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diff --git a/41660-8.txt b/41660-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 874063e..0000000 --- a/41660-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,9338 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Fortnight of Folly, by Maurice Thompson - -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: A Fortnight of Folly - -Author: Maurice Thompson - -Release Date: December 19, 2012 [EBook #41660] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A FORTNIGHT OF FOLLY *** - - - - -Produced by eagkw, Suzanne Shell and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - - - - - - - A Fortnight of Folly - - BY - MAURICE THOMPSON - - AUTHOR OF - "Alice of Old Vincennes," "A Banker of Bankersville," etc. - - [Illustration] - - NEW YORK AND LONDON - STREET & SMITH, PUBLISHERS - - - - - Copyright, 1888 - By THE ALDEN PUBLISHING COMPANY - - Copyright, 1902 - By STREET & SMITH - - A Fortnight of Folly - - - - -CONTENTS - - - A FORTNIGHT OF FOLLY. - THE TALE OF A SCULPTOR, by HUGH CONWAY - CARRISTON'S GIFT. - - - - -A FORTNIGHT OF FOLLY. - - -I. - -The Hotel Helicon stood on a great rock promontory that jutted far out -into a sea of air whose currents and eddies filled a wide, wild valley -in the midst of our southern mountain region. It was a new hotel, built -by a Cincinnati man who founded his fortune in natural gas speculations, -and who had conceived the bright thought of making the house famous at -the start by a stroke of rare liberality. - -Viewing the large building from any favorable point in the valley, it -looked like a huge white bird sitting with outstretched wings on the -gray rock far up against the tender blue sky. All around it the forests -were thick and green, the ravines deep and gloomy and the rocks tumbled -into fantastic heaps. When you reached it, which was after a whole day -of hard zig-zag climbing, you found it a rather plain three-story house, -whose broad verandas were worried with a mass of jig-saw fancies and -whose windows glared at you between wide open green Venetian shutters. -Everything look new, almost raw, from the stumps of fresh-cut trees on -the lawn and the rope swings and long benches, upon which the paint -was scarcely dry, to the resonant floor of the spacious halls and the -cedar-fragrant hand-rail of the stairway. - -There were springs among the rocks. Here the water trickled out with a -red gleam of iron oxide, there it sparkled with an excess of carbonic -acid, and yonder it bubbled up all the more limpid and clear on account -of the offensive sulphuretted hydrogen it was bringing forth. Masses -of fern, great cushions of cool moss and tangles of blooming shrubs -and vines fringed the sides of the little ravines down which the -spring-streams sang their way to the silver thread of a river in the -valley. - -It was altogether a dizzy perch, a strange, inconvenient, out-of-the-way -spot for a summer hotel. You reached it all out of breath, confused as -to the points of the compass and disappointed, in every sense of the -word, with what at first glance struck you as a colossal pretense, -empty, raw, vulgar, loud--a great trap into which you had been inveigled -by an eloquent hand-bill! Hotel Helicon, as a name for the place, was -considered a happy one. It had come to the proprietor, as if in a dream, -one day as he sat smoking. He slapped his thigh with his hand and sprang -to his feet. The word that went so smoothly with hotel, as he fancied, -had no special meaning in his mind, for the gas man had never been -guilty of classical lore-study, but it furnished a taking alliteration. - -"Hotel Helicon, Hotel Helicon," he repeated; "that's just a dandy name. -Hotel Helicon on Mount Boab, open for the season! If that doesn't get -'em I'll back down." - -His plans matured themselves very rapidly in his mind. One brilliant -idea followed another in swift succession, until at last he fell upon -the scheme of making Hotel Helicon free for the initial season to a -select company of authors chosen from among the most brilliant and -famous in our country. - -"Zounds!" he exclaimed, all to himself, "but won't that be a darling old -advertisement! I'll have a few sprightly newspaper people along with -'em, too, to do the interviewing and puffing. By jacks, it's just the -wrinkle to a dot!" - -Mr. Gaslucky was of the opinion that, like Napoleon, he was in the hands -of irresistible destiny which would ensure the success of whatever he -might undertake; still he was also a realist and depended largely upon -tricks for his results. He had felt the great value of what he liked to -term legitimate advertising, and he was fond of saying to himself that -any scheme would succeed if properly set before the world. He regarded -it a maxim that anything which can be clearly described is a fact. His -realism was the gospel of success, he declared, and needed but to be -stated to be adopted by all the world. - -From the first he saw how his hotel was to be an intellectual focus; -moreover he designed to have it radiate its own glory like a star set -upon Mt. Boab. - -The difficulties inherent in this project were from the first quite -apparent to Mr. Gaslucky, but he was full of expedients and cunning. -He had come out of the lowest stratum of life, fighting his way up to -success, and his knowledge of human nature was accurate if not very -broad. - -Early in the summer, about the first days of June, in fact, certain -well-known and somewhat distinguished American authors received by -due course of mail an autograph letter from Mr. Gaslucky, which was -substantially as follows: - - CINCINNATI, O., May 30, 1887. - - MY DEAR SIR: - - The Hotel Helicon, situated on the Lencadian promontory, far up the - height of Mt. Boab and overlooking the glorious valley of the Big - Mash River, amid the grandest scenery of the Cumberland Mountains, - where at their southern extremity they break into awful peaks, - chasms and escarpments, is now thrown open to a few favored guests - for the summer. The proprietor in a spirit of liberality (and for - the purpose of making this charming hotel known to a select public) - is issuing a few special invitations to distinguished people to come - and spend the summer free of charge. You are cordially and urgently - invited. The Hotel Helicon is a place to delight the artist and the - _litterateur_. It is high, airy, cool, surrounded by wild scenes, - good shooting and fishing at hand, incomparable mineral springs, - baths, grottos, dark ravines and indeed everything engaging to the - imagination. The proprietor will exhaust effort