to a talk, and that's why I sent round for you. What
+do you suppose she has got into her head?"
+
+"I can't imagine."
+
+"I needn't tell you," he remarked, "that women always know an awful lot
+that isn't so. But just because they do, they every now and then
+discover a truth that can't be come at in any other way. Now the boss
+thinks she's done this, and I'm not sure that she hasn't. She says you
+are in love."
+
+"I never knew a man who wasn't," I replied, trying to smile. "If it
+isn't with a woman, then it's always with himself."
+
+"But the boss thinks she knows the girl, and has a down on you because
+you--because you don't try for her."
+
+I laughed bitterly, and said, "You needed no explanation for that."
+
+"That's what made the boss's idea reasonable to me," he explained. "She
+couldn't conceive why you should keep silent, and so was ready to pitch
+into you on the slightest pretense. Women haven't much use for a man who
+falls in love and doesn't say so. But of course I knew that your debt
+put marriage out of the question."
+
+I merely nodded my head, for even to him I could not speak of my love
+for you, it was so sacred to me.
+
+He drew up a chair to the fire, and continued: "There isn't another man
+to whom I'd care to say what I'm going to say to you, but you've got a
+heart and a head both, and won't misunderstand me." He finished his
+glass, and set it on the mantel. "Now I don't have to tell you that the
+boss is fond of you, and when I told her that I knew of a reason why you
+couldn't marry, she forgave you on the spot. What's more, she first
+wished to learn what it was; and failing in that, she then wanted to
+know if it could be remedied, so that you might have a chance to win the
+girl."
+
+"She of course knows nothing of my position?"
+
+"No," he said, "but she knows something of your character, and she's
+ordered me that, if it's possible, I'm to help you get the girl you care
+for."
+
+"But my debt!" I exclaimed.
+
+"How much is it now?" he queried.
+
+"One hundred and eighteen thousand."
+
+"Well, I'll lend Agnes's husband one hundred and eighteen thousand
+dollars at three per cent, and leave her the note when I die. From what
+I know of marriage, I venture to assert that if she squeezes him for
+payment it will be his own fault."
+
+I sat speechless for a moment, too bewildered by the unexpected turn to
+even think.
+
+"I was as surprised as you look," he went on, "for although I had seen
+that you and Agnes"--
+
+"Indeed, Mr. Blodgett," I exclaimed hastily, "I am no more to Miss Agnes
+than a dozen of her friends! I"--
+
+"So the boss says," he interrupted. "But that doesn't mean that you
+can't be. Though to speak the truth, my boy," he continued, resting his
+hand on my knee, "this wasn't my plan. I had hoped that you and Maizie
+would take a shine to each other, and so kiss the chalk-marks off that
+old score. But when I spoke of the scheme to the boss, this evening, she
+told me there had never been a chance of it; that you didn't like Mai,
+and that she is practically engaged to Whitely, and is only--Better have
+some more whiskey, or that cough will shake you to pieces."
+
+I could only shake my head in my misery, but after a moment I was able
+to say, "Mr. Blodgett, I did not understand--I"--
+
+"I want to tell you," he broke in, "before you say anything more, that I
+never believe in putting one's fingers into love affairs, and I
+shouldn't in this case if the boss didn't feel so keen about it, but I
+don't choose to be the one to stand in her way. And now I'm not offering
+my daughter's hand. You know as well as I that Agnes isn't the kind of
+girl who needs a prospectus or a gold clause to work her off. If she
+dropped her handkerchief to-morrow, fifty men would be scrambling for
+it, eh?"
+
+"Yes." Then I added, "And, Mr. Blodgett, I can't find the words to tell
+how I thank you both for such a compliment. If"--
+
+"I knew you wouldn't misunderstand me," he went on. "It's a good deal of
+a start in life to be born a gentleman."
+
+"But, Mr. Blodgett," I said, "there has been a mistake. I--it is hard to
+say, but"--then I faltered.
+
+He looked at me keenly for a moment. "So the boss was wrong? It's only
+friendship, not love?"
+
+"Just what she has given to me," I answered.
+
+"Very well. Then if you want to please the boss--and me--let that
+friendship grow into something better. But don't misunderstand me. You
+must win Agnes, if she is won. We do nothing."
+
+"Mr. Blodgett, should you be willing to let me try to win Miss Agnes, if
+I tell you that I do not love her as a man should love the woman he
+seeks for his wife?"
+
+"Marriage is a funny business," he responded. "Now there's the boss.
+When I married her I thought she was so and so; little by little I found
+she wasn't; but by the time I had found it out I wouldn't have swapped
+her for ten of the women I had thought she was. Some men have no
+business to marry unless they're pretty strongly attached, for they
+don't run steady; but you're a fellow that would keep in the traces no
+matter what happened, and before long you'd find yourself mighty fond of
+Agnes. A sense of duty is about as good a basis to marry on, if there's
+natural sympathy and liking, as all this ideal make-believe. I don't
+think you dislike Agnes, do you?"
+
+"Indeed, no!" I exclaimed. "Nobody could. She is too charming and sweet
+for any one to do that. Miss Agnes deserves far more than I can bring
+her. What have I to give in return for all this?"
+
+"You can settle that with Agnes," he laughed; and then, as if to lessen
+my poverty in my own eyes, he kindly added, "In the first place, I'll
+get a son-in-law chock-full of heart and grit and brains; and I've had
+pretty good evidence that he isn't fortune-hunting, which is Agnes's
+great danger. But that isn't all, and I want you to know I'm not a fool.
+I'm a big fellow down in Wall Street, and even on the Royal Exchange,
+but do you think I don't know my position? They kept me up over two
+years at the Philomathean, and you four months. After you've worked ten
+years over books with your own name on them, you'll be received and
+kotowed to by people who wouldn't crook a finger to know me. You won't
+be famous as I am, for the number of naughts I can write after a figure,
+but your name will be known everywhere, and will be familiar long after
+mine has been forgotten. Who were the bankers and rich men fifty years
+ago? There isn't one person in a thousand can tell you. But who hasn't
+heard of Thackeray and Hawthorne, Macaulay and Motley? My girl will have
+more money than she'll need; so if she gets a good husband, and one
+with reputation, she can't do better. Don't you see I'm doing my level
+best for Agnes, and making a regular Jew bargain?"
+
+"Perhaps Miss Agnes will not agree."
+
+"We've got to take that chance; but she likes you, and good women think
+a heap more of brains than they do of money. If you'll let me tell her
+your story, it won't be long before she'll take notice. I shouldn't have
+had to ask the boss twice if I'd had any such trump card as you've got,
+and she was a sight less tender-hearted than Agnes!"
+
+"Mr. Blodgett," I said, "I can't tell you the gratitude I feel, but I
+must be frank."
+
+"Hold on!" he cried. "I don't want you to say anything now. You are to
+take a week on it, and not give me your answer till the end. If you have
+half the gratitude in you that you pretend, you'll do as the boss
+wants."
+
+I had manned myself to tell him of my love for you, but I bowed assent,
+for indeed, I was too bewildered to think clearly, and was glad to have
+a respite. We shook hands without further parley, and I came back here,
+to cough and shiver while trying to think it all out. An hour ago I went
+to bed, but I was wakeful, and so sit here trying to write myself into
+sleepiness.
+
+I have thought out what my course must be. If it is true, as indeed I
+know it to be, that Mr. Whitely has won you, Mr. Blodgett shall have the
+truth. I shall tell him that I will put you out of my heart, as perforce
+I must, and that if he is still willing I will go to Agnes, tell her too
+the whole truth, and promise her such love and devotion as I can give.
+So sweet a girl deserves far more, and I cannot believe that she will
+accept the little I can offer; but if she does, it shall be the labor of
+my life to be to her a true and tender husband. And even if she were not
+what she is, the thought that through her I have made reparation for
+the wrong done you will make easy both tenderness and love for her.
+
+For the last time, perhaps, I have the right to say, "Good-night, my
+love."
+
+
+
+
+XXIII
+
+
+_March 14._ After dinner this evening I went to see Mrs. Blodgett; for,
+miserable as I felt, my mental suffering was greater than my physical.
+The footman told me she had just gone upstairs to dress for a ball, but
+I sent her a message begging for a moment's interview; and when he
+returned, it was to take me to her boudoir,--a privilege which would in
+itself have shown me how thoroughly I was forgiven, even if her greeting
+had been less warm.
+
+In a few halting and broken sentences I told her of my love for you. She
+was so amazed that at first she seemed unable to believe me serious; and
+when I had persuaded her that I was in earnest, her perplexity and
+curiosity were unbounded.
+
+Why had I behaved so? For what reason had I never called on Maizie? Such
+and many more were the questions she indignantly poured out, and she
+only grew more angry when I answered each by "I cannot tell you."
+Finally, in her irritation, she demanded, "What have you bothered me
+for, then?"
+
+"I want you to tell me, if you have the right, whether Miss Walton is
+engaged to Mr. Whitely," I answered.
+
+"Practically," she snapped.
+
+"She has told you so?"
+
+"I cannot tell you," she replied; adding, "How do you like your own
+medicine?"
+
+"Mrs. Blodgett," I pleaded, "if you understood what it means to me to
+know the truth, you would not use this to punish me for what I cannot
+help. If I could tell any one the story of my life, I should tell you;
+for next to--to one other, you are dearer to me than any living person.
+If you love me at all, do not torture me with a suspense that is
+unbearable."
+
+She came and sat down by me on the lounge, and took my hand, saying,
+"Mr. Whitely asked Maizie to marry him four years ago, but she said she
+would not marry a business man. He wouldn't give up trying, however,
+though he made no apparent headway. Indeed, Maizie told me herself, last
+spring, just before she sailed, that she could never love him, and she
+was convinced that loveless marriages were wrong, being sure to end in
+unhappiness or sacrifice of one or the other. So I thought it would come
+to nothing. But he persisted, and he's succeeded, for she told me last
+week that she had changed her mind, and was going to marry him."
+
+"Do you know why she has done so?" I asked drearily.
+
+"I think it is that book of his. Not merely is she pleased by the
+position it's given him as a writer, but she says it has convinced her
+that he is different from what he appears in society; that no man but
+one of noble character and fine mind could write from such a
+standpoint."
+
+I sat there dumb and stolid, yet knowing that all my past suffering had
+been as nothing to this new grief. Oh, my blindness and wickedness! To
+think, my darling, that it was I who had aided him to win you, that my
+hand had made and set the trap! Why had I not ended my wretched
+existence three years ago, and so, at least, saved myself from this
+second wrong, tenfold worse than that I had endeavored to mend? For my
+own selfish pride and honor, I had juggled, deceived you, Maizie, the
+woman dearer to me than all else, and had myself doomed you to such a
+fate.
+
+I suppose I must have shown some of the agony I felt, for Mrs. Blodgett
+put her hand on my shoulder. "Don't take it so to heart, Rudolph," she
+begged, giving me that name for the first time. "There can still be
+much true happiness in your life."
+
+I only kissed her hand in response, but she instantly pressed her lips
+on my forehead. "I am so sorry," she sighed, "for I had hoped for
+something very different."
+
+"Mr. Blodgett told me," I answered; and then I spoke of the resolution I
+had come to last night.
+
+When I had finished, she said, "We won't talk of it any more, Rudolph,
+for Agnes' sake as well as yours, but perhaps by and by, when the
+suffering is over, you will come and talk to me again; for if you ever
+feel that you can be a good husband to my girl, I shall not be afraid to
+trust her to you, if you can gain her consent."
+
+I rose to go, and she remarked, "Yes. You mustn't stay, for as it is, my
+dressing will make us very late. If the carriage is at the door, tell
+Maxwell to drive you home, and then return for us. You mustn't walk in
+the slush with that horrid cough of yours. Does your landlady give you
+blankets enough? Well, tell her to make a steaming glass of whiskey
+toddy. Wrap some woolen round your throat and chest, and go straight to
+bed. Why, Rudolph, you are not going without kissing me good-night?" she
+continued, as if that had been my habit, adding, "Some day I shall make
+you tell me all about it."
+
+I went downstairs, intending to follow her directions; but as I passed
+the drawing-room door I heard the piano, and thought I recognized, from
+the touch, whose fingers were straying at random over the keys.
+
+"Isn't that Miss Walton?" I asked of the servant, as he brought me my
+hat and coat.
+
+"Yes, Dr. Hartzmann. Miss Walton is to go to the ball with the ladies,
+and is waiting for them to come downstairs," he told me.
+
+I left him holding my coat, and passed noiselessly between the curtains
+of the portière. Your back was turned to me as you sat at the
+instrument, and I stood in silence watching you as you played, till
+suddenly--was it sympathy, or only the consciousness of something
+alien?--you looked around. I should almost think it was the former, for
+you expressed no surprise at seeing me standing there, even though you
+rose.
+
+"Don't let me interrupt you," I begged.
+
+"I was only beguiling the time I have to wait," you replied.
+
+"It will be a favor to me if you will go on," I said, and without
+another word, with that simple grace and sweetness natural to you, you
+resumed your seat and went on playing, while I sat down on the divan.
+
+Your bent, like mine, was for some reason a sad one, and what you played
+reflected your mood, stirring me deeply and making me almost forget my
+misery. Presently, however, I was seized with a paroxysm of coughing;
+and when I had recovered enough to be conscious of anything, I found you
+standing by me, looking both startled and compassionate.
+
+"You are ill, Dr. Hartzmann," you said, anxiously.
+
+"It is nothing," I managed to articulate.
+
+"Can I do anything for you?" you asked.
+
+"Nothing," I replied, rising, more wretched than ever, because knowing
+how little I deserved your sympathy.
+
+"It would be a pleasure to help you, Dr. Hartzmann, for I have never
+been able to show any gratefulness for your kindness over my book," you
+went on, with a touch of timidity in your tones, as if you were asking a
+favor rather than conferring one.
+
+Won by your manner, before I knew what I was doing, I spoke. "Miss
+Walton," I burst out, "you see before you the most miserable being
+conceivable, and you can save me from the worst anguish I am suffering!"
+
+Your eyes enlarged in surprise, both at my vehemence and at what I had
+uttered, while you stood looking at me, with slightly parted lips; then
+you said sweetly, "Tell me what I can do for you."
+
+I had spoken without thought, only conscious that I must try in some way
+to save you. For a moment I hesitated, and then exclaimed, "I beg of you
+not to marry Mr. Whitely!"
+
+Like a goddess you drew yourself up, even before you could have
+appreciated the full import of my foolish speech, and never have I seen
+you look more beautiful or queenly than as you faced me. After a brief
+silence you answered, "You can hardly realize what you are saying, Dr.
+Hartzmann."
+
+"I am indeed mad in my unhappiness," I groaned.
+
+"You owe me an explanation for your extraordinary words," you continued.
+
+"Miss Walton," I said, "Mr. Whitely is not a man to make you happy, and
+in hopes of saving you from him I spoke as I did. I had no right, as
+none can know better than myself, but perhaps you will forgive the
+impertinence when I say that my motive was only to save you from future
+misery."
+
+"Why should I not be happy in marrying Mr. Whitely?"
+
+"Because you are deceiving yourself about him."
+
+"In what respect?"
+
+"His character is other than you think it."
+
+"Be more specific."
+
+"That I cannot be."
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"It would be dishonorable in me."
+
+"Not more so than to stop where you have."
+
+"I cannot say more."
+
+"I do not recognize your right to be silent. You have said too much or
+too little."
+
+"Maizie," called Mrs. Blodgett from the hall, "come quickly, for we are
+very late."
+
+"I shall insist, at some future time, upon your speaking more clearly,
+Dr. Hartzmann," you said, as a queen would speak, and picking up your
+wrap, without a parting word, you left me standing in the middle of the
+drawing-room.
+
+I came home through the cold, and have sat here regretting my
+foolishness and groping for the right course to pursue. Oh, my darling,
+if I but had the right, I would gladly tell you the whole story of the
+miserable deception, even though I disgraced myself in your eyes. If it
+were merely my own honor which was at stake, I should not hesitate for
+an instant, but would sacrifice it to save you, though self-respect
+seems now the only thing left me. But try as I may to prove to myself
+that I have the right, I cannot, for I feel that more than my own honor
+is concerned. I have taken Mr. Whitely's money, and cannot return it to
+him. To break faith would be worse than despicable. I shall speak to you
+of my employer's hardness, and beg you to ask Mr. Blodgett if he would
+give Agnes to Mr. Whitely or advise you to marry him. My heart yearns to
+aid you in your peril, but I can think of nothing more that I can do.
+May God do what I cannot, my dearest. Good-night.
+
+
+
+
+XXIV
+
+
+_March 15._ I was so miserable with my cough to-day that I could not
+summon the energy to drag myself to Mr. Blodgett's office, and did not
+leave my room till after eight, when your note came.
+
+"Miss Walton," it read, "feels that she has the right to request Dr.
+Hartzmann to call this evening, in relation to the conversation
+uncompleted last night."
+
+I understood the implied command, and thought that I owed what you
+claimed, while feeling that in obeying I could for this once forego my
+scruple of entering your door. The footman showed me into the library,
+and left me there. It was the first time I had seen it since my
+thirteenth year, and I cannot tell you the moment's surprise and joy I
+felt on finding it absolutely unchanged. Even the books were arranged
+as formerly, and my eye searched and found, as quickly as of yore, all
+the old volumes full of plates which had once given us such horror and
+delight. For the instant I forgot my physical suffering and the coming
+ordeal.
+
+When you entered the room, you welcomed me only with a bow. Then seeing
+my paleness, you said kindly, "I forgot your cough, Dr. Hartzmann, or I
+would not have brought you out in such weather. Sit here by the fire."
+After a short pause you went on: "I hope that a day's thought has
+convinced you that common justice requires you to say more than you did
+last night?"
+
+"Miss Walton," I replied, "to you, who know nothing of the difficult and
+hopeless position in which I stand, my conduct, I presume, seems most
+dishonorable and cowardly; yet I cannot say more than I said last
+night."
+
+"You must."
+
+"I can scarcely hope that what I then said will influence you, but if
+you will go to Mr. Blodgett and"--
+
+"Does Mr. Blodgett know what you object to in Mr. Whitely?" you
+interrupted.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"I went to Mr. Blodgett this morning, and he told me that he knew of no
+reason why I should not marry Mr. Whitely."
+
+"Then, Miss Walton," I answered, rising, "I cannot expect that you will
+be influenced by my opinion. I will withdraw what I said last night.
+Think of me as leniently as you can, for my purpose was honorable."
+
+"But you ought to say more. You"--
+
+"I cannot," I replied.
+
+"You have no right to"--But here a servant entered, with a card.
+
+"Dr. Hartzmann," you announced, when the man had gone, "I wrote Mr.
+Whitely yesterday afternoon, asking him to call this evening, with the
+intention of accepting his offer of marriage. He is now in the
+drawing-room, and unless you will have the fairness, the honesty, to
+explain what you meant, I shall tell him all that has occurred, and give
+him the opportunity to force you to speak."
+
+"I shall only repeat to him, Miss Walton, what I have said to you."
+
+You stood a moment looking at me, with a face blazing with indignation;
+then you exclaimed, "You at least owe it to him not to run away while I
+am gone!" and passed into the drawing-room.
+
+You returned very soon, followed by Mr. Whitely.
+
+"Dr. Hartzmann," you asked, "will you repeat what you said last night to
+me?"
+
+"I advised you not to marry Mr. Whitely, Miss Walton."
+
+"And you will not say why?" you demanded.
+
+"I cannot."
+
+"Mr. Whitely," you cried, "cannot you force him to speak?"
+
+"Miss Walton," he replied suavely, and his very coolness in the strange
+condition made me feel that he was master of the situation, "I am as
+perplexed as you are at this extraordinary conduct in one who even now
+is eating bread from my hand. I have long since ceased to expect
+gratitude for benefits, but such malevolence surprises and grieves me,
+since I have never done Dr. Hartzmann any wrong, but, on the contrary, I
+have always befriended him."
+
+"I have been in the employ of Mr. Whitely," I answered, "but every
+dollar he has paid me has been earned by my labor. I owe him no debt of
+gratitude that he does not owe me."
+
+"You owe him the justice that every man owes another," you asserted
+indignantly. "To make vague charges behind one's back, and then refuse
+to be explicit, is a coward's and a slanderer's way of waging war."
+
+"Miss Walton," I cried, "I should not have spoken, though God knows
+that my motive was only a wish to do you a service, and I would give my
+life to do as you ask!"
+
+For an instant my earnestness seemed to sway you; indeed, I am convinced
+that this was so, since Mr. Whitely apparently had the same feeling, and
+spoke as if to neutralize my influence, saying to you: "Miss Walton, I
+firmly believe that Dr. Hartzmann's plea of honorable conduct is nothing
+but the ambush of a coward. But as he has been for two years in the most
+intimate and confidential position of private secretary to me, he may,
+through some error, have deluded himself into a conviction that gives a
+basis for his indefinite charges. I will not take advantage of the
+implied secrecy, and I say to him in your presence that if he has
+discovered anything which indicates that I have been either impure or
+criminal, I give him permission to speak."
+
+Even in that moment of entanglement I could not but admire and marvel
+at the skill with which he had phrased his speech, so as to seem
+absolutely open, to slur me by innuendo, and yet avoid the risk of
+exposure. It left me helpless, and I could only say, "I have not charged
+Mr. Whitely with either impurity or criminality."
+
+You turned to him and said, "This conduct is perfectly inexplicable."
+
+"Except on one ground," he replied.
+
+"Which is?" you questioned.
+
+"That Dr. Hartzmann loves you," he answered.
+
+"That is impossible!" you exclaimed.
+
+"Not as impossible as for a man not to love you, Miss Walton," he
+averred.
+
+"Tell Mr. Whitely how mistaken he is," you said to me.
+
+I could only stand silent, and after waiting a little Mr. Whitely
+remarked, "You see!"
+
+"It is incredible!" you protested. "You must deny it, Dr. Hartzmann!"
+
+"I cannot, Miss Walton," I murmured, with bowed head.
+
+"You love me?" you cried incredulously.
+
+"I love you," I assented, and in spite of the circumstances it was
+happiness to say it to you.
+
+You stood gazing at me in amazement, large-eyed as a startled deer. I
+wonder what your first words would have been to me if Mr. Whitely had
+not turned your mind into another channel by saying, "I do not think
+that we need search further for Dr. Hartzmann's motives in making his
+innuendoes."
+
+"Miss Walton," I urged, "my love for you, far from making your faith in
+me less or my motive that of a rival, should convince you that I spoke
+only for your sake, since you yourself know that my love has been
+neither hopeful nor self-seeking."
+
+I think you pitied me, for you answered gently, and all traces of the
+scorn and indignation you had shown just before were gone from your
+face and manner.
+
+"Dr. Hartzmann," you said, "I cannot allow myself to listen to or weigh
+such indefinite imputations against Mr. Whitely. I will give you one
+week to explain or substantiate what you have implied; and unless within
+that time you do so, I shall accept the offer of marriage which he has
+honored me by making. Do not let me detain you further. Good-evening."
+
+I passed out of the room a broken-hearted man, without strength enough
+to hold up my head, and hardly able in my weakness to crawl back to my
+study. As I sit and write, every breath brings with it the feeling that
+a knife is being thrust into my breast, and I am faint with the pain.
+But for this racking cough and burning fever I might have made a better
+fight, and have been able to think of some way of saving you. But even
+in my suffering I have reached one conclusion. To-morrow I shall go to
+Mr. Whitely and tell him that you must know the truth concerning the
+book, and that if he will not tell you I shall. I shall never be able to
+hold up my head again; but that is nothing, if I can but save you. Oh,
+my dearest love, the sacrifice of life, of honor, the meeting ignominy
+or death for your sake, will be nothing to me but hap
+
+     Transcriber's Note: The text ends in the middle of a word. The
+     remainder of this page is missing in the original image and
+     other available editions.
+
+
+
+XXV
+
+
+_January 10, 1895._ This evening I have for the first time re-read
+this--I know not what to call it, for it is neither diary nor
+letter--the story of my love; and as I read, the singular sensation came
+over me that I was following, not my own thoughts and experiences, but
+those of another man. Five years ago, half mad with grief, and
+physically and nervously exhausted to the brink of a breakdown, I spent
+my evenings writing my thoughts, in the hope that the fatigue of the
+task would bring the sleep I sought in vain. Little I then wrote seems
+to me now, in my new life, what I could ever possibly have confided to
+paper, much less have felt. Yet here is my own handwriting to vouch for
+every word, and to tell me that the morbid chronicle is no other than
+my own. I cannot believe that mere years have brought so startling a
+mental change, and I therefore think that much of it is an expression,
+not of myself, but of the illness which put an end to my writing. If
+proof were needed of the many kinds of men each man contains, this
+manuscript of mine would furnish it; for the being I have read about
+this evening is no more the Donald Maitland of to-night than--Ah, well,
+to my task of telling what has wrought this change, since it must be
+written.
+
+For a month I was confined to my bed with pneumonia, and the attack so
+weakened me that I did not leave my room for five weeks more. During
+that time Mrs. Blodgett's kindness was constant, and her face is the
+only memory that stands out from the hours of my acute torture. While I
+was convalescing, she came once, and sometimes twice, each day, bringing
+me flowers, fruit, jellies, wines, and whatever else her love could
+suggest. It was amusing to see her domineer over the doctor, trained
+nurse, and landlady, and I soon learned to whom to make my pleas for
+extra liberty or special privileges. No request, however whimsical,
+seemed too much for her affection, though my demands were unceasing, in
+the selfishness of my invalidism. Only one thing I dared not ask her,
+and that was not from fear that it would be refused, but from cowardice.
+I longed to have her speak of you, but during those weeks she never
+mentioned your name.
+
+The day before Mrs. Blodgett left town she took me for my first airing
+in her carriage, and told me that she was leaving a man and horses in
+town for a month longer in order that I should have a daily drive. "Mr.
+Blodgett really needs a carriage more in the summer than he does in the
+winter, but he never will consent to let me leave one for him, so I've
+used you as an excuse," was the way she explained her kindness. "By the
+end of the month I hope you will be well enough to come up and make us a
+visit in the Berkshires, for the change will be the very best thing for
+you."
+
+"I hope to be at work again by that time," I said.
+
+"You are not to see pen or paper till the first of October!" she
+ordered; and when I only shook my head, she continued, "For three years
+you've been overworking yourself, and now the doctor says you must take
+a long rest, and I'm going to see that you have it."
+
+"You mean to be good to me, Mrs. Blodgett," I sighed, "but if you knew
+my situation, you would understand that I must get to work again as soon
+as possible."
+
+"I don't care about your situation," she sniffed contemptuously, "and I
+do care about your health. I shall insist that you come up to My Fancy,
+if I have to come back to the city to bring you; and when I once get
+you there, I shan't let you go away till I choose."
+
+Loving my tyrant, I did not protest further, though firm in my own mind
+as to my duty. As it turned out, I need not have denied her, for the end
+of the month found me with but little added strength; and though I tried
+to work two or three times, I was forced to abandon the attempts without
+accomplishing anything. My wonder is that I gained strength at all, in
+my discouragement over the loss of Mr. Whitely's work, my three months'
+idleness, the heavy doctor's bills, and the steadily accruing interest
+on the debt.
+
+On the 21st of June Mr. Blodgett came to see me, as indeed he had done
+daily since Mrs. Blodgett left town.
+
+"The boss writes," he announced, "ordering me to come up to-day, and
+directing that before I leave New York I am to do forty-seven things,
+ranging in importance from buying her the last novels to matching some
+white"--he looked at his letter, and spelled out--"'f-l-o-s-s' as per
+sample inclosed. I haven't time to do more than forty-five, and I'm
+afraid I'll never hear the last of the remaining two unless you'll save
+me."
+
+"How?"
+
+"Well, three times in her letter she tells me that I've got to bring
+you, the last time as good as saying that my life won't be an insurable
+risk if I don't. Since she puts so much stress on your presence, it's
+just possible that if I fill that order she'll forget the rest."
+
+"I would go, Mr. Blodgett, but"--
+
+"Oh, I understand all that," he interrupted. "Of course, if you stay in
+the cool fresh air of the city, you won't run any risk of the malaria
+the Berkshires are full of; I know the New York markets have peas as
+large and firm as bullets, while those in our garden are poor little
+shriveled affairs hardly worth the trouble of eating; our roads are not
+Belgian blocks, but only soft dirt, and we haven't got a decent flagged
+sidewalk within ten miles of My Fancy. I understand perfectly that
+you'll get well faster here, and so get to work sooner; but all the
+same, just as a favor, you might pull me out of this scrape."
+
+I need not say I had to yield, and together we took the afternoon
+express. On the train we found Mr. Whitely,--as great a surprise,
+apparently, to Mr. Blodgett as it was to me.
+
+"Hello!" exclaimed the banker. "Where are you bound for?"
+
+"I presume for the same destination you are," Mr. Whitely replied. "I am
+going up to see Miss Walton, and if Mrs. Blodgett cannot give me a
+night's hospitality, I shall go to the hotel."
+
+"Plenty of room at My Fancy, and I'll guarantee your welcome," promised
+Mr. Blodgett pleasantly. "Here's the doctor going up for a bit of
+nursing."
+
+Much to my surprise, my former employer entered the compartment, and,
+offering me his hand, sat down by the lounge I was stretched upon.
+"You've had a serious illness," he remarked, with a bland attempt at
+sympathy.
+
+I only nodded my head.
+
+"I hope you will recover quickly, for you are needed in the office," he
+went on.
+
+I could not have been more surprised if he had struck me, though I did
+not let it appear in my face.
+
+"Whitely's been trying to go it alone on his editorials, and the papers
+have all been laughing at him," chuckled Mr. Blodgett. "Just read us
+your famous one, Whitely,--that one about The Tendency of Modern Art,
+with the original Hebrew from Solomon you put in."
+
+I saw my employer redden, and in pity for his embarrassment I said, "I
+do not think I shall ever come back to the office, Mr. Whitely."
+
+"Why not?" he exclaimed. "You committed an unwise action, but business
+is business, and I see no cause why we need let a single mistake
+terminate a relation mutually profitable."
+
+"I have learned the lesson that one cannot sell one's honesty without
+wronging other people, and I shall never do it again."
+
+"This is purely sentimental"--he began.
+
+Mr. Blodgett, however, interrupted by saying, "Now don't go to exciting
+the doctor, for he's to sleep on the trip. Besides, I've got something
+in mind better than the job he's had under you, Whitely. Come and have a
+smoke, and leave him to nap a bit."
+
+They left me, and I set to puzzling over many questions: how you would
+greet me at My Fancy; how you would welcome Mr. Whitely; what was the
+meaning of his friendliness towards me; and what new kindness Mr.
+Blodgett had in store for me. Finally I fell asleep, to be awakened
+only when we reached our destination.
+
+Agnes met us at the station, and at the house Mrs. Blodgett gave me the
+warmest of welcomes, but not till I came downstairs before dinner did
+you and I meet. Your greeting was formal, yet courteous and gracious as
+of old, almost making me question if our last two interviews could be
+realities.
+
+Before the dinner was finished Mrs. Blodgett ordered me to the divan on
+the veranda, and sent dessert and fruit out to me. You all joined me
+when the moment came for coffee and cigars; but the evening was cloudy
+and rather breezy, and presently Mrs. Blodgett said it was too cold for
+her, and suggested a game of whist indoors. "You must stay out here,"
+she told me, "but if you feel cool be sure to use the shawl."
+
+You turned and said to Mr. Whitely, "You will play, I hope?" and he
+assented so eagerly that it was all I could do to keep from laughing
+outright when you continued, "Agnes and Mr. Whitely will make your
+table, Mrs. Blodgett, so I will stay here and watch the clouds." The
+whole thing was so palpably with an object that I felt at once that you
+wished to see me alone, to learn if I had anything more to say
+concerning Mr. Whitely; and as I realized this, I braced myself for the
+coming ordeal.
+
+For a few moments you stood watching the gathering storm, and then took
+a chair by the divan on which I lay.
+
+"Are you too honorable," you began,--and though I could not see your
+face in the darkness, your voice told me you were excited,--"to pardon
+dishonorable conduct in others? For I have come to beg of you
+forgiveness for a wrong."
+
+"Of me, Miss Walton?"
+
+"Last April," you went on, "Mrs. Blodgett brought me a book and asked me
+to read it. A few paragraphs revealed to me that it was something
+written by an old friend of mine. After reading a little further, I
+realized for the first time that I was violating a confidence. Yet
+though I knew this, and struggled to close the book, I could not, but
+read it to the end. Can you forgive me?"
+
+"Oh, Miss Walton!" I protested. "Why ask forgiveness of me? What is your
+act compared to the wrong"--
+
+"Hush, Don," you said gently, and your use of my name, so long unheard,
+told me in a word that the feeling of our childhood days was come again.
+"Tell me you forgive me!" you entreated.
+
+"I am not the one to forgive, Maizie."
+
+"I did wrong, and I ask your pardon," you begged humbly. "Yet I'm not
+sorry in the least, and I should do it again," you instantly added,
+laughing merrily at your own perverseness. Then in a moment you were
+serious again, saying, "I never received the letters or the photograph,
+Donald. My uncle confesses that he put them in the fire." And before I
+could speak, a new thought seized you, for you continued sadly, "I shall
+never forgive myself for my harshness and cruelty when you were so ill."
+
+"That is nothing," I replied, "since all our misunderstandings are gone.
+Why, even my debt, Maizie, ceases now to be a burden; in the future it
+will be only a joy to work."
+
+"Donald!" you exclaimed. "You don't suppose I shall let you pay me
+another cent!"
+
+"I must."
+
+"But I am rich," you protested. "The money is nothing to me. You shall
+not ruin your career to pay it. I scorn myself when I think that I
+refused to see you that night, and so lost my only chance of saving you
+from what followed. My cowardice, my wicked cowardice! It drove you to
+death's door by overwork, to give me wealth I do not know how to spend.
+You parted with your library that I might let money lie idle in bank. I
+forced you to sell your book--your fame--to that thief. Oh, Donald,
+think of the wrong it has done already, and don't make it do greater!"
+
+"Maizie, you do not understand"--
+
+"I understand it all," you interrupted. "You must not--you shall not--I
+won't take it--I"--
+
+"For his sake!"
+
+"But I love him, too!" you pleaded. "Don't you see, Donald, that it was
+never the money,--that was nothing; but they told me his love--and
+yours, for they said you had known all the time--was only pretense, a
+method by which you might continue to rob me. And I came to believe
+it,--though I should have known better,--because, since you never wrote,
+it seemed to me you had both dropped me out of your thoughts as soon as
+you could no longer plunder me. Even then, scorning you,--like you in
+your feeling over my neglect of your letters,--I could not help loving
+you, for those Paris and Tyrol days were the happiest I have ever known;
+and though I knew, Don, that I ought to forget you, as I believed you
+had forgotten me, I could not do so. I have never dared to speak in
+public of either of you, for fear I should break down. Try as I might, I
+could not help loving you both as I have never loved any one else. That
+I turned you away from my house was because I did not dare to meet
+you,--I knew I could not control myself. After the man took the message,
+I sobbed over having to insult you by sending it by a servant. But for
+my want of courage--had I seen you as I ought--If I had only understood,
+as your journal has made me,--had only known that my name was on his
+lips when he died! No money could pay for what he gave to me. Could he
+ask me now for twice the sum, it would be my pleasure to give it to him,
+for I love him dearly, and"--
+
+"If you love him, Maizie, you will let me clear his name as far as lies
+within my power."
+
+For an instant you were silent, and then said softly, "You are right,
+Donald, we will clear his name."
+
+I took your hand and touched it to my lips. "To hear you speak of
+him"--I could go no further, in my emotion.
+
+There was a pause before you asked, "Donald, do you remember our talk
+here last autumn?"
+
+"Every word."
+
+You laughed gayly. "I want you to know, sir," you asserted, with a
+pretense of defiance, "that I don't believe in love, because I have
+never found any that was wholly free from self-indulgence or
+self-interest. And I still think"--
+
+Just then Mrs. Blodgett joined us, and inquired, "Have you told Rudolph,
+Maizie?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"I went to see how you were the moment I heard of your illness," she
+said, with a certain challenge in her voice, "and I found that book
+lying on your desk just where you stopped writing from weakness. I read
+it, and I took it to Maizie."
+
+"It was kismet, I suppose," was all I could say, too happy to think of
+criticism, and instantly her manner changed and she wiped her eyes.
+
+"I had to do it," she sobbed.
+
+"You have been too good to me," I answered, rising and taking her hand.
+
+"There, there," she continued, steadying herself. "I didn't come out to
+behave like this, but to tell you to go to bed at once. I'm going to
+your room to see that everything is right for our invalid, but don't you
+delay a minute after I'm gone," and she disappeared through the doorway.
+
+I turned to you and held out my hand, bidding you, "Good-night, Maizie,"
+and you took it, and replied, "Good-night, Don." Then suddenly you
+leaned forward, and, kissing my forehead, added, "God keep you safe for
+me, my darling."
+
+I took you in my arms, and gave you back your kiss twofold, while
+saying, "Good-night, my love."
+
+
+
+
+XXVI
+
+
+A man does not willingly spread on paper the sweetest and tenderest
+moments of his life. When half crazed with grief and illness I might
+express my suffering, much as, in physical pain, some groan aloud; but
+the deepest happiness is silent, for it is too great to be told. And
+lest, my dears, you think me even less manly than I am, I choose to add
+here the reason for my writing the last few pages of this story of my
+love, that if you ever read it you may know the motive which made me
+tell what till to-night I have kept locked in my heart.
+
+This evening the dearest woman in the world came to me, as I sat at my
+desk in the old library, and asked, "Are you busy, Donald?"
+
+"I am reading the one hundred and forty-seventh complimentary review of
+my History of the Moors, and I am so sick of sweets that your
+interruption comes as an unalloyed pleasure."