to make his chosen - guests happy. The rooms are new, sweet, beautifully furnished and - altogether comfortable, and the table will have every delicacy of - the season served in the best style. There will be no uninvited - guests, all will be chosen from the most exalted class. Come, and - for one season taste the sweets of the dews of Helicon, without - money and without price. - - If you accept this earnest and cordial invitation, notify me at - once. Hotel Helicon is at your command. - - Truly yours, - ISAIAH R. GASLUCKY. - -It is needless to say that this letter was the product of a professional -advertising agent employed for the occasion by the proprietor of Hotel -Helicon. The reader will observe the earmarks of the creation and -readily recognize the source. Of course, when the letter was addressed -to a woman there was a change, not only in the gender of the terms, but -in the tone, which took on a more persuasive color. The attractions -of the place were described in more poetic phrasing and a cunningly -half-hidden thread of romance, about picturesque mountaineers and -retired and reformed bandits, was woven in. - -Naturally enough, each individual who received this rather uncommon -letter, read it askance, at first, suspecting a trick, but the -newspapers soon cleared the matter up by announcing that Mr. Isaiah -Gaslucky, of Cincinnati, had "conceived the happy idea of making his -new and picturesque Hotel Helicon free this season to a small and -select company of distinguished guests. The hotel will not be open to -the public until next year." - -And thus it came to pass that in midsummer such a company as never -before was assembled, met on Mt. Boab and made the halls of Hotel -Helicon gay with their colors and noisy with their mirth. The woods, -the dizzy cliffs, the bubbling springs, the cool hollows, the windy -peaks and the mossy nooks were filled with song, laughter, murmuring -under-tones of sentiment, or something a little sweeter and warmer, and -there were literary conversations, and critical talks, and jolly satire -bandied about, with some scraps of adventure and some bits of rather -ludicrous mishap thrown in for variety. - -Over all hung a summer sky, for the most part cloudless, and the days -were as sweet as the nights were delicious. - - -II. - -In the afternoon of a breezy day, at the time when the shadows were -taking full possession of the valley, the coach arrived at Hotel Helicon -from the little railway station at the foot of Mt. Boab. - -A man, the only passenger, alighted from his perch beside the driver and -for a moment stood as if a little dazed by what he saw. - -He was very short, rather round and stout, and bore himself quietly, -almost demurely. His head was large, his feet and hands were small and -his face wore the expression of an habitual good humor amounting nearly -to jolliness, albeit two vertical wrinkles between his brows hinted of a -sturdy will seated behind a heavy Napoleonic forehead. The stubby tufts -of grizzled hair that formed his mustaches shaded a mouth and chin at -once strong and pleasing. He impressed the group of people on the hotel -veranda most favorably, and at once a little buzz of inquiry circulated. -No one knew him. - -That this was an important arrival could not be doubted; it was felt at -once and profoundly. Great men carry an air of individuality about with -them; each, like a planet, has his own peculiar atmosphere by which his -light is modified. There was no mistaking the light in this instance; it -indicated a luminary of the first magnitude. - -Unfortunately the guests at Hotel Helicon were not required to record -their names in a register, therefore the new comer could bide his own -time to make himself known. - -Miss Alice Moyne, of Virginia, the beautiful young author of two or -three picturesque short stories lately published in a popular magazine, -was in conversation with Hartley Crane, the rising poet from Kentucky, -just at the moment when this new arrival caused a flutter on the -veranda. - -"Oh, I do wonder if he can be Edgar De Vere?" she exclaimed. - -"No," said Hartley Crane, "I have seen De Vere; he is as large and as -fascinating as his romances. That little pudgy individual could never -make a great romantic fiction like _Solway Moss_, by De Vere." - -"But that is a superb head," whispered Miss Moyne, "the head of a -master, a genius." - -"Oh, there are heads and heads, genius and genius," replied Crane. "I -guess the new-comer off as a newspaper man from Chicago or New York. It -requires first-class genius to be a good reporter." - -The stranger under discussion was now giving some directions to a porter -regarding his luggage. This he did with that peculiar readiness, or -sleight, so to call it, which belongs to none but the veteran traveler. -A moment later he came up the wooden steps of the hotel, cast a -comprehensive but apparently indifferent glance over the group of guests -and passed into the hall, where they heard him say to the boy in -waiting: "My room is 24." - -"That is the reserved room," remarked two or three persons at once. - -Great expectations hung about room 24; much guessing had been indulged -in considering who was to be the happy and exalted person chosen to -occupy it. Now he had arrived, an utter stranger to them all. Everybody -looked inquiry. - -"Who can he be?" - -"It must be Mark Twain," suggested little Mrs. Philpot, of Memphis. - -"Oh, no; Mark Twain is tall, and very handsome; I know Mark," said -Crane. - -"How strange!" ejaculated Miss Moyne, and when everybody laughed, she -colored a little and added hastily: - -"I didn't mean that it was strange that Mr. Crane should know Mr. Twain, -but----" - -They drowned her voice with their laughter and hand-clapping. - -They were not always in this very light mood at Hotel Helicon, but just -now they all felt in a trivial vein. It was as if the new guest had -brought a breath of frivolous humor along with him and had blown it over -them as he passed by. - -Room 24 was the choice one of Hotel Helicon. Every guest wanted it, on -account of its convenience, its size and the superb view its windows -afforded; but from the first it had been reserved for this favored -individual whose arrival added greater mystery to the matter. - -As the sun disappeared behind the western mountains, and the great gulf -of the valley became a sea of purplish gloom, conversation clung in half -whispers to the subject who meantime was arraying himself in evening -dress for dinner, posing before the large mirror in room 24 and smiling -humorously at himself as one who, criticising his own foibles, still -holds to them with a fortitude almost Christian. - -He parted his hair in the middle, but the line of division was very -slight, and he left a pretty, half-curled short wisp hanging over the -centre of his forehead. The wide collar that hid his short neck creased -his heavy well-turned jaws, giving to his chin the appearance of being -propped up. Although he was quite stout, his head was so broad and his -feet so small that he appeared to taper from top to toe in a way that -emphasized very forcibly his expression of blended dignity and jollity, -youth and middle age, sincerity and levity. When he had finished his -toilet, he sat down by the best window in the best room of Hotel -Helicon, and gazed out over the dusky valley to where a line of -quivering silver light played fantastically along the line of peaks that -notched the delicate blue of the evening sky. The breeze came in, cool -and sweet, with a sort of champagne sparkle in its freshness and purity. -It whetted his appetite and blew the dust of travel out of his mind. He -was glad when the dinner hour arrived. - -The long table was nearly full when he went down, and he was given a -seat between Miss Moyne and little Mrs. Philpot. By that secret cerebral -trick we all know, but which none of us can explain, he was aware that -the company had just been discussing him. In fact, someone had ventured -to wonder if he were Mr. Howells, whereupon Mr. Crane had promptly said -that he knew Mr. Howells quite well, and that although in a general -way the new-comer was not unlike the famous realist, he was far from -identical with him. - -Laurens Peck, the bushy-bearded New England critic, whispered in -someone's ear that it appeared as if Crane knew everybody, but that -the poet's lively imagination had aided him more than his eyes, in all -probability. "Fact is," said he, "a Kentuckian soon gets so that he -_thinks_ he has been everywhere and seen everybody, whether he has or -not." - -Out of this remark grew a serious affair which it will be my duty to -record at the proper place. - -Little Mrs. Philpot, who wore gold eye-glasses and had elongated dimples -in her cheeks and chin, dexterously managed to have a word or two with -the stranger, who smiled upon her graciously without attempting to enter -into a conversation. Miss Moyne fared a little better, for she had the -charm of grace and beauty to aid her, attended by one of those puffs -of good luck which come to none but the young and the beautiful. Mr. -B. Hobbs Lucas, a large and awkward historian from New York, knocked -over a bottle of claret with his elbow, and the liquor shot with an -enthusiastic sparkle diagonally across the table in order to fall on -Miss Moyne's lap. - -With that celerity which in very short and stout persons appears to -be spontaneous, a sort of elastic quality, the gentleman from room 24 -interposed his suddenly outspread napkin. The historian flung himself -across the board after the bottle, clawing rather wildly and upsetting -things generally. It was but a momentary scene, such as children at -school and guests at a summer hotel make more or less merry over, still -it drew forth from the genial man of room 24 a remark which slipped into -Miss Moyne's ear with the familiarity of well trained humor. - -"A deluge of wine in a free hotel!" he exclaimed, just above a whisper. -"Such generosity is nearly shocking." - -"I am sorry you mention it," said Miss Moyne, with her brightest and -calmest smile; "I have been idealizing the place. A gush of grape-juice -on Helicon is a picturesque thing to contemplate." - -"But a lap-full of claret on Mt. Boab is not so fine, eh? What a farce -poetry is! What a humbug is romance!" - -The historian had sunk back in his chair and was scowling at the purple -stain which kept slowly spreading through the fiber of the cloth. - -"I always do something," he sighed, and his sincerity was obvious. - -"And always with _aplomb_," remarked little Mrs. Philpot. - -"It would be a genius who could knock over a claret bottle with grace," -added Peck. "Now a jug of ale----" - -"I was present at table once with Mr. Emerson," began the Kentucky poet, -but nobody heard the rest. A waiter came with a heavy napkin to cover -the stain, and as he bent over the table he forced the man from room 24 -to incline very close to Miss Moyne. - -"To think of making an instance of Emerson!" he murmured. "Emerson who -died before he discovered that men and women have to eat, or that wine -will stain a new dress!" - -"But then he discovered so many things----" she began. - -"Please mention one of them," he glibly interrupted. "What did Emerson -ever discover? Did he ever pen a single truth?" - - "Aloft in secret veins of air - Blows the sweet breath of song," - -she replied. "He trod the very headlands of truth. But you are not -serious----" she checked herself, recollecting that she was speaking to -a stranger. - -"Not serious but emphatically in earnest," he went on, in the same -genial tone with which he had begun. "There isn't a thing but cunning -phrase-form in anything the man ever wrote. He didn't know how to -represent life." - -"Oh, I see," Miss Moyne ventured, "you are a realist." - -It is impossible to convey any adequate idea of the peculiar shade of -contempt she conveyed through the words. She lifted her head a little -higher and her beauty rose apace. It was as if she had stamped her -little foot and exclaimed: "Of all things I detest realism--of all men, -I hate realists." - -"But I kept the wine off your dress!" he urged, as though he had -heard her thought. "There's nothing good but what is real. Romance is -lie-tissue. Reality is truth-tissue." - -"Permit me to thank you for your good intentions," she said, with a -flash of irony; "you held the napkin just in the right position, but -the wine never fell from the table. Still your kindness lost nothing in -quality because the danger was imaginary." - -When dinner was over, Miss Moyne sought out Hartley Crane, the Kentucky -poet who knew everybody, and suggested that perhaps the stranger was -Mr. Arthur Selby, the analytical novelist whose name was on everybody's -tongue. - -"But Arthur Selby is thin and bald and has a receding chin. I met him -often at the--I forget the club in New York," said Crane. "It's more -likely that he's some reporter. He's a snob, anyway." - -"Dear me, no, not a snob, Mr. Crane; he is the most American man I ever -met," replied Miss Moyne. - -"But Americans are the worst of all snobs," he insisted, "especially -literary Americans. They adore everything that's foreign and pity -everything that's home-made." - -As