+
+"Am I bitter or acid?" she asked, leaning over my shoulder and arranging
+my hair, which is one of her ways of pleasing me.
+
+"You are my exact opposite," I said gravely.
+
+"How uncomplimentary you are!" she cried, with a pretense of anger in
+her voice.
+
+"An historian must tell the truth now and then, for variety's sake."
+
+"Then tell me if you are too engaged to spare me a minute. Any other
+time will do."
+
+"You are seriously mistaken, because no other time will do. And nothing
+about me is ever engaged, as regards you, except my affections, and they
+are permanently so."
+
+"I've come to ask a great favor of you."
+
+"Out of the question; but you may tell me what it is."
+
+"Ah, Donald, say you will grant it before I tell you?"
+
+"Concealment bespeaks a guilty conscience."
+
+"But sometimes you are so funny and obstinate about things!"
+
+"That is what Mr. Whitely used to say."
+
+"Don't mention that wretch's name to me! To think of that miserable
+little Western college making him an LL. D. because of your book!"
+
+"Never mind, Maizie; here's a letter I received an hour ago from
+Jastrow, which tells me the University of Leipzig is going to give me a
+degree."
+
+"That he should steal your fame!"
+
+"My Moor is five times the chap my Turk was."
+
+"But you might have had both!"
+
+"And gone without you? Don't fret over it, my darling."
+
+"I can't help"--
+
+She always ends this vein by abusing herself, which I wouldn't allow
+another human being to do, and which I don't like to hear, so I
+interrupted: "Jastrow says he'll come over in March to visit us, and
+threatens to bring the manuscript of his whole seventeen volumes, for me
+to take a final look at it before he sends it to press."
+
+"The dear old thing!" she said tenderly. "I love him so for what he was
+to you that I believe I shall welcome him with a kiss."
+
+"Why make the rest of his life unhappy?"
+
+"Is that the way it affects you?"
+
+"Woman is born illogical, and even the cleverest of her sex cannot
+entirely overcome the taint. After you give me a kiss I bear in mind
+that I am to have another, and that makes me very happy. But if you
+kiss Jastrow, the poor fellow will go back to Germany and pine away into
+his grave. Even his fifty-two dialects will not satisfy him after your
+labial."
+
+"Oh, you silly!" she exclaimed; but, my dears, I think she is really, in
+her secret heart, fond of silliness, for she leaned over and--There,
+I'll stop being what she called me.
+
+"We'll give him a great reception," she continued, "and have every one
+worth knowing to meet him."
+
+"He is the shyest of beings."
+
+"How books and learning do refine men!" she said.
+
+"I am afraid they do make weaklings of us."
+
+"Will you never get over the idea that you are weak?" she cried; for it
+is one of her pet superstitions that I am not.
+
+"You'll frighten me out of it if you speak like that."
+
+"You are--well--that is really what I came to ask for. Just to please
+your own wife, you will, Donald, won't you?"
+
+"The distinction between 'will' and 'won't' is clearly set forth in a
+somewhat well-known song concerning a spider and a fly."
+
+"Oh, you bad boy!"
+
+"Adsum."
+
+"I'm really serious."
+
+"I never was less so."
+
+"I should not have become your wife if I had dreamed you would be such a
+brute!"
+
+"You'll please remember that I never asked you to marry me."
+
+She laughed deliciously over the insult, and after that I could not
+resist her.
+
+"You have," I said, "a bundle in your left hand, wrapped in tissue paper
+and tied with a blue ribbon, which you sedulously keep from my sight,
+but of which I caught a glimpse as you entered."
+
+"And you've known it all this time! Perhaps you know too what I want?"
+
+"Last spring," I answered, "I knocked at the door of your morning-room
+twice, and receiving no response, I went in, to find you reading
+something that you instantly hid from sight. There were on the lounge, I
+remember, a sheet of tissue paper and a blue ribbon. I suspect a
+connection."
+
+"Well?"
+
+"My theory is that you have some really improper book wrapped in the
+paper, and that is why you so guiltily hide it from me."
+
+"Oh, Donald, it gives me such happiness to read it!"
+
+"That was the reason I asked you why you had tears in your eyes, when I
+surprised you that day. Your happiness was most enviable!"
+
+"Men never understand women!"
+
+"Deo gratias."
+
+"But I love it."
+
+"I don't like to hear you express such sentiments for so erotic a book."
+
+"Oh, don't apply such a word to it!" she cried, in a pained voice.
+
+"A word," I explained, "taken from the Greek _erotikos_, which is
+derived from _erao_, meaning 'I love passionately.' It is singularly
+descriptive, Maizie."
+
+"If it means that, I like it, but I thought you were insulting my book."
+
+"Almost five years ago," I remarked, "a volume was stolen from my room,
+which I have never since been able to recover. Now a woman of excessive
+honesty calmly calls it hers."
+
+"You know you don't want it."
+
+"I want it very much."
+
+"Really?"
+
+"To put it in the fire."
+
+"Don!"
+
+"Once upon a time a most bewitching woman wrote a story, and in a vain
+moment her husband asked her to give it to him. She"--
+
+"But, my darling, it was so foolish that I had to burn it up. Think of
+my making the heroine marry that creature!"
+
+"Since you married the poor chap to the other girl, there was no other
+ending possible. If the book were only in existence, I think Agnes and
+her husband would enjoy reading it almost as much as I should."
+
+"How silly I was! But at least the book made you write the ending which
+prevented me from accepting him that winter. What a lot of trouble I
+gave my poor dear!"
+
+"I met the 'poor dear' yesterday, looking very old and unhappy despite
+his LL. D."
+
+"Oh, you idiot!" she laughed. And she must like imbeciles, too,
+for--well, I'm not going to tell even you how I know that she's fond of
+idiots.
+
+"Why do you suppose he's unhappy?" she asked.
+
+"My theory is that he's miserable because he lost--lost me."
+
+"I'm so glad he is!" joyously asserted the tenderest of women.
+
+"Nevertheless," I resumed, "it was a book I should have valued as much
+as you do that one in tissue paper, and you ought not to have burned
+it."
+
+"I am very sorry I did, Donald, since you would really have liked it,"
+she said, wistfully and sorrowfully. "I should have thought of your
+feelings, and not of mine."
+
+This is a mood I cannot withstand. "Dear heart," I responded, "I have
+you, and all the books in the world are not worth a breath in
+comparison. What favor do you want me to do?"
+
+"To write a sort of last chapter--an ending, you know--telling
+about--about the rest."
+
+"Have you forgotten it?"
+
+"I? Never! I couldn't. But I want to have it all in the book, so that
+when Foster and Mai are older they can read it."
+
+"I have no intention of sharing, even with our children, my
+under-the-rose idyl with the loveliest of girls. And when the children
+are older, they'll be far more interested in their own heart secrets
+than they are in ours."
+
+"Still, dear," she pleaded, "they may hear from others some unkind and
+perverted allusions to our story; for you know what foolish things were
+said at the time of our marriage."
+
+"If I remember rightly, some one--was it my mother or Mr. Whitely?"--
+
+"Both," she answered.
+
+"--spread it abroad that I had trapped an heiress into marriage by means
+of an alias."
+
+"Wasn't it a delicious version!" she laughed merrily. "But no matter
+what's ever tattled in the future, if Foster and Mai have your journal,
+they will always understand it."
+
+"Maizie," I urged, "if you let those imps of mischief read of our
+childish doings in this old library, they'll either finish painting the
+plates in Kingsborough, or burn the house down in trying to realize an
+Inca of Peru at the stake."
+
+"But I won't read them those parts," she promised; "especially if you
+write a nice ending, which they'll like."
+
+"Won't it do to add just a paragraph, saying that our fairy godmamma
+found and gave you the journal, and that then we 'lived happily ever
+after'?"
+
+"No, Donald," she begged. "I want the whole story, to match the rest."
+
+"Five years ago I knew the saddest and most dejected of fellows, whose
+misery was so great that he wailed it out on paper. But now I know only
+the happiest of mortals, and he cannot write in the lugubrious tone of
+yore--unless a lady of his acquaintance will banish him from her
+presence or do something else equally joy-destroying."
+
+"Are you trying to bribe me into giving you a rest from my presence for
+a time?"
+
+"Undoubtedly," I assented. "It's a fearful strain to live up to you, and
+it is beginning to tell on me."
+
+"If I didn't know you were teasing, I should really be hurt. But I
+should like to ask you one thing."
+
+"And that is?"
+
+"In your journal--well--of course I know that you were--that I am
+not--that your love made you think me what I never was in the least,
+Donald," she faltered, "but still, perhaps--Do you remember what Mr.
+Blodgett said about his not giving Mrs. Blodgett for ten of the women
+he--? I hope you like my reality as much as your ideal."
+
+"Haven't you changed your idea of me, Maizie?"
+
+"Oh yes."
+
+"And therefore you don't love me as much?"
+
+"But that's different, Donald," she observed seriously.
+
+"How?"
+
+"Why, you treated me so strangely that, inevitably, I didn't know what
+you were like; and though you interested me very much, and though your
+journal brought back my old love for you, still, what I did was more in
+pity and admiration and reparation than--and so I could fall deeper in
+love. While you, being so much in love already, and with such a totally
+different woman"--
+
+"Only went from bad to worse," I groaned. "Yes, I own up. My sin is one
+of the lowest man can commit. I have fallen in love with a married
+woman. And the strange thing about it is that you are not jealous of
+her! Indeed, I really believe that you are magnanimous enough to love
+her too, though it's natural you should not like her as much as you do
+some others. But next August I'll leave her and go to India to study for
+my new book."
+
+"The married woman will go too," she predicted calmly.
+
+"I shouldn't dare risk her among those hill tribes."
+
+"And she won't risk you where it isn't safe for her to go."
+
+"I was only thinking of your lovely complexion," I explained.
+
+"Old mahogany is very fashionable," she laughed.
+
+"Can nothing make you stay at home?" I asked beseechingly.
+
+"I wonder if there ever was a husband who did not love to tease his
+wife?"
+
+"The divorce courts have records of many such unloving wretches."
+
+"What I want," she told me, returning to her wish, "is to have you take
+it up just where you left off. Tell about your pneumonia, and how Mrs.
+Blodgett found your journal, but didn't dare give it to me till the
+doctor was certain you would recover; and then tell of my sending you
+flowers and jellies and everything I could think of, by her, to help you
+get well. How"--
+
+"I should have eaten twice as much and recovered much more quickly if
+she had only let me know from whom they really came," I interjected in
+an aggrieved tone.
+
+"And tell how I wouldn't listen to that scoundrel till you should have a
+chance to justify yourself; how, the moment I had read your diary, I
+wrote and rejected him, and would not see him when he called; how he
+would not accept his dismissal, but followed me to the country; tell how
+dreadfully in the way he was that evening, till Mrs. Blodgett and Agnes
+and I trapped him into a game of whist"--
+
+"You Machiavellis!"
+
+"Tell all about my confession, and how we all spoiled you for those
+months at My Fancy. Oh, weren't they lovely, Donald?"
+
+"I thought so then."
+
+"But not now?"
+
+"A gooseberry is good till you taste a strawberry. There was a good deal
+too much gooseberry, as I remember."
+
+"Then tell how the papers and people chattered about your assuming your
+true name; and how they gabbled when we were married,--and how, on our
+wedding day, we endowed the hospital ward"--
+
+"Haven't you made a slip in the pronoun?"
+
+"I'll box your ears if you even suggest it again; half of the money was
+what you earned--endowed the hospital ward in memory of _our_ dear
+father, and how happy we've been since."
+
+"You've made a mistake in the last pronoun, I'm certain."
+
+"You will write it to please me, Donald?"
+
+"Oh, Maizie, I can't. It's all too dear to me."
+
+"Please, Don, try?"
+
+"But"--
+
+She interrupted my protest. "Donald," she said, the tenderness in her
+face and voice softening her words, "before knowing that I loved you,
+you insisted that debt must be paid. Won't you pay me now, dear?"
+
+"I don't merely owe you money, Maizie!" I cried. "I owe you everything,
+and I'm a brute to the most generous of women. Give me the book, dear
+heart."
+
+"You'll make it nice, like the rest, won't you?" she begged.
+
+"I'll try." And then I laughingly added, "Maizie, you still have the
+technical part of story-telling to learn."
+
+"How?"
+
+"I can't write all you wish and make it symmetrical. In the first place,
+we don't want to spend so much time on Whitely as to give him a
+fictitious value; and next, to be artistic, we must end with our
+good-night that evening."
+
+"Well, that will do, if you'll only tell it nicely."
+
+And that, my dears, is why I write again of those old days, so distant
+now in time and mood. What is told here is shared with you only to
+please my love, and I ask of you that it shall be a confidence. And of
+Another I beg that each of you in time may find a love as strong as that
+told here; that each may be as true and noble as your mother, and as
+happy as your father.
+
+Good-night, my children. Good-night, my love. May God be as good to you
+as he has been to me.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Transcriber's Notes:
+
+Spelling of 'Transgression' corrected.
+
+Spelling of 'folk-leid' corrected.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's The Story of an Untold Love, by Paul Leicester Ford
+
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+Project Gutenberg's The Story of an Untold Love, by Paul Leicester Ford
+
+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 Story of an Untold Love
+
+Author: Paul Leicester Ford
+
+Release Date: June 15, 2011 [EBook #36439]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE STORY OF AN UNTOLD LOVE ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Lee Moffitt, Juliet Sutherland and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+    THE STORY OF AN
+    UNTOLD LOVE
+
+    PAUL
+    LEICESTER
+    FORD
+
+    [Illustration]
+
+    NEW YORK
+    GROSSET & DUNLAP
+    PUBLISHERS
+
+    COPYRIGHT 1897 BY PAUL LEICESTER FORD
+    ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
+
+    SIXTY-FIFTH THOUSAND
+
+
+
+
+THE STORY OF AN UNTOLD LOVE
+
+
+
+
+I
+
+
+_February 20, 1890._ There is not a moment of my life that you have
+shared with me which I cannot recall with a distinctness fairly sunlit.
+My joys and my sorrows, my triumphs and my failures, have faded one by
+one from emotions into memories, quickening neither pulse nor thought
+when they recur to me, while you alone can set both throbbing. And
+though for years I have known that if you enshrined any one in your
+heart it would be some one worthier of you, yet I have loved you truly,
+and whatever I have been in all else, in that one thing, at least, I
+have been strong. Nor would I part with my tenderness for you, even
+though it has robbed me of contentment; for all the pleasures of which I
+can dream cannot equal the happiness of loving you. To God I owe life,
+and you, Maizie, have filled that life with love; and to both I bow my
+spirit in thanks, striving not to waste his gift lest I be unworthy of
+the devotion I feel for you.
+
+If I were a stronger man, I should not now be sobbing out my heart's
+blood through the tip of a pen. Instead of writing of my sorrow, I
+should have battled for my love despite all obstacles. But I am no
+Alexander to cut the knot of entanglements which the fates have woven
+about me, and so, Midas-like, I sit morbidly whispering the hidden
+grief, too great for me to bear in silence longer.
+
+I can picture my first glimpse of you as vividly as my last. That dull
+rainy day of indoor imprisonment seems almost to have been arranged as a
+shadowbox to intensify the image graved so deeply on my memory. The sun
+came, as you did, towards the end of the afternoon, as if light and
+warmth were your couriers. When I shyly entered the library in answer to
+my father's call, you were standing in the full sunlight, and the
+thought flashed through my mind that here was one of the angels of whom
+I had read. You were only a child of seven,--to others, I suppose,
+immature and formless; yet even then your eyes were as large and as
+serious as they are to-day, and your curling brown hair had already a
+touch of fire, as if sunshine had crept thereinto, and, liking its
+abiding-place, had lingered lovingly.
+
+"Don," cried my father, as I stood hesitating in the doorway, "here's a
+new plaything for you. Give it a welcome and a kiss."
+
+I hung back, half in shyness, and half in fear that you were of heaven,
+and not of earth, but you came forward and kissed me without the
+slightest hesitation. The details are so clear that I remember you
+hardly had to raise your head, though I was three years the older. Your
+kiss dispelled all my timidity, and from the moment of that caress I
+loved you. Not that I am so foolish as to believe I then felt for you
+what now I feel, but by the clear light of retrospect I can see that
+your coming brought a new element into my life,--an element which I
+loved from the first, though with steadily deepening intensity, and I
+cannot even now determine at what point a boy's devotion became a
+lover's.
+
+To the silent and lonely lad you were an inspiration. What I might have
+grown to be had you not been my father's ward I do not like to think,
+for I was not a strong boy, and my shyness and timidity had prompted me
+to much solitude and few friends, to much reading and to little play.
+But it was decreed that you were to be the controlling influence of my
+life, and in the first week you worked a revolution in my habits. I
+wonder if now, when you see so many men eager to gratify your slightest
+wish, you ever think of your earliest slave, whom you enticed to the
+roof to drop pebbles or water on the passers-by, and into the cellar to
+bury a toy soldier deep in the coal? Does memory ever bring back to you
+how we started to paint the illustrations in Kingsborough's Mexican
+Antiquities, or how we built a fire round a doll on the library rug, in
+imitation of the death of an Inca of Peru as pictured in dear old
+Garcilasso de la Vega's Royal Commentaries? You were a lazy child about
+reading, but when not tempting me into riotous mischief, you would sit
+by me in the library and let me show you the pictures in the old books,
+and I smile now to think what my running versions of the texts must have
+been. Our favorite books were the Nuremberg Chronicle and De Bry's
+Voyages, for the pictures of which, since the Latin was beyond me, I
+invented explanations and even whole stories,--stories over which you
+grew big-eyed and sleepless, and which we both came to believe so firmly
+that we never dreamed them to be the cause for the occasional outburst
+of laughter from my father, when he was in the library.
+
+Even in those days you veiled your witchery and mischief-loving nature
+behind that serious face with its curved but unsmiling mouth. Keen as
+many of our pleasures were and blithe as were our pranks, I can scarcely
+remember a smile upon your face. Now and then the merriest of laughs
+rang out, fairly infectious in its happiness and joy, but of so rare
+recurrence as to win for you the sobriquet of "Madam Gravity." Your
+inscrutability allured and charmed me then as I have seen it fascinate
+others since. I shall never understand you, and yet I think I
+misunderstand you less than others do, for you cannot hide from me the
+quick thought and merry nature which you keep so well hidden from them;
+and often when others think you most abstracted or sedate, I know you
+are holding high carnival with Puck and Momus. Again and again I have
+noted your gravity in the most humorous situations or with the most
+ridiculous of persons, and have smiled in secret with you. Last summer,
+when my mother won such a laugh by telling, as something that had
+happened to her personally, the old story from Peele's "Merrie Conceits"
+which we had read as children, you looked grave, though the incident had
+twice the humor to you that it had to the others. In my own merriment I
+could not help glancing at you, and though neither of us laughed, we
+understood each other's amusement. Evidently you were not used to having
+your mood comprehended, for after a moment you seemed to realize that I
+was responding to what you had thought unknown to all. You looked
+startled and then puzzled, and I suppose that I became even more of a
+mystery to you than ever. You could not know that my knowledge of you
+came from those early days when your nature was taking shape. Without my
+memory of you as a child you would be as great an enigma to me as to the
+rest of your friends, and so no doubt it is a small thing in which to
+glory. But it gives me joy to feel that I understand you better, and at
+this very moment know more of your thoughts than your husband ever will.
+
+I owe to you many dark closetings and whippings that I never deserved.
+My mother complained that from being a troublesome child I had become a
+fiend of mischief, but my father laughed and predicted that you would
+make a man of me. I wonder if you ever think of him, and what your
+thought is? We both so loved him that I cannot believe he has passed
+entirely out of your heart. How ready he was to be our comrade! Whether
+tired or busy he would join us, not as mentor but as playfellow; and
+now that I know what there was to depress his spirits at that time, I
+marvel at his cheer and courage. Would that I had one half of the
+bravery with which he met his troubles!
+
+Perhaps he was right in his assumption that you would have made a man of
+me. I do not recollect any act of mine which bore the semblance of
+courage except the rescue of the street dog from those boys. I hated to
+see the poor beast tortured, but I feared the roughs, and so stood
+faltering while you charged among them. Not till one of them struck you
+was I driven to help, but I can still feel the fury which then took
+possession of me. I was blind with rage, and a great weight seemed
+pressing on my chest as I rushed among the boys and fought, hardly
+conscious of the blows I gave or received; indeed, the whole thing was a
+haze until I found myself sitting on the sidewalk, crying. For days I
+went about with a bandage over my eye; but my father drank my health
+that night, and I remember his pat of approval, and hear his "Bravo,
+Donald, I'm proud of you." It was significant that I received all the
+praise, and you none; my courage was questionable, yours was not.
+
+Those happy, thoughtless years! The one kill-joy was my mother, and she
+made your life and mine so grievous with her needless harshness, quick
+temper, and neglect of our comfort that I think she must have made my
+father's equally miserable. Dimly I can recollect her sudden gusts of
+temper, and his instant dismissal of us from the room when they began.
+Do you remember how he used to come up to the nursery to smoke, often
+staying till our bedtime, and then how we could hear him go downstairs
+and out of the front door? We did not know that he went to his club, nor
+at what hour he returned; and if we had it would have meant nothing to
+us. But we both knew he found no pleasure with my mother, and we felt
+he was right, for in avoiding her he was but doing what was our chief
+endeavor. I have heard many express admiration for her beauty, for her
+church and charitable work, for her brilliancy in society, for her
+executive ability, and for her general public spirit. Her neglect of
+family duties, her extravagance, her frequent absences, and her fatigued
+petulance when at home were known only to her household. Our servants
+rarely remained a month with us,--were changed so often as to destroy
+all possibility of comfort; but we three were not free to follow their
+example, and so our misery made us the dearer to one another. I am proud
+to think that, close as we drew together, my father never uttered in my
+presence a single word of criticism or complaint against my mother, and
+I should be the better man if, instead of writing these unfilial words,
+I left them unsaid. Indeed, I will not spend more of my evening on
+these old memories, but begin on my work.
+
+Do you remember, Maizie, how my father taught us to give him and each
+other a parting word? "Good-night, father. Good-night, Maizie. God bless
+you both," it used to be. He sleeps now in his grave, and three years
+ago you barred your door to me, but still I can say as of old,
+"Good-night, Maizie. God bless and keep you, dear."
+
+
+
+
+II
+
+
+_February 21._ To put all this on paper is weak and aimless, yet it
+seems to ease my sadness. I suppose a scribbler unconsciously comes to
+write out whatever he feels, as a nervous woman plays her emotions away
+on a piano. If this is so, why should not I salve my grief in any way
+that lessens it? Those old days had such happiness in them that the mere
+memory brings some to me, and to sit here at my study table and write of
+the past is better than idle dwelling on the present.
+
+You were jubilant when first told that we were all to go to Europe for a
+summer, and laughed at my fears and despondency. Could I have had an
+intuition of coming evil, or was my alarm due to the engravings of
+those terrible sea-monsters with which Mercator populated the oceans in
+his "Atlas sive Cosmographicae," and to the pictures and tales in
+bloodthirsty old Exquemelin's "Bucaniers of America"? Our notions of
+what the trip meant were evidently not very clear, for at once we set to
+storing up provisions, and weeks before the time of sailing we were the
+proud possessors of a cracker-box full of assorted edibles, a jar of
+olives we had pilfered, and a small pie you had cajoled the cook into
+making for us. How we loved and gloated over that pie! Daily we sorted
+our sea-stores, added new supplies, and ate what clearly could be kept
+no longer. My mother found us one day deeply engrossed in the
+occupation, cuffed us both, and sent the olives back to the pantry and
+the tin box to the ash-barrel. As for the pie, such hot words passed
+about it between "Madame" and "Monsieur Philippe" that our cook left us
+without warning. We were again punished for being the cause of his
+desertion, and that evening father dined at his club.
+
+The different effects my mother's gusts of anger had on you and on me
+were curiously distinctive. You met them fearlessly and stubbornly,
+while to me the moments of her fury were moments in which I could
+scarcely breathe, and of which I felt the terror for hours after. I
+sometimes wonder if the variance was because I had learned to fear the
+outbursts even as a baby, whereas your character had partly formed
+before you encountered them. Who knows but a change of circumstances
+might have made me the fearless one, and you the timorous? At least I
+should be glad to think that I might have been like you in courage and
+spirit, even though it is impossible to imagine that you could ever be
+like me. It is a singular turn of life's whirligig that when my mother
+tried to pain you last autumn by her cruel remarks, you were helpless
+to retort, and owed your escape to my help.
+
+What a delight the ocean voyage was to us! Those were the times of
+ten-day trips, still dear to all true lovers of the sea; and had our
+wishes been consulted, thrice ten would have been none too long for our
+passage. The officers, the crew, the stewards, and the passengers were
+no more proof against your indefinable spell than was I, and it seemed
+quite as if the boat were your private yacht, with all on board seeking
+only to serve you. Our pleasure was so intense that we planned an ideal
+future, in which I was to become the captain of a steam-ship, and you
+were to live on the vessel in some equally delightful if impossible
+capacity.
+
+The last time I was in Paris, I walked several miles merely to look at
+the outside of our pension, and then went on and sat dreaming in the
+little park near it in which we passed so many hours of our stay in
+that city. As of old, the place was full of children and nurses, and I
+understood what had puzzled me not a little in recollection,--how you
+and I, without mingling with them, had learned so quickly the language
+they chattered. Do you remember their friendly advances, met only by
+rebuffs? My coldness flowed from shyness, and yours from a trait that
+people to this day call haughtiness, but which I know to be only a
+fastidious refinement that yields acquaintance to few and friendship to
+fewer. From the moment you came into my life I craved no other friend,
+and you seemed equally content. What was there in me that won for me
+what you gave so rarely? Was there an instinct of natural sympathy, or
+was it merely pity for me in the loving heart you masked behind that
+subtle face?
+
+It is indicative of what children we still were that during the whole of
+our sojourn in Paris neither of us was conscious that our standard of
+living had changed. We lodged in a cheap pension; instead of our own
+carriage we used the omnibus; and a thousand other evidences told the
+story of real economy; yet not one we observed except the disappearance
+of our _bonne_, and this was noted, not as a loss, but as a joy to both.
+
+After the nurse was gone my father became more than ever our comrade,
+and a better one two children never had. Oh, those long excursions to
+Versailles, Montmartre, and Fontainebleau, our boat trips up and down
+the Seine, and our shorter jaunts within the city! What happiness it was
+to us when he came in whistling and cried, "Donald, Maizie, you are
+horribly bad children, and I'm going to take you on a lark to punish
+you!" After time spent in filling our lunch-basket with big rolls bought
+at the _boulangerie_, a few sous' worth of cherries or other fruit
+lengthily bargained for with the _fruitier_, and a half litre of cheap
+wine, plus whatever other luxuries our imaginations or our appetites
+could suggest, away we would go for a long day of pure delight, whether
+passed under green trees or wandering through galleries and museums. My
+father was an encyclopaedia of information, and had the knack of making
+knowledge interesting to the child mind. He could re-create a bygone
+period from a battle-axe or a _martel de fer_, the personality of a
+queen from her lace ruff or stomacher, and the history of plant growth
+from a fern or flower. If his mind had been allowed to expand when he
+was young, instead of being stunted in a broker's office, I believe he
+might have been one of the world's great writers or critics.
+
+Under such stimulating tutelage our progress in those two years was
+really wonderful. No subject my father touched upon could remain dull;
+we were at a receptive age when the mind is fresh and elastic for all
+that interests it, and Paris was a great picture-book to illustrate
+what he taught us. We did not know we were studying far deeper into
+subjects than many educated people ever go. I laugh still at your
+telling the old German on the train to S[`e]vres the history of the Faust
+plot, and at his amazed "Ach, zo!" to hear such erudition pour from your
+childish lips. I think you were the cleverer and the quicker, but there
+was no competition, only fellowship about our learning. I suppose you
+were above rivalry, as you are above all mean things.
+
+And that is your chief glory to me. In those seven years of closest
+companionship, and in these last three years of lesser intercourse but
+far keener observation, I have never known you to do a mean thing or to
+speak a mean thought. I almost feel it treason to couple the word with
+you, or deny a trait so impossible for you to possess, and of which you
+have always shown such scorn and hatred. At this moment I know that I
+should only have to speak to part you forever from--Ah, what
+foolishness I am writing, tempting me to even greater meanness than his,
+and so to deserve the greater contempt from you! Thinking me base, you
+closed your doors to me three years ago, and I love you the better that
+not even for auld lang syne could you pardon what is so alien to you. If
+the day ever comes when you again admit me to your friendship, I shall
+be happy in knowing that you think me above baseness or meanness; for
+you would not compound with them, Maizie, be the circumstances what they
+might.
+
+Our Paris life would not have been so happy and careless but for the
+slight part my mother had in it. So little did we see of her in those
+years that I think of her scarcely as one of us. I remember dimly a
+scene of hot anger between her and my father,--he standing passively by
+the high porcelain stove, while she raged about the room. So great was
+her fury that once, in passing, as I crouched scared and silent on the
+sofa, she struck me,--a blow which brought my father to my side, where
+he stood protectingly while the storm lasted, with his hand resting
+lovingly on my shoulder. My vague impression is that the outburst was
+only a protest against the poor lodgings, but it may have occurred when
+some explanation took place between my parents. I can see my mother now,
+sitting on the little balcony overlooking the garden of our pension,
+snarling an ill-natured word at us as you and I tried to play
+consultation games of chess against my father. He gave us odds at first
+of the rook and two pawns, but finally only of a knight. Oh, the triumph
+of those victories! How we gloried in them, and how delighted our
+antagonist was when we conquered him! Little we minded what my mother
+did except when we happened to be alone with her, and I think that the
+dear father played bad chess with us rather than good at the caf['e]s, and
+made us his companions wherever he went, to save us from her severity.
+
+I can recall very clearly her constant difficulties with our landlady
+and the servants, which finally culminated in a request that we should
+seek lodgings elsewhere. Do you recollect Madame Vanott's clasping us
+both in her arms and filling our hands with bonbons, when the time of
+parting came? I do not know where we removed to, my sole remembrance of
+the next few weeks being of my mother's complaints of lodgings, food,
+servants, and French life generally. We moved three times within a
+month, fairly expelled by our landlords because they could not live at
+peace with "la Madame." Our last exodus began in an angry scene between
+her and the housewife, in which a gendarme played a part, and from which
+you and I fled. The next morning we learned that my mother had
+determined to return to America, and leave us to live our own life.
+Three days later we said emotionless good-bys, my father going as far as
+Havre with her.
+
+Her departure set us asking questions, and my father's replies explained
+many things which, in our childish talks, we had gravely discussed. He
+told us how his own wealth had been lost in Wall Street, barely enough
+being left for a competence even in Europe. Of my mother's leaving us he
+spoke sadly. "She never pretended to care for me," he said, "but I loved
+her and was willing to marry her. The wrong was mine, and we should not
+blame her if, when I can no longer give what was her price, she does not
+choose to continue the one-sided bargain." At the time her absence
+seemed to you and me only a relief, but now, as I look back, I know that
+my father never ceased to love her,--all the more, perhaps, because his
+love had never been requited,--and that separation must have been the
+final wrecking of his life. Yet from the day she left us I never heard
+him speak an angry word, and sorrow that would have crushed most men
+seemed to make him the gentler and sweeter. I wish--Ah! the clock is
+striking three, and if I am to bring working power to working hours I
+must stop writing.
+
+Good-night, dear one.
+
+
+
+
+III
+
+
+_February 22._ After my mother left us we did not stay in Paris, but
+went to Ischl, which we made merely the point of departure for walking
+tours which often lasted for weeks. Several times I have spoken of the
+region to you, hoping to draw from you some remark proving a
+recollection of those days, but you always avoid reply. Yet I am sure
+they are not forgotten, for miles of the Tyrol and Alps are as familiar
+to me as the garnishings of a breakfast-table. My father had the tact
+and kindly humor that make a man equally at home and welcome in
+_Gasthaus_ and _Schloss_. Though we traveled with only a knapsack, his
+breeding and education were so patent to whomsoever we met that we spent
+many a night inside of doors with armorial coats of many quarterings
+carved above them, and many a day's shooting and fishing followed. Yet
+pleasant as was this impromptu and "gentle" hospitality, I think we were
+all quite as happy when our evenings were spent among the peasants,
+drinking beer, talking of farming and forestry, singing songs, or
+listening to the blare of the peripatetic military band.
+
+My father was a fine German scholar, and you and I acquired the language
+as quickly and as easily as we learned French. We always had books in
+our pockets, and used to lie for hours under the trees, reading aloud.
+Long discussions followed over what we had conned, enriched by the
+thousand side-lights my father could throw on any subject. To most
+people reading is a resort to save themselves from thinking, but my
+father knew that pitfall, and made us use books as a basis for thought
+on our own part. After a volume was finished we would each write a
+criticism of it, and the comparison of my boyish attempts with his
+brilliant, comprehensive, and philosophic work taught me more of writing
+than all the tuition I ever had.
+
+My craving for knowledge, always strong, became inordinate, probably
+because the acquisition of it was made so fascinating that I learned
+without real exertion. I began to find limits even to my father's
+erudition, and chafed under them. He reviewed his Greek that he might
+impart it to us, as he had long before taught us Latin, and together we
+all three studied Spanish and Italian. I was not satisfied, for my
+desire for the one thing my father was unable to teach was not appeased
+by the twenty which he could. I begged for regular tuition, and,
+indulgent as he always was, he took us to Heidelberg, where I was
+enrolled in the gymnasium. Yet the long hours of separation that this
+entailed made little difference in our relations, since except for these
+we were inseparable. Whenever my school-work left us time to quit
+Heidelberg we made walking tours, and we availed ourselves of the summer
+holiday to see far-away lands. The great libraries were our chief goals,
+but everything interested us, from the archaic plough we saw in the
+field to the masterpiece of the gallery. I do not know whether I was
+dull for my years, but I do know that you were precocious and had no
+difficulty in keeping up with me in my studies. Indeed, thanks to your
+own brightness and to the long hours spent with my father while I was
+reciting, you went ahead of me in many respects. It makes me very happy
+now to think of what you two were to each other, and to know that you
+are so largely indebted to him for the depth and brilliance of mind that
+I hear so often commented upon. And I love you all the better because
+you made those years so happy to him by your love and companionship.
+
+Last winter Mrs. Blodgett accused me of being a misogynist, and proved
+her point by asking me to tell the color of Agnes's eyes. You and Agnes
+only laughed when I miscolored them, but Mrs. Blodgett was really
+nettled. "There!" she said. "Apparently, Agnes and I are the only women
+you ever go to see or pretend to care for, and yet you think so little
+of us that you don't know the color of our eyes." Had she only asked me
+to describe your eyes in place of Agnes's I should not have erred, but I
+suppose even then the world would be justified in thinking I do not care
+for woman's society. Certainly you, of all others, have the right to
+think so, after my twice refusing your friendship; and yet it is my love
+of you far more than my studies or shyness that has made me indifferent
+to other women. And so far from being a misogynist, I care for as few
+men as women. You perhaps recall how much apart I kept myself from my
+fellow students, and how my father had to urge me to join them in the
+fencing and chess contests? Later, at the university, after you had
+left us, I entered more eagerly into the two pastimes, and succeeded in
+making myself a skilled swordsman. As for chess, I learned to play the
+game you tested last October on the veranda of My Fancy. You looked
+courteously grave when, after our initial battle, I had to ask from you
+the odds of a pawn, and never dreamed that I fathomed your secret
+triumph over your victory. You are so delightfully human and womanly,
+after all, Maizie, to any one who can read your thoughts. It is a
+pleasure to see your happiness in the consciousness of your own power,
+and I grudge you victory over me no more than over other men. Yet while
+you play better chess, I think you could not conquer me quite as easily
+if I were not much more interested in studying the player than the play.
+Perhaps but for you I should have made friends, for later, at Leipzig,
+despite my shyness and studiousness, I seemed fairly popular; but so
+long as I had you I cared for no other friend, and after our separation
+I could form no new tie. Neither in love nor in friendship have you ever
+had a rival in my heart.
+
+Our happiness ended the day when Johann, the poor factotum of our
+lodging-place, found us in the castle park and summoned us back to the
+house, where my father and Mr. Walton were awaiting you. The news that
+we were to be parted came so suddenly that we could not believe it. I
+stood in stunned silence, while you declared that you would not go with
+your uncle; even in that terrible moment speaking more like a queen
+issuing orders than like a rebel resisting authority. We both appealed
+to my father, and the tears stood in his eyes as he told us we must be
+parted. Mr. Walton sat with the cool and slightly bored look that his
+worldly face wears so constantly, and I presume it was impossible for
+him to understand our emotion.
+
+Your luggage had been packed while we were being summoned, and I carried
+your bag down to the carriage, in the endeavor to do you some last
+little service. We did not even go through the form of a farewell, but,
+tearless and speechless, held each other's hands till my father gently
+separated us. To this day the snap of a whip causes me to catch my
+breath, it brings back so vividly the crack with which Mr. Walton's
+cabman whipped up his horse. Fate was merciful, for she gave me no
+glimpse of the future, and so left me the hope that we should not be
+parted long. I question if the delicate lad of those days could have
+borne the thought that our separation, enforced by others, would in time
+be continued by you.
+
+The life was too happy to last; and yet I do not know why I write that,
+for I do not believe that God's children are born to be wretched, and I
+would sooner renounce my faith in him than believe him so cruel to his
+own creations. The sadness and estrangement in my life are all of human
+origin, and mine, it seems to me, has been a fuller cup of bitterness
+than most men have to drink. Or am I only magnifying my own sufferings,
+and diminishing those of my fellow mortals? To the world I am a
+fortunate man, with promise of even greater success. Do all the people
+about me, who seem to be equally prosperous, bury away from sight some
+grief like mine that beggars joy?
+
+Can you, Maizie, in the tide and triumph of your beauty and wealth, hide
+any such death-wound to all true happiness? Pray God you do not.