he said this he was remembering how Tennyson's and Browning's poems -were overshadowing his own, even in Kentucky. From the ring of his voice -Miss Moyne suspected something of this sort, and adroitly changed the -subject. - - -III. - -It might be imagined that a hotel full of authors would be sure to -generate some flashes of disagreement, but, for a time at least, -everything went on charmingly at Hotel Helicon. True enough, the name of -the occupant of room 24 remained a vexatious secret which kept growing -more and more absorbing as certain very cunningly devised schemes for -its exposure were easily thwarted; but even this gave the gentleman -a most excellent excuse for nagging the ladies in regard to feminine -curiosity and lack of generalship. Under the circumstances it was not to -be expected that everybody should be strictly guarded in the phrasing -of speech, still so genial and good-humored was the nameless man and so -engaging was his way of evading or turning aside every thrust, that he -steadily won favor. Little Mrs. Philpot, whose seven year old daughter -(a bright and sweet little child) had become the pet of Hotel Helicon, -was enthusiastic in her pursuit of the stranger's name, and at last she -hit upon a plan that promised immediate success. She giggled all to -herself, like a high-school girl, instead of like a widow of thirty, as -she contemplated certain victory. - -"Now do you think you can remember, dear?" she said to May, the child, -after having explained over and over again what she wished her to do. - -"Yeth," said May, who lisped charmingly in the sweetest of child voices. - -"Well, what must you say?" - -"I muth thay: Pleathe write your--your----" - -"Autograph." - -"Yeth, your au--to--graph in my album." - -"That's right, autograph, autograph, don't forget. Now let me hear you -say it." - -"Pleathe write your autograph in my book." - -Mrs. Philpot caught the child to her breast and kissed it vigorously, -and not long afterward little May went forth to try the experiment. She -was armed with her mother's autograph album. When she approached her -victim he thought he never had seen so lovely a child. The mother had -not spared pains to give most effect to the little thing's delicate and -appealing beauty by an artistic arrangement of the shining gold hair and -by the simplest but cunningest tricks of color and drapery. - -With that bird-like shyness so winning in a really beautiful little -girl, May walked up to the stranger and made a funny, hesitating -courtesy. He looked at her askance, his smiling face shooting forth a -ray of tenderness along with a gleam of shrewd suspicion, as he made out -the album in her dimpled little hand. - -"Good morning, little one," he said cheerily. "Have you come to make a -call?" - -He held out both hands and looked so kindly and good that she smiled -until dimples just like her mother's played over her cheeks and chin. -Half sidewise she crept into his arms and held up the book. - -"Pleathe write your photograph in my book," she murmured. - -He took her very gently on his knee, chuckling vigorously, his heavy -jaws shaking and coloring. - -"Who told you to come?" he inquired, with a guilty cunning twinkle in -his gray eyes. - -"Mama told me," was the prompt answer. - -Again the man chuckled, and, between the shame he felt for having -betrayed the child and delight at the success of his perfidy, he grew -quite red in the face. He took the autograph album and turned its stiff, -ragged-edged leaves, glancing at the names. - -"Ah, this is your mama's book, is it?" he went on. - -"Yeth it is," said May. - -"And I must write my name in it?" - -"No, your--your----" - -"Well what?" - -"I don't 'member." - -He took from his pocket a stylographic pen and dashed a picturesque sign -manual across a page. - -While the ink was drying he tenderly kissed the child's forehead and -then rested his chin on her bright hair. He could hear the clack of -balls and mallets and the creak of a lazy swing down below on the -so-called lawn, and a hum of voices arose from the veranda. He looked -through the open window and saw, as in a dream, blue peaks set against -a shining rim of sky with a wisp of vultures slowly wheeling about in -a filmy, sheeny space. - -"Mama said I muthn't stay," apologized the child, slipping down from his -knee, which she had found uncomfortably short. - -He pulled himself together from a diffused state of revery and beamed -upon her again with his cheerful smile. - -She turned near the door and dropped another comical little courtesy, -bobbing her curly head till her hair twinkled like a tangle of -starbeams on a brook-ripple, then she darted away, book in hand. - -Little Mrs. Philpot snatched the album from May, as she ran to her, and -greedily rustled the leaves in search of the new record, finding which -she gazed at it while her face irradiated every shade of expression -between sudden delight and utter perplexity. In fact she could not -decipher the autograph, although the handwriting surely was not bad. -Loath as she naturally was to sharing her secret with her friends, -curiosity at length prevailed and she sought help. Everybody in turn -tried to make out the two short words, all in vain till Crane, by the -poet's subtle vision, cleared up the mystery, at least to his own -satisfaction. - -"Gaspard Dufour is the name," he asserted, with considerable show of -conscious superiority. "A Canadian, I think. In fact I imperfectly -recall meeting him once at a dinner given by the Governor General to -Lord Rosenthal at Quebec. He writes plays." - -"Another romance out of the whole cloth by the Bourbon æsthete!" -whispered the critic. "There's no such a Canadian as Gaspard Dufour, -and besides the man's a Westerner rather over-Bostonized. I can tell -by his voice and his mixed manners." - -"But Mrs. Hope would know him," suggested the person addressed. "She -meets all the Hub _literati_, you know." - -"_Literati!_" snarled the critic, putting an end to further discussion. - -A few minutes later Mr. Gaspard Dufour came down and passed out of the -hotel, taking his way into the nearest ravine. He wore a very short coat -and a slouch hat. In his hand he carried a bundle of fishing-rod joints. -A man of his build looks far from dignified in such dress, at best; but -nothing could have accentuated more sharply his absurd grotesqueness of -appearance than the peculiar waddling gait he assumed as he descended -the steep place and passed out of sight, a fish basket bobbing beside -him and a red kerchief shining around his throat. - -Everybody looked at his neighbor and smiled inquisitively. Now that they -had discovered his name, the question arose: What had Gaspard Dufour -ever done that he should be accorded the place of honor in Hotel -Helicon. No one (save Crane, in a shadowy way) had ever heard of him -before. No doubt they all felt a little twinge of resentment; but -Dufour, disappearing down the ravine, had in some unaccountable way -deepened his significance. - - -IV. - -Everybody knows that a mountain hotel has no local color, no sympathy -with its environment, no gift of making its guests feel that they are -anywhere in particular. It is all very delightful to be held aloft on -the shoulder of a giant almost within reach of the sky; but the charm of -the thing is not referable to any definite, visible cause, such as one -readily bases one's love of the sea-side on, or such as accounts for our -delight in the life of a great city. No matter how fine the effect of -clouds and peaks and sky and gorge, no matter how pure and exhilarating -the air, or how blue the filmy deeps of distance, or how mossy the -rocks, or how sweet the water, or how cool the wooded vales, the hotel -stands there in an indefinite way, with no _raison d'etre_ visible in -its make-up, but with an obvious impudence gleaming from its windows. -One cannot deport one's self at such a place as if born there. The -situation demands--nay, exacts behavior somewhat special and peculiar. -No lonely island in the sea is quite as isolated and out of the world -as the top of any mountain, nor can any amount of man's effort soften -in the least the savage individuality of mountain scenery so as to -render those high places familiar or homelike or genuinely habitable. -Delightful enough and fascinating enough all mountain hotels surely are; -but the sensation that living in one of them induces is the romantic -consciousness of being in a degree "out of space, out of time." No doubt -this feeling was heightened and intensified in the case of the guests at -Hotel Helicon who were enjoying the added novelty of entire freedom from -the petty economies that usually dog the footsteps and haunt the very -dreams of the average summer sojourner. At all events, they were mostly -a light-hearted set given over to a freedom of speech and action which -would have horrified them on any lower plane. - -Scarcely had Gaspard Dufour passed beyond sight down the ravine in -search of a trout-brook, than he became the subject of free discussion. -Nothing strictly impolite was said about him; but everybody in some way -expressed amazement at everybody's ignorance of a man whose importance -was apparent and whose name vaguely and tauntingly suggested to each one -of them a half-recollection of having seen it in connection with some -notable literary sensation. - -"Is there a member of the French institute by the name of Dufour?" -inquired R. Hobbs Lucas, the historian, thoughtfully knitting his heavy -brows. - -"I am sure not," said Hartley Crane, "for I met most of the members when -I was last at Paris and I do not recall the name." - -"There goes that Bourbon again," muttered Laurens Peck, the critic; "if -one should mention Xenophon, that fellow would claim a personal -acquaintance with him!" - -It was plain enough that Peck did not value Crane very highly, and Crane -certainly treated Peck very coolly. Miss Moyne, however, was blissfully -unaware that she was the cause of this trouble, and for that matter the -men themselves would have denied with indignant fervor any thing of the -kind. Both of them were stalwart and rather handsome, the Kentuckian -dark and passionate looking, the New Yorker fair, cool and willful -in appearance. Miss Moyne had been pleased with them both, without a -special thought of either, whilst they were going rapidly into the worry -and rapture of love, with no care for anybody but her. - -She was beautiful and good, sweet-voiced, gentle, more inclined to -listen than to talk, and so she captivated everybody from the first. - -"I think it would be quite interesting," she said, "if it should turn -out that Mr. Dufour is a genuine foreign author, like Tolstoï or Daudet -or----" - -"Realists, and nobody but realists," interposed Mrs. Philpot; "why don't -you say Zola, and have done with it?" - -"Well, Zola, then, if it must be," Miss Moyne responded; "for, barring -my American breeding and my Southern conservatism, I am nearly in -sympathy with--no, not that exactly, but we are so timid. I should like -to feel a change in the literary air." - -"Oh, you talk just as Arthur Selby writes in his critical papers. He's -all the time trying to prove that fiction is truth and that truth is -fiction. He lauds Zola's and Dostoieffsky's filthy novels to the skies; -but in his own novels he's as prudish and Puritanish as if he had been -born on Plymouth Rock instead of on an Illinois prairie." - -"I wonder why he is not a guest here," some one remarked. "I should have -thought that our landlord would have had _him_ at all hazards. Just now -Selby is monopolizing the field of American fiction. In fact I think he -claims the earth." - -"It is so easy to assume," said Guilford Ferris, whose romances always -commanded eulogy from the press, but invariably fell dead on the market; -"but I am told that Selby makes almost nothing from the sales of his -books." - -"But the magazines pay him handsomely," said Miss Moyne. - -"Yes, they do," replied Ferris, pulling his long brown mustache -reflectively, "and I can't see why. He really is not popular; there is -no enthusiasm for his fiction." - -"It's a mere vogue, begotten by the critics," said Hartley Crane. -"Criticism is at a very low ebb in America. Our critics are all either -ignorant or given over to putting on English and French airs." - -Ferris opened his eyes in a quiet way and glanced at Peck who, however, -did not appear to notice the remark. - -"There's a set of them in Boston and New York," Crane went on, "who -watch the _Revue de Deux Mondes_ and the London _Atheneum_, ready to -take the cue from them. Even American books must stand or fall by the -turn of the foreign thumb." - -"That is a very ancient grumble," said Ferris, in a tone indicative of -impartial indifference. - -"Take these crude, loose, awkward, almost obscene Russian novels," -continued Crane, "and see what a furor the critics of New York and -Boston have fermented in their behalf, all because it chanced that a -_coterie_ of Parisian literary _roués_ fancied the filthy imaginings of -Dostoieffsky and the raw vulgarity of Tolstoï. What would they say of -_you_, Ferris, if _you_ should write so low and dirty a story as _Crime -and Its Punishment_ by