+Good-night, my darling.
+
+
+
+
+IV
+
+
+_February 23._ After you were gone I fled to my room, crawling under the
+window-seat, much as a mortally wounded animal tries to hide itself.
+Here my father found me many hours later, speechless and shivering. He
+drew me from my retreat, and I still remember the sting of the brandy as
+he poured it down my throat. Afterwards the doctor came, to do nothing;
+but all that night my father sat beside me, and towards morning he broke
+down my silence, and we talked together over the light which had gone
+out of our lives, till I fell asleep. He told me that the death of your
+two aunts had made you a great heiress, and rendered your continuance
+with us, in our poverty, impossible. "She's gone away out of our class,
+Donald," my father said sadly, "and in the change of circumstances her
+mother wouldn't have made me her guardian. It was better for all of us
+to let her uncle take her back to New York." Even in my own grief I felt
+his sorrow, and though he did not dodge my questions, I could see how
+the subject pained him, and avoided it thenceforth. How strangely
+altered my life would have been if I had insisted on knowing more!
+
+The doctor came several times afterwards, for I did not rally as I
+should have done, and at last he ordered a year's cessation of studies
+and plenty of exercise. It was a terrible blow to me at the time, for I
+was on the point of entering the University of Leipzig; but now I can
+see it was all for the best, since the time given to our tours through
+Spain and Italy was well spent, and the delay made me better able to get
+the full value of the lectures. Moreover, that outdoor life added three
+inches to the height and seventeen pounds to the weight of the hitherto
+puny boy. For a time my father made my health his care, and insisted on
+my walking and fencing daily; but after that long holiday he need not
+have given it a thought, for I grew steadily to my present height, and
+while always of slender build, I can outwalk or outwork many a stockier
+man.
+
+My university career was successful; it could hardly have failed to be,
+with my training. I fear that I became over-elated with my success, not
+appreciating how much it was due to my father's aid and to the kindness
+of two of my instructors. For my Ph. D. I made a study of the great race
+movements of the world, in which my predilection for philology,
+ethnology, and history gave me an especial interest. I so delighted my
+professor of philology by my enthusiasm and tirelessness that he stole
+long hours from the darling of his heart to aid me. (I need hardly add
+that I do not allude to Frau Jastrow, but to his Verb-Roots of Fifty-Two
+Languages and Dialects of Indo-Germanic Origin, to be published some day
+in seventeen volumes, quarto.) He even brought me bundles of his
+manuscript to read and criticise. Our relations were as intimate as were
+possible between a professor and a student, and despite his reputation
+for ill temper the only evidence he ever gave me of it was a certain
+querulousness over the gaps in human knowledge.
+
+My doctor's thesis on A Study of the Influence of Religion in the
+Alienation and Mixture of Races--which, with a vanity I now laugh over,
+I submitted not merely in Latin, but as an original work in four other
+languages--was not only the delight of both my dear professors, but was
+well considered outside the university. At Jastrow's urging, poor
+Buchholtz printed editions in all five languages; and as only the German
+had any sale worth mentioning, he ever after looked gloomy at a mere
+allusion to the title. But though it earned me no royalties, it won me
+the Kellermann prize, given every fifth year for the best original work
+on an historical subject.
+
+On our first arrival in Leipzig my father sought literary employment
+from the great publishers of that city of books, and soon obtained all
+the "review" and "hack" writing that he wished. He encouraged me to help
+him in the work, and in my training probably lay his chief inducement,
+for he was paid at starvation rates in that land of hungry authors. The
+labor quickly taught me the technical part of authorship, the rock which
+has wrecked so many hopes. Our work brought us, too, the acquaintance of
+many literary men, and thus gave us our pleasantest society, and one
+peculiarly fitted to develop me. Furthermore, we secured command of the
+unlimited books stored on the publishers' shelves, which we used as
+freely as if they were our own private library.
+
+Very quickly I began to do more than help my father in his work; I
+myself tried to write. He put many a manuscript in the fire, after going
+over the faults with me, but finally I wrote something that he let me
+send to an editor. His admirable judgment must have been warped by his
+fatherly love, for the article was rejected. A like fate befell many
+others, but at last one was accepted, and I do not know which of us was
+the more delighted when it was published in the "Zeitschrift f[:u]r
+Deutsche Philologie." By my father's advice it was signed with a
+pseudonym; for he pointed out that I was still too young for editors who
+knew me to give my manuscript a reading, and that a German name would
+command greater respect from them than an English one.
+
+I received twenty marks for that first article, and spent it in secret
+the next day. Had you known of my pleasure in the gift, and the hopes
+that went with it, I think you would have sent a line of acknowledgment
+to the hungry-hearted fellow who, after four years of separation, still
+longed for a token from you. Three times had I written, without
+response, but I thought the beauty of the photograph would so appeal to
+you that it must bring me back a word from you, and lived in the hope
+for six months. My father joked me genially about what I had done with
+that vast wealth, pretending at moments that he believed it had been
+avariciously hoarded, and at other times that it had been squandered in
+riotous living, till one day, when all hope of acknowledgment had died,
+his chaff wrung from me an exclamation of pain, suppressed too late to
+be concealed from him. So closely attuned had we become that he
+understood in an instant what it meant, and, laying his hand on my
+shoulder, he appealed, "Forgive me, my boy! I have been very cruel in
+my thoughtlessness!"
+
+Nothing more was said then, but later that evening, when we rose from
+our work, he asked, "She never replied?" and when I shook my head, the
+saddest look I ever saw in him came upon his face. He seemed about to
+speak impulsively, faltered, checked himself, and finally entreated,
+"Bear up, Donald, and try to forget her." I could only shake my head
+again, but he understood. "She's feminine quicksilver," he groaned, "and
+I can't get the dear girl out of my blood, either." We gripped each
+other's hands for a moment, and I said, "Good-night, father," and he
+replied, "God help you, my boy." How happy we should have been could we
+have bidden you, "Good-night, Maizie!"
+
+
+
+
+V
+
+
+_February 24._ I cannot clearly fix the time when first I decided upon a
+life of letters, and presume it was my father's influence which
+determined me. After the publication of my first article, all the time I
+could spare from my studies was devoted to writing. Most of it was
+magazine work, but two text-books were more ambitious flights.
+Undertaken at my father's suggestion, the books were revised by him,
+till they should have been published with his name, and not my
+pseudonym, on the title-page. This I urged, but he would not hear of it,
+insisting that his work was trivial compared with mine. I understand his
+motive now, and see how wise and loving he was in all his plans. Thanks
+to his skill in clarifying knowledge and fitting it to the immature
+mind, both books attained a large sale almost immediately on their
+publication.
+
+My father's abnegation went further, and occasioned the only quarrel we
+ever had. After the publication of several of my articles, in reading
+the Deutsche Rundschau I found an interesting critique signed with the
+name I had adopted as a pseudonym. I laughingly called my father's
+attention to it, yet really feeling a little sore that the credit of my
+work should go to another, for the first literary offspring are very
+dear to an author's heart. From that time I was constantly meeting with
+the name, but stupidly failed to recognize my father's brilliant,
+luminous touch till the publication of another article of my writing
+revealed the truth to me; for at the end of this I found again my
+pseudonym, though I had signed my own name. On my sending an indignant
+letter to the editor, he returned me the revised proof of my article, at
+the bottom of which "Donald Maitland" was struck out, and "Rudolph
+Hartzmann" substituted. My father had made the change in the last
+revision, and had returned the sheets without letting me see them.
+
+In a moment the veil was gone from my eyes, and, grieved and angry, I
+charged him with the deception. I do not like to think of what I said or
+of the gentleness with which he took it. The next day, when I was
+cooler, he pleaded with me to let him continue signing the name to his
+articles; but I insisted that I would not permit the double use, and the
+only concession he could win from me was that I would still keep the
+name provided he refrained from using it again. How could I resist his
+"Don, I never asked anything but this of you. I am an old man with no
+possibility of a career. You are all I have to love or work for in this
+world. Let me try to help you gain a name." Oh, father, if I had only
+understood, I would not have been so cruel as to deny your request, but
+would have sacrificed my own honesty and allowed the lie rather than
+have refused what now I know to have been so dear a wish. I even
+resented what I thought a foolish joke of his, when he registered us
+constantly at hotels as "Rudolph Hartzmann and father." It is poetic
+justice that in time I should stoop to so much greater dishonesty than
+that which I was intolerant of in him.
+
+Owing as much to his articles as to those I subsequently wrote, my
+pseudonym became a recognized one in the world of letters, and my work
+soon commanded a good price. Furthermore, considerable interest was
+excited as to the author. There is a keen delight in anonymous
+publication, for one does not get the one-sided chatter that
+acknowledged authors receive, and often I have sat in the midst of a
+group of litt['e]rateurs and scholars and heard my articles talked over. I
+was tempted even to discuss one,--disparaging it, of course,--and can
+remember the way my father hid his laughter when a member of the party
+said, "Maitland, you ought to write an article refuting Hartzmann, for
+you've got the knowledge to do it." It amuses me to think how vain and
+elated I became over what now I see was only 'prentice work. I am glad
+you did not know me in those years of petty victory, and that before we
+met I had been saddened and humbled.
+
+Some one at Mr. Whitely's dinner, this winter, asked what was a
+sufficient income, and you, Maizie, gravely answered, "A little more
+than one has," which made us all laugh. If you had not been the quicker
+and the wittier, and thus forestalled me, I should have said, "Enough to
+satisfy the few or many wishes each person creates within himself which
+money can satisfy." Thanks to my prize, my writings, and the profits of
+my text-books, I obtained this. In fact, the three so lengthened my
+purse that I fancy few millionaires have ever felt so truly rich; for I
+was enabled to gratify my greatest wish. In our visits to Spain, Italy,
+and Constantinople, I had garnered all that I could find bearing on the
+two great race movements of the Moors and Turks, which so changed the
+world's history; but I had discovered that I needed more than the
+documentary materials to write clearly of them. I longed to go to their
+source, and then follow the channels along which those racial floods had
+rushed, till, encountering the steel armor and gunpowder of Europe, they
+had dashed in scattered spray, never to gather force again. In my
+eagerness I had been for making the attempt before, but my father had
+urged our limited means and the shortness of my university vacations as
+bars to my wishes. My degree removed the one objection, and my earnings
+and prize the other. Few persons would care to undertake the travel we
+planned with the pittance we had earned, but it was enough for us. How
+fortunate it is for me that my student life and travels trained me to
+absolute self-denial and frugality! Otherwise these last three years of
+closest economy and niggardliness would have been hard to bear.
+
+By the influence of Professor Humzel, working first through his former
+pupil, Baron Weiseman, secondly through Giers, and thirdly through I
+know not whom, we secured permission to join a Russian surveying party,
+and thus safely and expeditiously reached the mountains of the Altai
+range. We did not stay with the party after they began their work, but
+assuming native dress we turned southward; plunging instantly among the
+medley of peoples and tongues which actually realizes the mythical
+Babel. Turkish, Hebrew, Arabic, and Sanskrit I had mastered in varying
+degrees, and they were an "open sesame" to the dialects we encountered,
+while the hot sun and open-air life soon colored us so deeply that we
+passed for men of a distant but not alien race. Following nature's
+routes, once man's only paths, we wandered leisurely: to Tashkend on
+horseback, to Bokhara on foot, by boat down the Amoo to Khiva, and on to
+Teheran, then by caravan to Bagdad, up the Euphrates, gradually working
+through Asia Minor. Stopping at Smyrna for a brief rest, we took boat to
+Cyprus, from thence crossed to Damascus, and from Jerusalem traveled
+along the caravan route to Mecca. Passing over the Red Sea to Egypt, we
+skirted the south coast of the Mediterranean, till we reached the
+Pillars of Hercules.
+
+You ought to have made that pilgrimage. In speaking of my book you
+expressed the wish that you might make such a trip, and those years
+would have been as great a playtime to you as to us. You could have
+borne the exposure, rough though the life was, and it would have been as
+compound oxygen to your brave and venturesome nature. I confess I do not
+like to think of that dazzlingly pure skin burned to any such blackness
+as I saw in my mirror on reaching the end of our journeyings; for truly
+no better Arab in verisimilitude strolled about the native quarter of
+Tangier in May, 1886, than Donald Maitland.
+
+My long study of those older races and three years' life spent among
+them have not made me accept their dogma of fatalism, yet I must believe
+that something stronger than chance produced our meeting in that Moorish
+town. Down streams, over mountains, and across deserts, seas, and
+oceans, our paths had converged; on foot, mounted, by rail or boat, we
+came together as if some hidden magnet were drawing us both. A thousand
+chances were against our meeting, even when we were in the same town;
+for you were housed in the best hotel, while we lodged in a little
+Jewish place in the Berber quarter. In another day my father and I
+should have crossed to Spain, without so much as a visit to the European
+section. But for that meeting I should have returned to Leipzig, and
+passed a contented life as a Herr Doctor and Professor; for though my
+heart was still warm with love of you, it had been denied and starved
+too long to have the strength to draw me from the path my head had
+marked out. Yet I would not now accept the unemotional and peaceful
+career I had planned in lieu of my present life; for if my love is
+without hope, it is still love, and though you turned me away from your
+door with far less courtesy than you would shut out a beggar, yet I am
+near you and see you constantly, and that is worth more to me than
+peace. Good-night, my love. God bless you.
+
+
+
+
+VI
+
+
+_February 25._ It was thought of you which led to our meeting. After the
+evening meal of dried salt fish, pancakes, dates, and coffee, my father
+and I wandered out to the Sok, and, as was our wont, sat down among the
+people. Refusing the hasheesh water and sweetmeats which the venders
+urged upon us, "to make you dream of your love joyfully," we listened to
+the story-tellers and the singers. Some one with a fine natural voice
+sang presently an Arabic love-song:--
+
+    "My love, so lovely yet so cruel,
+    Why came you so to torture me?
+    Could I but know the being who
+    Has caused you thus to hate me!
+    Once I saw and gazed upon your lovely form each hour,
+    But now you ever shun me.
+    Yet still each night you come in dreams
+    For me to ask, Who sent you?
+    Your answer is, Him whom I love,
+    And you bid me then forget my passion.
+    But I reply, If it was not for love, how could the world go on?"
+
+It was a song I had heard and loved in many lands and many dialects, but
+that night it stirred me deeply, and brought to mind your image, ever
+dear. I sat and dreamed of you till the farrago about me became
+unbearable; and whispering a word to my father, I rose and strode away,
+with a yearning truly mastering. I could have had no thought that you
+were near, for when we stood far closer I was still unconscious of your
+presence. But if not an intuition, I ask what could it be?
+
+Wandering through the narrow streets without purpose or goal, I
+presently saw looming above me the great hill on which stands the
+Alcassaba. Climbing in the brilliant moonlight up the steep and
+ill-conditioned road, and passing that jumble of buildings upon which
+so many races and generations have left their impress, I strolled along
+the wall to a ruined embrasure at the corner overlooking the sea. How
+long I stood there leaning upon the parapet I do not know. Not till you
+were close upon me was I conscious that my solitude was ended.
+
+I heard footsteps, but was too incurious to turn and glance at the
+intruders. Nay, more, when that harsh, strident, American voice
+demanded, "There, isn't that great?" I felt so irritated by both tone
+and words that but for the seeming rudeness I should have moved away at
+once. You spoke so low I could not hear your reply, and I wonder what
+you said,--for his "great" applied to such beauty must have rasped much
+more on your artistic sense than it did on mine.
+
+"And this black fellow in the turban standing here," continued the
+strident voice, "he fits, too, like the paper on the wall, though
+probably he's a sentry taking forty winks on the sly. It makes an
+American mad to see how slack things are run over here."
+
+I heard a gentle "Hush," and then a murmur as you went on speaking.
+
+"None of these black fellows speak English," came the self-assured voice
+again. Then, though I could have heard his natural tone full fifty feet
+away, the man called much louder: "Hey! what's the name of that point
+out there?"
+
+I should have chosen to make no answer; but remembering the courtesy and
+dignity of the race I was impersonating, I replied without turning,
+"Cape Spartel."
+
+You must have said something, for a moment later he laughed, saying,
+"Not a bit of it. Now see me jolly him up." I heard footsteps, and then
+some one leaned against the parapet, close beside me. "Backsheesh," he
+intimated, and jingled some coins in his pocket.
+
+I stood silent, so he tapped me on the shoulder and asked, "Are you one
+of the palace guards?" Unsuppressed by my monosyllabic "No," he
+persisted by saying, "What's your business, then?" jingling his coins
+again. "Stop pulling me, Mai," he added, as an aside.
+
+"I am a stranger in Tangier," I answered quietly.
+
+"From whereabouts?" he questioned.
+
+"The East."
+
+"Oh, you're one of the wise men, are you?" he observed jocosely. "Are
+you a Jew or a Mohammedan?"
+
+"Not the latter, fortunately for you."
+
+"And why fortunately?" he nagged.
+
+"Because a true believer would have taken the question as a deadly
+insult."
+
+"They'd be welcome," he laughed, "though it is rather irritating to be
+mistaken for a Jew. I shouldn't like it myself."
+
+I thought of the dignified Jew traders who had made part of our caravan
+in the journey from Bagdad to Damascus, and answered, "There is little
+danger of that."
+
+"I guess not," he assented. "But if you aren't a Jew or a Mohammedan,
+what are you?"
+
+He had spoiled my mood, and since it was gone I thought I would amuse
+myself with the man. "A seeker of knowledge from the Altai Mountains," I
+responded.
+
+"Never heard of them," he announced; "or is it your Choctaw for those?"
+he added, pointing towards the dark masses of the Atlas Mountains.
+
+I smiled and answered, "They are many moons' travel from here."
+
+"Oh!" he exclaimed. "How did you happen to come?"
+
+"To follow after those gone before."
+
+"I see," he said. "Relatives, I suppose? Hope you found them well?"
+
+"No," I replied, carrying on the humor, "dying."
+
+He jingled his coins, and asked, "Anything to be done for them?"
+
+"Nothing."
+
+"What's the complaint?"
+
+"Civilization in the abstract, repeating rifles and rapid-firing guns in
+the concrete."
+
+"Eh!" he ejaculated.
+
+Then the lowest and sweetest of voices said, "Won't you tell us what you
+mean?"
+
+Was it my irritation that the man before me, rather than the
+subtler-passioned people I knew so well, was the dominant type of the
+moment, or was it the sympathy your voice stirred within me, which made
+me speak? In a moment I was sketching broadly the inhumanity of this
+thing we call Christian civilization, which, more grasping than the
+Inquisition, has overrun the world, tearing the lands from their owners,
+and, not content with this spoliation, demands of its victims that they
+shall give up the customs of many centuries' evolution, and conform to
+habits, governments, and religions which their very instincts make
+impossible; and because they cannot change, but break out, these
+believers in the golden rule shoot them down. I protested at the mockery
+of calling civilized a world held at peace by constant slaughter, or of
+styling the national Jack Ketches of humanity Christian nations! I
+protested against the right of one man to hold another barbaric because
+he will not welcome his master, greet with joy the bands of steel we
+call railroads, and crush his nature within the walls of vast factories,
+to make himself the threefold slave of society, government, and
+employer. And finally, I gloried in the fact that though the white races
+had found a weapon against the black and yellow ones which enabled them
+to overrun and subjugate, yet nature had provided nature's people with
+the defense of climate,--a death-line to the whites; and behind that
+line the colored races are unconquerable in the sense of conquest
+being extinction. I knew the other side, that altruistic tenet of
+political economy defined in brief as "the greatest good of the greatest
+number," and in my mind held the even balance of the historian between
+the two; but to this utilitarian, modern, self-satisfied American I had
+to urge the rights of races thousands of years our senior, and far in
+advance of us in the knowledge and amenities that make life worth the
+most.
+
+You both were silent till I ended; but I had best left unspoken what
+your companion could not understand, for when I finished he inquired,
+"What mountains did you say you came from?" And when I told him, he
+added laughingly, "You must have some pretty good stump speaking in your
+elections."
+
+"We are very grateful for your explanation," you thanked me gently.
+
+"Never been in America?" he surmised; and except for you I should have
+told him that I was his countryman, it would have been so adequate a
+retort to his inference. But your voice and manner had made me so
+ashamed of my earlier mood that I merely answered, "Yes."
+
+"Humph!" he grunted in surprise; and as if to prove his incorrigibility
+he continued, "Thought your ideas were too back-number for that."
+
+I could not help laughing, and the moment my laugh became articulate
+yours too overflowed your lips, as a spring breaks past its edges and
+falls rippling over pebbles.
+
+That laugh, so well remembered, revealed your presence to me. My heart
+beat quickly and my head whirled dizzily, and in my bewilderment I took
+a step backward, quite forgetting the embrasure, till a stone gave way
+and I felt that I was falling. Then my consciousness went from me, and
+when thought came surging backward I lay a moment quiet, thinking it
+must have been a dream.
+
+"He's coming round all right," I heard, and at the sound I opened my
+eyes. You were leaning over me with the moonlight shining on your face,
+and I caught my breath, you were so beautiful.
+
+"You've given us a scare," continued the man, on whose knee my head was
+resting. "You want to keep your wits about you better. Pretty poor
+business tumbling off walls, but that's what comes of having ruins. You
+won't be quite so cocky in the future about your run-out races."
+
+I felt his laughter justified, but hardly heeded it, my thoughts were so
+engaged. You were wetting my forehead with brandy, and I lay there too
+happy to speak.
+
+"Now let me raise you a bit higher," the man offered kindly, "so you can
+get your addled senses back." He lifted me, and I groaned at the sudden
+terrible pain that shot up my leg.
+
+"Hello!" he cried, laying me gently down. "Something wrong, after all?
+What is it?"
+
+"My leg," I moaned.
+
+"Here, Maizie, hold his head, while I appoint an investigating
+committee," he ordered, and in another moment I felt your arms about me,
+and in my joy at your touch I almost forgot my torture.
+
+"Well, you've broken one of your walking-sticks," the man informed me,
+after a gentler touching of it than I thought possible to his nature.
+"Now, Maizie, if you'll sit and hold his head, I'll get a litter. You
+won't mind staying here alone, will you?"
+
+"It is my wish," you acceded calmly.
+
+"O. K.," he said, rising, and even in his kindness he could not help but
+seize the opportunity to glorify his country. "If this had happened in
+New York, Mr. Altai, we'd have had an ambulance here five minutes ago!
+Civilization isn't all bad, I tell you, as you'd find out if you'd
+give it a chance."
+
+The moment he was gone I tried to speak, and murmured "Maizie;" but you
+let me get no further, saying "Hush," and putting your hand softly over
+my lips. I suppose you thought me merely repeating the name he had
+called you, while I loved your touch too deeply to resist the hand I
+longed to kiss. Now I am glad I did not speak, for if I had it would
+have robbed me of my last sweet moment with you.
+
+Long before I thought it possible, and far too soon, indeed, despite my
+suffering, we heard men approaching. When the torch-bearers came
+climbing over the rocks, my first desire was to see how much of your
+beauty was owing to the moonlight, and my heart leaped with exultation
+to find that you were beautiful even in the livid glare of the torches.
+
+"Now, Mr. Altai," your companion remarked, "where shall we take you?"
+and I gave him the name of the hotel. A moment later, as they lifted me,
+I again fainted, but not till I had kissed your hand. You snatched it
+away, and did not hear my weakly whispered "Good-night, Maizie."
+
+
+
+
+VII
+
+
+_February 26._ The setting of my leg, that night, was so long and
+exhausting an operation that after it was done I was given an opiate.
+Instead of bringing oblivion the drug produced a dreamy condition, in
+which I was cognizant of nothing that happened about me, and saw only
+your face. I knew I ought to sleep, and did my best to think of other
+things; but try as I might, my thought would return and dwell upon your
+beauty.
+
+I have often wished I had been born an artist, that I might try to paint
+your portrait, for words can no more picture you than they can transmit
+the fragrance of a violet. Indeed, to me the only word which even
+expresses your charm is "radiant," and that to others, who have never
+seen you, would suggest little. No real beauty can be described, for
+it rests in nothing that is tangible. In truth, to speak of your
+glorious hair, the whiteness of your brow and throat, the brilliant
+softness of your eyes, or the sweetness yet strength of your tender
+though unsmiling lips is to make but a travesty of description. I have
+heard painters talk of your hair and try to convey an idea of its
+beauty, but I know it too well even to make the attempt. When we were
+gazing at the rainbow, last autumn, and you said that if its tints could
+be transferred to a palette you believed it would be possible to paint
+anything, I could not help correcting, "Except your hair." You laughed,
+and declared, "I did not know you ever made that kind of a speech!"
+whereupon Agnes cried, "Didn't I ever tell you, Maizie, the compliment
+the doctor paid you last winter?" I thought she was alluding to my
+retort when my mother asserted that your eyes were so large and lustrous
+that, to her, they were "positively loud." Indignant at such a remark,
+Agnes had appealed to me to deny it. Not caring to treat the malicious
+speech seriously, I had answered that I could not agree, though I had
+sometimes thought your eyes "too dressy for the daytime,"--a joke I have
+heard so often quoted that it is apparently in a measure descriptive,
+yet one which I should have felt mortified at hearing repeated to you.
+Fortunately Agnes's reference was to another remark of mine, in which,
+speaking of your mouth, I had crudely translated a couple of lines from
+a Persian poem:--
+
+    "In vain you strive to speak a bitter word--
+    It meets the sweetness of your lips ere it is heard."
+
+You were too used to compliments to be embarrassed when the lines were
+repeated, and only looked at me in a puzzled way. I do not wonder you
+were surprised at the implied admiration of the two speeches, after my
+apparent coldness and indifference. My behavior must seem to you as
+full of contradictions as your beauty is to me. To say your great
+attraction is the radiance--the verve, spirit, and capacity for
+enthusiasm--of which one cannot fail to be conscious is to deny the calm
+dignity with which you bear yourself, yet both these qualities belong to
+you. The world insists that you are proud and distant, and your face has
+the clean-cut features which we associate with patrician blood, while
+your height and figure, and the set and carriage of your head upon that
+slender throat, suggest a goddess. But I, who understand you so much
+better than the world, know that your proud face overlies the tenderest
+of natures, and is not an index, but a mask of feelings you do not care
+to show. As for the people who criticise you most, they would be the
+last to do so if they were not conscious of the very superiority they
+try to lessen.--Ah, how foolish it is to write all this, as if I needed
+to convince myself of what I know so well! And even if this were for
+the eye of others, to those who know you not it would be but the
+extravagant idealism for which a lover is proverbial.
+
+When I awoke from the sleep my dreaming had drifted into, my first
+request of my father was to find your whereabouts. He told me that a
+dragoman had come that morning to inquire for me,--and had left what now
+he showed me,--a great bunch of roses and a basket of fruit, with the
+card of "Mr. Foster G. Blodgett, 547 Fifth Avenue," on the back of which
+was written:--
+
+"With sincere regrets that a previously formed plan of leaving Tangier
+this morning prevents our seeing our courteous instructor of last night,
+and with hopes that he may have a quick and easy recovery from his
+accident."
+
+The card was a man's, but the handwriting was feminine, and the moment
+my father turned his back I kissed it. I was further told that the
+servant had asked my name and taken it down, giving me the instant
+hope that when you knew to whom you had been so merciful, you would even
+disarrange your plans to let me have a moment's glimpse of you. But
+though I listened all the afternoon hopefully and expectantly, you never
+came. I felt such shyness about you, I did not speak to my father of
+your beauty, and he did not question me at all.
+
+Our native hotel, built in Eastern fashion about a court, with only
+blank outside walls, was no place in which to pass a long invalidism,
+and three days later my father had me carried to the steamer, and,
+crossing to Gibraltar, we traveled by easy railroad trips to Leipzig. We
+had left our belongings with Jastrow, and he begged us, on our arrival,
+to become members of his household, which we were only too glad to do
+for a time. His joy over my return was most touching, and he and Humzel
+both seemed to regard me very much as if I were the creation of their
+own brains, who was to bring them immortal fame in time. My father had
+long before counseled me to be a pursuer of knowledge, and not of money;
+telling me the winning of the latter narrowed the intellect and stunted
+the finer qualities of one's nature, making all men natural enemies,
+while the acquisition of the former broadened one's mind, developed the
+nobility within, and engendered love of one's associates. These two men
+illustrated his theory, and had my tendency been avaricious I think
+their unselfish love and example would have made me otherwise. And yet,
+how dare I claim to be free from sordidness, when all my thoughts and
+hopes and daily life are now bent on winning money?
+
+My leg was far too troublesome to permit me to sit at a desk, but my
+father insisted on being my scribe; and thus, lying on a lounge, I began
+part of the work I had so long planned, taking up for my first book the
+Turkish irruption, the crusades against the Saracens, and their
+subsequent history. Thinking so much of you, both as the child who had
+won my boyish heart and as the beautiful woman whose face had fascinated
+and moved me so deeply, I do not know how, except for my work, I should
+have lived through those long and weary months of enforced inaction
+while my leg so slowly knit.
+
+More as recreation from this serious endeavor than as supplementary
+labor, I gathered the articles I had written for the Deutsche Rundshau
+and the Revue des Deux Mondes from time to time in our travels, and with
+new material from my journal I worked the whole into a popular account
+of what we had seen and done. While I still used a walking-stick I was
+reading proof of the German edition, and my English replica, rather than
+translation, was under negotiation through my publisher for London and
+New York editions. My father, who busied himself with a French version,
+insisted that the book would be a great success, and the articles under
+my assumed name had been so well noticed that I was myself hopeful of
+what better work in book form might do for my reputation; for against
+his advice, I had determined to abandon my pseudonym.
+
+But all these schemes and hopes were forgotten in the illness of my
+father. Contrary to my wishes, he had overworked himself in the French
+translation, while his life, for months of my enforced inactivity, had
+been one long service, impossible for me to avoid or refuse without
+giving him pain. This double exertion proved too great a strain. The day
+after he sent the manuscript to Paris, as he sat conning the sheets of
+the concluding chapter of my history, he laid them down without a word,
+and, leaning forward, quietly rested his head upon the table. I was by
+his side and had him on the sofa in an instant, where he lay
+unconscious till the doctor came. We were told that it was a slight
+stroke, and by the next day he seemed quite well. But slowly he lost the
+use of one side, and within a week was helpless. I like to remember that
+I was well enough to tend him as he had tended me. He lingered for a
+month, sweet and gentle as always; then, one evening, as I sat beside
+him, he opened his eyes and said, "Good-night, Don. Good-night, Maizie."
+And with those words his loving soul went back to its Creator.
+
+I found about his neck a ribbon to which was attached a locket
+containing the long tress you cut off for him that day in the Bois, one
+of my mother's curls, and a little tow-colored lock which I suppose was
+my own hair before it darkened,--a locket I have since worn unchanged,
+because, sadly discordant though such association has become, I cannot
+bring myself to separate what he tied together. It seems to symbolize
+his love for all of us.
+
+The kindness of my friends I can never forget. I was so broken down as
+really to be unfit for thought, and their generous foresight did
+everything possible to spare me trouble or pain. Especially to Professor
+and Frau Jastrow do I owe an unpayable debt, for they made me feel that
+there was still some one in whose love I stood first; and had I been the
+child who had never come to them, I question if they could have done
+more for me than they did.
+
+One thing that I had to do myself was to notify my mother of my father's
+death. From the time she had quitted us my father and I had avoided
+mention of her; but during his illness he asked me to write in case of
+his death, and gave me her New York address, from which I inferred that
+in some way he had kept himself informed concerning her, though I feel
+very certain that she had never written him. That I had never tried to
+learn anything myself was due to the estrangement, but still more to my
+interest in my studies and work. Now I wrote her, as I had promised,
+telling her briefly the circumstances of my father's illness and death,
+and offering to write fuller details if she wished to know them. I would
+not feign love for her, but I wrote tenderly of him and without coldness
+to her. She never replied.
+
+Kind as were all my intimates, I craved more than friendship, however
+loving it might be. One of the two great loves of my life had gone out
+from it, and, in the gap it left, the other became doubly dear to me.
+The wish to see you grew and strengthened each day, until at last it
+shaped my plans, and I announced my intention to visit America; making
+the specious explanation that, after my long invalidism and grief, the
+change would be the best specific for me.
+
+At this time I received the offer of appointment as professor
+extraordinarius of philology and ethnology under Jastrow, another
+manifestation of his love; but till I had seen you I would not bind
+myself by accepting, and through his influence I was given three months
+to consider my answer. I seem doomed never to requite the services of
+those I love the most, but I am glad that in the nine months which I
+passed under his roof my knowledge of the Eastern dialects had pushed
+his work so much nearer completion.
+
+Leaving all my possessions behind except the manuscript of my history, I
+started on my voyage of love. For two days I tarried in Paris, settling
+my little property. I had long known that the flotsam of my father's
+fortune, wrecked in Wall Street, was a few bonds deposited with Paris
+bankers; and when I called upon the firm it was merely to continue the
+old arrangement, by which they cut the coupons and placed them to my
+bank credit. It was in this visit that I searched out our old pension,
+and sat dreaming in the park. How could I imagine, remembering those
+days of closest love and sympathy, and knowing too your kindness to one
+you thought a mere Eastern stroller, that you could have changed so to
+your former friend?
+
+The most curious fact to me, in looking back upon that time, is that the
+idea never occurred to me that you were a married woman. It never
+entered my thoughts that a beauty which fascinated and drew me so far
+from my natural orbit must be an equally powerful charm to other men. As
+for Mr. Blodgett, I never gave him a second thought, not even accounting
+for his relations with you. My foolishness, I suppose, is typical of the
+scholar's abstraction and impracticality.
+
+As the steamer neared New York, my impatience to see you increased
+apace. Far from longing for our old ten-day passage, I found a voyage of
+seven days too long. Ridiculous as it may seem, I almost lost my temper
+at the slowness of the customs examination. I believe I was half mad,
+and only marvel that I did so sane a thing as to go to a hotel, change
+my clothes, and dine, before attempting to see you.
+
+I ascertained Mr. Walton's address the moment I reached my hotel, and
+sent a messenger there to inquire your whereabouts. He brought me back
+word that Mr. Walton was absent from the city, but the servant had
+informed him that you still lived with your uncle and that you were in
+town.
+
+I cannot tell you the surprise and joy I felt when, on arriving at your
+house on Madison Avenue that evening, I discovered it to be our old
+habitat. It seemed as if your selection of that as your home, probably
+from sentiment, was a bow of promise for the future, and I rang the
+bell, almost trembling with emotion and happiness.
+
+The footman showed me to the drawing-room and took my card. All inside,
+so far as I could see, was changed past the point of recognition, but
+everything was beautiful, and I felt in that one room that no
+decorator's conventional taste had formed its harmony, but that an
+artistic sense had planned the whole. What a contrast it was to the old
+days of untasteful and untidy richness!
+
+I sat but a moment before the footman returned. Looking not at me, but
+over my head, and with an attitude and air as deferential as if I were
+the guest of all others most welcome, he said, "Miss Walton declines the
+honor of Mr. Maitland's acquaintance, and begs to be excused."
+
+The blow came so suddenly, and was so crushing, that for a moment I lost
+my dignity. "There must be some mistake!" I exclaimed. "You gave Miss
+Walton my card?"
+
+The footman only bowed assent.
+
+"Go to Miss Walton and say I must see her a moment."
+
+"Miss Walton instructed me to add, in case Mr. Maitland persisted, that
+she prefers to hold no intercourse with Mr. Maitland and will receive no
+messages from him."
+
+Pride came to my rescue, and I passed silently into the hall. The
+servant opened the door, and I went out from my old home, never to enter
+it more. At the foot of the steps I turned and looked back, hardly yet
+believing what I had been told. Even in the sting and humiliation of
+that moment my love was stronger than the newer sensations. I said,
+"Good-night, Maizie. God keep you," and walked away.
+
+
+
+
+VIII
+
+
+_February 27._ I sat for hours in my room, that night, trying to find
+some solution of the mystery and groping for a future course of action.
+I thought of a visit to my mother, on the chance that she would give me
+the key to the puzzle, but could not bring myself to it. Rejecting that
+idea, I decided to seek out Mr. Blodgett, who, being your friend, might
+know the reason for what you had done.
+
+Finding on inquiry, the next morning, that Mr. Blodgett was a member of
+one of the chief banking firms of New York, I went to his office. The
+ante-room was well filled with people anxious to see the great banker,
+and the door-boy refused me access to him without giving my name and
+business. Knowing that "Donald Maitland" would mean nothing to Mr.
+Blodgett, and might even fail to secure me an audience, I wrote on a
+slip of paper, "A seeker of knowledge from the Altai Mountains." Nor was
+I wrong, for the boy, on his return, gave me immediate entrance, and
+another moment brought me face to face with my once-disliked countryman.
+
+His hand was extended to greet me, but as he looked at my face his arm
+dropped in surprise. "Your name, please?" he demanded, with a
+business-like clip to his voice, at the same time picking up and
+glancing quickly at three or four cards and slips of paper that were on
+the corner of his desk.
+
+"I am the attorney for ancient peoples," I announced, smiling, "come to
+thank the New World for its kindness to a broken-legged man."
+
+Instantly Mr. Blodgett smiled too, and again extended his hand. "Glad to
+see you," he said. "Sit down." Then looking at me keenly, he added,
+"You've done a lot of bleaching or scrubbing since we met."
+
+"In the interval my face has been hidden from the sun-god of my
+fathers."
+
+"Ah!" Then his Americanism cropped out by a question: "Are you European
+or Asiatic?--for you are too dark to be the one, and too white to be the
+other."
+
+"My parents were American, and I was born in New York."
+
+"The deuce you were! Then why were you masquerading in Arab dress and
+with a brown face in Tangier, and why did you say you came from some
+mountains in Asia?"
+
+"I was for the time an Arab, and I was last from the Altai Mountains," I
+explained, and smilingly added, "Is my explanation satisfactory?"