Dostoieffsky?" - -"Oh, I don't know, and, begging your grace, I don't care a straw," -Ferris replied; "the publishers would steal all my profits in any -event." - -"Do you really believe that?" inquired Peck. - -"Believe it? I know it," said Ferris. "When did you ever know of a -publisher advertising a book as in its fiftieth thousand so long as the -author had any royalty on the sales? The only book of mine that ever had -a run was one I sold outright in the manuscript to George Dunkirk & Co., -who publish all my works. That puerile effort is now in its ninetieth -thousand, while the best of the other six has not yet shown up two -thousand! Do you catch the point?" - -"But what difference can printing a statement of the books sold make, -anyway?" innocently inquired Miss Moyne. - -Ferris laughed. - -"All the difference in the world," he said; "the publisher would have to -account to the author for all those thousands, don't you see." - -"But they have to account, anyhow," replied Miss Moyne, with a perplexed -smile. - -"Account!" exclaimed Ferris, contemptuously; "account! yes, they have to -account." - -"But they account to me," Miss Moyne gently insisted. - -"Who are your publishers?" he demanded. - -"George Dunkirk & Co.," was the answer. - -"Well," said he, "I'll wager you anything I can come within twenty of -guessing the sales up to date of your book. It has sold just eleven -hundred and forty copies." - -She laughed merrily and betrayed the dangerous closeness of his guess by -coloring a little. - -"Oh, its invariably just eleven hundred and forty copies, no matter what -kind of a book it is, or what publisher has it," he continued; "I've -investigated and have settled the matter." - -The historian was suddenly thoughtful, little Mrs. Philpot appeared to -be making some abstruse calculation, Crane was silently gazing at the -ground and Peck, with grim humor in his small eyes, remarked that eleven -hundred and forty was a pretty high average upon the whole. - -Just at this point a figure appeared in the little roadway where it made -its last turn lapsing from the wood toward the hotel. A rather tall, -slender and angular young woman, bearing a red leather bag in one hand -and a blue silk umbrella in the other, strode forward with the pace of a -_tragedienne_. She wore a bright silk dress, leaf-green in color, and a -black bonnet, of nearly the Salvation Army pattern, was set far back on -her head, giving full play to a mass of short, fine, loosely tumbled -yellow hair. - -She was very much out of breath from her walk up the mountain, but there -was a plucky smile on her rather sallow face and an enterprising gleam -in her light eyes. - -She walked right into the hotel, as if she had always lived there, and -they heard her talking volubly to the servant as she was following him -to a room. - -Everybody felt a waft of free Western air and knew that Hotel Helicon -had received another interesting guest, original if not typical, with -qualities that soon must make themselves respected in a degree. - -"Walked from the station?" Mrs. Philpot ventured, in querulous, though -kindly interrogation. - -"Up the mountain?" Miss Moyne added, with a deprecatory inflection. - -"And carried that bag!" exclaimed all the rest. - - -V - -Gaspard Dufour, whose accumulations of adipose tissue appeared to serve -him a good turn, as he descended the steep, rocky ravine, hummed a droll -tune which was broken at intervals by sundry missteps and down-sittings -and side-wise bumps against the jutting crags. He perspired freely, -mopping his brow meantime with a vast silk kerchief that hung loosely -about his short neck. - -The wood grew denser as he descended and a damp, mouldy odor pervaded -the spaces underneath the commingling boughs of the oaks, pines, cedars, -and sassafras. Here and there a lizard scampered around a tree-hole -or darted under the fallen leaves. Overhead certain shadowy flittings -betrayed the presence of an occasional small bird, demurely going about -its business of food-getting. The main elements of the surroundings, -however, were gloom and silence. The breeze-currents astir in the valley -and rippling over the gray peaks of Mt. Boab could not enter the leafy -chambers of this wooded gorge. Heat of a peculiarly sultry sort seemed -to be stored here, for as Dufour proceeded he began at length to gasp -for breath, and it was with such relief as none but the suffocating can -fully appreciate, that he emerged into an open space surrounded, almost, -with butting limestone cliffs, but cut across by a noisy little stream -that went bubbling down into the valley through a cleft bedecked with -ferns and sprinkled with perennial dew from a succession of gentle -cascades. The ideal trout-brook was this, so far as appearances -could go. At the foot of each tiny water-fall was a swirling pool, -semi-opaque, giving forth emerald flashes and silver glints, and bearing -little cones of creamy foam round and round on its bosom. A thousand -noises, every one a water-note, rising all along the line of the brook's -broken current, clashed together with an effect like that of hearing a -far-off multitude applauding or some distant army rushing on a charge. - -So much out of breath and so deluged with perspiration was Dufour that -he flung himself upon the ground beside the brook and lay there panting -and mopping his face. Overhead the bit of sky was like turquoise, below -a slender glimpse of the valley shone between the rock walls, like a -sketch subdued almost to monochrome of crepuscular purple. A fitful -breath of cool air fell into the place, fanning the man's almost purple -cheeks and forehead, while a wood-thrush, whose liquid voice might have -been regarded as part of the water-tumult, sang in a thorn tree hard by. - -In a half-reclining attitude, Dufour gave himself over to the delicious -effect of all this, indulging at the same time in the impolite and -ridiculous, but quite Shakespearian, habit of soliloquizing. - -"Jingo!" he remarked, "Jingo! but isn't this a daisy prospect for trout! -If those pools aren't full of the beauties, then there's nothing in -Waltonian lore and life isn't worth living. Ha! Jingo! there went one -clean above the water--a ten ouncer, at least!" - -He sprang at his rod as if to break it to pieces, and the facility with -which he fitted the joints and the reel and run the line and tied the -cast was really a wonder. - -"I knew they were here," he muttered, "just as soon as I laid my eyes on -the water. Who ever did see such another brook!" - -At the third cast of the fly, a brown hackle, by the way, up came a -trout with a somersault and a misty gleam of royal purple and silver, -attended by a spray of water and a short bubbling sound. Dufour struck -deftly, hooking the beautiful fish very insecurely through the edge of -the lower lip. Immediately the reel began to sing and the rod to quiver, -while Dufour's eyes glared almost savagely and his lips pursed with -comical intensity. - -Round and round flew the trout, now rushing to the bottom of the pool, -now whisking under a projecting ledge and anon flinging itself clean -above the water and shaking itself convulsively. - -The angler was led hither and thither by his active prey, the exercise -bedewing his face again with perspiration, whilst his feet felt the cool -bath of water and the soothing embrace of tangled water-grass. The mere -switch of a bamboo rod, bent almost into a loop, shook like a rush in a -wind. - -Dufour was ill prepared to formulate a polite response when, at the -height of his sport, a gentle but curiously earnest voice exclaimed: - -"Snatch 'im out, snatch 'im out, dog gone yer clumsy hide! Snatch 'im -out, er I'll do it for ye!" - -The trout must have heard, for as the angler turned to get a hasty -glance at the stranger, up it leaped and by a desperate shake broke the -snell. - -"Confound you!" cried Dufour, his face redder than ever. "Confound your -meddlesome tongue, why didn't you keep still till I landed him?" - -There was a tableau set against the gray, lichen-bossed rocks. Two men -glaring at each other. The new-comer was a tall, athletic, brown-faced -mountaineer, bearing a gun and wearing two heavy revolvers. He towered -above Dufour and gazed down upon him as if about to execute him. The -latter did not quail, but grew angrier instead. - -"You ought to have better sense than to interfere with my sport in such -a way! Who are you, anyway?" he cried in a hot, fierce tone. - -The mountaineer stood silent for a moment, as if collecting words enough -for what he felt like saying, then: - -"See yer," he drawled, rather musically, "ef I take ye by the scruff o' -yer neck an' the heel o' yer stockin' an' jest chuck ye inter thet -puddle, ye'll begin to surmise who I air, ye saucy little duck-legged -minny-catcher, you!" - -Dufour, remembering his long training years ago at the Gentlemen's -Glove-Club, squared himself with fists in position, having flung aside -his tackle. In his righteous rage he forgot that his adversary was not -only his superior in stature but also heavily armed. - -"Well, thet' ther' do beat me!" said the mountaineer, with an -incredulous ring in his voice. "The very idee! W'y ye little aggervatin' -banty rooster, a puttin' up yer props at me! W'y I'll jest eternally and -everlastin'ly wring yer neck an' swob the face o' nature wi' ye!" - -What followed was about as indescribable as a whirlwind in dry grass. -The two men appeared to coalesce for a single wild, whirling, resounding -instant, and then the mountaineer went over headlong into the middle -of the pool with a great plash and disappeared. Dufour, in a truly -gladiatorial attitude, gazed fiercely at the large dimple in which his -antagonist was buried for the instant, but out of which he presently -projected himself with great promptness, then, as a new thought came to -him, he seized the fallen gun of the mountaineer, cocked it and leveled -it upon its owner. There was a peculiar meaning in his words as he -stormed out: - -"Lie down! down with you, or I blow a hole clean through you instantly!" - -Promptly enough the mountaineer lay down until the water rippled around -his chin and floated his flaxen beard. Some moments of peculiar silence -followed, broken only by the lapsing gurgle and murmur of the brook. - -Dufour, with arms as steady as iron bars, kept the heavy gun bearing on -the gasping face of the unwilling bather, whilst at the same time he was -dangerously fingering the trigger. The stout, short figure really had a -muscular and doughty air and the heavy face certainly looked warlike. - -"Stranger, a seein' 'at ye've got the drap onto me, 'spose we swear off -an' make up friends?" The man in the water said this at length, in the -tone of one presenting a suggestion of doubtful propriety. - -"Don't hardly think you've cooled off sufficiently, do you?" responded -Dufour. - -"This here's spring warter, ye must 'member," offered the mountaineer. - -The gun was beginning to tire Dufour's arms. - -"Well, do you knock under?" he inquired, still carelessly fumbling the -trigger. - -"Great mind ter say yes," was the shivering response. - -"Oh, take your time to consider, I'm in no hurry," said Dufour. - -If the man in the water could have known how the supple but of late -untrained arms of the man on shore were aching, the outcome might have -been different; but the bath was horribly cold and the gun's muzzle kept -its bearing right on the bather's eye. - -"I give in, ye've got me, stranger," he at last exclaimed. - -Dufour was mightily relieved as he put down the gun and watched his -dripping and shivering antagonist wade out of the cold pool. The men -looked at each other curiously. - -"Ye're the dog gone'dest man 'at ever I see," remarked the mountaineer; -"who air ye, anyhow?" - -"Oh, I'm a pretty good fellow, if you take me on the right tack," said -Dufour. - -The other hesitated a moment, and then inquired: - -"Air ye one o' them people up at the tavern on the mounting?" - -"Yes." - -"A boardin' there?" - -"Yes." - -"For all summer?" - -"Possibly." - -Again there was a silence, during which the water trickled off the -mountaineer's clothes and ran over the little stones at his feet. - -"Goin' ter make fun o' me when ye git up thar?" the catechism was at -length resumed. Dufour laughed. - -"I could tell a pretty good thing on you," he answered, taking a -sweeping observation of the stalwart fellow's appearance as he stood -there with his loose jeans trousers and blue cotton shirt clinging to -his shivering limbs. - -"See yer, now," said the latter, in a wheedling tone, and wringing his -light, thin beard with one sinewy dark hand, "see yer, now, I'd like for -ye not ter do thet, strenger." - -"Why?" - -"Well," said the mountaineer, after some picturesque hesitation and -faltering, "'cause I hev a 'quaintance o' mine up ther' at thet tavern." - -"Indeed, have you? Who is it?" - -"Mebbe ye mought be erquainted with Miss Sarah Anna Crabb?" - -"No." - -"Well, she's up ther', she stayed all night at our house las' night an' -went on up ther' this mornin'; she's a literary woman an' purty, an' -smart, an' a mighty much of a talker." - -"Ugh!" - -"Jest tell her 'at ye met me down yer, an' 'at I'm tol'ble