+
+"Well, I suppose you spoke by the book," he replied. "Wherever you were
+born, I'm glad to see--Hold on!" he cried, interrupting his own speech.
+"Why did you call yourself Dr. Rudolph Hartzmann, of Leipzig, if you
+were an American?"
+
+"I did not," I denied, startled by his question, for my identity with
+the pseudonym was known only to my professors and publishers.
+
+"You weren't living in Tangier under the name of Hartzmann?" he
+inquired.
+
+"No."
+
+"Then how came it that when my servant was sent to leave some fruit and
+flowers for you and inquire your name, he was told that you were Dr.
+Rudolph Hartzmann, of Leipzig?"
+
+"Are you serious?" I questioned, as much puzzled as he for the moment.
+
+"Never more so. I remember our astonishment to think that any European
+should have so dark a skin and live in the native quarter."
+
+"Mr. Blodgett," I explained, "I did not know till this moment that a pen
+name I have used to sign my writings had been given you, but it was a
+joke of my father's to register me under it, and my only theory is that
+he had given some one in the hotel that name, and, by mischance, your
+servant was misinformed."
+
+He was too good a business man to look as skeptical as he probably felt,
+and merely asked, "What is your real name, then?"
+
+"Donald Maitland, son of William Maitland."
+
+His eyes gave a startled wink and he screwed his lips into position for
+a whistle, but checking the inclination, he merely turned his
+revolving-chair so that he looked out of a window. He sat thus for a
+moment, and then, facing me, he questioned, with a sudden curtness of
+voice and manner, "What is your business with me?"
+
+"I have taken the liberty of calling on the supposition that you are a
+friend of Miss Walton."
+
+"I am."
+
+"Miss Walton was once my father's ward, yet last night she refused to
+see me. Can you tell me why?"
+
+"The reason is rather obvious," he asserted crisply.
+
+"Will you tell me what it is?"
+
+He looked at me from under his gray eyebrows. "Is that all you want of
+me?" he demanded.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Well, then, Miss Walton refused to see you because she despises you."
+
+I felt my cheeks burn, but I gripped the arm of my chair and waited till
+I could speak coolly; then I asked, "For what?"
+
+"You are ignorant of the fact that your father embezzled a part of Miss
+Walton's fortune, and that you and he have since lived upon it?" he
+exclaimed, with no veiling of his contempt.
+
+I sat calmly, for the idea was too new, and I had too many connecting
+links to recall, to have the full horror of the disgrace come home to me
+at once. He did not give me time for thought, but interrogated, "Well?"
+
+Having to speak, I asked, "You are sure of what you say?"
+
+"Sure!" he ejaculated. "Why, it's been known to every one for years, and
+I was one of the trustees appointed by the court to look out for Miss
+Walton's interest in what property your father couldn't take with him!"
+
+"If you are a trustee of Miss Walton," I said, growing cool in my agony
+of shame, "can you spare me five minutes and answer some questions?"
+
+That I did not deny knowledge of the wrong seemed to raise me in his
+opinion, for he nodded his head and looked less stern.
+
+"How much did my father--How much did Miss Walton lose?" I inquired.
+
+"One hundred and thirty thousand was all the property he could
+negotiate, and we succeeded, by bidding in his house over the mortgage
+and by taking the library at a valuation, in recovering twenty-six
+thousand."
+
+"Was that amount net?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Then in 1879 the amount due Miss Walton was one hundred and four
+thousand dollars?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Thank you, Mr. Blodgett," I added, rising. "I am only sorry, after your
+former kindness, to have given you this further trouble. I am grateful
+for both." In my shame I did not dare to offer him my hand, but he held
+out his.
+
+"Mr. Maitland," he rejoined, "I'm a pretty good judge of men, and I
+don't believe you have done wrong knowingly."
+
+"I never dreamed it," I almost sobbed, shaking his hand.
+
+"It's pretty rough," he said. "I hope you won't show the white feather
+by doing anything desperate?"
+
+I shook my head, and walked to the door. As I reached it a new thought
+occurred to me, and, turning, I asked, "What has the legal rate of
+interest been since 1879?"
+
+For reply he touched an electric button on his desk, and I heard the
+lock click in the door by which I stood. He pulled a chair near his own,
+and commanded, "Come here and sit down," in such a peremptory tone that
+I obeyed. "Why did you ask that question?" he catechised.
+
+"That I may find out how much I owe Miss Walton."
+
+"What for?"
+
+"To attempt restitution."
+
+"I hope you know what you're talking about?"
+
+"I'm still rather confused, but so much I can see clearly enough."
+
+"How much property have you?"
+
+"My father left me something over thirty-one thousand dollars."
+
+"Thirty-one from one hundred and four leaves seventy-three."
+
+"And interest," I corrected.
+
+"I thought that was what you were driving at," he surmised calmly. He
+pulled out a volume from its repository in his desk, and turned
+backwards and forwards in the book for a few moments, taking off figures
+on a sheet of paper. "Eight years at five per cent makes the whole over
+one hundred and fifty-five thousand dollars less thirty-one."
+
+"Thank you."
+
+"Where can you get the balance?"
+
+"I must earn it."
+
+He looked at me with a slightly quizzical expression and asked, "How?"
+
+"That I have yet to think out."
+
+"Any business?"
+
+"I have the offer of a professorship at Leipzig, but that's out of the
+question now."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"It would give me only two thousand a year at first, and the interest on
+the debt will be over six thousand annually."
+
+"What do you know?" he questioned.
+
+"Most of the languages and dialects of Europe and Asia, and a good deal
+of history and ethnology. I am fairly read in arts, sciences, and
+religions, and I know something of writing," I answered, smiling at the
+absurdity of mentioning such knowledge in the face of such a condition.
+
+"Humph! And you'd have sold all that for two thousand a year?"
+
+"I think so."
+
+"Well, that only proves that a man had better cultivate his gumption,
+and not his brains!"
+
+"If he wishes to make money," I could not help retorting gently.
+
+"You're just like Maizie!" he sniffed, and his going back to your
+familiar name in my presence was the best compliment he could have paid
+me. "You two ought to have died young and gone to heaven, where there's
+nothing to do but cultivate the soul."
+
+"I wish we had!"
+
+"Why don't you go to your mother?"
+
+"For what?"
+
+"For the money."
+
+"Has she money?"
+
+"Yes. She had a little money when she married your father, which she
+kept tight hold of; her mother's death, two years ago, gave her more,
+and she has just married a rich man."
+
+"I don't know yet what I shall do," I replied, rising.
+
+"Well," he advised kindly, "before you blow your brains out or do
+anything else that's a waste of good material, come and see me again."
+
+"Thank you," I responded. "And, Mr. Blodgett, as a favor, I ask that all
+I have told you, and even my presence in New York, shall be confidential
+between us."
+
+"Nonsense!" he growled. "I shall tell Maizie all about it."
+
+"Miss Walton least of any," I begged.
+
+"Why don't you insist, too, that Mrs. Blodgett, who intends that I shall
+inform her nightly of everything I know, sha'n't be told?" he queried.
+
+"It grieves me to be a marplot of connubial confidences," I rejoined,
+responding to his smile, "but this must be between us."
+
+"Have your own way," he acceded, and then laughed. "I'll have a good
+time over it, for I'll let Mrs. Blodgett see there is a secret, and
+she'll go crazy trying to worm it out of me."
+
+He shook my hand again, and I felt ashamed to think that his voice and
+manner had once made me hold him in contempt.
+
+I went back to the hotel, and thought over the past, seeing how blind I
+had been. Now for the first time everything became clear. I understood
+the trip to Europe and our remaining there, why my mother had left us,
+why Mr. Walton had been permitted to take you from us without protest,
+why we had not mingled with Americans, and my father's motives in making
+me write under a pen name, in registering me at hotels by it, and in
+giving that name to your servant. Now it was obvious why he never signed
+his articles, and why he appealed to me to let him aid me to make a
+reputation: it was his endeavor to atone to me for the wrong he had
+done.
+
+Good-night, my love.
+
+
+
+
+IX
+
+
+_February 28._ Many times in the last three years I have begun a letter
+to you, for the thought that you, like the rest of the world, may rank
+my father with other embezzlers stings me almost to desperation. Each
+time it has been to tear the attempted justification--or I should say,
+extenuation--into fragments, long before it was completed. In all my
+trials I have come to realize that nothing I can say can stand him in
+stead; for whatever I urge is open to suspicion, not merely because it
+is my interest to condone his act, but still more because it inevitably
+becomes an indirect justification of myself, and therefore, in a sense,
+a plea for pardon.
+
+At moments, too, when with you, I have had to exercise the greatest
+self-control not to tell you what I feel. If I were only some one else
+than Donald Maitland, so that I might say to you:--
+
+"You should know that your guardian was incapable of the lowness the
+world imputes to him! I am not trying to belittle the sin, but to
+distinguish the motive. His wrong was no mean attempt to enrich himself
+at the expense of one he loved, for his nature was wholly unmercenary,
+and his transgression originated, not through greed, but through lack of
+it. Like all men of true intellect, he was heedless in money matters,
+and I am conscious that there was in him, as there is in me, the certain
+weakness which is almost inevitable with mind cultivation,--an
+engulfing, as it were, of the big principles of right and wrong in the
+complexities and the refinements of cultivated thought. His birthright
+was scholarship, but in place of the life he was fitted for he was
+forced into Wall Street, and toiled there without sympathy or aptitude
+for his work. Do you not remember how, aside from our companionship, his
+books were his one great pleasure? The wealth of mind he gave to us
+tells the story of how he must have neglected his office in favor of his
+library. Yet though this preference might have made him a poor man, I
+cannot think his studies would ever have led him into dishonesty. I have
+never had the heart to trace the history of his act, but Mr. Blodgett
+tells me that shortly after his marriage he first began to speculate,
+and knowing as I do my mother's extravagance and my father's love for
+her, I can understand the motive. The inevitable result came presently,
+and, as a temporary expedient, a small part of your property was used.
+Then a desperate attempt was made to recover this by the risking of a
+larger portion, and after that there was nothing left but confession or
+flight. I wish he had spoken, but the weakness that produced the first
+wrong accounts for the second, and I believe his chief thought was of
+me, and how I might be saved from the consequences of his guilt. Unless
+you have put him wholly out of your heart, you must appreciate that it
+was no sordid scheme to cheat you, but a surrender to the love strong
+enough to overcome his honesty. You must know that he loved you too well
+to wrong you willingly, and I think with pain of what I am sure he must
+have suffered in his shame at having robbed you. Do you not remember the
+sadness in his face in those later years, and his tenderness to both of
+us? Can you not see that his kindness, his patience, and his care of us
+were his endeavored atonement?"
+
+Oh, Maizie, I ask nothing for myself, but if you could be brought to
+think of him, to love him, as you once did, my greatest grief would be
+ended.
+
+Bitter as my misery was after Mr. Blodgett's revelation, there was
+still some sweetness to make it bearable. For years I had thought of
+you as heartless and forgetful, and even in my love had hated and
+despised you at moments, as only love can hate and despise. The world
+thinks that animosity is always strongest against enemies, though daily
+it sees the intensest feuds between those nations and individuals who
+are most closely related, and never learns that the deepest hatred comes
+from love. Now I knew that you had cause for slighting my letters and
+gift, and the knowledge of my injustice and the thought that you were
+more lovable than ever were the silver lining to my cloud of shame.
+
+My first meeting with you was a pure chance, yet it shaped my life. For
+three weeks after my call on Mr. Blodgett I pondered and vacillated over
+what I should do, without reaching any decision. At the end of that time
+I went to his office again.
+
+"Mr. Blodgett has asked two or three times if you hadn't called," the
+boy informed me; adding, as he opened the door to the private office,
+"He told me, if you ever came again, sir, to show you right in."
+
+I passed through the doorway, and then faltered, for you were sitting
+beside the banker, overlooking a paper that he was commenting upon.
+Could I have escaped unnoticed, I should have done so; but you both
+glanced up as I entered.
+
+The moment you saw me you rose, with an exclamation of recognition and
+surprise, which meant to me that you knew your old friend in spite of
+the changes. Do you wonder that, not foreseeing what was to come, I
+stood there as if turned to stone? My manner evidently made you question
+your own eyes, for you asked, "Is not this Dr. Hartzmann?"
+
+"Of course it is!" cried Mr. Blodgett, with a quickness and heartiness
+which proved that your question was almost as great a relief to him as
+it was to me.
+
+"I did not think, Miss Walton," I replied, steadying my voice as best I
+could, "that you saw my face clearly enough that evening, to recollect
+it?"
+
+"The moonlight was so strong," you explained, "that I should have known
+you anywhere."
+
+"Then your eyes are better than mine," asserted Mr. Blodgett. "I accused
+the doctor of using blondine, to atone for my not recognizing him,
+though I must confess he will have to use a good deal more if he wants
+to be thought anything but Italian."
+
+"Then you have met before?" you questioned.
+
+"Yes," replied Mr. Blodgett. "I was going to tell you when we got
+through with that mortgage. I knew you would be interested to hear that
+the doctor was in New York. Seems like Tangier, doesn't it?"
+
+"In reminiscence," I assented, merely to gain time.
+
+"None of your rickety ruins," chuckled Mr. Blodgett.
+
+"But more ruin," you said.
+
+"And more danger," I added, pointing out of the window at the passers-by
+in Wall Street. "Nowhere in my travels, even among races that have to go
+armed, have I ever seen so many anxious and careworn faces."
+
+"Most of them look worried," suggested Mr. Blodgett, "only because they
+are afraid they'll take more than three minutes to eat their lunch."
+
+For a moment you spoke with Mr. Blodgett on business, and then offered
+me your hand in farewell, saying, "I am very glad, Dr. Hartzmann, for
+this chance reunion. Mr. Blodgett and I have often spoken of the
+mysterious Oriental who fell in--and out--of our knowledge so
+strangely."
+
+"I have wished to meet you, Miss Walton," I responded warmly, "to thank
+you for your kindness and help to me when"--
+
+"That was nothing, Dr. Hartzmann," you interrupted, in evident
+deprecation of my thanks. "Indeed, I have always felt that we were in a
+measure responsible for your accident, and that we made but a poor
+return by the little we did. Good-morning."
+
+Mr. Blodgett took you to your carriage, and when he returned he gave a
+whistle. "Well!" he exclaimed. "I haven't gone through such a ten-second
+scare since I proposed to my superior moiety."
+
+"I ought"--I began.
+
+But he went on: "There's nothing frightens me so much as a wrought-up
+woman. Dynamite or volcanoes aren't a circumstance to her, because they
+have limits; but woman!"
+
+I laughed and said, "The Hindoos have a paradox to the effect that
+women fear mice, mice fear men, and men fear women."
+
+"She got so much better and longer look at you in Tangier than I did
+that I don't wonder she recognized Dr. Hartzmann when I didn't. But why
+did she stop there in her recollections?"
+
+"It appeared incomprehensible to me for a moment, yet, as a fact, her
+knowing me as Donald Maitland would have been the greater marvel of the
+two. When she knew me, I was an undersized, pallid, stooping lad of
+seventeen. In the ten years since, my hair and skin have both darkened
+greatly, I have grown a mustache, and my voice has undergone the change
+that comes with manhood, as well as that which comes by speaking foreign
+tongues. Your very question as to whether I was of Eastern birth tells
+the whole story, for such a doubt would seem absurd to one who
+remembered the boy of ten years ago. Then, too, Miss Walton, having
+recognized me as Dr. Hartzmann, was, as it were, disarmed of all
+suspicion by having no question-mark in her mind as to my exact
+identity."
+
+Mr. Blodgett nodded his head in assent. "And you don't know it all," he
+informed me. "I'm going to be frank, doctor, and acknowledge that I've
+expressed a pretty low opinion of you to her more than once. If Maizie
+were asked what man in this world she'd be least likely to meet in my
+office on a friendly footing, she would probably think of you. Your
+presence here was equivalent to saying that you weren't Donald Maitland,
+let alone the fact that I greeted you as Dr. Hartzmann, and that she
+could never dream of my having a reason to deceive her in your
+identity."
+
+"Such a chain of circumstances almost makes one believe in kismet," I
+sighed. Then I laughed, and added, "How easy it is to show that one need
+not be scared--after the danger is all over!"
+
+"That isn't the only scare I owe to you," muttered Mr. Blodgett. "I
+didn't take your address because I told you to come again. Why didn't
+you?"
+
+"I am here."
+
+"Yes. But for three weeks I've been worrying over what you were doing
+with yourself, and not knowing that you hadn't cut your throat."
+
+"I am sorry to have troubled you. I stayed away to save troubling you."
+
+"You're as considerate as the Fiji islander was of the missionary, when
+he asked him if he had rather be cooked _[`a] la ma[^i]tre d'h[^o]tel_ or _en
+papillote_. What have you been doing?"
+
+"Very little to any purpose. I have written to my publisher, offering to
+sell my rights in my text-books; to a friend, asking him to learn for
+what price he can sell my library; and to my bankers, directing them to
+send me the bonds and a draft for my balance. I received the securities
+and a bill of exchange yesterday, and am so ignorant of business
+methods that I came to you this morning to learn how to turn them into
+cash."
+
+"I'll do better than that," volunteered Mr. Blodgett, touching a button.
+"Give them to me, and I'll have it done." Then, after he had turned the
+matter over to a clerk, he asked, "What does your publisher offer?"
+
+"Thirty-five hundred."
+
+"And what are your royalties?"
+
+"Last year they were over six hundred dollars."
+
+"Humph! That's equivalent to investing money at eighteen per cent. You
+ought to get more than that."
+
+"A little more or less is nothing compared with paying so much on my
+debt."
+
+"What will your library bring?"
+
+"Perhaps four thousand, if I can find some one who wants so technical a
+collection."
+
+"And you can get along without it?"
+
+"I must," I declared, though wincing a little.
+
+"Rather goes against the grain, eh?" he rejoined kindly.
+
+I tried to laugh, and said, "My books have been such good comrades that
+I haven't quite accustomed myself yet to thinking of them as
+merchandise. I feel a little as the bankrupt planter must have felt when
+he saw his slave children offered for sale."
+
+"And what do you plan to do with yourself?"
+
+"I haven't been able to make up my mind."
+
+We were interrupted at this point by some business matter, and I took my
+leave. The next morning Mr. Blodgett called at my boarding-place on his
+way down town.
+
+"I haven't come to talk business," he announced. "I told my wife and
+daughter, last night, about the fellow from the backwoods of Asia, and
+made them so curious that Mrs. Blodgett has given me permission to
+furnish him board and lodgings for a week. I'll promise you a better
+room than this," he added, glancing at the box I had moved into as soon
+as I realized how much worse than a pauper I was.
+
+I could hardly express my gratitude as I tried to thank him, but he
+pretended not to perceive my emotion, and said briskly: "That's settled,
+then. Send your stuff round any time to-day, and be on deck for a
+seven-o'clock dinner."
+
+You, who know Mrs. Blodgett so much better than I, can understand my
+bewilderment during the first day or two of my visit. Her husband had
+jokingly pictured me as of an Eastern race, which made the meeting
+rather embarrassing; but the moment she comprehended that I did not
+habitually sit on the floor, did not carry a scimiter or kris, and was
+not unwashed and ferine, but only a dark skinned, dark haired, and very
+silent German scholar, she took possession of me as I have seen her do
+of others. She preceded me to my room, ringing for a servant on the
+way, made me open my trunk, and directed the maid where to put each
+article it contained. She told me what time to be ready for dinner, what
+to wear for it, and at that meal she had me helped twice to such dishes
+as she chose, while refusing to let me have more than one cup of coffee.
+To a man who had never had any one to look after him in small things it
+was a novel and rather pleasant if surprising experience, and when I
+grew accustomed to it I easily understood Mr. Blodgett's chuckles of
+enjoyment when she told him he shouldn't have a third cigar, when she
+decided how close he was to sit to the fire, and finally when she made
+all of us--Agnes, Mr. Blodgett, and myself--go to bed at her own hour
+for retiring. Best of all I understood Mr. Blodgett's familiar name for
+her, "the boss." That visit was a perfect revelation to me of
+affectionate, thoughtful, and persistently minute domineering. I do not
+believe that the man lives, though he be the veriest woman-hater, who
+could help loving her after a fortnight of her tyranny. Certainly I
+could not.
+
+By Mr. Blodgett's aid I secured a "paper" cable transfer of the money
+realized from the bonds and draft, in order that it might seem to come
+from Europe, and sent it to you, writing at his suggestion, "The
+inclosed draft on Foster G. Blodgett & Co. for the sum of thirty-three
+thousand dollars is part payment of principal and interest due you from
+estate of William G. Maitland." I wonder what your thoughts were as you
+read the unsigned and typewritten note?
+
+It was your greeting of me by my alias that led me to accept the
+incognito. Perhaps it was cowardly to shirk my shame by such a means,
+but it was not done from cowardice; the thought did not even occur to me
+until it opened a way to knowing you. And in that hope my very misery
+became almost happiness, for its possibilities seemed those of the
+Oriental poet who wrote:--
+
+    "My love once offered me a bitter draught
+    From which in cowardice I flinched.
+    But still she tendered to me;
+    And bowing to her wish, I then no longer shrank,
+    But took the cup and put it to my lips.
+    Oh, marvel! gazing still at her,
+    The potion turned to sweetness as I drank."
+
+If your old friend, Donald Maitland, were dead to you, your new lover,
+Rudolph Hartzmann, might fill his place. I never stopped to think if
+such trickery were right, or rather my love was stronger than my
+conscience.
+
+Good-night, my dearest.
+
+
+
+
+X
+
+
+_March 1._ During my visit I heard much about you from Mrs. Blodgett and
+Agnes, for your name was constantly on their lips. From them I learned
+that your birth, wealth, and the influence of your uncle had involved
+you in a fashionable society for which you cared nothing, and that,
+aside from the gayety which that circle forced upon you, your time was
+spent in travel, and in reading, music, and charitable work. Except for
+themselves, they averred, you had no intimate friends, and their
+explanation of this fact proved to me that you had taken our separation
+as seriously as had I.
+
+"After Mr. Walton brought her to America she spent the first few months
+with us," Mrs. Blodgett told me, "and was the loneliest child I ever
+saw. Her big eyes used to look so wistfully at times that I could
+hardly bear it, yet not a word did she ever speak of her sorrow. And all
+on account of that wretch and his son! I think the worse men are, the
+more a good woman loves them! When Maizie was old enough to understand,
+and Mr. Walton told her how she had been robbed, she wouldn't believe
+him till Mr. Blodgett confirmed the story. She used to be always talking
+of the two, but she has never spoken of them since that night."
+
+Even more cruel to me was something Agnes related. She worshiped you
+with the love and admiration a girl of eighteen sometimes feels for a
+girl of twenty-three, and in singing your praises,--to a most willing
+listener,--one day, she exclaimed, "Oh, I wish I were a man, so that I
+could be her lover! I'd make her believe in love." Then seeing my
+questioning look, Agnes continued: "What with her selfish old uncle, and
+the men who want to marry her for her money, and those hateful
+Maitlands, she has been made to distrust all love and friendship. She
+has the idea that she isn't lovable,--that people don't like her for
+herself; and I really think she will never marry, just because of it."
+
+Better far than this knowledge of you at second-hand was Mr. Blodgett's
+telling me that you were to dine with them during my visit. It may seem
+absurd, but not the least part of my eagerness that night was to see you
+in evening dress. If I had not loved you already, I should have done so
+from that meeting; and although you are dear to me for many things
+besides your beauty, I understand why men love you so deeply who know
+nothing of your nature. That all men should not love you is my only
+marvel whenever I recall that first glimpse of you as you entered the
+Blodgetts' drawing-room.
+
+Before we had finished our greetings Mr. Whitely entered, and though I
+little realized how vital a part he was to be of my life, I yet regarded
+him with instant interest, for something in his manner towards you
+suggested to me that he coveted the hand you offered him.
+
+A lover does not view a rival kindly, but I am compelled to own that he
+is handsome. If I had the right to cavil, I could criticise only his
+mouth, which it seems to me has slyness with a certain cruel firmness;
+but I did not notice this until I knew him better, and perhaps it is
+only my imagination, born of later knowledge. I am not so blinded by my
+jealousy as to deny his perfect manner, for one feels the polished
+surface, touch the outside where one will.
+
+Your demeanor towards him was friendly, yet with all its graciousness it
+seemed to me to have a quality not so much of aloofness as of limit;
+conveying in an indefinable way the fact that such relations as then
+existed between you were the only possible ones. It was a shading so
+imperceptible that I do not think the Blodgetts realized it, and I
+should have questioned if Mr. Whitely himself were conscious of it, but
+for one or two things he said in the course of the evening, which had to
+me, under the veil of a general topic, individual suggestion.
+
+We were discussing that well-worn question of woman's education, Mrs.
+Blodgett having introduced the apple of discord by a sweeping
+disapproval of college education for women, on the ground that it
+prevented their marrying.
+
+"They get to know too much, eh?" laughed Mr. Blodgett.
+
+"No," cried Mrs. Blodgett, "they get to know too little! While they
+ought to be out in the world studying life and men, so as to choose
+wisely, they're shut up in dormitories filling their brains with Greek
+and mathematics."
+
+"You would limit a woman's arithmetic to the solution of how to make
+one and one, one?" I asked, smiling.
+
+"Surely, Mrs. Blodgett, you do not mean that an uncultivated woman makes
+the best wife?" inquired Mr. Whitely.
+
+"I mean," rejoined Mrs. Blodgett, "that women who know much of books
+know little of men. That's why over-intellectual women always marry
+fools."
+
+"How many intellectual wives there must be!" you said.
+
+"I shouldn't mind if they only married fools," continued Mrs. Blodgett,
+"but half the time they don't marry at all."
+
+"Does that prove or disprove their intellect?" you asked.
+
+"It means," replied Mrs. Blodgett, "that they are so puffed up with
+their imaginary knowledge that they think no man good enough for them."
+
+"I've known one or two college boys graduate with the same large ideas,"
+remarked Mr. Blodgett.
+
+"But a man gets over it after a few years," urged Mrs. Blodgett, "and
+is none the worse off; but by the time a girl overcomes the idea, she's
+so old that no man worth having will look at her."
+
+"I rather think, Mrs. Blodgett," said Mr. Whitely, in that charmingly
+deferential manner he has with women, "that some men do not try to win
+highly educated women because they are abashed by a sense of their own
+inferiority."
+
+"Where do those men hide themselves, Whitely?" interrogated Mr.
+Blodgett.
+
+"I'll not question the reason," retorted Mrs. Blodgett. "The fact that
+over-educated girls think themselves above men is all I claim."
+
+"I don't think, Mrs. Blodgett," you corrected, "it is so much a feeling
+of superiority as it is a change in the aims of marriage. Formerly,
+woman married to gain a protector, and man to gain a housewife. Now,
+matrimony is sought far less for service, and far more for
+companionship."
+
+"But, Miss Walton," questioned Mr. Whitely, "does not the woman ask too
+much nowadays? She has the leisure to read and study, but a business man
+cannot spare the time. Is it fair, then, to expect that he shall be as
+cultivated as she can make herself?"
+
+"That is, I think, the real cause for complaint," you answered. "The
+business man is so absorbed in money-making that he sacrifices his whole
+time to it. I can understand a woman falling in love with a lance or a
+sword, dull companions though they must have been, but it seems to me
+impossible for any woman to love a minting-machine, even though she
+might be driven to marry it for its product."
+
+"That's rough on us, Whitely," laughed Mr. Blodgett good-naturedly; but
+Mr. Whitely reddened, and you, as if to divert the subject from this
+personal tendency, turned and surmised to me:--
+
+"I suppose that as a German, Dr. Hartzmann, you think a woman should be
+nothing more than a housekeeper?"
+
+"Why not suggest, Miss Walton," I replied, smiling, "that as an
+Orientalist I must think the seraglio woman's proper sphere?"
+
+"But, Miss Walton," persisted Mr. Whitely, not accepting your diversion,
+"a man, to be successful nowadays, must give all his attention to his
+business.
+
+"I presume that is so," you acceded; "but could he not be content with a
+little less success in money-making, and strive to acquire a few more
+amenities?"
+
+"Maizie wants us all to be painters and poets and musicians," asserted
+Mr. Blodgett.
+
+"Not at all," you denied.
+
+"Oh, Maizie!" cried Agnes. "You know you said the other day that you
+hoped I wouldn't marry a business man."
+
+"I said '_only_ a business man,' Agnes," you replied, without a trace
+of the embarrassment so many women would have shown. "Because men cannot
+all be clergymen is no reason for their knowing nothing of religion.
+There would be no painters, poets, or musicians if there were no
+dilettanti."
+
+"Yet I think," argued Mr. Whitely, still as if he were trying to
+convince you of something, "that the successful business man has as much
+brain as most writers or artists."
+
+"I have no doubt that is true," you assented. "So, too, a day laborer
+may have a good mind. But of what avail is a brain if it has never been
+trained, or has been trained to know only one thing?"
+
+"But authors and painters are only specialists," urged Mr. Whitely.
+
+"They are specialists of a very different type," you responded, "from
+the man whose daily thoughts are engrossed with the prices of pig-iron
+or cotton sheetings. I think one reason why American girls frequently
+marry Europeans is that the foreign man is so apt to be more broadly
+cultivated."
+
+"That's what I mean by saying that books unfit women to marry wisely,"
+interjected Mrs. Blodgett. "They marry foreigners because they are more
+cultivated, without a thought of character."
+
+"Indeed, Mrs. Blodgett," you observed, "has not the day gone by for
+thinking dullness a sign of honesty? And certainly a business career is
+far more likely to corrupt and harden men's natures than the higher
+professions, for its temptations and strifes are so much greater."
+
+Your opinion was so in accord with what my father had often preached
+that I could not but wonder if his teachings still colored your
+thoughts. To test this idea as well as to learn your present view, I
+recurred to another theory of his by saying, "Does not the broader and
+more sensitive nature of the scholar or artist involve defects fully as
+serious as the hardness and narrowness of the business man? Some one has
+said that 'to marry a literary man is to domesticate a bundle of
+nerves.'"
+
+"A nervous irritability," you replied, "which came from fine mental
+exertion, would be as nothing compared to my own fretting over enforced
+companionship with an unsympathetic or sordid nature." Then you laughed,
+and added, "I must have a very bad temper, for it is the only one which
+ever really annoys me."
+
+That last speech told me how thoroughly the woman of twenty-three was a
+development of the child of fourteen, for I remembered how little my
+mother's anger used to disturb you, but how deeply and strongly your
+emotions affected you. I suppose it was absurd, but I felt happy to
+think that you had changed so little in character from the time when I
+knew you so well. And from that evening I never for an instant believed
+that you would marry Mr. Whitely, for I was sure that you could never
+love him. How could I dream that you, with beauty, social position, and
+wealth, would make a loveless marriage?
+
+Good-night, my love.
+
+
+
+
+XI
+
+
+_March 2._ The truth of the difference of quality between the business
+man and the scholar was quickly brought home to me. On the last evening
+of my visit, Mr. Blodgett revealed the reason for his latest kindness.
+"I got you here," he explained, "to look you over and see what you were
+fit for, thinking I might work you in somewhere. No," he continued, as
+he saw the questioning hopefulness on my face, "you wouldn't do in
+business. You've got a sight too much conscience and sympathy, and a
+sight too little drive. All business is getting the best of somebody
+else, and you're the kind of chap who'd let a fellow up just because
+you'd got him down." Seeing the sadness in my face, for I knew too well
+he had fathomed me, he added kindly, "Don't get chicken-hearted over
+what I say. It's easy enough to outwit a man; the hard thing is not to
+do it. I'd go out of the trade to-morrow, if it weren't for the boss and
+Agnes, for I get tired of the meanness of the whole thing. But they want
+to cut a figure, and that isn't to be done in this town for nothing.
+I'll find something for you yet that sha'n't make you sell your heart
+and your soul as well as your time."
+
+I was too full of my love and my purpose, however, for this to
+discourage me. The moment my determination to remain in New York was
+taken, I wrote to Jastrow, Humzel, and others of my German friends,
+telling them that for business reasons I had decided to be known as
+Rudolph Hartzmann, and asking if they would stretch friendship so far as
+to give me letters in that name to such American publishers and editors
+as they knew. Excepting Jastrow, they all responded with introductions
+so flattering that I was almost ashamed to present them, and he wrote
+me that he had not offered my books for sale, and begged me to
+reconsider my refusal of the professorship. He even offered, if I would
+accept the appointment, to divide with me his tuition fees, and
+suggested that his own advancing years were a pledge that his position
+would erelong be vacant for me to step into. It almost broke my heart to
+have to write him that I could not accept his generous offer. In July I
+received a second letter from him, most touching in its attempt to keep
+back the grief he felt, but yielding to my determination. He sent me
+many good introductions, and submitted a bid for my library from a
+bookseller; but knowing the books to be worth at least double the offer,
+I held the sale in abeyance.
+
+My first six months in New York disheartened me greatly, though now I
+know that I succeeded far better than I could have expected to do, in
+the dullness of the summer. My work was the proof-reading of my book of
+travel in its varying polyglots, seeing through the press English
+versions of my two text-books, and writing a third in both English and
+German. Furthermore, my letters of introduction had made me known to a
+number of the professors of Columbia College, and by their influence I
+received an appointment to deliver a course of lectures on race
+movements the following winter; so I prepared my notes in this leisure
+time. But this work was far too little to fill my time, and I wrote all
+kinds of editorials, essays, and reviews, fairly wearing out the editors
+of the various magazines and newspapers with my frequent calls and
+articles. Finally I attempted to sell my books to several libraries; but
+though the tomes and the price both tempted several, none had the money
+to spend on such a collection.
+
+My book of travel was published in September, was praised by the
+reviews, and at once sprang into a good sale for a work of that class;
+for Europe is interested in whatever bears on her cancer growth,
+commonly called the Eastern question. Since Europeans approved the book,
+Americans at once bought and discussed it; to prove, I suppose, that as
+a nation we are no longer tainted with provincialism,--as if that very
+subservience to transatlantic opinion were not the best proof that the
+virus still works within us. It was issued anonymously, through the fear
+that if I put my pseudonym on the title-page it might lead to inquiry
+about the author which would reveal his identity with Donald Maitland,
+for whom I only wished oblivion. As a result the question of authorship
+was much mooted, some declaring a well-known Oxford professor to be the
+man, others ascribing the volume to a famous German traveler, and Humzel
+being named by some; but most of the reviews suggested that it was the
+work of an Eastern savant, and I presume that my style was tinged with
+orientalism.
+
+You cannot tell what a delight it was to me to learn, at our first
+meeting in the autumn, that you had read my book. I went in November to
+the Lenox Library to verify a date, and found you there. I could not
+help interrupting your reading for a moment,--I had so longed for a
+glimpse and a word,--and you took my intrusion in good part. I drew a
+book and pretended to read, merely to veil my covert watching of you;
+and when you rose to go, I asked permission to walk with you.
+
+"Your notebook suggests that you are a writer by profession, Dr.
+Hartzmann?" you surmised.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"And you have to come to America for material?"
+
+"I have come to America permanently."
+
+"How unusual!"
+
+"In what respect?"
+
+"For a European writer to come to New York to do more than lecture about
+himself, have his vanity and purse fed, and return home to write a book
+about us that we alone read."
+
+I laughed and said, "You make me very glad that I am the exception to
+the rule."
+
+"I presume more would make the venture if they found the atmosphere less
+uncongenial. New York as a whole is so absorbed in the task of
+trans-shipping the products of the busiest nations of two continents
+that everything is ranked as secondary that does not subserve that end:
+and the Muses starve."
+
+"I suppose New York is not the best of places in which to live by art or
+letters, if compared with London or Paris; yet if a man can do what the
+world wants done, he can earn a livelihood here."
+
+"But he cannot gain the great prizes that alone are worth the winning,
+I fear. I have noticed that American writers only reach American
+audiences, while European authors not merely win attention at home, but
+have vogue and sale here. The London or Paris label is quite as
+effective in New York or Chicago in selling books as in selling
+clothes."
+
+"I suppose cultivated Europe is as heedless of the newer peoples as the
+peoples of the Orient are of those of the Occident. Yet I think that if
+as good work were turned out in this country as in the Old World, the
+place of its production would not seriously militate against its
+success."
+
+"And have you found it so?"
+
+"Nothing I have yet written in this country merits Continental
+attention."
+
+"I hope you have succeeded to your own satisfaction?"
+
+"It may amuse you to know that though I had many good letters of
+introduction to editors in this country, I could not get a single
+article accepted till some friends of mine in Asia came to my aid."
+
+"You speak in riddles."
+
+"Perhaps you remember reading, last August, of an outbreak of some
+tribes in the Hindoo Kush? Those hill peoples are in a state of
+perennial ferment, and usually Europe pays no attention to their
+bellicose proceedings; but luckily for me, the English premier, at that
+particular moment, was holding his unwilling Parliament together in an
+attempt to pass something, and finding it intractable in that matter, he
+cleverly used this outbreak to divert attention and excite enthusiasm.
+Rising in the House of Commons, he virtually charged the outbreak to
+Russian machination against the beloved Emir, and pledged the nation to
+support that civilized humanitarian against the barbaric despot of
+Russia. At once the papers were full of unintelligible cablegrams
+telling of the doings in those far-away mountains; and my hurriedly
+written editorials and articles, which nevertheless showed some
+comprehension of the geography and people, were snapped up avidly, and
+from that time I have found papers or periodicals glad to print what I
+write."
+
+You laughed, and said, "How strangely the world is tied together in
+these days, that the speech of an English prime minister about some
+Asian septs should give a German author entr['e]e to New York editorial
+sanctums!"
+
+"The cables have done more in aid of the brotherhood of man than all the
+efforts of the missionaries."
+
+"I thought you were a conservative, and disapproved of modern
+innovations," you suggested archly.
+
+"With innovators, yes."
+
+"Then the Levantine does not entirely disapprove of our Hesperian city?"
+
+"My knowledge of New York is about as deep," I answered, smiling, "as my
+Eastern blood."
+
+"Only skin-deep," you said.
+
+"Just sufficient for a disguise."
+
+"As long as you are silent, yes."
+
+"Is my English so unmistakable?"
+
+"Not your tongue, but your thought. Of course your vicinage, costume,
+and complexion made me for a moment accept your joke of nationality, at
+that first meeting, but before you had uttered half your defense of the
+older races I felt sure that you were not a product of one of them."
+
+"Why was that?"
+
+"Because it is only Christians who recognize and speak for the rights of
+other peoples."
+
+"You forget that the religion of Buddha is toleration. We Christians
+preach the doctrine, but practice extermination, forgiving our enemies
+after killing them," I corrected. "I do not think we differ much in
+works from even El Mahdi."
+
+"Would El Mahdi ever have spoken for other races?"
+
+"You know the weak spot in my armor, Miss Walton," I was obliged to
+confess.
+
+"That is due to you, Dr. Hartzmann. What you stated that night
+interested me so deeply that I have been reading up about the Eastern
+races and problems. I wonder if you have seen this new book of travel,
+The Debatable Lands between the East and West?"
+
+"Yes," I assented, thinking that twenty over-lookings of it in
+manuscript and proof entitled me to make the claim.
+
+"You will be amused to hear that, when reading it, I thought of you as
+the probable writer, not merely because it begins in the Altai range and
+ends at Tangier, but as well because some of the ideas resemble yours.
+Mr. Whitely, however, tells me he has private information that Professor
+Humzel is the author. Do you know him?"
+
+"He was my professor of history at Leipzig."
+
+"That accounts for the agreement in thought. You admire the book?"
+
+"I think it is a conscientious attempt to describe what the author saw."
+
+"Ah, it is much more than that!" you exclaimed. "At a dinner in London,
+this autumn, I sat next the Earl---- next a member of the Indian
+Council, and he told me he considered it a far more brilliant book than
+Kinglake's Eothen."
+
+I knew I had no right to continue this subject, but I could not help
+asking, "You liked it?"
+
+"Very much. It seems to me a deep and philosophic study of present and
+future problems, besides being a vivid picture of most interesting
+countries and peoples. It made me long to be a nomad myself, and wander
+as the author did. The thought of three years of such life, of such
+freedom, seems to stir in me all the inherited tendency to prowl that we
+women supposedly get from Mother Sphinx."
+
+"Civilization steals nature from us and compounds the theft with art."
+
+"Tell me about Professor Humzel," you went on, "for I know I should like
+him, merely from the way he writes. One always pictures the German
+professor as a dried-up mind in a dried-up body, but in this book one is
+conscious of real flesh and blood. He is a young man, I'm sure."
+
+"Sixty-two."
+
+"He has a young heart, then," you asserted. "Is he as interesting to
+talk with as he makes himself in his book?"
+
+"Professor Humzel is very silent."
+
+"The people who have something to say are usually so," you sighed.
+
+"A drum must be empty to make a noise," I said, smiling, "and perhaps
+the converse is true."
+
+I cannot say what there was in that walk which cheered me so, except
+your praise of my book,--sweeter far though that was than the world's
+kindly opinion; yet over and above that, in our brief interchange of
+words, I was made conscious that there was sympathy between us,--a
+sympathy so positive that something like our old-time friendship seemed
+beginning. And the thought made me so happy that for a time my troubles
+were almost forgotten.
+
+Good-night, Maizie.
+
+
+
+
+XII
+
+
+_March 3._ Fate seemed determined that our lives should be closely
+connected. In December Mr. Blodgett wrote asking me to call at his
+office, and he was already smiling when his boy passed me through the
+door at which so many had to tarry.
+
+"There are a good many kinds of fools," was his welcoming remark, "but
+one of the commonest is the brand who think because they can do one
+thing well, they ought to be able to do the exact opposite. I've known
+men who could grow rich out of brewing beer, who kept themselves poor
+through thinking they knew all about horses; I've known women who
+queened it in parlors, who went to smash because they believed
+themselves inspired actresses; I've sat here in this office thirty
+years, and grown rich through the belief of clergymen, doctors,
+merchants, farmers,--the whole box and dice,--that they were heaven-born
+financiers, and could play us Wall Street men even at our own game.
+Whatever else you do in this world, doctor, don't think that because you
+can talk a dozen languages, they fit you to be a successful mute."
+
+"When you are in this mood, Mr. Blodgett, I can be nothing else," I
+interpolated, as he paused a moment for breath.
+
+"Alexander Whitely," he went on, smiling, "probably knows more about
+petroleum and kerosene than any other man in the world, and he's made
+himself rich by his knowledge. But it doesn't satisfy him to be on the
+top of his own heap; he wants to get on the top of some other fellow's.
+In short, he has an itch to be something he isn't, and the darned fool's
+gone and bought a daily newspaper with the idea that he is going to be
+a great editor!"
+
+"His lamp of genius will not go out for want of oil," I remarked.
+
+"For a moment he showed one glimmer of sense: he came to me for advice,"
+said Mr. Blodgett in evident enjoyment. "I told him to get an A 1
+business manager, to make you chief editor, let you pick your staff, and
+then blow in all the money you and the business end asked for, and never
+go inside the building himself. It was too good sense for him, for he's
+daft with the idea of showing the world how to edit a paper. But my
+advice simmered down to this: if you want to be his private secretary,
+at four thousand a year, and pretend to revise his editorials, but
+really write them for him, I guess you can have the position. Of course
+he is to think he writes the rubbish."
+
+"A Voltaire in miniature," I laughed.
+
+"A what?"
+
+"The great Frederic thought himself a poet, and induced Voltaire to come
+and be his literary counselor. The latter showed a bundle of manuscripts
+to some one and sneered, 'See all this dirty linen of the king's he has
+sent me to wash.'"
+
+"That was one for his nibs," chuckled Mr. Blodgett appreciatively. "But
+you mustn't make such speeches as that of Whitely."
+
+"In spite of my many tongues, I can be mute."
+
+"Do you think I haven't seen that? And I've seen something more, which
+is that you always give a dollar's worth of work for seventy-five cents
+of wages. Now, Whitely's a hard man, and if you made the terms with him
+he'd be sure to get the better of you. So I've arranged to have him meet
+you here, and I'm going to see fair play. I've told him you won't do it
+for less than four thousand, and he'll not get you a cent cheaper. The
+work will be very light."
+
+"The work is easy," I assented, "but is it honest?"
+
+"Seems to me we had better leave that to Whitely to settle."
+
+"And is Mr. Whitely an honest man?"
+
+Mr. Blodgett smiled as he looked at me, and observed, "Whitely wouldn't
+steal a red-hot stove unless it had handles! But he probably thinks this
+all right. Few people know how much successful men use other men's
+brains. Here's a report on a Southern railroad by an expert in my
+employ. I've never even been over the road, yet I'll sign my name to the
+report as if it was my work. Now, in oil Whitely hires all kinds of men
+to do different things for him, and he gets whatever credit follows; and
+I suppose he thinks that if he pays you to write editorials, they are as
+much his as any other thing he buys."
+
+"He must be conscious of a distinction."
+
+"That's his lookout, if he is. Don't start in to keep other people's
+consciences in order, doctor, for it's the hardest-worked and
+poorest-paid trade in the world."
+
+When Mr. Whitely arrived, Mr. Blodgett was as good as his word, taking
+the matter practically out of my hands, and letting me sit a passive and
+amused spectator of the contest between the two shrewd men, who dropped
+all thought of personal friendship while they discussed the matter. Mr.
+Blodgett won, and made the further stipulation that since Mr. Whitely
+intended to be at the office only in the afternoon, I might be equally
+privileged as to my hours of attendance. His forethought and kindness
+did more, for his last speech to Mr. Whitely was, "Then it's understood
+that the doctor writes your letters and revises your editorials, but
+nothing else." And as soon as we were alone he intimated, "Remember
+that, or before you know it he'll be screwing you to death. Don't you
+write anything extra for him unless there's extra pay. Now, don't waste
+my time by thanks in business hours, but come in to-night to dinner, so
+as to let the boss and Agnes congratulate you."
+
+My employment began the first of the year, at which time the paper came
+into the hands of its new proprietor; and it amuses me to recall him as
+he sat at his desk that first day, thrumming it nervously, and trying to
+dictate an editorial on The Outlook for the New Year. A more hopeless
+bit of composition I have seldom read, and four times it was rewritten
+as I built it into shape.
+
+The man has no more sense of form than he has of English. Even worse, he
+is almost without ideas. It has become his invariable custom to remark
+to me suavely, as he takes his seat at his desk about two o'clock, "Dr.
+Hartzmann, possibly you can suggest a good subject for me to write about
+to-day?" And when I propose one, he continues: "That is satisfactory.
+Jot down what you think I had better say, while I run over my mail." An
+hour later I lay the typewritten sheets before him, and, after reading
+them with the most evident pleasure, he puts his initials at the top and
+sends the editorial out to the managing editor; to have a second
+pleasure when, after two hours, the galley slips of proof come back to
+him.
+
+Fortunately for me, he cares no more for politics than I do, and thus
+saves me from the necessity of studying and mastering that shifting
+quicksand against which beat the tides of men, ebbing as private greed
+obtains the mastery, and flowing in those curious revulsions of
+selfishly altruistic public spirit called patriotism. Except for this
+subject his taste is catholic, and his foible is to pose as omniscient.
+"I wish new subjects,--something, if possible, that intellectual people
+do not know about,"--is his constant command; and nothing delights him
+more than an editorial on a subject of which he has never heard.
+Speaking only his mother tongue, he has an inordinate desire for foreign
+words, and will observe, "A quotation in another language gives an
+editorial page an air of culture which I desire my paper to have." Our
+composing-room, I imagine, is the only one in New York which has Greek
+type, and if I gave him the smallest encouragement he would buy fonts of
+Sanskrit and Hebrew characters. He always makes me teach him how to
+pronounce the sentences, catching them with a wonderful parrot-like
+facility. Usually he carries clippings of the last half dozen editorials
+with him, and his delight is to make an opportunity to read one aloud,
+prefaced by the announcement that he is the writer. Sometimes, indeed,
+he cannot contain his pleasure over the articles till their appearance
+in type, and I repeatedly hear him request a visitor, "If you have ten
+minutes to spare, let me read you this editorial I have just written
+for to-morrow's issue."
+
+At first, in spite of Mr. Blodgett's explanation, I thought this real
+dishonesty, and despised not merely him, but myself as well for aiding
+in such trickery. As I grow to know him better, however, I find he is
+not cozening the public so much as imposing on himself. The man has a
+fervent and untrained imagination, which has never, in the
+practicalities of oil, had a safety-valve. As a result, it has rioted in
+dreams of which he is the hero, until it has brought him to the point of
+thinking his wildest fancies quite possible realities. His self-faith is
+so great that his imagination sets no limit to his powers, and thus he
+can believe everything of himself. I have heard him tell what he would
+do under given circumstances, and, with my knowledge of him, I know he
+is conceiving himself to be actually doing what he describes. Thus, in a
+smaller sense, he really imagines that he writes the editorials, and he
+even reads them to Mr. Blodgett, apparently unconscious that there can
+be the slightest question of authorship in the latter's mind.
+
+With this singular weakness the man is yet a strong one. His capacity to
+judge and manage men or facts is truly marvelous. He rules his paper as
+he rules everything, with the firmest hand, and not a man in his employ
+but knows who is master. Within a year he turned the journal into a
+great earner of money, and in the business office they have to confess
+that it is all his work, ignorant though he is to this day of the
+details. He knows by instinct where money should be spent, and where it
+should be scrimped. Yet with all this business shrewdness he cares not
+half so much that his investment is paying him twenty per cent as that
+people are talking about his ability as an editor, and my only influence
+over him even now is the praise my editorials have won him.
+
+Perhaps the most singular quality of his nature is his heedlessness of
+individual opinion, and his dread of it in mass. He is so absolutely
+self-centred--every thought directed inward--that he never tries to make
+the individual like him, yet he craves intensely the world's esteem. He
+longs for notoriety, and even stoops to an almost daily mention of
+himself in his paper, taking endless pains to get his name into other
+journals as well. Even his philanthropy, for which the world admires
+him, is used for this purpose. Ridiculous as it may seem, the most
+grating task I have to do is the writing of the fulsome press dispatches
+which he invariably sends out whenever he makes one of his gifts. He
+writes, too, to his fellow editors, asking them to comment on the
+largess; and since he makes it a point to cultivate the pleasantest
+relations with his confr[`e]res, they give him good measure, though with
+many a smile and wink among themselves when they get together. "Mr.
+White-Lie" is his sobriquet in the fraternity.
+
+How curiously diverse the same man is to different people! To the world
+Mr. Whitely is a man of great business ability, of wide knowledge, of
+great benevolence, and of fine manners. I do not wonder, Maizie, that he
+imposes on you; for though you have discernment, yet you are not of a
+suspicious nature, and his acting is so wonderful and his manner so
+frank, through his own unconsciousness of his self-deceit, that not a
+dozen people dream the man is other than he seems. You might, perhaps,
+in spite of his taciturnity, have discovered his charlatan pretense of
+learning if you had been born inquisitive, but you take his writings for
+the measure of his intellect, and have no more reason to suspect that
+his skillful reservations are the refuge of a sciolist than that my
+silence covers such little erudition as I have.
+
+Why I can do naught else but sit here and write of the past I do not
+understand. Until a month ago I was working every evening till far into
+the night, but now, try as I may, I can no longer force myself to my
+task. I should think it was physical exhaustion, were it not that I can
+chronicle this stale record of what I know so well. I suppose it is
+mental discouragement at my slight progress in reducing that crushing
+debt, and, even more, my sadness at the thought of you as his wife.
+
+Good-night, my darling. May happiness be yours.
+
+
+
+
+XIII
+
+
+_March 4._ My impressions of that first winter in New York are curiously
+dim except for the extreme loneliness of my life, which, after the close
+companionship with my father for so many years, seemed at times almost
+unbearable. Indeed, I doubt if I could have borne the long hours of
+solitude and toil but for my occasional glimpses of you. I should think
+myself fatuous in claiming that you influence me physically,--that I am
+conscious of a material glow, ecstasy, thrill, call it what you please,
+when with you,--if I had not once heard Agnes declare that she always
+felt, when you were in the room, as if she had been drinking champagne;
+showing that I am not the only one you can thus affect.
+
+My pleasantest recollection is of our long talk in my employer's study;
+and strangely enough, it was my books which gained it for me. Mr.
+Whitely, when I first came into his service, had just endowed a free
+library in one of the Western cities where some of his oil interests
+centred, and I hinted to him the purchase of my books as a further gift
+to his hobby. The suggestion did not meet with his approval,--I fear
+because there was not the self-advertising in it that there is in a
+money gift,--but after a week he told me that he might buy the
+collection to furnish his editorial study. "I plan," he said, "to make
+my office attractive, and then have informal literary receptions once a
+week. I shall therefore require some books, and as your library should
+be marked by breadth and depth of learning, I presume it will serve my
+purpose."
+
+"There are quite a number of Eastern manuscripts of value," I told him,
+"and few of the books are in languages that can be read by the average
+New Yorker."
+
+"That gives the suggestion of scholarship which I wish," he
+acknowledged.
+
+We easily came to terms under these circumstances, and I cannot tell you
+how happy I was to find myself once more surrounded by my books. As soon
+as they were in place and the study was handsomely furnished, my
+employer issued cards; and though he had nothing in common with the
+literary and artistic set, the mere fact that he controlled the columns
+of a great paper brought them all flocking to his afternoons. It is a
+case of mutual cultivation, and I am sick of being told to write puffs
+of books and pictures. Even foreigners do not seem above this
+log-rolling, and toady to the editor of the influential journal. And yet
+we think Johnson mean-spirited for standing at Chesterfield's door! It
+humiliates me to see writers and artists stooping so low merely to get
+notices that are worthless in a critical sense, and doubly am I
+degraded that mine is the pen that aids in this contemptible chicane.
+
+You, Mrs. Blodgett, and Agnes came to one of these afternoons, and made
+me happy, not alone by your presence, but by an insinuated reproof,
+which meant, I thought, that you had become enough interested in me to
+care what I did. You expressed surprise at my being there, and so I
+explained to you that I had become Mr. Whitely's secretary.
+
+"And is your work congenial?" you asked.
+
+I shrugged my shoulders, and quoted, "Civilized man cannot live without
+dining."
+
+"But you told me you were making a living. Is not a crust with
+independence and a chance to make a name better than such work?"
+
+"If one is free, yes. But if one must earn money?"
+
+"I had somehow fixed it in my mind that you were _en gar[,c]on_. One's
+fancies are sometimes very ridiculous. Who invented the mot that a
+woman's intuitions were what she had when she was wrong?"
+
+"Some man, of course," I laughed. "And you were right in supposing me a
+bachelor."
+
+"How little people really know about one another," you observed, "and
+yet we talk of the realism of life! I believe it is only in fiction that
+we get it."
+
+"Napoleon said, 'Take away history and give me a novel: I wish the
+truth!' Certainly, our present romance writers attempt it."
+
+"Only to prove that truth is not art."
+
+"How so?"
+
+"To photograph life in literature is no more art than a reproduction of
+our street sounds would be music."
+
+"Painting and sculpture are copying."
+
+"And the closer the copy, the less the art."
+
+"Then you would define art as"--
+
+"The vivifying of work with the personality of the workman."
+
+"That is not very far from Saadi's thought that art is never produced
+without love."
+
+"I have to confess that you mention an author of whom I had never even
+heard till I read The Debatable Lands. The extracts printed there made
+me think he must be one of the great philosopher poets of the world. Yet
+there is no copy of his works at the Lenox."
+
+"There are copies of all his writings here."
+
+"I think I shall disobey Polonius by trying to be a borrower," you
+announced, and turning to Mr. Whitely, you asked, "Do you ever loan your
+books?"
+
+"To lend to you would be a pleasure, and give added value to the
+volume," assented Mr. Whitely, joining us. "Take anything you wish."
+
+"Thank you so much. Will you let me see what you have of Saadi, so that
+I may take my choice?"
+
+"You were speaking of"--hemmed Mr. Whitely.
+
+"Saadi."
+
+"Ah, yes. Dr. Hartzmann knows where it is."
+
+When I had led the way to the proper shelf, you selected the Gulistan,
+opened it, and then laughed. "You have the best protection against
+borrowers. I envy both of you the ability to read him in the original,
+but it is beyond me."
+
+"As you read Latin, you can read Gentius' translation of the Bostan," I
+suggested, taking the book down.
+
+"How do you know that I can read Latin?" you asked.
+
+I faltered for a moment, too much taken aback to think what to reply,
+and fortunately Mr. Whitely interposed quickly, "Miss Walton's
+reputation for learning is so well recognized that knowledge of Latin is
+taken for granted."
+
+Taking advantage of the compliment, I surmised, "Perhaps you will care
+less to read the poet if I quote a stanza of his:--
+
+    'Seek truth from life, and not from books, O fool!
+    Look at the sky to find the stars, not in the pool.'"
+
+"You only make me the more eager," you said, running over the pages.
+
+"The book is worth reading," vouched Mr. Whitely.
+
+"How good that is!" you appealed to him, laying your finger on lines to
+the effect that a dozen poor men will sleep in peace on a straw heap,
+while the greatest empire is too narrow for two kings.
+
+"Very," answered my employer, after looking at the text with a critical
+air. If you could only have enjoyed the joke with me!
+
+Suddenly, as I watched you, you became pale, and glancing down to learn
+the cause, I saw a manuscript note in my father's handwriting on the
+margin of the page. "Mr. Whitely," you asked huskily, "how did you get
+this book?"
+
+Had you looked at me you would have seen one paler than yourself, as I
+stood there expecting the axe to fall. Oh! the relief when Mr. Whitely
+replied, "I bought it in Germany."
+
+You closed the volume, remarking, "I do not think I will ask the loan,
+after all. He seems an author one ought to own."
+
+"I hoped you would add an association to the book," urged Mr. Whitely.
+
+"Thank you," you parried gravely, "but so old a volume can hardly be
+lacking in association. I think we must be going."
+
+I took you down to the carriage, and Mrs. Blodgett kindly offered me the
+fourth seat. You were absolutely silent in the drive up-town, and I was
+scarcely less so as I tried to read your thoughts. What feelings had
+that scrap of writing stirred in you?
+
+I have often since then recalled our parting words that afternoon, and
+wondered if I allowed a mere scruple--a cobweb that a stronger man would
+have brushed aside without a second thought--to wreck my life. If I had
+taken what you offered? Perhaps the time might have come when I could
+have told you of my trick, and you would have forgiven it. Perhaps--
+
+You said to me graciously, when we separated at your door, "I shall be
+very happy, Dr. Hartzmann, if you will come to see me."
+
+I flushed with pleasure, for I felt it was not a privilege you gave to
+many. But even as I hesitated for words with which to express my
+gratitude, I realized that I had no moral right to gain your hospitality
+by means of my false name; and when I spoke it was to respond, "I thank
+you for the favor most deeply, Miss Walton, but I am too busy a man for
+social calls."
+
+Oh, my darling, if you had known what those few words cost me, and the
+struggle it was to keep my voice steady as I spoke them! For I knew you
+could only take them to mean that I declined your friendship. Hide my
+shame as I might try to do, I could not escape its pains. God keep you
+from such suffering, Maizie, and good-night.
+
+
+
+
+XIV
+
+
+_March 5._ Though I committed the rudeness of refusing to call, you
+never in our subsequent intercourse varied your manner by the slightest
+shade, treating me always with a courtesy I ill deserved. After such a
+rebuff, it is true, you were too self-respecting to offer me again any
+favor tending to a better acquaintance, but otherwise you bore yourself
+towards me as you did towards the thousand other men whom you were
+obliged to meet.
+
+Your life as a social favorite, and mine as a literary hack, gave little
+opportunity for our seeing each other, yet we met far more frequently
+than would have seemed possible. Occasionally I found you at the
+Blodgetts', though not as often as our informal footing in that
+household had led me to hope; for you were in such social demand that
+your morning hours were the time you usually took to run in upon them.
+But now and then we lunched or dined there, and Mrs. Blodgett little
+dreamed how willingly I obeyed her positive command that I was to come
+to every one of her afternoons when Agnes told me that you were to
+receive or pour tea. Little I had of your attention, for you were a
+magnet to many, but I could stand near you and could watch and listen,
+and that was happiness.
+
+A cause of meeting more discordant to me was furnished by my employer. I
+wrote for him an editorial on the folk-leid basis of the Wagner trilogy,
+which I suppose he sent or read to you; for it resulted in a box-party
+to attend the series, and I was asked to be one of the guests. "Nothing
+like having your books of reference under your arm," was Mr. Whitely's
+way of telling me for what purpose I was wanted; and I presume that
+was, in truth, the light in which he viewed me. Though I scorned such
+service, the mere fact that you were to be there was enough to make me
+accept. How low love can bring a man if his spirit is once mastered by
+it!
+
+I would have sunk far deeper, I believe, to obtain what I earned, for
+there were delightful moments of mutually absorbing discussions, only
+too quickly interrupted by Mr. Whitely or others of the party breaking
+in on our conversation. What was equal happiness to me was the
+association of you in my mind with the noblest of music. I can never
+hear certain movements of those operas without your image coming before
+me as clearly as if I saw your reflection in a mirror. And from that
+time one of my keenest pleasures has been to beg tickets from the
+musical critic of our staff, whenever one of the trilogy is to be given,
+and sit through the opera dreaming of those hours. I could write here
+every word you uttered, but what especially impressed itself upon my
+memory was something called out by the fate of Brunhilde. As we stood in
+the lobby waiting for the carriages, at the end of Die Walk[:u]re, you
+withdrew a little, as if still feeling the beauty and tragedy of the
+last act too deeply to take part in the chit-chat with which the rest of
+the party beguiled the time. I stood near you, but, respecting your
+mood, was silent too, until you finally broke the pause by saying, "I do
+not know whether it is Wagner's music or because Brunhilde appeals to
+me, but I always feel that I have suffered as she does. It almost makes
+me believe in the theory of metempsychosis."
+
+"Is it so much consciousness of a past, Miss Walton," I suggested, "as
+prescience of the future? Woman's story is so unvaryingly that of
+self-sacrifice for love that I should suppose Brunhilde's fate would
+appeal to the sex as a prophecy rather than as a memory."
+
+"Her punishment could have been far worse."
+
+"Left a defenseless prey to the first comer?"
+
+"But surrounded by fire, so that the first comer must be a brave man."
+
+"Do you value courage so highly?"
+
+"Yes. The truly brave, I think, cannot be mean, and without meanness
+there must be honor. I almost envy Brunhilde her walls of fire, which
+put to absolute proof any man who sought her. The most successful of
+men; the most intellectually brilliant, may be--By what can we to-day
+test courage and honor?"
+
+"There is as much as ever, Miss Walton. Is it no gain that courage has
+become moral rather than physical?"
+
+"Is it no loss that of all the men I know, there is not one of whom I
+can say with certainty, 'He is a brave man'?"
+
+Our numbers were called at this point, and the conversation was never
+continued. Every word you had said recalled to me my former friend, and
+I understood your repugnance for anything cowardly.
+
+At the last of these operas, by another perverse joke of Dame Fortune,
+who seems to have so many laughs at my expense, I was introduced to the
+chaperon, "Mrs. Polhemus." Looking up, I found myself facing my mother.
+I cannot tell you how strangely I felt in making my bow. She was as
+handsome as ever, it appeared to me, and the smooth rich olive
+complexion seemed to have given her an undying youth. For a moment I
+feared recognition, but the difference was too great between the pallid
+stooping boy of fifteen she had last seen in Paris and the straight
+bronzed man of twenty-seven. As of old she was magnificently dressed and
+fairly glittered with diamonds, which curiously enough instantly brought
+to my mind the face of my father as I kissed him last. Was it the
+strong connection of contrast, or was it a quirk of my brain?
+
+This chance meeting had a sequel that pains me to this day. Dining the
+next evening at the Blodgetts' with you and your uncle, the latter spoke
+of my mother's diamonds. Mrs. Blodgett said, with a laugh, "One would
+think, after her rich marriage, that she might pay up the money her
+first husband stole from Maizie."
+
+"She could have done that years ago if she had cared to," sneered Mr.
+Walton.
+
+Your eyes were lowered, and you still kept them so as you replied, "I
+would not accept the money from Mrs. Polhemus."
+
+In my suffering I sat rigid and speechless, wincing inwardly at each
+blow of the lash, when Mr. Blodgett, with a kindness I can never reward
+or even acknowledge, observed, "I believe it was his wife's extravagance
+which made William Maitland a bankrupt and an embezzler. Till his
+marriage with her he was a man of simple habits and of unquestioned
+business honesty, but he was caught by her looks, just as Polhemus has
+been. In those first years he could deny her nothing, and when the
+disillusionment came he was too deep in to prevent the wreck."
+
+"You've been revising your views a bit," retorted Mr. Walton. "I never
+expected to hear you justify any of that family."
+
+"Perhaps I have reason to," replied Mr. Blodgett.
+
+"I don't believe any of those Maitlands have the least honesty!"
+exclaimed Agnes. "How I hate them!"
+
+"It is not a subject of which I like to speak," you stated in an
+evidently controlled voice, still with lowered eyes, "but it is only
+right to say that some one--I suppose the son--is beginning to pay back
+the debt."
+
+"Pay back the money, Maizie!" ejaculated Mr. Walton. "Why haven't you
+told me of it?"
+
+"It did not seem necessary," you answered.
+
+"I'm sure it's a trick," asserted Agnes. "He's probably trying to worm
+his way back to your friendship, to get something more out of you."
+
+"How much"--began Mr. Walton; but you interrupted him there by saying,
+"I would rather not talk about it."
+
+The subject was changed at once, but when we were smoking, Mr. Walton
+asked, "Blodgett, do you know anything about that Maitland affair?"
+
+"A little," replied the host.
+
+"The debt really is being paid?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"And you don't know by whom?"
+
+"So Maizie tells me."
+
+"Has she made no attempt to find out?"
+
+"When the first payment was made she came to me for advice."
+
+"Well?" asked Mr. Walton eagerly.
+
+"She got it," declared Mr. Blodgett.
+
+"What did she do?" persisted Mr. Walton.
+
+Mr. Blodgett was silent for a moment, and then responded, "The exact
+opposite of what I advised. Do you know, Walton, you and I remind me of
+the warm-hearted elephant who tried to hatch the ostrich eggs by sitting
+on them."
+
+"In what respect?"
+
+"We decided that we must break up Maizie's love of the Maitlands for her
+own good."
+
+"Well?"
+
+"Well, we made the whole thing so mean to her that finally we did break
+something. Then, manlike, we were satisfied. What was it we broke?"
+
+"Nonsense!" growled Mr. Walton, sipping his wine.
+
+Mr. Blodgett laughed slightly. "That's rather a good name for it," he
+assented; "but the trouble is, Walton, that nonsense is a very big part
+of every woman's life. You'll never get me to fool with it again."
+
+I often ponder over those three brief remarks of yours, and of what you
+said to me last autumn, in our ride and in the upper hall of My Fancy,
+trying to learn, if possible, what your feeling is towards us. Can you,
+despite all that has intervened, still feel any tenderness and love for
+my father and me? Perhaps it was best that you were silent; if you had
+spoken of him with contempt, I think--I know you would not, my darling,
+for you loved him once, and that, to you, would be reason enough to be
+merciful to the dead, however sinning.
+
+Dear love, good-night.
+
+
+
+
+XV
+
+
+_March 6._ You once said to me that you could conceive of no
+circumstances that would justify dishonesty; for, no matter what the
+seeming benefits might be, the indirect consequences and the effect on
+the misdoer's character more than neutralized them. The wrong I have
+done has only proved your view, and I have come to scorn myself for the
+dishonorable part I have played. Yet I think that you would pity more
+than blame me, if you could but know my sacrifices. I drifted into the
+fraud unconsciously, and cannot now decide at what point the actual
+stifling of my conscience began. I suppose the first misstep was when I
+entered Mr. Whitely's employment; yet though I knew it to be
+unscrupulous in him to impose my editorials as his own, it still seemed
+to me no distinct transgression in me to write them for him. With that
+first act those that followed became possible, and each involved so
+slight an increase in the moral lapse, and my debt to you was so potent
+an excuse to blind me, that at the time I truly thought I was doing
+right. I wonder what you would have done had you been in my position?
+
+Mr. Blodgett's shrewdness in stipulating what work I was to do for Mr.
+Whitely quickly proved itself. One of the magazines asked my employer to
+contribute an article on The Future of Journalism. Handing me the
+letter, he said, "Dr. Hartzmann, kindly write a couple of thousand words
+on that subject."
+
+"That surely is not part of my duty, Mr. Whitely," I had the courage to
+respond.
+
+He looked at me quickly, and his mouth stiffened into a straight line.
+"Does that mean that you do not choose to do it?" he asked suavely.
+
+My heart failed me at the thought that if I lost my position I might
+never get so good a one, and should drag my debt through life. For once
+thought of you made me cowardly. I answered, "I will write it, Mr.
+Whitely;" and he said, "I thank you," as if I had done him a favor.
+
+I told Mr. Blodgett of the incident, that evening, with a wry face and a
+laugh over my bravery, and he was furious at me.
+
+"Why, you--you"--he stuttered. "Haven't you learned yet that the man
+wouldn't part with you for anything? He's so stuck up over his
+editorials and what people say of them that he'd as soon think of
+discharging his own mother before she weaned him."
+
+Not content with venting his anger on me, he came into the office the
+next day and told Mr. Whitely I should not be imposed on, and finally
+forced him to agree that I should receive whatever the review paid for
+the article.
+
+After this I wrote several magazine articles for Mr. Whitely, and soon
+another development of our curious relations occurred. One afternoon he
+informed me, "The Library trustees request me to deliver an address at
+the dedication of the building. I shall be grateful for any suggestions
+you can make of a proper subject."
+
+"Books?" I replied, with an absolutely grave face.
+
+"That is eminently suitable," he responded. "Possibly you can spare the
+time to compose such a paper; and as it should be of a scholarly
+character some Greek and Latin seem to me advisable."
+
+"How much?" I asked, inwardly amused to note if he would understand my
+question, or would suppose it referred to the quantity of dead languages
+I was to inject.
+
+"What is the labor worth?" he inquired, setting my doubt at rest, and
+proving his business ability to recognize the most distant allusion to a
+dollar. When I named a price, he continued: "That is excessive. The
+profession of authorship is so little recompensed that there are many
+good writers in New York who would gladly do it for less."
+
+"I can do it cheaper, if, like them, I crib it from books at the Astor,"
+I asserted.
+
+"I do not see why an address composed in the Astor Library should not be
+entirely satisfactory?" he questioned, in his smooth, self-controlled
+manner.
+
+"Did you never hear of the man who left the theatre in the middle of
+Hamlet because, he said, he didn't care to hear a play that was all
+quotations?" I asked, with a touch of irony.
+
+"I presume the story has some connection in your mind with the subject
+in hand, but I am unable to see the appositeness?" he said
+interrogatively and evidently puzzled.
+
+"I merely mentioned it lest you might not know that Pope never lived in
+Grub Street."
+
+He looked at me, still ignorant that I was laughing at him. "You think
+it injudicious to have it done by Mather?" he questioned, naming a
+fellow who did special work for the paper at times.
+
+"Not at all," I replied, "provided you label the address 'hash,' so that
+people who have some discrimination won't suppose you ignorant that it
+is twice-cooked meat you are giving them," and, turning, I went on with
+my work as if the matter were ended.
+
+But the next day he told me, "I have concluded to have you compose that
+oration, Dr. Hartzmann;" and from that moment of petty victory I have
+not feared my employer.
+
+I wrote the address, and it so pleased Mr. Whitely that, not content
+with delivering it, he had it handsomely printed, and sent copies to
+all his friends.
+
+The resulting praise he received clearly whetted his appetite for
+authorship, for not long after he said to me, "Dr. Hartzmann, you told
+me, when you sold me this library, that you were writing a history of
+the Turks. How nearly completed is it?"
+
+"I hope to have it ready for press within three months."
+
+"For some time," he remarked, "I have meditated the writing of a book,
+and possibly yours will serve my purpose."
+
+I was so taken by surprise that for a moment I merely gazed at him,
+since it seemed impossible that even egotism so overwhelming as his
+could be capable of such blindness; but he was in earnest, and I could
+only revert to Mr. Blodgett's idea that a business man comes to think in
+time that anything he can buy is his. I smiled, and answered, "My book
+is not petroleum, Mr. Whitely."
+
+"If it is what I desire, I will amply remunerate you," he offered.
+
+"It is not for sale."
+
+"I presume," he replied, "that you know what disposition of your book
+suits you best. I have, however, noticed in you a strong desire to
+obtain money, and I feel sure that we could arrange terms that will
+bring you more than you would otherwise receive."
+
+Even before Mr. Whitely finished speaking, I realized that I was not a
+free agent. I owed a debt, and till it was paid I had no right to think
+of my own ambition or feelings. I caught my breath in anguish at the
+thought, and then, fearing that my courage would fail me, I spoke
+hastily: "What do you offer me?"
+
+He smiled blandly as he predicted: "It is hardly a work that will have a
+large sale. The Turkish nation has not played an important part in
+history."
+
+"Only conquered the key of the Old World, caused the Crusades, forced
+the discovery of America and of the Cape passage, compelled Europe to
+develop its own civilization instead of adopting that of the East, and
+furnished a question to modern statesmen that they have yet found no
+OEdipus to answer," I retorted.
+
+"Your special pleading does tend to magnify their position," he
+assented. "I shall be happy to look the work over, leaving the terms to
+be decided later."
+
+I am ashamed to confess what a night of suffering I went through,
+battling with the love and pride that had grown into my heart for my
+book. I knew from the first moment his proposition had been suggested
+that he would give me more than I could ever hope to make from the work,
+and therefore my course was only too plain; but I had a terrible
+struggle to force myself to carry my manuscript to him the following
+afternoon.
+
+For the next week he was full of what he was reading; and had the
+circumstances been different, I could have asked no higher compliment
+as regards its popular interest than the enthusiasm of this unlettered
+business man for my book.
+
+"It is quite as diverting as a romance!" he exclaimed. "I can already
+see how astonished people will be when they read of the far-reaching
+influence of that nation."
+
+Since the pound of flesh was to be sold, I took advantage of this mood.
+After much haggling, which irritated and pained me more than it should,
+Mr. Whitely agreed to give me six thousand dollars and the royalties.
+Good as the terms were, my heart nearly broke, the day the manuscript
+left my hands, for I had put so much thought into the book that it had
+almost become part of myself. My father, too, had toiled over it, with
+fondest predictions of the fame it would bring me; spending, as it
+proved, his very life in the endeavor to make it a great work. That his
+love, that the love of my dear professors, and that my own hopes should
+all be brought to market and sold as if they were mere merchandise was
+so mercenary and cruel that at the last moment it was all I could do to
+bring myself to fulfill the bargain. Nothing but my small progress in
+paying my debt would have forced me to sell, and I hope nothing but that
+would have led me to join in such dishonesty. It was, after all, part of
+the price I was paying for the original wrong, and but just retribution
+against which I had no right to cry out. Yet for a month I was so sad
+that I could scarcely go through my day's toil; and though that was a
+year ago, I have never been able to work with the same vim, life seems
+to have so little left in it for me. And idle as the thought is, when I
+think of your praise of the book I cannot help dreaming of what might
+have been if it had been published in my name; if--Ah, well, to talk of
+"ifs" is only to confess that I am beaten, and that I will not do. Nor
+is the fight over. I never hoped nor attempted to gain your love, and
+that he has won you does not mean failure. To pay my debt is all I have
+to do, and though I may feel more ill and disheartened than I do
+to-night, I will pay it, come what may.
+
+Good-night, my darling.
+
+
+
+
+XVI
+
+
+_March 7._ It is little to be proud of, yet I like to think that though
+I have behaved dishonestly, I have not entirely lost my sense of right
+and wrong. Twice at least have I faced temptation and been strong enough
+to resist.
+
+When I carried to Mr. Blodgett the money I received for my book, I was
+so profoundly discouraged that my mood was only too apparent. In his
+kindness he suggested that I buy certain bonds of a railroad his firm
+was then reorganizing,--telling me from his inside knowledge that a
+year's holding would give me a profit of thirty per cent. It was so sore
+a temptation to make money without exertion and practically without risk
+that I assented, and authorized him to buy the securities; but a night's
+reflection made the dishonesty of my act clear to me, and the next
+morning I went to his office and told him I wished to countermand my
+order.
+
+"What's that for?" he inquired.
+
+"I have thought better of the matter, and do not think I have the
+right."
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"If this money were a trust in my hands, it would not be honest to use
+it in speculation, would it?"
+
+"No."
+
+"That is practically what it is, since it was stolen from a trust, and
+is to be returned to it."
+
+He smiled rather grimly. "It's lucky for Wall Street," he said, "that
+you literary fellows don't have the making and enforcing of laws; and
+it's luckier still that you don't have to earn your living down here,
+for the money you'd make wouldn't pay your burial insurance." Yet though
+he laughed cynically, he shook my hand, I thought, more warmly than
+usual when we parted, as if he felt at heart that I had done right.
+
+Much easier to resist was an offer of another kind. Very foolishly, I
+told Mr. Whitely that I had received a letter from the literary editor
+of the leading American review asking if I would write the criticism of
+the History of the Turks.
+
+"That is a singular piece of good fortune," Mr. Whitely said cheerfully,
+"and guarantees me a complimentary notice in a periodical that rarely
+praises."
+
+"That is by no means certain," I answered. "You know as well as I that
+it does not gloze a poor book, nor pass over defects in silence."
+
+"But you can hardly write critically of your own book!" cried Mr.
+Whitely, for once giving me a share in our literary partnership. "For if
+there are defects you ought to have corrected them in proof."
+
+"Of course I do not intend to write the review!" I exclaimed.
+
+"Not write it? Why not?" he questioned in amazement equal to mine.
+
+"Because I am absolutely unfitted to do it."
+
+"Why, you know all about the subject!"
+
+"I mean that no author can for a moment write discriminatingly of his
+own work; and besides, the offer would never have been made if my
+connection with the book were known."
+
+"But they will never know."
+
+"I should."
+
+"You mean to say you do not intend to do it?"
+
+"I shall write to-night declining."
+
+"But I want you to do it."
+
+"And I don't."
+
+"What would they probably pay you for it?"
+
+"What it is worth."
+
+"If you will reconsider your determination, I will double the amount."
+
+"Unfortunately," I laughed bitterly, "there are limits to what even _I_
+will sell."
+
+"I will give you two hundred and fifty dollars if you will write a
+laudatory review of my book," he offered.
+
+"Have you ever dealt in consciences, Mr. Whitely?" I asked.
+
+"Occasionally."
+
+"Did you ever get any as cheap as that?"
+
+"Many."
+
+"I'm afraid you were buying shopworn and second-hand articles," I
+retorted; "or you may have gone to some bargain counter where they make
+a specialty of ninety-eight and forty-nine cent goods."
+
+He never liked this satirical mood into which he sometimes drove me. He
+hesitated an instant, and then bid, "Three hundred."
+
+"This reminds me of Faust," I remarked; but he was too intent on the
+matter in hand to see the point.
+
+"I suppose it's only a question of amount?" he suggested blandly.
+
+"You are quite right, Mr. Whitely. I will write you that review if you
+will pay me my price," I assented.
+
+"I knew it," he asserted exultingly. "But you are mistaken if you think
+I will pay any fancy price."
+
+"Then it's a waste of time to talk any more about it," I answered, and
+resumed my work.
+
+"It isn't worth three hundred, even," he argued, "but you may tell me
+what you will do it for."
+
+"I will write that review for one hundred and twenty-one thousand
+dollars," I replied.
+
+"What!"
+
+"And from that price I will not abate one cent," I added.
+
+Strangely enough, I did not write the notice.
+
+It was amusing to see his eagerness for the criticisms of the book. The
+three American critical journals had notices eminently characteristic of
+them. The first was scholarly, praising moderately, with a touch of
+lemon-juice in the final paragraph that really only heightened its
+earlier commendation, but which made the book's putative author wince;
+the second was discriminating and balanced, with far more that was
+complimentary; while the third was the publisher's puff so regularly
+served up,--a colorless, sugary mush,--which my employer swallowed with
+much delectation. I am ashamed to say that I greatly enjoyed his pain
+over any harsh words. He always took for granted that the criticisms
+were correct, never realizing that as between an author, who has spent
+years on a book, and the average critic, who is at best superficial in
+his knowledge of a subject, the former is the more often right of the
+two. I tried to make this clear to him one day by asking him if he had
+never read Lord Brougham's review of Byron or Baron Jeffrey's review of
+Coleridge, and even brought him the astonishing tirades of those
+world-renowned critics; but it was time wasted. He preferred a
+flattering panegyric in the most obscure of little sheets to a really
+careful notice which praised less inordinately; yet while apparently
+believing all the flattery, he believed all the censoriousness as well,
+even in those cases known to every author where one critic praises what
+another blames.
+
+"A Western paper says you do not know how to write English," he
+complained one day. "You ought to have taken more pains with the book,
+Dr. Hartzmann."
+
+"The Academy and The Athenaeum both thought my style had merit," I
+answered, smiling.
+
+"Nevertheless there must be something wrong, or this critic, who in
+other respects praises with remarkable discrimination, would certainly
+not have gone out of his way to mention it," he replied discontentedly.
+
+Fortunately, unfavorable criticism, both in Europe and in America, was
+the exception, and not the rule; the book was generally praised, and
+sprang into an instant sale that encouraged and cheered me. Mr. Whitely
+was immensely gratified at the sudden reputation it achieved for him,
+and even while drinking deep of the mead of fresh authorship told me he
+thought he would publish another book. I knew it was an opportunity to
+make more money, but for some reason I felt unequal to beginning anew on
+what would be a purely mercenary task. I mentioned my plan of a work on
+the Moors, and promised, when I felt able to commence it, I would talk
+with him about terms. That was three months ago, yet every day I seem to
+feel less inclination, and in fact less ability, to undertake the labor.
+For three years I have toiled to the utmost of my strength, and forced
+myself to endure the most rigid economy. It is cowardly, but at times I
+find myself hoping my present want of spirit and energy is the
+forerunner of an illness which will end the hopeless struggle.
+
+Good-night, dear heart.
+
+
+
+
+XVII
+
+
+_March 8._ Each day I determine to spend my evening usefully, but try as
+I may, when the time comes I feel too weary to do good work, and so
+morbidly recur to these memories. I ought to fight the tendency, the
+more that in reverting to the past I seem only to dwell on its sadness,
+thus intensifying my own depression. Let me see if I cannot for one
+night write of the good fortune that has come to me in the last three
+years.
+
+Pleased with the success of my book of travel and text-books, and knowing
+of my wish for work, the American publishers offered me the position of
+assistant editor of their magazine and reader of manuscripts. By hard
+work and late hours the task could be done in my mornings and evenings,
+allowing me to continue in Mr. Whitely's employ; so I eagerly accepted
+the position. I can imagine few worse fates than reading the hopeless
+and impossible trash that comes to every publisher; but this was not my
+lot, for I was to read only the manuscripts that had been winnowed of
+the chaff. Yet this very immunity, as it proved, nearly lost me an
+opportunity of trying to be of service to you.
+
+Returning a bundle of stuff to the manuscript clerk one day, I saw "M.
+Walton, 287 Madison Avenue, New York City," in your handwriting, on the
+cover of a bulky pile of sheets on his desk. Startled, I demanded, "What
+is this?"
+
+"It's a rejected manuscript I was on the point of wrapping to return,"
+the clerk answered.
+
+Opening the cover, I saw, "A Woman's Problem, a Novel, by Aimez Lawton."
+It needed little perception to detect your name in the anagram.
+
+"Mrs. Graham has rejected it?" I asked, and he nodded.
+
+"Give me the file about it, please," I requested; and after a moment's
+search he handed me the envelope, and I glanced over its meagre
+contents: a brief formal note from you, submitting it, and the short
+opinion of the woman reader. "Traces of amateurishness, but a work of
+considerable power and feeling, marred by an inconclusive ending," was
+the epitome of her opinion, coupled with the recommendation not to
+accept.
+
+"Register it on my list, and I'll take it and look it over," I said, and
+went to my little editorial cuddy, feeling actually rich in the
+possession of the manuscript. Indeed, it was all I could do to go
+through my morning quota of proof-reading and "making up" dummy forms
+for the magazine's next issue, I was so eager for your book.
+
+A single reading told me you had put the problem of your life into the
+story. It is true the heroine was different enough in many respects to
+make analogy hardly perceptible, though she too was a tender, noble
+woman. She had never felt the slightest responsive warmth for any of her
+lovers, but she was cramped by the social conventions regarding
+unmarried women, and questioned whether her life would not be more
+potent if she married, even without love. One of her lovers was a man of
+force, brains, wealth, and ambition, outwardly an admirable match,
+respected by the world, and, most of all, able to draw about him the men
+of genius and intellect she wished to know, but whom her society lot
+debarred her from meeting. Yet your heroine was conscious of faults: she
+felt in him a touch of the soil that repels every woman instinctively;
+at times his nature seemed hard and unsympathetic, and his scientific
+work, for which he was famous, had narrowed his strong mind to think
+only of facts and practicalities, to the exclusion of everything ideal
+or beautiful. In the end, however, his persistent wooing convinced her
+of the strength of his feeling; and though she was conscious that she
+could never love him as she wished to love, the tale ended by her
+marrying him. Am I to blame for reading in this the story of Mr.
+Whitely's courtship of you? I only marveled at how much of his true
+character you had detected under his veneer.
+
+To me the story was sweet and noble. I loved your heroine from beginning
+to end. She was so strong even in her weaknesses; for you made her no
+unsubstantial ideal. I understood her craving something more than her
+allotted round of social amusements, and her desire for intercourse and
+friendship with finer and more purposeful people than she daily met. I
+even understood her willingness to accept love, when not herself feeling
+it; for my own life was so hungry-hearted that I had come to yearn for
+the slightest tenderness, no matter who the giver might be.
+
+As soon as I realized that the story was your own, I hoped it might tell
+me something of your thoughts of my father and myself; but that part of
+your life you passed over as if it never had been. Was the omission due
+to too much feeling or too little? I have always suspected that I served
+as a model for one of your minor characters: a dreamy, unsocial being,
+curiously variable in mood; at times talking learnedly and even wittily,
+but more often absolutely silent. He was by profession an artist, and
+you made him content to use his talent on book and magazine
+illustration, apparently without a higher purpose in life than to earn
+enough to support himself, in order that he might pass the remainder of
+his time in an intellectual indulgence scarcely higher in motive than
+more material dissipation. His evident sadness and lack of ambition was
+finally discovered to be due to a disappointment in love; and as a
+cure, your heroine introduced him to her best friend,--a young
+girl,--and through her influence he was roused to some ambition, and in
+the end he dutifully fell in love as your heroine wished. It was a
+sketch that made me wince, and yet at which I could not help but laugh.
+I suppose it was a true picture, and I am quite conscious that at times
+I must seem ridiculous to you; for often my mood is such, or my interest
+in you is so strong, that I forget even the ordinary courtesies and
+conventions. There is a general idea that a lover is always at his best
+when with the woman he loves, but, from my own experience, I think he is
+quite as likely to be at his worst. To watch your graceful movements, to
+delight in the play of expression on your face, and to catch every
+inflection in your voice and every word you speak are pleasures so
+engrossing to me that I must appear to you even more abstracted than I
+ordinarily am, though a dreamer at best. And yet now and then I have
+thought you were conscious of a tenderness in me, which, try as I will,
+I cannot altogether hide.
+
+The main fault of the novel was unquestionably that most accented by the
+reader, and, recognizing the story as the problem of your life, I
+understood why you supplied no solution to the riddle. You begged the
+question you propounded; the fact that your heroine married the hero
+being no answer, since only by the results of that marriage would it be
+possible to say if she had chosen the better part. It was this that
+convinced me you were putting on paper your own thoughts and mood. You
+were debating this theme, and could carry it in imagination to the point
+of marriage; but what lay beyond that was unknowable, and you made no
+attempt to invent a conclusion, the matter being too real to you to be
+merely a subject for artistic idealism and invention. Hitherto I had
+classed Mr. Whitely with your other lovers, feeling sure that you could
+not love him any more than you could any of them; but now for the first
+time I began to fear his success.
+
+After reading the story three times I carried it back to the manuscript
+clerk; and when I had allowed sufficient time for it to be returned, I
+wrote you a long letter, telling how I had come to read the story, and
+making a careful criticism and analysis of both its defects and its
+merits. I cannot tell you what a labor of love that letter was, or how
+much greater pains I took over your book than I have ever taken over any
+writing of my own. What was perhaps unfair, after pointing out the
+inconclusiveness of your ending, I sketched what I claimed was the
+logical end to the story. Thinking as I did that I knew the original in
+your mind, I was more influenced by my knowledge of him than I was by
+the character in your book, and therefore possibly my inference was
+unjust. But in hopes of saving you from Mr. Whitely, I pictured a sequel
+in which your heroine found only greater loneliness in her loveless
+union, her husband's love proving a tax, and not a boon; and marriage,
+instead of broadening her life, only bent and narrowed it by just so
+much as a strong-willed and selfish man would inevitably cramp the life
+of one over whom law and public opinion gave him control.
+
+I was richly rewarded by your letter of thanks. You were so winning in
+your sweet acceptance of all my criticisms, and so lovable in your
+simple gratitude, that I would have done a thousand times the work to
+earn such a letter. Yet even in this guerdon I could not escape the
+sting of my unhappy lot; for, unable to reconcile my distant conduct
+with the apparent trouble I had taken, you asked me to dinner, leaving
+me to select the day, and spoke of the pleasure it would give you to
+have an opportunity to talk over the book with me.
+
+I can think of few greater delights than to have gone over your story,
+line by line and incident by incident. My love pleaded with me to take
+the chance, pointing out that it would do you no harm, but on the
+contrary aid you, and I found a dozen specious reasons; but tempt me as
+they might, I always came back to the truth that if you knew who I
+really was you would not invite me, nor accept a favor at my hands. In
+the end I wrote you that my time was so mortgaged that I must deny
+myself the pleasure. A small compensation was my offer that if you chose
+to rewrite the story and send me the manuscript, I would gladly read it
+over again and make any further suggestions which occurred to me. You
+thanked me by letter gracefully, but I was conscious of your
+bewilderment in the very care with which you phrased your note; and when
+next we met I could see that I had become more an enigma than
+ever,--for which there is indeed small wonder.
+
+God keep you, my darling.
+
+
+
+
+XVIII
+
+
+_March 9._ What seemed my misfortune proved quite the reverse. You
+evidently mentioned to Agnes my refusing to dine with you, and the next
+time I saw her she took me to task for it.
+
+"It's too bad of you," she told me, "when I have explained to you how
+sensitive Maizie is, and how she has the idea that nice men do not like
+her, that you should go and confirm her in the feeling by treating her
+so! Why don't you like her?"
+
+"I do," was all I said.
+
+"No, you don't," she denied indignantly. "I suppose men dislike fine
+women because they make them feel what poor things they are themselves!"
+
+"I like you, Miss Blodgett," I replied.
+
+"I don't believe it," she retorted, "or you would be nice to my best
+friend. Besides, the idea of mentioning me in the same breath as Maizie!
+Men are born geese."
+
+"Then you should pity rather than upbraid us," I suggested.
+
+"I'll tell you what I intend to do," went on Agnes. "You promised us a
+visit this summer, and I am going to arrange for Maizie to be there at
+the time, so that you can really get to know her. And then, if you don't
+like her, I'll never forgive you."
+
+"Now, Agnes," ordered Mrs. Blodgett crossly, "stop teasing the doctor.
+I'm fond of Maizie, but I'm fairly tired with men falling in love with
+her, and I am glad to find one who hasn't."
+
+All last spring and summer, as I toiled over the proof sheets of my
+history, I was waiting and dreaming of that promised fortnight with you.
+I was so eager in my hope that when I found Agnes at the station, it was
+all I could do not to make my greeting a question whether you were
+visiting them. Luckily, she was almost as eager as I was, and hardly was
+I seated in the trap when she announced,--
+
+"Mamma wanted to ask you when we were alone, and wouldn't hear at first
+of even Maizie being with us; but I told papa of my plan, and he
+insisted that Maizie should be invited. Wasn't he an old love? And now,
+Dr. Hartzmann, you'll try to like Maizie, won't you? And even if you
+can't, just pretend that you do, please."
+
+If the groom had not mounted the rumble at this point, I believe I
+should have told her of my love for you, the impulse was so strong, in
+my gratitude and admiration for the unselfish love she had for you.
+
+A result of this misunderstanding was an amusing game of cross-purposes
+between mother and daughter. Agnes was always throwing us together,
+scarcely attempting to veil her wishes, while Mrs. Blodgett, thinking
+that I did not care for you, was always interfering to save me from your
+society. She proposed that I should teach Agnes chess, and left us
+playing; but when you joined us, Agnes insisted that she could learn
+more by watching us, only to play truant the moment you had taken her
+place. I shall never forget Mrs. Blodgett's amazement and irritation, on
+her return, at finding us playing, and Agnes not to be seen. Equally
+unsuccessful was an attempt to teach Agnes fencing, for she grew
+frightened before the foils had really been crossed, and made you take
+her place. At first I imagined she only pretended fear, but Mrs.
+Blodgett became so very angry over her want of courage that I had to
+think it genuine. When we went to drive as a party there was always much
+discussion as to how we should sit; and in fact my two friends kept at
+swords' points most of the time, in their endeavors to make me tolerate
+or save me from the companionship of the woman I loved. Even I could see
+the comedy of the situation.
+
+In one of our conversations you reverted to your novel, and questioned
+my view of the impossibility of the heroine being happy in her marriage,
+evidently influenced, but not convinced, by my opinion.
+
+"To me it is perfectly conceivable," you argued, "that, regardless of
+her loving, a woman can be as happy married as single, and that it all
+depends upon what she makes of her own life."
+
+"But in marriage," I contended, "she is not free to make her life at
+all."
+
+"Surely she is if her husband truly loves her."
+
+"Less so than if he does not."
+
+"You are not in earnest?"
+
+"Yes. Love makes women less selfish, but with many men it often has the
+opposite effect. The man you drew, Miss Walton, was so firm that he
+would not be other than selfish, and if my reading of your heroine is
+correct, she was a woman who would resign her own will, rather than
+lower her self-respect by conflicts with her husband."
+
+"But he loved her."
+
+"In a selfish man's way. If women knew better what that meant, there
+would be fewer unhappy marriages."
+
+"Then you are sure my heroine did wrong?"
+
+"I think she did what thousands of other women have done,--she married
+the love rather than the lover."
+
+"No. I did not intend that. She married for quite other things than
+love: for greater freedom, for"--
+
+"Would she have married," I interrupted, "if she had not been sure that
+the hero loved her?"
+
+You thought an instant, and then said, "No, I suppose not--and yet"--You
+stopped, and then continued impulsively, "I wonder if I shall shock you
+very much if I say that I have no faith in what we call love?"
+
+"You do not shock me, Miss Walton, because I do not believe you."
+
+"It is true, nevertheless. Perhaps it is my own fault, but I have never
+found any love that was wholly free from self-indulgence or
+self-interest."
+
+"If you rate love so low, why did you make your heroine crave it?"
+
+"One can desire love even when one cannot feel it."
+
+"Does one desire what one despises?"
+
+"To scorn money does not imply a preference for poverty."
+
+"The scorn of money is as genuine as your incapacity to love, Miss
+Walton."
+
+"You do not believe me?"
+
+"A person incapable of love does not crave it. It is only a loving
+nature which cares for love."
+
+"But if one cannot love, how can one believe in it?"
+
+"The unlighted torch does not believe in fire."
+
+"But some substances are incombustible."
+
+"The sun melts anything."
+
+"The sun is trans-terrestrial."
+
+"So is love."
+
+You looked at me in silence for a moment, and then asked, "Is love so
+much to you?"
+
+"Love is the only thing worth striving for in this life," I replied.
+
+"And if one fails to win it?"
+
+"One cannot fail, Miss Walton."
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"Because the best love is in one's own heart and depends only on one's
+self."
+
+"And if one has loved," you responded hurriedly, with a mistiness in
+your eyes which proved how deeply you were feeling, "if one gives
+everything--only to find the object base--if"--You stopped speaking and
+looked away.
+
+"One still has the love, Miss Walton; for it is that which is given,
+and not that which is received, that is worth the having." I faltered in
+my emotion, and then, almost unconscious of what I said, went on: "For
+many years I have loved,--a love from the first impossible and hopeless.
+Yet it is the one happiness of my present life, and rather than"--I
+recovered control of myself, and became silent as I heard Mrs. Blodgett
+coming along the veranda.
+
+You leaned forward, saying softly, "Thank you for the confidence." Then,
+as Mrs. Blodgett joined us, you said, "I envy you your happiness, Dr.
+Hartzmann."
+
+"What happiness is that?" asked Mrs. Blodgett, glancing from one to the
+other curiously.
+
+"Dr. Hartzmann," you explained calmly, without a trace of the emotion
+that had moved you a moment before, "has been proving to me that all
+happiness is subjective, and as I have never been able to rise to such
+a height I am very envious of him."
+
+"I don't know what you mean," remarked Mrs. Blodgett. "But if the doctor
+wants to know what real happiness is, he had better marry some nice girl
+and have his own home instead of living in a boarding-house."
+
+You laughed, and added, "Now our happiness becomes objective. Perhaps it
+is the best, after all, Dr. Hartzmann."
+
+"Do _you_ think so, Miss Walton?" I asked, unable to prevent an emphasis
+in the question.
+
+You rose, saying, "I must dress for dinner." But in the window you
+turned, and answered, "I have always thought it was, but there are
+evident exceptions, Dr. Hartzmann, and after what you have told me I
+think you are one of them."
+
+"And not yourself?" I could not help asking.
+
+You held up your hand warningly. "When the nature of dolls is too
+deeply questioned into, they are found to contain only sawdust."
+
+"And we often open the oyster, to find sometimes a pearl."
+
+"The result of a morbid condition," you laughed back.
+
+"Better disease and a pearl than health without it."
+
+"But suppose one incapable of the ailment? Should one be blamed if no
+pearl forms?"
+
+"An Eastern poet said:--
+
+    Diving and finding no pearl in the sea,
+    Blame not the ocean,--the fault is in thee.
+
+Have you ever tried to find a pearl, Miss Walton?"
+
+You hesitated a moment. "Like the Englishman's view of the conundrum,"
+you finally parried archly, "that would be a good joke if there only
+wasn't something to 'guess' in it."
+
+"Do you know what Maizie is talking about?" demanded Mrs. Blodgett
+discontentedly.
+
+"Better than Miss Walton does herself, I think," I averred.
+
+You had started to go, but again you turned, and asked with interest,
+"What _do_ I mean?"
+
+"That you believe what you think you don't."
+
+You stood looking at me for a moment. "We are becoming friends, Dr.
+Hartzmann," you affirmed, and passed through the window.
+
+Good-night, dear friend.
+
+
+
+
+XIX
+
+
+_March 10._ For the remainder of my visit, it seemed as if your prophecy
+of friendship were to be fulfilled. From the moment of my confidence to
+you, all the reserves that had been raised by my slighting of your
+invitations disappeared, perhaps because the secret I had shared with
+you served to make my past conduct less unreasonable; still more, I
+believe, because of the faith in you it evidenced in me. Certain I am
+that in the following week I felt able to be my true self when with you,
+for the first time since we were boy and girl together. The difference
+was so marked that you commented on the change.
+
+"Do you remember," you asked me, "our conversation in Mr. Whitely's
+study, when I spoke of how little people really knew one another? Here
+we have been meeting for over three years, and yet I find that I haven't
+in the least known you."
+
+It is a pleasure to me to recall that whole conversation, for it was by
+far the most intimate that we ever had,--so personal that I think I
+should but have had to question to learn what I long to know. In
+response to my slight assistance, to the sympathy I had shown, you
+opened for the moment your heart; willing, apparently, that I should
+fathom your true nature.
+
+We had gone to dinner at the Grangers' merely to please Mrs. Blodgett,
+for we mutually agreed that in the country formal dinners were a
+weariness of the flesh; and I presume that with you, as with me, this
+general objection of ours was greatly strengthened when we found Mrs.
+Polhemus among the guests. It is always painful to me to be near her,
+and her dislike of you is obvious enough to make me sure that her
+presence is equally disagreeable to you. It is a strange warp and woof
+life weaves, that I owe to one for whom we both feel such repulsion the
+most sympathetic, the tenderest conversation I have ever had with you.
+
+I was talking with Miss Granger, and thus did not hear the beginning of
+my mother's girds at you; but Agnes, who sat on my left, told me later
+that, as usual, Mrs. Polhemus set out to bait you by remarks
+superficially inoffensive, but covertly planned to embarrass or sting.
+The first thing which attracted my notice was her voice distinctly
+raised, as if she wished the whole table to listen, and in fact loud
+enough to make Miss Granger stop in the middle of a sentence and draw
+our attention to the speaker.
+
+"--sound very well," Mrs. Polhemus was saying, "and are to be expected
+from any one who strives to be thought romantically sentimental."
+
+"I did not know," you replied in a low voice, "that a 'romantically
+sentimental' nature was needed to produce belief in honesty."
+
+"It is easy enough to talk the high morals of honesty," retorted your
+assailant, "and I suppose, Miss Walton, that for you it is not difficult
+to live up to your conversational ideals. But we unfortunate earthly
+creatures, who cannot achieve so rarefied a life, dare not make a parade
+of our ethical natures. The saintly woman is an enormously difficult
+r[^o]le to play since miracles went out of style."
+
+"Oh, leave us an occasional ideal, Mrs. Polhemus," laughed a guest. "I
+for one wish that fairy rings and genii were still the vogue."
+
+"But we have some kinds of miracles," asserted Mrs. Granger. "Remember
+the distich,--
+
+    'God still works wonders now and then:
+    Behold! two lawyers, honest men!'"
+
+"With all due deference to Miss Walton's championing of absolute
+perfection," continued my mother, with a cleverly detached manner, to
+veil what lay back of the sneer, "I find it much easier to accept the
+miracle of an honest lawyer than that of an absolutely uncattish
+woman,"--a speech which, like most of those of Mrs. Polhemus, drew a
+laugh from the men.
+
+"That's because you don't know Miss Walton!" exclaimed Agnes warmly,
+evidently fretted by such conduct towards you.
+
+"On the contrary," answered my mother, speaking coolly and evenly, "I
+presume I have known Miss Walton longer and better than any one else in
+this room; and I remember when her views of honesty were such that her
+ideal was personified by a pair of embezzlers."
+
+You had been meeting her gaze across the table as she spoke, but now you
+dropped your lids, hiding your eyes behind their long lashes; and
+nothing but the color receding from your cheeks, leaving them as white
+as your throat and brow, told of what you felt.
+
+"Oh, say something," appealed Agnes to me in a whisper. "Anything to
+divert the"--
+
+"And I really think," went on Mrs. Polhemus, smiling sweetly, with her
+eyes on you, "that if you were as thoroughly honest with us as, a moment
+ago, you were insistent on the world's being, you would confess to a
+_tendresse_ still felt for that particular form of obliquity."
+
+I shall recall the moment which followed that speech if it shall ever
+fall to me to sit in the jury-box and pass judgment on a murderer, for I
+know that had I been armed, and my mother a man, I should have killed
+her; and it taught me that murder is in every man's heart. Yet I was not
+out of my head, but was curiously clear-minded. Though allusion to my
+shame had hitherto always made me dumb, I was able to speak now without
+the slightest difficulty; I imagine because the thought of your pain
+made me forget my own.
+
+"Which is better, Mrs. Polhemus," I asked, with a calmness I marveled at
+afterwards, "to love dishonesty or to dishonestly love?"
+
+"Is this a riddle?" she said, though not removing her eyes from you.
+
+"I suppose, since right and wrong are evolutionary," I rejoined, "that
+every ethical question is more or less of a conundrum. But the thought
+in my mind was that there is only nobility in a love so great that it
+can outlast even wrongdoing." Then, in my controlled passion, I stabbed
+her as deeply as I could make words stab. "Compare such a love, for
+instance, with another of which I have heard,--that of a woman who so
+valued the world's opinion that she would not get a divorce from an
+embezzling husband, because of the social stigma it involved, yet who
+remarried within a week of hearing of her first husband's death, because
+she thought that fact could not be known. Which love is the higher?"
+
+The color blazed up in my mother's cheeks, as she turned from you to
+look at me, with eyes that would have killed if they could; and it was
+her manner, far more than even the implication of my words, which told
+the rest of the table that my nominally impersonal case was truly a
+thrust of the knife. A moment's appalling pause followed, and then,
+though the fruit was being passed, the hostess broke the terrible spell
+by rising, as if the time had come for the ladies to withdraw.
+
+When, later, the men followed them, Agnes intercepted me at the door,
+and whispered, "Oh, doctor, it was magnificent! I was so afraid Maizie
+would break down if--I never dreamed you could do it so splendidly.
+You're almost as much of a love as papa! It will teach the cat to let
+Maizie alone! Now, do you want to be extra good?"
+
+"So long as you don't want any more vitriol-throwing," I assented,
+smiling. "Remember that a hostess deserves some consideration."
+
+"I told Mrs. Granger that you did it at my request, and there wasn't a
+woman in the room who didn't want to cheer. We all love Maizie, and hate
+Mrs. Polhemus; and it isn't a bit because you geese of men think she's
+handsome and clever, either. Poor Maizie wanted to be by herself, and
+went out on the veranda. I think she's had time enough, and that it's
+best for some one to go to her. Won't you slip out quietly?"
+
+I nodded, and instantly she spoke aloud of the moon, and we went to the
+French window on the pretense of looking at it, where, after a moment, I
+left her. At first I could not discover you, the vines so shadowed your
+retreat; and when I did, it was to find you with bowed head buried in
+your arms as they rested on the veranda rail. The whole attitude was so
+suggestive of grief that I did not dare to speak, and moved to go away.
+Just as I turned, however, you looked up, as if suddenly conscious of
+some presence.
+
+"I did not intend to intrude, Miss Walton, and don't let me disturb you.
+I will rejoin"--
+
+"If you came out for the moonlight and quiet, sit down here," you said,
+making room for me.
+
+I seated myself beside you, but made no reply, thinking your allusion to
+quiet perhaps voiced your own preference.
+
+"It seems needless," you began, after a slight pause, "to ignore your
+kindness, even though it was veiled. I never felt so completely in
+another's power, and though I tried to--to say something--to strike
+back--I couldn't. Did my face so betray me that you knew I needed
+help?"
+
+"Your face told nothing, it seemed to me."
+
+"But that makes it positively uncanny. Over and over again you appear to
+divine my thoughts or moods. Do you?"
+
+"Little more than any one can of a person in whom one is interested
+enough to notice keenly."
+
+"Yet no one else does it with me. And several times, when we have caught
+each other's eyes, we have--at least I have felt sure that you were
+laughing with me, though your face was grave."
+
+"Who was uncannily mind-reading then?"
+
+"An adequate _tu quoque_," you said, laughing; then you went on
+seriously; "Still, to be frank, as now I think we can be, I have never
+made any pretense that I wasn't very much interested in you--while
+you--well--till very lately, I haven't been able to make up my mind that
+you did not actually--no, not dislike--for I knew that you--I could not
+be unconscious of the genuine esteem you have made so evident--yet there
+has always been, until the last two weeks, an indefinable barrier, of
+your making, as it appeared to me, and from that I could only infer
+some--I can give it no name."
+
+"Were there no natural barriers to a friendship between a struggling
+writer and Miss Walton?"
+
+"Surely you are above that!" you exclaimed. "You have not let such a
+distinction--Oh no, for it has not stood in the way of friendship with
+the Blodgetts."
+
+A moment's silence ensued, and then you spoke again: "Perhaps there was
+a motive that explains it. Please don't reply, if it is a question I
+ought not to put, but after your confidence of last week I feel as if
+you had given me the privilege to ask it. I have always thought--or
+rather hoped--that you cared for Agnes? If"--
+
+"And so you married me to her in the novel," I interrupted, in an
+effort to change the subject, dreading to what it might lead.
+
+You laughed merrily as you said, "Oh, I'm so glad you spoke of that. I
+have often wondered if you recognized the attempted portrait,--which now
+I know is not a bit of a likeness,--and have longed to ask you. I never
+should have dared to sketch it, but I thought my pen name would conceal
+my criminality; and then what a fatality for you to read it! I never
+suspected you were the publisher's reader. What have you thought of me?"
+
+"That you drew a very pleasant picture of my supposed mental and moral
+attainments, at the expense of my ambition and will. My true sympathy,
+however, went out to the girl whom you offered up as a heart-restorer
+for my earlier attachment."
+
+"I'm thankful we are in the shadow," you laughed, "so that my red cheeks
+don't show. You are taking a most thoroughgoing revenge."
+
+"That was the last thought in my mind."
+
+"Then, my woman's curiosity having been appeased, be doubly generous and
+spare my absurd blushes. I don't know when I have been made to feel so
+young and foolish."
+
+"Clearly you are no hardened criminal, Miss Walton. Usually matchmakers
+glory in their shame."
+
+"Perhaps I should if I had not been detected, or if I had succeeded
+better."
+
+"You took, I fear, a difficult subject for what may truly be called your
+maiden experiment."
+
+"Did I not? And yet--You see I recognized potentialities for loving in
+you. You can--Ah, you have suggested to me a revenge for your jokes. Did
+you--were you the man who coined the phrase that my eyes were too dressy
+for the daytime?"
+
+"Yes," I confessed guiltily, "but"--
+
+"No, don't dare to try to explain it away," you ordered. "How could you
+say it? We can never be friends, after all."
+
+Though you spoke in evident gayety, I answered gravely: "You will
+forgive me when I tell you that it was to parry a thrust of Mrs.
+Polhemus's at you, and I made a joke of it only because I did not choose
+to treat her gibe seriously. I hoped it would not come back to you."
+
+"Every friend I have has quoted it, not once, but a dozen times, in my
+presence. If you knew how I have been persecuted and teased with that
+remark! You are twice the criminal that I have been, for at least my
+libel was never published. Yet you are unblushing."
+
+We both sat silent for a little while, and then you began: "You
+interrupted a question of mine just now. Was it a chance or a purposed
+diversion? You see," you added hastily, "I am presuming that henceforth
+we are to be candid."
+
+"I confess to an intention in the dodging, not because I feared the
+question, for a simple negative was all it needed, but I was afraid of
+what might follow."
+
+"I hoped, after the trust of the other day--You do not want to tell me
+your story?"
+
+"Are there not some things that cannot be put into words, Miss Walton?
+Could you tell me your story?"
+
+"But mine is no mystery," you replied. "It has been the world's property
+for years. Why, your very help to-night proves that it is known to
+you,--that you know, indeed, facts that were unknown to me."
+
+"Facts, yes; feelings, no."
+
+"Do you appreciate the subtilty of the compliment? You really care for
+such valueless and indefinable things as feelings?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"A bargain, then, while you are in this mood of giving something for
+nothing. Question for question, if you choose."
+
+"You can tell your secrets?"
+
+"To you, yes, for you have told me your greatest."
+
+"Then, with the privilege of silence for both, begin."
+
+"Ah, you begin already to fear the gimlet! Yes. Nothing is to be told
+that--There again we lack a definition, do we not? Never mind. We shall
+understand. You knew her in Germany?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"And she--You wear a mask, at moments even merry-faced, but now and
+again I have surprised a look of such sadness in your eyes that--Is that
+why you came to America? She"--
+
+"No. She was, and is, in so different a class, that I never"--
+
+"You should not allow that to be a bar! Any woman"--
+
+"But even more, there are other claims upon me, which make marriage out
+of the question."
+
+"And this is why you have resigned reputation for money-making? Is
+there no escape? Oh, it seems too cruel to be!"
+
+"You draw it worse than it is, Miss Walton, forgetting that I told you
+of my happiness in loving."
+
+"You make me proud to feel that we are friends, Dr. Hartzmann," you said
+gently. "I hope she is worthy of such a love?"
+
+I merely nodded; and after a slight pause you remarked, "Now it is only
+fair to give you a turn."
+
+I had been pondering, after my first impulsive assent, over my right to
+win your confidence, with the one inevitable conclusion that was so
+clear, and I answered, "I have no questions to ask, Miss Walton."
+
+"Then I can ask no more, of course," you replied quietly, and at once
+turned the conversation into less personal subjects, until the time came
+for our return to My Fancy.
+
+When we parted in the upper hall, that evening, you said to me, "I
+always value your opinion, and it usually influences me. Do you, as your
+speech to-night implied, think it right to go on loving baseness?"
+
+"It is not a question of right and wrong, but only whether the love
+remains."
+
+"Then you don't think it a duty to crush it out?"
+
+"No. All love is noble that is distinct from self."
+
+You held out your hand. "I am so glad you think so, and that you spoke
+your thought. You have done me a great kindness,--greater far than you
+can ever know. Thank you, and good-night."
+
+Good-night, Maizie.
+
+
+
+
+XX
+
+
+_March 11._ When I left My Fancy, after my visit, Agnes had nothing but
+praise for me. "I was certain that you and Maizie would be friends if
+you ever really knew each other," she said triumphantly. Unfortunately,
+our first meeting in the city served only to prove the reverse. In one
+of my daily walks up-town, I met you and Agnes outside a shop where you
+had been buying Christmas gifts for the boys of your Neighborhood Guild.
+You were looking for the carriage, about which there had been some
+mistake, and I helped you search. When our hunt was unsuccessful, you
+both said you would rather walk than let me get a cab, having been
+deterred only by the growing darkness, and not by the snow. So chatting
+merrily, away we went, through the elfin flakes which seemed so eager
+to kiss your cheeks, till your home was reached.
+
+"If we come in, will you give us some tea?" asked Agnes.
+
+"Tea, cake, chocolates, and conversation," you promised.
+
+"I am sorry," I said, "but I cannot spare the time."
+
+I thought you and Agnes exchanged glances. "Please, Doc--" she began;
+but you interrupted her by saying proudly, "We must not take any more of
+Dr. Hartzmann's time, Agnes. Will you come in?"
+
+"No," replied Agnes. "I'll go home before it's any darker. Good-night."
+
+I started to walk with her the short distance, but the moment we were
+out of hearing she turned towards me and cried, "I hate you!" As I made
+no reply, she demanded impatiently, "What makes you behave so
+abominably?" When I was still silent she continued: "I told you how
+Maizie felt, and I thought it was all right, and now you do it again.
+It's too bad! Well, can't you say something? Why do you do it?"
+
+"There is nothing for me to say, Miss Blodgett," I responded sadly.
+
+"You might at least do it to please me," she persisted, "even if you
+don't like Maizie."
+
+I made no answer, and we walked the rest of the distance in silence. At
+the stoop, however, Agnes asked, "Will you go with me to call on Maizie,
+some afternoon?"
+
+I shook my head.
+
+"Not even to please mamma and me?" she questioned.
+
+Again I gave the same answer, and without a word of parting she left me
+and passed through the doorway. From that time she has treated me
+coldly.
+
+Another complication only tended to increase the coldness, as well as to
+involve me with Mrs. Blodgett. In December, Mr. Blodgett came into Mr.
+Whitely's office and announced, "I've been taking a liberty with your
+name, doctor."
+
+"For what kindness am I indebted now?" I inquired.
+
+"I'm a member of the Philomathean," he said,--"not because I'm an
+author, or artist, or engineer, or scientist, but because I'm a big frog
+in my own puddle, and they want samples of us, provided we are good
+fellows, just to see what we're like. I was talking with Professor Eaton
+in September, and we agreed you ought to be one of us; so we stuck your
+name up, and Saturday evening the club elected you."
+
+"I can't afford it"--I began; but he interrupted with:--
+
+"I knew you'd say that, and so didn't tell you beforehand. I'll bet you
+your initiation fee and a year's dues against a share of R. T. common
+that you'll make enough out of your membership to pay you five times
+over."
+
+"How can I do that?"
+
+"All the editors and publishers are members," he replied, "and to meet
+them over the rum punch we serve on meeting nights is worth money to the
+most celebrated author living. Then you'll have the best club library in
+this country at your elbow for working purposes."
+
+"I don't think I ought, Mr. Blodgett."
+
+He was about to protest, when Mr. Whitely broke in upon us, saying,
+"Accept your membership, Dr. Hartzmann, and the paper shall pay your
+initiation and dues."
+
+I do not know whether Mr. Blodgett or myself was the more surprised at
+this unexpected and liberal offer. Our amazement was so obvious that Mr.
+Whitely continued: "I think it'll be an excellent idea for the paper to
+have a member of its staff in the Philomathean, and so the office shall
+pay for it."
+
+"Whitely," observed Mr. Blodgett admiringly, "you're a good business
+man, whatever else you are!"
+
+"I wish, Blodgett," inquired Mr. Whitely, "you would tell me why I have
+been kept waiting so long?"
+
+"Many a name's been up longer than yours," replied Mr. Blodgett in a
+comforting voice. "You don't seem to realize that the Philomathean's a
+pretty stiff club to get into."
+
+"But I've been posted for over three years, while here Dr. Hartzmann is
+elected within four months of his proposing."
+
+"Well, the doctor has the great advantage of being a sort of natural
+Philomath, you see," Mr. Blodgett explained genially. "He was born that
+way, and so is ripe for membership without any closet mellowing."
+
+"But my reputation as a writer is greater than Dr."--began Mr. Whitely;
+but a laugh from Mr. Blodgett made him halt.
+
+"Oh come, now, Whitely!"
+
+"What's the matter?" asked my employer.
+
+"Once St. Peter and St. Paul stopped at a tavern to quench their
+thirst," said Mr. Blodgett, "and when the time came to pay, they tossed
+dice for it. Paul threw double sixes, and smiled. Peter smiled back, and
+threw double sevens. What do you suppose Paul said, Whitely?"
+
+"What?"
+
+"'Oh, Peter, Peter! No miracles between friends.'"
+
+"I don't follow you," rejoined Mr. Whitely.
+
+Mr. Blodgett turned and said to me, "I'm going West for two months, and
+while I'm gone the Twelfth-night revel at the Philomathean is to come
+off. Will you see that the boss and Agnes get cards?" Then he faced
+about and remarked, "Whitely, I'd give a big gold certificate to know
+what nerve food you use!" and went out, laughing.
+
+When I took the invitations to Mrs. Blodgett, I found you all with your
+heads full of a benefit for the Guild, to be given at your home,--a
+musical evening, with several well-known stars as magnets, and admission
+by invitation as an additional attraction. Mrs. Blodgett said to me in
+her decisive way, "Dr. Hartzmann, the invitations are five dollars each,
+and you are to take one."
+
+I half suspected that it was only a device to get me within your doors,
+though every society woman feels at liberty to whitemail her social
+circle to an unlimited degree. But the fact that the entertainment was
+to be in your home, even more than my poverty, compelled me to refuse to
+be a victim of her charitable kindness or her charitable greed. I merely
+shook my head.
+
+"Oh, but you must," she urged. "It will be a delightful evening, and
+then it's such a fine object."
+
+"Do not ask it of Dr. Hartzmann," you protested, coming to my aid. "No
+one"--
+
+"I'm sure it's very little to ask," remarked Mrs. Blodgett, in a
+disappointed way.
+
+"Mrs. Blodgett," I said, in desperation, "for years I have denied myself
+every luxury and almost every comfort. I have lived at the cheapest of
+boarding-houses; I have walked down-town, rain or shine, to save ten
+cents a day; I have"--I stopped there, ashamed of my outbreak.
+
+"I suppose, Dr. Hartzmann," retorted Agnes, with no attempt to conceal
+the irritation she felt toward me, "that the Philomathean is one of your
+ten-cent economies?"
+
+Before I could speak you changed the subject, and the matter was
+dropped,--I hoped for all time. It was, however, to reappear, and to
+make my position more difficult and painful than ever.
+
+At Mrs. Blodgett's request, made that very day, I sent you an invitation
+to the Philomathean ladies' day. It was with no hope of being there
+myself, since my editorial duties covered the hours of the exhibition;
+but good or bad fortune aided me, for Mr. Whitely asked me for a ticket,
+and his absence from the office set me free. The crowd was great, but,
+like most people who try for one thing only, I attained my desire by
+quickly finding you, and we spent an enjoyable hour together, studying
+the delicious jokes and pranks of our artist members. The truly
+marvelous admixture of absurdity and cleverness called out the real
+mirth of your nature, and our happiness and gayety over the pictures
+strangely recalled to me our similar days spent in Paris and elsewhere.
+You too, I think, remembered the same experience, for when we had
+finished, and were ascending the stairs to the dining-room, you remarked
+to me, "I never dreamed that one could be so merry after one had ceased
+to be a child. For the last hour I have felt as if teens were yet
+unventured lands."
+
+I confess I sought a secluded spot in an alcove, hoping still to keep
+you to myself; but the project failed, for when I returned from getting
+you an ice, I found that Mr. Whitely had joined you. The pictures, of
+course, were the subject of discussion, and you asked him, "Are all the
+other members as clever in their own professions as your artists have
+shown themselves to be?"
+
+"The Philomathean is made up of an able body of men," replied Mr.
+Whitely in a delightfully patronizing tone. "Some few of the very
+ablest, perhaps, do not care to be members; but of the second rank, you
+may say, broadly speaking, that it includes all men of prominence in
+this city."
+
+"But why should the abler men not belong?"
+
+"They are too occupied with more vital matters," explained my employer.
+
+"Yet surely they must need a club, and what one so appropriate as this?"
+
+"It is natural to reason so," assented the would-be member. "But as an
+actual fact, some of the most prominent men in this city are not
+members," and he mentioned three well-known names.
+
+The inference was so unjust that I observed, "Should you not add, Mr.
+Whitely, that they are not members either because they know it is
+useless to apply, or because they have applied in vain; and that their
+exclusion, though superficially a small affair, probably means to them,
+by the implication it carries, one of the keenest mortifications of
+their lives?"
+
+"You mean that the Philomathean refuses to admit such men as Mr. Whitely
+named?" you asked incredulously.
+
+I smiled. "The worldly reputation and the professional reputation of men
+occasionally differ very greatly, Miss Walton. We do not accept a man
+here because his name appears often in the newspapers, but because of
+what the men of his own calling know and think of him."
+
+"And of course they are always jealous of a man who has surpassed them,"
+contended Mr. Whitely.
+
+"There must be something more against a man than envy of his confr[`e]res
+to exclude him," I answered. "My loyalty to the Philomathean, Miss
+Walton, is due to the influence it exerts in this very matter. Errors
+are possible, but the intention is that no man shall be of our
+brotherhood who is not honestly doing something worth the doing, for
+other reasons than mere money-making. And for that very reason, we are
+supposed, within these walls, to be friends, whether or not there is
+acquaintance outside of them. We are the one club in New York which
+dares to trust its membership list implicitly to that extent.
+Charlatanry and dishonesty may succeed with the world, but here they
+fail. Money will buy much, but the poorest man stands on a par here with
+the wealthiest."
+
+"You make me envious of you both," you sighed, just as Mrs. Blodgett and
+Agnes joined us.
+
+"What are you envying them?" asked Agnes, as she shook hands with
+you,--"that they were monopolizing you? How selfish men are!"
+
+"In monopolizing this club?"
+
+"Was that what you envied them?" ejaculated Mrs. Blodgett. "I for one am
+glad there's a place to which I can't go, where I can send my husband
+when I want to be rid of him." Then she turned to Mr. Whitely, and with
+her usual directness remarked, "So they've let you in? Mr. Blodgett told
+me you would surely be rejected."
+
+Mr. Whitely reddened and bit his lip, for which he is hardly to be
+blamed. But he only bowed slightly in reply, leaving the inference in
+your minds that he was a Philomath. How the man dares so often to--
+
+The striking clock tells me it is later than I thought, and I must stop.
+
+Good-night, dear heart.
+
+
+
+
+XXI
+
+
+_March 12._ Our talk at the Philomathean and Mr. Whitely's tacit
+assumption of membership had their penalty for me,--a penalty which, to
+reverse the old adage, I first thought an undisguised blessing. When we
+separated, he asked me to dinner the following evening, to fill in a
+place unexpectedly left vacant; and as I knew, from a chance allusion,
+that you were to be there, I accepted a courtesy at his hands.
+
+Although there were several celebrities at the meal, it fell to my lot
+to sit on your right; my host, who took you down, evidently preferring
+to have no dangerous rival in your attention. But Mrs. Blodgett, who sat
+on his other side, engaged him as much as she chose, and thus gave me
+more of your time than I should otherwise have had. If you knew how
+happy it made me that, whenever she interrupted his monopoly of you,
+instead of making a trialogue with them, you never failed to turn to me!
+
+"I have just re-read Mr. Whitely's book," you remarked, in one of these
+interruptions, "and I have been trying to express to him my genuine
+admiration for it. I thought of it highly when first I read it, last
+autumn, but on a second reading I have become really an enthusiast."
+
+I suppose my face must have shown some of the joy your words gave me,
+for you continued, "Clearly, you like it too, and are pleased to hear it
+praised. But then it's notorious that writers are jealous of one
+another! Tell me what you think of it?"
+
+I tried to keep all bitterness out of my voice as I laughed. "Think how
+unprofessional it would be in me to discuss my employer's book: if I
+praised it, how necessary; if I disparaged it, how disloyal!"
+
+"You are as unsatisfactory as Mr. Whitely," you complained. "I can't get
+him to speak about it, either. He smiles and bows his head to my praise,
+but not a word can he be made to say. Evidently he has a form of
+modesty--not stage fright, but book fright--that I never before
+encountered. Every other author I have met was fatiguingly anxious to
+talk about his own writings."
+
+"Remember in our behalf that a book stands very much in the same
+relation to a writer that a baby does to its mother. We are tolerant of
+her admiration; be equally lenient to the author's harmless prattle."
+
+"I suppose, too," you went on, "that the historian is less liable to the
+disease, because his work is so much less his own flesh and blood; so
+much less emotional than that of the poet or novelist."
+
+"No book worth reading ever fails to be steeped with the spirit of the
+person who wrote it. The man on the stage is instinct with emotion and
+feeling, but does he express more of his true individuality than the man
+in real life? The historian puts fewer of his own feelings into his
+work, but he plays far less to the gallery, and so is more truthful in
+what he reveals of himself."
+
+"Your simile reminds me of a thought of my own, after my first reading
+of this book: that the novelist is the demagogue of letters, striving to
+please, and suing for public favor by catering to all its whims and
+weaknesses; but the historian is the aristocrat of literature, knowing
+the right, and proudly above taking heed of popular prejudice or moods.
+I liked Mr. Whitely's book for many things, but most of all for its
+fearless attitude towards whatever it touched upon. I felt that it was
+the truth, because the whole atmosphere told me that a man was writing,
+too brave to tell what was untrue. That evidently pleases you, again,"
+you laughed. "Oh, it is horrible to see this consuming jealousy!"
+
+When the ladies withdrew, the men, as usual, clustered at one end of the
+table; but my host beckoned me to join him, and sat down apart from his
+guests.
+
+"Dr. Hartzmann, what is the matter at the Philomathean?" he demanded, in
+a low voice.
+
+"Matter?" I questioned.
+
+"Yes. What is the reason they don't elect me?"
+
+"I am not on the membership committee, Mr. Whitely," I replied.
+
+"Are you popular up there? Mr. Blodgett said that you were."
+
+"I have some good friends," I answered.
+
+"Then electioneer and get me put in," he explained, revealing to me in a
+flash why he had volunteered that the paper should pay the expenses of
+my membership.
+
+"I am hardly in a position to do that."
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"I am a new member, and my position under you is so well known that it
+would be very indelicate in me to appear in the matter."
+
+"For what do you suppose I helped you, then?" he asked severely.
+
+"I did not understand till now."
+
+"Well, then, drop your talk about delicacy, and get your friends to
+elect me."
+
+"I do not think I can do that," I answered mildly.
+
+"Then you won't earn your pay?"
+
+"Mr. Whitely, when you made the offer, you put it on an entirely
+different ground, and it is unfair to claim that it involved any
+condition that was not then expressed."
+
+"But you ought to be willing to do it. Haven't you any gratitude about
+you?"
+
+"I understood that you wanted one of your staff a member of that club.
+Had you mentioned your present motive, I should certainly have refused
+to accept the offer; and under these circumstances I decline to
+recognize any cause for gratitude."
+
+"What is your objection to doing it, though?" he persisted.
+
+"Indeed, Mr. Whitely, I do not think I am called upon to say more than I
+have said."
+
+"Do you want me in the club or not?" he demanded.
+
+"I shall certainly never oppose your election in any way whatsoever."
+
+"But you will not work for me?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Are you waiting to see how much I'll give?"
+
+My hand trembled at the insult, but I made no reply.
+
+"Come," he continued, "are you standing out in hopes I will offer you
+something?"
+
+"No."
+
+"How much?" he asked.
+
+"I have been elected to the Philomathean, Mr. Whitely," I said,
+concluding that an explanation might be the easiest escape, after all,
+"and to it I owe a distinct duty. If you were not my employer, I should
+feel called upon to work against you."
+
+"Why?" he exclaimed, in surprise.
+
+"Is it necessary to say?" I answered.
+
+"Yes. What is your objection to me?"
+
+"Did you never read AEsop's fable of the jackdaw?" I asked.
+
+"That's it, is it? And you are opposing my election?"
+
+"By not the slightest act."
+
+"Then why did Blodgett predict that I would surely be rejected? I've a
+reputation as a writer, as a philanthropist, and as a successful
+business man. What more do they want?"
+
+"As I told Miss Walton yesterday," I explained, "a man's true and
+eventual reputation depends, not on what the world thinks of him, but
+on what his fellow-craft decide."
+
+"Well?"
+
+"There is scarcely an author or editor at the Philomathean who is not
+opposed to your election, Mr. Whitely."
+
+"You have been telling tales," he muttered angrily.
+
+"You should know better."
+
+"Then what have they against me?"
+
+"Any man who works with his pen learns that no one can write either
+editorials or books, of the kind credited to you, without years of
+training. The most embarrassing ordeal I have to undergo is the joking
+and questioning with which the fraternity tease me. But you need never
+fear my not keeping faith."
+
+"Yet you won't help me into the Philomathean?"
+
+"No."
+
+"So you'll make money out of me, but think your club too good?"
+
+"I owe my club a duty."
+
+"I know," he went on smoothly, "that you're an awful screw, when there's
+a dollar in sight. How much do you want?"
+
+My silence should have warned him, but he was too self-absorbed to feel
+anything but his own mood.
+
+"How much do you want?" he repeated, and I still sat without speaking,
+though the room blurred, and I felt as if I were stifling. "The day I'm
+elected to the Philomathean, I'll give you"--
+
+I rose and interrupted him, saying, "Mr. Whitely, if you wish me to
+leave your house and employment, you can obtain my absence in an easier
+way than by insulting me."
+
+For a moment we faced each other in silence, and then he rose.
+"Hereafter, Dr. Hartzmann, you will pay those dues yourself," he said in
+a low voice, as he moved towards the door.
+
+I only bowed, glad that the matter was so easily ended; and for nearly
+two months our relations have been of the most formal kind that can
+exist between employer and employed.
+
+Far more bitter was another break. When the moment of farewell came,
+that evening, I waited to put you and Mrs. Blodgett into your carriages,
+and while we were delayed in the vestibule you thanked me again for the
+pleasure of the previous afternoon, and then continued: "I understand
+why you did not feel able to please Mrs. Blodgett about the concert. But
+won't you let me acknowledge the pleasure of yesterday by sending you a
+ticket? I have taken a number, and as all my circle have done the same,
+I am finding it rather difficult to get rid of them."
+
+"That's all right, Maizie," interjected Mrs. Blodgett, who had caught,
+or inferred from an occasional word that she heard, what you were
+saying. "We took an extra ticket, and I am going to use the doctor for
+an escort that evening."
+
+"I thank you both," I answered, "but I shall not be able to attend the
+concert."
+
+"Nonsense!" sniffed Mrs. Blodgett, as I helped her into her carriage.
+"You're going to do as I tell you."
+
+You did not speak in the moment we waited for your coup['e] to take its
+place, but as the tiger opened the door you looked in my face for the
+first time since my words, showing me eyes that told of the pain I had
+inflicted.
+
+"I am sorry," you said quietly. "I had thought--hoped--that we were to
+be friends."
+
+There was nothing for me to say, and we parted thus. From that time I
+have seen little of you, for when I meet you now you no longer make it
+possible for me to have much of your society. And my persistent refusal
+to go to the concert with Mrs. Blodgett and Agnes increased their
+irritation against me, so that I am no longer asked to their home, and
+thus have lost my most frequent opportunity of meeting you. But harder
+even than this deprivation is the thought that I have given you pain;
+made all the greater, perhaps, because so ill deserved and apparently
+unreasonable. I find myself longing for the hour when we shall meet at
+that far-away tribunal, where all our lives, and not alone that which is
+seen, will stand revealed. For two months I have not had a single moment
+of happiness or even hope. I am lonely and weary, while my strength and
+courage seem to lessen day by day. Oh, my darling, I pray God that
+thought of you will make me stronger and braver, that I may go on with
+my fight. Good-night.
+
+
+
+
+XXII
+
+
+_March 13._ Last night, at the Philomathean, Mr. Blodgett joined me, and
+asked me why I had not dined with them lately. He returned only a few
+days ago, and was thus ignorant that I have not been inside his door for
+weeks. I hesitated for an instant, and then replied, "I have been
+working very hard."
+
+"What are you usually doing?" he asked, smiling. "Come in to Sunday
+dinner to-morrow."
+
+"I shall be too busy with a lot of manuscripts I have on hand, that must
+be read," I told him.
+
+"Stop killing yourself," he ordered. "As it is, you look as if you were
+on the brink of a bad illness. You won't get on a bit faster by dying
+young."
+
+There the matter rested, and I did not go to dinner to-day, being
+indeed glad to stay indoors; for I very foolishly walked up town
+yesterday through the slush, and caught a bad cold. While I was trying
+to keep warm, this evening, a note was brought me from Mr. Blodgett,
+asking me to come to him at once; and fearing something important, I
+braved the cold without delay, ill though I felt. I was shown at once
+into his den, which was so cheerful with its open fire that I felt it
+was a good exchange for my cold room, where I had sat coughing and
+shivering all the afternoon.
+
+"Twice in my life I've really lost my temper with the boss," he began,
+before I had even sat down, though he closed the door while speaking.
+"Never mind about the first time, but to-day I got mad enough to last me
+for the rest of my life."
+
+"May I sit down?" I interrupted.
+
+He nodded his head, and took a position in front of me, with his back
+to the fire, as he continued: "Women are enough to make a man frantic
+when they get a fixed idea! Now, to-day, at dinner, I said I'd invited
+you, and I saw in a moment something was in the wind; so when we had
+finished I told them to come in here, and it didn't take me long to find
+out the trouble."
+
+"I didn't like to"--I began; but he went on:--
+
+"And that was the beginning of their trouble. I tell you, there was Cain
+here for about ten minutes, and there weren't two worse scared women
+this side of the grave, while I was ranting; for the boss remembered the
+other time, and Agnes had never seen me break loose. I told them they'd
+done their best to drive you crazy with grief; that if they'd searched
+for ten years they couldn't have found a meaner or crueler thing, or one
+that would have hurt you more; that nine men out of ten, in your shoes,
+would have acted dishonestly or cut their throat, but that you had toed
+the chalk-line right along, and never once winced. And I let them know
+that for five dollars they'd added the last straw of pain to a fellow
+who deserved only kindness and help from them."
+
+"Really, Mr. Blodgett"--I protested.
+
+"Hold on. Don't attempt to stop me, for the fit's on me still," he
+growled. "They tried to come the surprised, and then the offended, but
+they didn't fool me. I never let up on them till I had said all I wanted
+to say, and they won't forget it for a day or two. When I sent Agnes
+upstairs, she was sobbing her eyes out, and the boss would have given
+her pin money for ten years to have escaped with her."
+
+"It's too bad to"--
+
+"That's just what it was!" he cried. "To think of those screws trying to
+blackmail you, and then telling me you were a skinflint because you
+wouldn't do what they wanted! Well, after Agnes had gone, I gave the
+boss a supplementary and special dose of her own. I told her she could
+double discount you on meanness, and then give you forty-nine points;
+and to make sure of good measurement, I added in the whole female sex
+along with her. I told her that if she knew the facts of your life,
+she'd get down on her knees and crawl round to your place to ask your
+pardon, and then she wouldn't be fit to have it. I told her that when
+the day of judgment came, she'd just go the other way in preference to
+hearing what the recording angel had written of her."
+
+"I am afraid that your intended kindness will make my welcome scantier
+than ever."
+
+"Not a bit of it. I'm the master of this house, as they found out this
+afternoon, and I say who'll come into it, and who'll not. I shan't need
+to interfere in your case, for you'll get a warm welcome from both."
+
+"You didn't tell them?" I exclaimed, starting forward in my seat.
+
+"Not a word, though the boss nearly went crazy with curiosity. But I did
+say that you were making a splendid up-hill fight, and if they knew the
+facts of the case they'd be proud to black your boots. My word goes in
+this family about as well as it does on the Street, and you'll get all
+the welcome you can stand from now on."
+
+"You make me very proud and happy."
+
+"You have reason to be proud," he asserted. "I'm not a man who slobbers
+much, but I'm going to tell you what I think of you. When you first came
+here, I sized you up as rather a softy, your manner was so quiet and
+gentle. I got over that delusion precious quick, and I want to say that
+for pluck and grit you're a trump, and there's my hand on it."
+
+He went to the table, poured out a couple of glasses of whiskey and
+seltzer, and brought them to the fire. "You need something for that
+graveyard cough of yours," he said, handing one to me. "Well," he went
+on, "I didn't bring you out such a night as this to tell you of my
+scrap; but after the row, the boss was so ashamed of herself that she
+trumped up an A 1 excuse (as she thought) for having treated you as she
+had, and that led to a talk, and that's why I sent round for you. What
+do you suppose she has got into her head?"
+
+"I can't imagine."
+
+"I needn't tell you," he remarked, "that women always know an awful lot
+that isn't so. But just because they do, they every now and then
+discover a truth that can't be come at in any other way. Now the boss
+thinks she's done this, and I'm not sure that she hasn't. She says you
+are in love."
+
+"I never knew a man who wasn't," I replied, trying to smile. "If it
+isn't with a woman, then it's always with himself."
+
+"But the boss thinks she knows the girl, and has a down on you because
+you--because you don't try for her."
+
+I laughed bitterly, and said, "You needed no explanation for that."
+
+"That's what made the boss's idea reasonable to me," he explained. "She
+couldn't conceive why you should keep silent, and so was ready to pitch
+into you on the slightest pretense. Women haven't much use for a man who
+falls in love and doesn't say so. But of course I knew that your debt
+put marriage out of the question."
+
+I merely nodded my head, for even to him I could not speak of my love
+for you, it was so sacred to me.
+
+He drew up a chair to the fire, and continued: "There isn't another man
+to whom I'd care to say what I'm going to say to you, but you've got a
+heart and a head both, and won't misunderstand me." He finished his
+glass, and set it on the mantel. "Now I don't have to tell you that the
+boss is fond of you, and when I told her that I knew of a reason why you
+couldn't marry, she forgave you on the spot. What's more, she first
+wished to learn what it was; and failing in that, she then wanted to
+know if it could be remedied, so that you might have a chance to win the
+girl."
+
+"She of course knows nothing of my position?"
+
+"No," he said, "but she knows something of your character, and she's
+ordered me that, if it's possible, I'm to help you get the girl you care
+for."
+
+"But my debt!" I exclaimed.
+
+"How much is it now?" he queried.
+
+"One hundred and eighteen thousand."
+
+"Well, I'll lend Agnes's husband one hundred and eighteen thousand
+dollars at three per cent, and leave her the note when I die. From what
+I know of marriage, I venture to assert that if she squeezes him for
+payment it will be his own fault."
+
+I sat speechless for a moment, too bewildered by the unexpected turn to
+even think.
+
+"I was as surprised as you look," he went on, "for although I had seen
+that you and Agnes"--
+
+"Indeed, Mr. Blodgett," I exclaimed hastily, "I am no more to Miss Agnes
+than a dozen of her friends! I"--
+
+"So the boss says," he interrupted. "But that doesn't mean that you
+can't be. Though to speak the truth, my boy," he continued, resting his
+hand on my knee, "this wasn't my plan. I had hoped that you and Maizie
+would take a shine to each other, and so kiss the chalk-marks off that
+old score. But when I spoke of the scheme to the boss, this evening, she
+told me there had never been a chance of it; that you didn't like Mai,
+and that she is practically engaged to Whitely, and is only--Better have
+some more whiskey, or that cough will shake you to pieces."
+
+I could only shake my head in my misery, but after a moment I was able
+to say, "Mr. Blodgett, I did not understand--I"--
+
+"I want to tell you," he broke in, "before you say anything more, that I
+never believe in putting one's fingers into love affairs, and I
+shouldn't in this case if the boss didn't feel so keen about it, but I
+don't choose to be the one to stand in her way. And now I'm not offering
+my daughter's hand. You know as well as I that Agnes isn't the kind of
+girl who needs a prospectus or a gold clause to work her off. If she
+dropped her handkerchief to-morrow, fifty men would be scrambling for
+it, eh?"
+
+"Yes." Then I added, "And, Mr. Blodgett, I can't find the words to tell
+how I thank you both for such a compliment. If"--
+
+"I knew you wouldn't misunderstand me," he went on. "It's a good deal of
+a start in life to be born a gentleman."
+
+"But, Mr. Blodgett," I said, "there has been a mistake. I--it is hard to
+say, but"--then I faltered.
+
+He looked at me keenly for a moment. "So the boss was wrong? It's only
+friendship, not love?"
+
+"Just what she has given to me," I answered.
+
+"Very well. Then if you want to please the boss--and me--let that
+friendship grow into something better. But don't misunderstand me. You
+must win Agnes, if she is won. We do nothing."
+
+"Mr. Blodgett, should you be willing to let me try to win Miss Agnes, if
+I tell you that I do not love her as a man should love the woman he
+seeks for his wife?"
+
+"Marriage is a funny business," he responded. "Now there's the boss.
+When I married her I thought she was so and so; little by little I found
+she wasn't; but by the time I had found it out I wouldn't have swapped
+her for ten of the women I had thought she was. Some men have no
+business to marry unless they're pretty strongly attached, for they
+don't run steady; but you're a fellow that would keep in the traces no
+matter what happened, and before long you'd find yourself mighty fond of
+Agnes. A sense of duty is about as good a basis to marry on, if there's
+natural sympathy and liking, as all this ideal make-believe. I don't
+think you dislike Agnes, do you?"
+
+"Indeed, no!" I exclaimed. "Nobody could. She is too charming and sweet
+for any one to do that. Miss Agnes deserves far more than I can bring
+her. What have I to give in return for all this?"
+
+"You can settle that with Agnes," he laughed; and then, as if to lessen
+my poverty in my own eyes, he kindly added, "In the first place, I'll
+get a son-in-law chock-full of heart and grit and brains; and I've had
+pretty good evidence that he isn't fortune-hunting, which is Agnes's
+great danger. But that isn't all, and I want you to know I'm not a fool.
+I'm a big fellow down in Wall Street, and even on the Royal Exchange,
+but do you think I don't know my position? They kept me up over two
+years at the Philomathean, and you four months. After you've worked ten
+years over books with your own name on them, you'll be received and
+kotowed to by people who wouldn't crook a finger to know me. You won't
+be famous as I am, for the number of naughts I can write after a figure,
+but your name will be known everywhere, and will be familiar long after
+mine has been forgotten. Who were the bankers and rich men fifty years
+ago? There isn't one person in a thousand can tell you. But who hasn't
+heard of Thackeray and Hawthorne, Macaulay and Motley? My girl will have
+more money than she'll need; so if she gets a good husband, and one
+with reputation, she can't do better. Don't you see I'm doing my level
+best for Agnes, and making a regular Jew bargain?"
+
+"Perhaps Miss Agnes will not agree."
+
+"We've got to take that chance; but she likes you, and good women think
+a heap more of brains than they do of money. If you'll let me tell her
+your story, it won't be long before she'll take notice. I shouldn't have
+had to ask the boss twice if I'd had any such trump card as you've got,
+and she was a sight less tender-hearted than Agnes!"
+
+"Mr. Blodgett," I said, "I can't tell you the gratitude I feel, but I
+must be frank."
+
+"Hold on!" he cried. "I don't want you to say anything now. You are to
+take a week on it, and not give me your answer till the end. If you have
+half the gratitude in you that you pretend, you'll do as the boss
+wants."
+
+I had manned myself to tell him of my love for you, but I bowed assent,
+for indeed, I was too bewildered to think clearly, and was glad to have
+a respite. We shook hands without further parley, and I came back here,
+to cough and shiver while trying to think it all out. An hour ago I went
+to bed, but I was wakeful, and so sit here trying to write myself into
+sleepiness.
+
+I have thought out what my course must be. If it is true, as indeed I
+know it to be, that Mr. Whitely has won you, Mr. Blodgett shall have the
+truth. I shall tell him that I will put you out of my heart, as perforce
+I must, and that if he is still willing I will go to Agnes, tell her too
+the whole truth, and promise her such love and devotion as I can give.
+So sweet a girl deserves far more, and I cannot believe that she will
+accept the little I can offer; but if she does, it shall be the labor of
+my life to be to her a true and tender husband. And even if she were not
+what she is, the thought that through her I have made reparation for
+the wrong done you will make easy both tenderness and love for her.
+
+For the last time, perhaps, I have the right to say, "Good-night, my
+love."
+
+
+
+
+XXIII
+
+
+_March 14._ After dinner this evening I went to see Mrs. Blodgett; for,
+miserable as I felt, my mental suffering was greater than my physical.
+The footman told me she had just gone upstairs to dress for a ball, but
+I sent her a message begging for a moment's interview; and when he
+returned, it was to take me to her boudoir,--a privilege which would in
+itself have shown me how thoroughly I was forgiven, even if her greeting
+had been less warm.
+
+In a few halting and broken sentences I told her of my love for you. She
+was so amazed that at first she seemed unable to believe me serious; and
+when I had persuaded her that I was in earnest, her perplexity and
+curiosity were unbounded.
+
+Why had I behaved so? For what reason had I never called on Maizie? Such
+and many more were the questions she indignantly poured out, and she
+only grew more angry when I answered each by "I cannot tell you."
+Finally, in her irritation, she demanded, "What have you bothered me
+for, then?"
+
+"I want you to tell me, if you have the right, whether Miss Walton is
+engaged to Mr. Whitely," I answered.
+
+"Practically," she snapped.
+
+"She has told you so?"
+
+"I cannot tell you," she replied; adding, "How do you like your own
+medicine?"
+
+"Mrs. Blodgett," I pleaded, "if you understood what it means to me to
+know the truth, you would not use this to punish me for what I cannot
+help. If I could tell any one the story of my life, I should tell you;
+for next to--to one other, you are dearer to me than any living person.
+If you love me at all, do not torture me with a suspense that is
+unbearable."
+
+She came and sat down by me on the lounge, and took my hand, saying,
+"Mr. Whitely asked Maizie to marry him four years ago, but she said she
+would not marry a business man. He wouldn't give up trying, however,
+though he made no apparent headway. Indeed, Maizie told me herself, last
+spring, just before she sailed, that she could never love him, and she
+was convinced that loveless marriages were wrong, being sure to end in
+unhappiness or sacrifice of one or the other. So I thought it would come
+to nothing. But he persisted, and he's succeeded, for she told me last
+week that she had changed her mind, and was going to marry him."
+
+"Do you know why she has done so?" I asked drearily.
+
+"I think it is that book of his. Not merely is she pleased by the
+position it's given him as a writer, but she says it has convinced her
+that he is different from what he appears in society; that no man but
+one of noble character and fine mind could write from such a
+standpoint."
+
+I sat there dumb and stolid, yet knowing that all my past suffering had
+been as nothing to this new grief. Oh, my blindness and wickedness! To
+think, my darling, that it was I who had aided him to win you, that my
+hand had made and set the trap! Why had I not ended my wretched
+existence three years ago, and so, at least, saved myself from this
+second wrong, tenfold worse than that I had endeavored to mend? For my
+own selfish pride and honor, I had juggled, deceived you, Maizie, the
+woman dearer to me than all else, and had myself doomed you to such a
+fate.
+
+I suppose I must have shown some of the agony I felt, for Mrs. Blodgett
+put her hand on my shoulder. "Don't take it so to heart, Rudolph," she
+begged, giving me that name for the first time. "There can still be
+much true happiness in your life."
+
+I only kissed her hand in response, but she instantly pressed her lips
+on my forehead. "I am so sorry," she sighed, "for I had hoped for
+something very different."
+
+"Mr. Blodgett told me," I answered; and then I spoke of the resolution I
+had come to last night.
+
+When I had finished, she said, "We won't talk of it any more, Rudolph,
+for Agnes' sake as well as yours, but perhaps by and by, when the
+suffering is over, you will come and talk to me again; for if you ever
+feel that you can be a good husband to my girl, I shall not be afraid to
+trust her to you, if you can gain her consent."
+
+I rose to go, and she remarked, "Yes. You mustn't stay, for as it is, my
+dressing will make us very late. If the carriage is at the door, tell
+Maxwell to drive you home, and then return for us. You mustn't walk in
+the slush with that horrid cough of yours. Does your landlady give you
+blankets enough? Well, tell her to make a steaming glass of whiskey
+toddy. Wrap some woolen round your throat and chest, and go straight to
+bed. Why, Rudolph, you are not going without kissing me good-night?" she
+continued, as if that had been my habit, adding, "Some day I shall make
+you tell me all about it."
+
+I went downstairs, intending to follow her directions; but as I passed
+the drawing-room door I heard the piano, and thought I recognized, from
+the touch, whose fingers were straying at random over the keys.
+
+"Isn't that Miss Walton?" I asked of the servant, as he brought me my
+hat and coat.
+
+"Yes, Dr. Hartzmann. Miss Walton is to go to the ball with the ladies,
+and is waiting for them to come downstairs," he told me.
+
+I left him holding my coat, and passed noiselessly between the curtains
+of the porti[`e]re. Your back was turned to me as you sat at the
+instrument, and I stood in silence watching you as you played, till
+suddenly--was it sympathy, or only the consciousness of something
+alien?--you looked around. I should almost think it was the former, for
+you expressed no surprise at seeing me standing there, even though you
+rose.
+
+"Don't let me interrupt you," I begged.
+
+"I was only beguiling the time I have to wait," you replied.
+
+"It will be a favor to me if you will go on," I said, and without
+another word, with that simple grace and sweetness natural to you, you
+resumed your seat and went on playing, while I sat down on the divan.
+
+Your bent, like mine, was for some reason a sad one, and what you played
+reflected your mood, stirring me deeply and making me almost forget my
+misery. Presently, however, I was seized with a paroxysm of coughing;
+and when I had recovered enough to be conscious of anything, I found you
+standing by me, looking both startled and compassionate.
+
+"You are ill, Dr. Hartzmann," you said, anxiously.
+
+"It is nothing," I managed to articulate.
+
+"Can I do anything for you?" you asked.
+
+"Nothing," I replied, rising, more wretched than ever, because knowing
+how little I deserved your sympathy.
+
+"It would be a pleasure to help you, Dr. Hartzmann, for I have never
+been able to show any gratefulness for your kindness over my book," you
+went on, with a touch of timidity in your tones, as if you were asking a
+favor rather than conferring one.
+
+Won by your manner, before I knew what I was doing, I spoke. "Miss
+Walton," I burst out, "you see before you the most miserable being
+conceivable, and you can save me from the worst anguish I am suffering!"
+
+Your eyes enlarged in surprise, both at my vehemence and at what I had
+uttered, while you stood looking at me, with slightly parted lips; then
+you said sweetly, "Tell me what I can do for you."
+
+I had spoken without thought, only conscious that I must try in some way
+to save you. For a moment I hesitated, and then exclaimed, "I beg of you
+not to marry Mr. Whitely!"
+
+Like a goddess you drew yourself up, even before you could have
+appreciated the full import of my foolish speech, and never have I seen
+you look more beautiful or queenly than as you faced me. After a brief
+silence you answered, "You can hardly realize what you are saying, Dr.
+Hartzmann."
+
+"I am indeed mad in my unhappiness," I groaned.
+
+"You owe me an explanation for your extraordinary words," you continued.
+
+"Miss Walton," I said, "Mr. Whitely is not a man to make you happy, and
+in hopes of saving you from him I spoke as I did. I had no right, as
+none can know better than myself, but perhaps you will forgive the
+impertinence when I say that my motive was only to save you from future
+misery."
+
+"Why should I not be happy in marrying Mr. Whitely?"
+
+"Because you are deceiving yourself about him."
+
+"In what respect?"
+
+"His character is other than you think it."
+
+"Be more specific."
+
+"That I cannot be."
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"It would be dishonorable in me."
+
+"Not more so than to stop where you have."
+
+"I cannot say more."
+
+"I do not recognize your right to be silent. You have said too much or
+too little."
+
+"Maizie," called Mrs. Blodgett from the hall, "come quickly, for we are
+very late."
+
+"I shall insist, at some future time, upon your speaking more clearly,
+Dr. Hartzmann," you said, as a queen would speak, and picking up your
+wrap, without a parting word, you left me standing in the middle of the
+drawing-room.
+
+I came home through the cold, and have sat here regretting my
+foolishness and groping for the right course to pursue. Oh, my darling,
+if I but had the right, I would gladly tell you the whole story of the
+miserable deception, even though I disgraced myself in your eyes. If it
+were merely my own honor which was at stake, I should not hesitate for
+an instant, but would sacrifice it to save you, though self-respect
+seems now the only thing left me. But try as I may to prove to myself
+that I have the right, I cannot, for I feel that more than my own honor
+is concerned. I have taken Mr. Whitely's money, and cannot return it to
+him. To break faith would be worse than despicable. I shall speak to you
+of my employer's hardness, and beg you to ask Mr. Blodgett if he would
+give Agnes to Mr. Whitely or advise you to marry him. My heart yearns to
+aid you in your peril, but I can think of nothing more that I can do.
+May God do what I cannot, my dearest. Good-night.
+
+
+
+
+XXIV
+
+
+_March 15._ I was so miserable with my cough to-day that I could not
+summon the energy to drag myself to Mr. Blodgett's office, and did not
+leave my room till after eight, when your note came.
+
+"Miss Walton," it read, "feels that she has the right to request Dr.
+Hartzmann to call this evening, in relation to the conversation
+uncompleted last night."
+
+I understood the implied command, and thought that I owed what you
+claimed, while feeling that in obeying I could for this once forego my
+scruple of entering your door. The footman showed me into the library,
+and left me there. It was the first time I had seen it since my
+thirteenth year, and I cannot tell you the moment's surprise and joy I
+felt on finding it absolutely unchanged. Even the books were arranged
+as formerly, and my eye searched and found, as quickly as of yore, all
+the old volumes full of plates which had once given us such horror and
+delight. For the instant I forgot my physical suffering and the coming
+ordeal.
+
+When you entered the room, you welcomed me only with a bow. Then seeing
+my paleness, you said kindly, "I forgot your cough, Dr. Hartzmann, or I
+would not have brought you out in such weather. Sit here by the fire."
+After a short pause you went on: "I hope that a day's thought has
+convinced you that common justice requires you to say more than you did
+last night?"
+
+"Miss Walton," I replied, "to you, who know nothing of the difficult and
+hopeless position in which I stand, my conduct, I presume, seems most
+dishonorable and cowardly; yet I cannot say more than I said last
+night."
+
+"You must."
+
+"I can scarcely hope that what I then said will influence you, but if
+you will go to Mr. Blodgett and"--
+
+"Does Mr. Blodgett know what you object to in Mr. Whitely?" you
+interrupted.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"I went to Mr. Blodgett this morning, and he told me that he knew of no
+reason why I should not marry Mr. Whitely."
+
+"Then, Miss Walton," I answered, rising, "I cannot expect that you will
+be influenced by my opinion. I will withdraw what I said last night.
+Think of me as leniently as you can, for my purpose was honorable."
+
+"But you ought to say more. You"--
+
+"I cannot," I replied.
+
+"You have no right to"--But here a servant entered, with a card.
+
+"Dr. Hartzmann," you announced, when the man had gone, "I wrote Mr.
+Whitely yesterday afternoon, asking him to call this evening, with the
+intention of accepting his offer of marriage. He is now in the
+drawing-room, and unless you will have the fairness, the honesty, to
+explain what you meant, I shall tell him all that has occurred, and give
+him the opportunity to force you to speak."
+
+"I shall only repeat to him, Miss Walton, what I have said to you."
+
+You stood a moment looking at me, with a face blazing with indignation;
+then you exclaimed, "You at least owe it to him not to run away while I
+am gone!" and passed into the drawing-room.
+
+You returned very soon, followed by Mr. Whitely.
+
+"Dr. Hartzmann," you asked, "will you repeat what you said last night to
+me?"
+
+"I advised you not to marry Mr. Whitely, Miss Walton."
+
+"And you will not say why?" you demanded.
+
+"I cannot."
+
+"Mr. Whitely," you cried, "cannot you force him to speak?"
+
+"Miss Walton," he replied suavely, and his very coolness in the strange
+condition made me feel that he was master of the situation, "I am as
+perplexed as you are at this extraordinary conduct in one who even now
+is eating bread from my hand. I have long since ceased to expect
+gratitude for benefits, but such malevolence surprises and grieves me,
+since I have never done Dr. Hartzmann any wrong, but, on the contrary, I
+have always befriended him."
+
+"I have been in the employ of Mr. Whitely," I answered, "but every
+dollar he has paid me has been earned by my labor. I owe him no debt of
+gratitude that he does not owe me."
+
+"You owe him the justice that every man owes another," you asserted
+indignantly. "To make vague charges behind one's back, and then refuse
+to be explicit, is a coward's and a slanderer's way of waging war."
+
+"Miss Walton," I cried, "I should not have spoken, though God knows
+that my motive was only a wish to do you a service, and I would give my
+life to do as you ask!"
+
+For an instant my earnestness seemed to sway you; indeed, I am convinced
+that this was so, since Mr. Whitely apparently had the same feeling, and
+spoke as if to neutralize my influence, saying to you: "Miss Walton, I
+firmly believe that Dr. Hartzmann's plea of honorable conduct is nothing
+but the ambush of a coward. But as he has been for two years in the most
+intimate and confidential position of private secretary to me, he may,
+through some error, have deluded himself into a conviction that gives a
+basis for his indefinite charges. I will not take advantage of the
+implied secrecy, and I say to him in your presence that if he has
+discovered anything which indicates that I have been either impure or
+criminal, I give him permission to speak."
+
+Even in that moment of entanglement I could not but admire and marvel
+at the skill with which he had phrased his speech, so as to seem
+absolutely open, to slur me by innuendo, and yet avoid the risk of
+exposure. It left me helpless, and I could only say, "I have not charged
+Mr. Whitely with either impurity or criminality."
+
+You turned to him and said, "This conduct is perfectly inexplicable."
+
+"Except on one ground," he replied.
+
+"Which is?" you questioned.
+
+"That Dr. Hartzmann loves you," he answered.
+
+"That is impossible!" you exclaimed.
+
+"Not as impossible as for a man not to love you, Miss Walton," he
+averred.
+
+"Tell Mr. Whitely how mistaken he is," you said to me.
+
+I could only stand silent, and after waiting a little Mr. Whitely
+remarked, "You see!"
+
+"It is incredible!" you protested. "You must deny it, Dr. Hartzmann!"
+
+"I cannot, Miss Walton," I murmured, with bowed head.
+
+"You love me?" you cried incredulously.
+
+"I love you," I assented, and in spite of the circumstances it was
+happiness to say it to you.
+
+You stood gazing at me in amazement, large-eyed as a startled deer. I
+wonder what your first words would have been to me if Mr. Whitely had
+not turned your mind into another channel by saying, "I do not think
+that we need search further for Dr. Hartzmann's motives in making his
+innuendoes."
+
+"Miss Walton," I urged, "my love for you, far from making your faith in
+me less or my motive that of a rival, should convince you that I spoke
+only for your sake, since you yourself know that my love has been
+neither hopeful nor self-seeking."
+
+I think you pitied me, for you answered gently, and all traces of the
+scorn and indignation you had shown just before were gone from your
+face and manner.
+
+"Dr. Hartzmann," you said, "I cannot allow myself to listen to or weigh
+such indefinite imputations against Mr. Whitely. I will give you one
+week to explain or substantiate what you have implied; and unless within
+that time you do so, I shall accept the offer of marriage which he has
+honored me by making. Do not let me detain you further. Good-evening."
+
+I passed out of the room a broken-hearted man, without strength enough
+to hold up my head, and hardly able in my weakness to crawl back to my
+study. As I sit and write, every breath brings with it the feeling that
+a knife is being thrust into my breast, and I am faint with the pain.
+But for this racking cough and burning fever I might have made a better
+fight, and have been able to think of some way of saving you. But even
+in my suffering I have reached one conclusion. To-morrow I shall go to
+Mr. Whitely and tell him that you must know the truth concerning the
+book, and that if he will not tell you I shall. I shall never be able to
+hold up my head again; but that is nothing, if I can but save you. Oh,
+my dearest love, the sacrifice of life, of honor, the meeting ignominy
+or death for your sake, will be nothing to me but hap
+
+     [Transcriber's Note: The text ends in the middle of a word. The
+     remainder of this page is missing in the original image and
+     other available editions.]
+
+
+
+XXV
+
+
+_January 10, 1895._ This evening I have for the first time re-read
+this--I know not what to call it, for it is neither diary nor
+letter--the story of my love; and as I read, the singular sensation came
+over me that I was following, not my own thoughts and experiences, but
+those of another man. Five years ago, half mad with grief, and
+physically and nervously exhausted to the brink of a breakdown, I spent
+my evenings writing my thoughts, in the hope that the fatigue of the
+task would bring the sleep I sought in vain. Little I then wrote seems
+to me now, in my new life, what I could ever possibly have confided to
+paper, much less have felt. Yet here is my own handwriting to vouch for
+every word, and to tell me that the morbid chronicle is no other than
+my own. I cannot believe that mere years have brought so startling a
+mental change, and I therefore think that much of it is an expression,
+not of myself, but of the illness which put an end to my writing. If
+proof were needed of the many kinds of men each man contains, this
+manuscript of mine would furnish it; for the being I have read about
+this evening is no more the Donald Maitland of to-night than--Ah, well,
+to my task of telling what has wrought this change, since it must be
+written.
+
+For a month I was confined to my bed with pneumonia, and the attack so
+weakened me that I did not leave my room for five weeks more. During
+that time Mrs. Blodgett's kindness was constant, and her face is the
+only memory that stands out from the hours of my acute torture. While I
+was convalescing, she came once, and sometimes twice, each day, bringing
+me flowers, fruit, jellies, wines, and whatever else her love could
+suggest. It was amusing to see her domineer over the doctor, trained
+nurse, and landlady, and I soon learned to whom to make my pleas for
+extra liberty or special privileges. No request, however whimsical,
+seemed too much for her affection, though my demands were unceasing, in
+the selfishness of my invalidism. Only one thing I dared not ask her,
+and that was not from fear that it would be refused, but from cowardice.
+I longed to have her speak of you, but during those weeks she never
+mentioned your name.
+
+The day before Mrs. Blodgett left town she took me for my first airing
+in her carriage, and told me that she was leaving a man and horses in
+town for a month longer in order that I should have a daily drive. "Mr.
+Blodgett really needs a carriage more in the summer than he does in the
+winter, but he never will consent to let me leave one for him, so I've
+used you as an excuse," was the way she explained her kindness. "By the
+end of the month I hope you will be well enough to come up and make us a
+visit in the Berkshires, for the change will be the very best thing for
+you."
+
+"I hope to be at work again by that time," I said.
+
+"You are not to see pen or paper till the first of October!" she
+ordered; and when I only shook my head, she continued, "For three years
+you've been overworking yourself, and now the doctor says you must take
+a long rest, and I'm going to see that you have it."
+
+"You mean to be good to me, Mrs. Blodgett," I sighed, "but if you knew
+my situation, you would understand that I must get to work again as soon
+as possible."
+
+"I don't care about your situation," she sniffed contemptuously, "and I
+do care about your health. I shall insist that you come up to My Fancy,
+if I have to come back to the city to bring you; and when I once get
+you there, I shan't let you go away till I choose."
+
+Loving my tyrant, I did not protest further, though firm in my own mind
+as to my duty. As it turned out, I need not have denied her, for the end
+of the month found me with but little added strength; and though I tried
+to work two or three times, I was forced to abandon the attempts without
+accomplishing anything. My wonder is that I gained strength at all, in
+my discouragement over the loss of Mr. Whitely's work, my three months'
+idleness, the heavy doctor's bills, and the steadily accruing interest
+on the debt.
+
+On the 21st of June Mr. Blodgett came to see me, as indeed he had done
+daily since Mrs. Blodgett left town.
+
+"The boss writes," he announced, "ordering me to come up to-day, and
+directing that before I leave New York I am to do forty-seven things,
+ranging in importance from buying her the last novels to matching some
+white"--he looked at his letter, and spelled out--"'f-l-o-s-s' as per
+sample inclosed. I haven't time to do more than forty-five, and I'm
+afraid I'll never hear the last of the remaining two unless you'll save
+me."
+
+"How?"
+
+"Well, three times in her letter she tells me that I've got to bring
+you, the last time as good as saying that my life won't be an insurable
+risk if I don't. Since she puts so much stress on your presence, it's
+just possible that if I fill that order she'll forget the rest."
+
+"I would go, Mr. Blodgett, but"--
+
+"Oh, I understand all that," he interrupted. "Of course, if you stay in
+the cool fresh air of the city, you won't run any risk of the malaria
+the Berkshires are full of; I know the New York markets have peas as
+large and firm as bullets, while those in our garden are poor little
+shriveled affairs hardly worth the trouble of eating; our roads are not
+Belgian blocks, but only soft dirt, and we haven't got a decent flagged
+sidewalk within ten miles of My Fancy. I understand perfectly that
+you'll get well faster here, and so get to work sooner; but all the
+same, just as a favor, you might pull me out of this scrape."
+
+I need not say I had to yield, and together we took the afternoon
+express. On the train we found Mr. Whitely,--as great a surprise,
+apparently, to Mr. Blodgett as it was to me.
+
+"Hello!" exclaimed the banker. "Where are you bound for?"
+
+"I presume for the same destination you are," Mr. Whitely replied. "I am
+going up to see Miss Walton, and if Mrs. Blodgett cannot give me a
+night's hospitality, I shall go to the hotel."
+
+"Plenty of room at My Fancy, and I'll guarantee your welcome," promised
+Mr. Blodgett pleasantly. "Here's the doctor going up for a bit of
+nursing."
+
+Much to my surprise, my former employer entered the compartment, and,
+offering me his hand, sat down by the lounge I was stretched upon.
+"You've had a serious illness," he remarked, with a bland attempt at
+sympathy.
+
+I only nodded my head.
+
+"I hope you will recover quickly, for you are needed in the office," he
+went on.
+
+I could not have been more surprised if he had struck me, though I did
+not let it appear in my face.
+
+"Whitely's been trying to go it alone on his editorials, and the papers
+have all been laughing at him," chuckled Mr. Blodgett. "Just read us
+your famous one, Whitely,--that one about The Tendency of Modern Art,
+with the original Hebrew from Solomon you put in."
+
+I saw my employer redden, and in pity for his embarrassment I said, "I
+do not think I shall ever come back to the office, Mr. Whitely."
+
+"Why not?" he exclaimed. "You committed an unwise action, but business
+is business, and I see no cause why we need let a single mistake
+terminate a relation mutually profitable."
+
+"I have learned the lesson that one cannot sell one's honesty without
+wronging other people, and I shall never do it again."
+
+"This is purely sentimental"--he began.
+
+Mr. Blodgett, however, interrupted by saying, "Now don't go to exciting
+the doctor, for he's to sleep on the trip. Besides, I've got something
+in mind better than the job he's had under you, Whitely. Come and have a
+smoke, and leave him to nap a bit."
+
+They left me, and I set to puzzling over many questions: how you would
+greet me at My Fancy; how you would welcome Mr. Whitely; what was the
+meaning of his friendliness towards me; and what new kindness Mr.
+Blodgett had in store for me. Finally I fell asleep, to be awakened
+only when we reached our destination.
+
+Agnes met us at the station, and at the house Mrs. Blodgett gave me the
+warmest of welcomes, but not till I came downstairs before dinner did
+you and I meet. Your greeting was formal, yet courteous and gracious as
+of old, almost making me question if our last two interviews could be
+realities.
+
+Before the dinner was finished Mrs. Blodgett ordered me to the divan on
+the veranda, and sent dessert and fruit out to me. You all joined me
+when the moment came for coffee and cigars; but the evening was cloudy
+and rather breezy, and presently Mrs. Blodgett said it was too cold for
+her, and suggested a game of whist indoors. "You must stay out here,"
+she told me, "but if you feel cool be sure to use the shawl."
+
+You turned and said to Mr. Whitely, "You will play, I hope?" and he
+assented so eagerly that it was all I could do to keep from laughing
+outright when you continued, "Agnes and Mr. Whitely will make your
+table, Mrs. Blodgett, so I will stay here and watch the clouds." The
+whole thing was so palpably with an object that I felt at once that you
+wished to see me alone, to learn if I had anything more to say
+concerning Mr. Whitely; and as I realized this, I braced myself for the
+coming ordeal.
+
+For a few moments you stood watching the gathering storm, and then took
+a chair by the divan on which I lay.
+
+"Are you too honorable," you began,--and though I could not see your
+face in the darkness, your voice told me you were excited,--"to pardon
+dishonorable conduct in others? For I have come to beg of you
+forgiveness for a wrong."
+
+"Of me, Miss Walton?"
+
+"Last April," you went on, "Mrs. Blodgett brought me a book and asked me
+to read it. A few paragraphs revealed to me that it was something
+written by an old friend of mine. After reading a little further, I
+realized for the first time that I was violating a confidence. Yet
+though I knew this, and struggled to close the book, I could not, but
+read it to the end. Can you forgive me?"
+
+"Oh, Miss Walton!" I protested. "Why ask forgiveness of me? What is your
+act compared to the wrong"--
+
+"Hush, Don," you said gently, and your use of my name, so long unheard,
+told me in a word that the feeling of our childhood days was come again.
+"Tell me you forgive me!" you entreated.
+
+"I am not the one to forgive, Maizie."
+
+"I did wrong, and I ask your pardon," you begged humbly. "Yet I'm not
+sorry in the least, and I should do it again," you instantly added,
+laughing merrily at your own perverseness. Then in a moment you were
+serious again, saying, "I never received the letters or the photograph,
+Donald. My uncle confesses that he put them in the fire." And before I
+could speak, a new thought seized you, for you continued sadly, "I shall
+never forgive myself for my harshness and cruelty when you were so ill."
+
+"That is nothing," I replied, "since all our misunderstandings are gone.
+Why, even my debt, Maizie, ceases now to be a burden; in the future it
+will be only a joy to work."
+
+"Donald!" you exclaimed. "You don't suppose I shall let you pay me
+another cent!"
+
+"I must."
+
+"But I am rich," you protested. "The money is nothing to me. You shall
+not ruin your career to pay it. I scorn myself when I think that I
+refused to see you that night, and so lost my only chance of saving you
+from what followed. My cowardice, my wicked cowardice! It drove you to
+death's door by overwork, to give me wealth I do not know how to spend.
+You parted with your library that I might let money lie idle in bank. I
+forced you to sell your book--your fame--to that thief. Oh, Donald,
+think of the wrong it has done already, and don't make it do greater!"
+
+"Maizie, you do not understand"--
+
+"I understand it all," you interrupted. "You must not--you shall not--I
+won't take it--I"--
+
+"For his sake!"
+
+"But I love him, too!" you pleaded. "Don't you see, Donald, that it was
+never the money,--that was nothing; but they told me his love--and
+yours, for they said you had known all the time--was only pretense, a
+method by which you might continue to rob me. And I came to believe
+it,--though I should have known better,--because, since you never wrote,
+it seemed to me you had both dropped me out of your thoughts as soon as
+you could no longer plunder me. Even then, scorning you,--like you in
+your feeling over my neglect of your letters,--I could not help loving
+you, for those Paris and Tyrol days were the happiest I have ever known;
+and though I knew, Don, that I ought to forget you, as I believed you
+had forgotten me, I could not do so. I have never dared to speak in
+public of either of you, for fear I should break down. Try as I might, I
+could not help loving you both as I have never loved any one else. That
+I turned you away from my house was because I did not dare to meet
+you,--I knew I could not control myself. After the man took the message,
+I sobbed over having to insult you by sending it by a servant. But for
+my want of courage--had I seen you as I ought--If I had only understood,
+as your journal has made me,--had only known that my name was on his
+lips when he died! No money could pay for what he gave to me. Could he
+ask me now for twice the sum, it would be my pleasure to give it to him,
+for I love him dearly, and"--
+
+"If you love him, Maizie, you will let me clear his name as far as lies
+within my power."
+
+For an instant you were silent, and then said softly, "You are right,
+Donald, we will clear his name."
+
+I took your hand and touched it to my lips. "To hear you speak of
+him"--I could go no further, in my emotion.
+
+There was a pause before you asked, "Donald, do you remember our talk
+here last autumn?"
+
+"Every word."
+
+You laughed gayly. "I want you to know, sir," you asserted, with a
+pretense of defiance, "that I don't believe in love, because I have
+never found any that was wholly free from self-indulgence or
+self-interest. And I still think"--
+
+Just then Mrs. Blodgett joined us, and inquired, "Have you told Rudolph,
+Maizie?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"I went to see how you were the moment I heard of your illness," she
+said, with a certain challenge in her voice, "and I found that book
+lying on your desk just where you stopped writing from weakness. I read
+it, and I took it to Maizie."
+
+"It was kismet, I suppose," was all I could say, too happy to think of
+criticism, and instantly her manner changed and she wiped her eyes.
+
+"I had to do it," she sobbed.
+
+"You have been too good to me," I answered, rising and taking her hand.
+
+"There, there," she continued, steadying herself. "I didn't come out to
+behave like this, but to tell you to go to bed at once. I'm going to
+your room to see that everything is right for our invalid, but don't you
+delay a minute after I'm gone," and she disappeared through the doorway.
+
+I turned to you and held out my hand, bidding you, "Good-night, Maizie,"
+and you took it, and replied, "Good-night, Don." Then suddenly you
+leaned forward, and, kissing my forehead, added, "God keep you safe for
+me, my darling."
+
+I took you in my arms, and gave you back your kiss twofold, while
+saying, "Good-night, my love."
+
+
+
+
+XXVI
+
+
+A man does not willingly spread on paper the sweetest and tenderest
+moments of his life. When half crazed with grief and illness I might
+express my suffering, much as, in physical pain, some groan aloud; but
+the deepest happiness is silent, for it is too great to be told. And
+lest, my dears, you think me even less manly than I am, I choose to add
+here the reason for my writing the last few pages of this story of my
+love, that if you ever read it you may know the motive which made me
+tell what till to-night I have kept locked in my heart.
+
+This evening the dearest woman in the world came to me, as I sat at my
+desk in the old library, and asked, "Are you busy, Donald?"
+
+"I am reading the one hundred and forty-seventh complimentary review of
+my History of the Moors, and I am so sick of sweets that your
+interruption comes as an unalloyed pleasure."
+
+"Am I bitter or acid?" she asked, leaning over my shoulder and arranging
+my hair, which is one of her ways of pleasing me.
+
+"You are my exact opposite," I said gravely.
+
+"How uncomplimentary you are!" she cried, with a pretense of anger in
+her voice.
+
+"An historian must tell the truth now and then, for variety's sake."
+
+"Then tell me if you are too engaged to spare me a minute. Any other
+time will do."
+
+"You are seriously mistaken, because no other time will do. And nothing
+about me is ever engaged, as regards you, except my affections, and they
+are permanently so."
+
+"I've come to ask a great favor of you."
+
+"Out of the question; but you may tell me what it is."
+
+"Ah, Donald, say you will grant it before I tell you?"
+
+"Concealment bespeaks a guilty conscience."
+
+"But sometimes you are so funny and obstinate about things!"
+
+"That is what Mr. Whitely used to say."
+
+"Don't mention that wretch's name to me! To think of that miserable
+little Western college making him an LL. D. because of your book!"
+
+"Never mind, Maizie; here's a letter I received an hour ago from
+Jastrow, which tells me the University of Leipzig is going to give me a
+degree."
+
+"That he should steal your fame!"
+
+"My Moor is five times the chap my Turk was."
+
+"But you might have had both!"
+
+"And gone without you? Don't fret over it, my darling."
+
+"I can't help"--
+
+She always ends this vein by abusing herself, which I wouldn't allow
+another human being to do, and which I don't like to hear, so I
+interrupted: "Jastrow says he'll come over in March to visit us, and
+threatens to bring the manuscript of his whole seventeen volumes, for me
+to take a final look at it before he sends it to press."
+
+"The dear old thing!" she said tenderly. "I love him so for what he was
+to you that I believe I shall welcome him with a kiss."
+
+"Why make the rest of his life unhappy?"
+
+"Is that the way it affects you?"
+
+"Woman is born illogical, and even the cleverest of her sex cannot
+entirely overcome the taint. After you give me a kiss I bear in mind
+that I am to have another, and that makes me very happy. But if you
+kiss Jastrow, the poor fellow will go back to Germany and pine away into
+his grave. Even his fifty-two dialects will not satisfy him after your
+labial."
+
+"Oh, you silly!" she exclaimed; but, my dears, I think she is really, in
+her secret heart, fond of silliness, for she leaned over and--There,
+I'll stop being what she called me.
+
+"We'll give him a great reception," she continued, "and have every one
+worth knowing to meet him."
+
+"He is the shyest of beings."
+
+"How books and learning do refine men!" she said.
+
+"I am afraid they do make weaklings of us."
+
+"Will you never get over the idea that you are weak?" she cried; for it
+is one of her pet superstitions that I am not.
+
+"You'll frighten me out of it if you speak like that."
+
+"You are--well--that is really what I came to ask for. Just to please
+your own wife, you will, Donald, won't you?"
+
+"The distinction between 'will' and 'won't' is clearly set forth in a
+somewhat well-known song concerning a spider and a fly."
+
+"Oh, you bad boy!"
+
+"Adsum."
+
+"I'm really serious."
+
+"I never was less so."
+
+"I should not have become your wife if I had dreamed you would be such a
+brute!"
+
+"You'll please remember that I never asked you to marry me."
+
+She laughed deliciously over the insult, and after that I could not
+resist her.
+
+"You have," I said, "a bundle in your left hand, wrapped in tissue paper
+and tied with a blue ribbon, which you sedulously keep from my sight,
+but of which I caught a glimpse as you entered."
+
+"And you've known it all this time! Perhaps you know too what I want?"
+
+"Last spring," I answered, "I knocked at the door of your morning-room
+twice, and receiving no response, I went in, to find you reading
+something that you instantly hid from sight. There were on the lounge, I
+remember, a sheet of tissue paper and a blue ribbon. I suspect a
+connection."
+
+"Well?"
+
+"My theory is that you have some really improper book wrapped in the
+paper, and that is why you so guiltily hide it from me."
+
+"Oh, Donald, it gives me such happiness to read it!"
+
+"That was the reason I asked you why you had tears in your eyes, when I
+surprised you that day. Your happiness was most enviable!"
+
+"Men never understand women!"
+
+"Deo gratias."
+
+"But I love it."
+
+"I don't like to hear you express such sentiments for so erotic a book."
+
+"Oh, don't apply such a word to it!" she cried, in a pained voice.
+
+"A word," I explained, "taken from the Greek _erotikos_, which is
+derived from _erao_, meaning 'I love passionately.' It is singularly
+descriptive, Maizie."
+
+"If it means that, I like it, but I thought you were insulting my book."
+
+"Almost five years ago," I remarked, "a volume was stolen from my room,
+which I have never since been able to recover. Now a woman of excessive
+honesty calmly calls it hers."
+
+"You know you don't want it."
+
+"I want it very much."
+
+"Really?"
+
+"To put it in the fire."
+
+"Don!"
+
+"Once upon a time a most bewitching woman wrote a story, and in a vain
+moment her husband asked her to give it to him. She"--
+
+"But, my darling, it was so foolish that I had to burn it up. Think of
+my making the heroine marry that creature!"
+
+"Since you married the poor chap to the other girl, there was no other
+ending possible. If the book were only in existence, I think Agnes and
+her husband would enjoy reading it almost as much as I should."
+
+"How silly I was! But at least the book made you write the ending which
+prevented me from accepting him that winter. What a lot of trouble I
+gave my poor dear!"
+
+"I met the 'poor dear' yesterday, looking very old and unhappy despite
+his LL. D."
+
+"Oh, you idiot!" she laughed. And she must like imbeciles, too,
+for--well, I'm not going to tell even you how I know that she's fond of
+idiots.
+
+"Why do you suppose he's unhappy?" she asked.
+
+"My theory is that he's miserable because he lost--lost me."
+
+"I'm so glad he is!" joyously asserted the tenderest of women.
+
+"Nevertheless," I resumed, "it was a book I should have valued as much
+as you do that one in tissue paper, and you ought not to have burned
+it."
+
+"I am very sorry I did, Donald, since you would really have liked it,"
+she said, wistfully and sorrowfully. "I should have thought of your
+feelings, and not of mine."
+
+This is a mood I cannot withstand. "Dear heart," I responded, "I have
+you, and all the books in the world are not worth a breath in
+comparison. What favor do you want me to do?"
+
+"To write a sort of last chapter--an ending, you know--telling
+about--about the rest."
+
+"Have you forgotten it?"
+
+"I? Never! I couldn't. But I want to have it all in the book, so that
+when Foster and Mai are older they can read it."
+
+"I have no intention of sharing, even with our children, my
+under-the-rose idyl with the loveliest of girls. And when the children
+are older, they'll be far more interested in their own heart secrets
+than they are in ours."
+
+"Still, dear," she pleaded, "they may hear from others some unkind and
+perverted allusions to our story; for you know what foolish things were
+said at the time of our marriage."
+
+"If I remember rightly, some one--was it my mother or Mr. Whitely?"--
+
+"Both," she answered.
+
+"--spread it abroad that I had trapped an heiress into marriage by means
+of an alias."
+
+"Wasn't it a delicious version!" she laughed merrily. "But no matter
+what's ever tattled in the future, if Foster and Mai have your journal,
+they will always understand it."
+
+"Maizie," I urged, "if you let those imps of mischief read of our
+childish doings in this old library, they'll either finish painting the
+plates in Kingsborough, or burn the house down in trying to realize an
+Inca of Peru at the stake."
+
+"But I won't read them those parts," she promised; "especially if you
+write a nice ending, which they'll like."
+
+"Won't it do to add just a paragraph, saying that our fairy godmamma
+found and gave you the journal, and that then we 'lived happily ever
+after'?"
+
+"No, Donald," she begged. "I want the whole story, to match the rest."
+
+"Five years ago I knew the saddest and most dejected of fellows, whose
+misery was so great that he wailed it out on paper. But now I know only
+the happiest of mortals, and he cannot write in the lugubrious tone of
+yore--unless a lady of his acquaintance will banish him from her
+presence or do something else equally joy-destroying."
+
+"Are you trying to bribe me into giving you a rest from my presence for
+a time?"
+
+"Undoubtedly," I assented. "It's a fearful strain to live up to you, and
+it is beginning to tell on me."
+
+"If I didn't know you were teasing, I should really be hurt. But I
+should like to ask you one thing."
+
+"And that is?"
+
+"In your journal--well--of course I know that you were--that I am
+not--that your love made you think me what I never was in the least,
+Donald," she faltered, "but still, perhaps--Do you remember what Mr.
+Blodgett said about his not giving Mrs. Blodgett for ten of the women
+he--? I hope you like my reality as much as your ideal."
+
+"Haven't you changed your idea of me, Maizie?"
+
+"Oh yes."
+
+"And therefore you don't love me as much?"
+
+"But that's different, Donald," she observed seriously.
+
+"How?"
+
+"Why, you treated me so strangely that, inevitably, I didn't know what
+you were like; and though you interested me very much, and though your
+journal brought back my old love for you, still, what I did was more in
+pity and admiration and reparation than--and so I could fall deeper in
+love. While you, being so much in love already, and with such a totally
+different woman"--
+
+"Only went from bad to worse," I groaned. "Yes, I own up. My sin is one
+of the lowest man can commit. I have fallen in love with a married
+woman. And the strange thing about it is that you are not jealous of
+her! Indeed, I really believe that you are magnanimous enough to love
+her too, though it's natural you should not like her as much as you do
+some others. But next August I'll leave her and go to India to study for
+my new book."
+
+"The married woman will go too," she predicted calmly.
+
+"I shouldn't dare risk her among those hill tribes."
+
+"And she won't risk you where it isn't safe for her to go."
+
+"I was only thinking of your lovely complexion," I explained.
+
+"Old mahogany is very fashionable," she laughed.
+
+"Can nothing make you stay at home?" I asked beseechingly.
+
+"I wonder if there ever was a husband who did not love to tease his
+wife?"
+
+"The divorce courts have records of many such unloving wretches."
+
+"What I want," she told me, returning to her wish, "is to have you take
+it up just where you left off. Tell about your pneumonia, and how Mrs.
+Blodgett found your journal, but didn't dare give it to me till the
+doctor was certain you would recover; and then tell of my sending you
+flowers and jellies and everything I could think of, by her, to help you
+get well. How"--
+
+"I should have eaten twice as much and recovered much more quickly if
+she had only let me know from whom they really came," I interjected in
+an aggrieved tone.
+
+"And tell how I wouldn't listen to that scoundrel till you should have a
+chance to justify yourself; how, the moment I had read your diary, I
+wrote and rejected him, and would not see him when he called; how he
+would not accept his dismissal, but followed me to the country; tell how
+dreadfully in the way he was that evening, till Mrs. Blodgett and Agnes
+and I trapped him into a game of whist"--
+
+"You Machiavellis!"
+
+"Tell all about my confession, and how we all spoiled you for those
+months at My Fancy. Oh, weren't they lovely, Donald?"
+
+"I thought so then."
+
+"But not now?"
+
+"A gooseberry is good till you taste a strawberry. There was a good deal
+too much gooseberry, as I remember."
+
+"Then tell how the papers and people chattered about your assuming your
+true name; and how they gabbled when we were married,--and how, on our
+wedding day, we endowed the hospital ward"--
+
+"Haven't you made a slip in the pronoun?"
+
+"I'll box your ears if you even suggest it again; half of the money was
+what you earned--endowed the hospital ward in memory of _our_ dear
+father, and how happy we've been since."
+
+"You've made a mistake in the last pronoun, I'm certain."
+
+"You will write it to please me, Donald?"
+
+"Oh, Maizie, I can't. It's all too dear to me."
+
+"Please, Don, try?"
+
+"But"--
+
+She interrupted my protest. "Donald," she said, the tenderness in her
+face and voice softening her words, "before knowing that I loved you,
+you insisted that debt must be paid. Won't you pay me now, dear?"
+
+"I don't merely owe you money, Maizie!" I cried. "I owe you everything,
+and I'm a brute to the most generous of women. Give me the book, dear
+heart."
+
+"You'll make it nice, like the rest, won't you?" she begged.
+
+"I'll try." And then I laughingly added, "Maizie, you still have the
+technical part of story-telling to learn."
+
+"How?"
+
+"I can't write all you wish and make it symmetrical. In the first place,
+we don't want to spend so much time on Whitely as to give him a
+fictitious value; and next, to be artistic, we must end with our
+good-night that evening."
+
+"Well, that will do, if you'll only tell it nicely."
+
+And that, my dears, is why I write again of those old days, so distant
+now in time and mood. What is told here is shared with you only to
+please my love, and I ask of you that it shall be a confidence. And of
+Another I beg that each of you in time may find a love as strong as that
+told here; that each may be as true and noble as your mother, and as
+happy as your father.
+
+Good-night, my children. Good-night, my love. May God be as good to you
+as he has been to me.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Transcriber's Notes
+
+Spelling of 'Transgression' corrected.
+
+Spelling of 'folk-leid' corrected.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's The Story of an Untold Love, by Paul Leicester Ford
+
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