well; but -don't say nothin' 'bout this 'ere duckin' 'at ye gi' me, will ye?" - -"Oh, of course, that's all right," Dufour hastened to say, feeling an -indescribable thrill of sympathy for the man. - -"Yer's my hand, strenger, an' w'en Wesley Tolliver gives a feller his -hand hit means all there air ter mean," exclaimed the latter, as warmly -as his condition would permit, "an' w'en ye need er friend in these -parts jest come ter me." - -He shouldered his gun, thereupon, and remarking that he might as well -be going, strode away over a spur of the mountain, his clothes still -dripping and sticking close to his muscular limbs. Dufour found his rod -broken and his reel injured, by having felt the weight of Wesley -Tolliver's foot, and so he too turned to retrace his steps. - -Such an adventure could not fail to gain in spectacular grotesqueness as -it took its place in the memory and imagination of Dufour. He had been -in the habit of seeing such things on the stage and of condemning them -out of hand as the baldest melodramatic nonsense, so that now he could -not fairly realize the matter as something that had taken place in his -life. - -He was very tired and hungry when he reached Hotel Helicon. - - -VI. - -"Oh, yes, I walked all the way up the mountain from the railroad depot," -explained the young woman whose arrival we chronicled in another -chapter, "but I stopped over night at a cabin on the way and discovered -some just delightful characters--the Tollivers--regular Craddock sort -of people, an old lady and her son." - -By some method known only to herself she had put herself upon a -speaking-plane with Dufour, who, as she approached him, was standing in -an angle of the wide wooden veranda waiting for the moon to rise over -the distant peaks of the eastern mountains. - -"I saw Mr. Tolliver to-day while whipping a brook down here," said he, -turning to look her squarely in the face. - -"Oh, did you! Isn't he a virile, villainous, noble, and altogether -melodramatic looking man? I wish there was some one here who could -sketch him for me. But, say, Mr. Dufour, what do you mean, please, when -you speak of _whipping_ a brook?" - -She took from her pocket a little red note-book and a pencil as he -promptly responded: "Whipping a brook? oh, that's angler's nonsense, it -means casting the line into the water, you know." - -"That's funny," she remarked, making a note. - -She was taller than Dufour, and so slender and angular that in -comparison with his excessive plumpness she looked gaunt and bony. In -speaking her lips made all sorts of wild contortions showing her uneven -teeth to great effect, and the extreme rapidity of her utterance gave an -explosive emphasis to her voice. Over her forehead, which projected, a -fluffy mass of pale yellow hair sprang almost fiercely as if to attack -her scared and receding chin. - -"You are from Michigan, I believe, Miss Crabb," remarked Dufour. - -"Oh, dear, no!" she answered, growing red in the face, "No, indeed. I am -from Indiana, from Ringville, associate editor of the _Star_." - -"Pardon, I meant Indiana. Of course I knew you were not from Michigan." - -"Thanks," with a little laugh and a shrug, "I am glad you see the -point." - -"I usually do--a little late," he remarked complacently. - -"You are from Boston, then, I infer," she glibly responded. - -"Not precisely," he said, with an approving laugh, "but I admit that I -have some Bostonian qualities." - -At this point in the conversation she was drooping over him, so to say, -and he was sturdily looking up into her bright, insistent face. - -"What a group!" said Crane to Mrs. Bridges, a New York fashion editor. -"I'd give the best farm in Kentucky (so far as my title goes) for a -photograph of it! Doesn't she appear to be just about to peck out his -eyes!" - -"Your lofty imagination plays you fantastic tricks," said Mrs. Bridges. -"Is she the famous Western _lady_ reporter?" - -"The same, of the _Ringville Star_. I met her at the Cincinnati -convention. It was there that Bascom of the _Bugle_ called her a bag of -gimlets, because she bored him so." - -"Oh!" - -This exclamation was not in response to what Crane had said, but it -was an involuntary tribute to the moon-flower just flaring into bloom -between twin peaks lying dusky and heavy against the mist of silver -and gold that veiled the sweet sky beyond. A semi-circle of pale -straw-colored fire gleamed in the lowest angle of the notch and sent up -long, wavering lines of light almost to the zenith, paling the strongest -stars and intensifying the shadows in the mountain gorges and valleys. -Grim as angry gods, the pines stood along the slopes, as if gloomily -contemplating some dark scheme of vengeance. - -"A real Sapphic," said Crane, dropping into a poetical tone, as an -elocutionist does when he is hungry for an opportunity to recite a -favorite sketch. - -"Why a Sapphic?" inquired the matter-of-fact fashion-editor. - -"Oh, don't you remember that fragment, that glorious picture Sappho's -divine genius has made for us--" - -He quoted some Greek. - -"About as divine as Choctaw or Kickapoo," she said. "I understand the -moon-shine better. In fact I have a sincere contempt for all this -transparent clap-trap you poets and critics indulge in when you got upon -your Greek hobby. Divine Sappho, indeed! A lot of bald bits of jargon -made famous by the comments of fogies. Let's look at the moon, please, -and be sincere." - -"Sincere!" - -"Yes, you know very well that if you had written the Sapphic fragments -the critics would----" - -"The critics! What of them? They are a set of disappointed poetasters -themselves. Blind with rage at their own failures, they snap right and -left without rhyme or reason. Now there's Peck, a regular----" - -"Well, sir, a regular _what_?" very coolly demanded the critic who had -stepped forth from a shadowy angle and now stood facing Crane. - -"A regular star-gazer," said Mrs. Bridges. "Tell us why the planets -yonder all look so ghastly through the shimmering moonlight." - -Peck, without reply, turned and walked away. - -"Is he offended?" she asked. - -"No, he gives offence, but can not take it." - -Mrs. Bridges grew silent. - -"We were speaking of Sappho," observed Crane, again gliding into an -elocutionary mood. "I have translated the fragment that I repeated a -while ago. Let me give it to you. - - "When on the dusky violet sky - The full flower of the moon blooms high - The stars turn pale and die!" - -Just then Miss Moyne, dressed all in white, floated by on Peck's arm, -uttering a silvery gust of laughter in response to a cynical observation -of the critic. - -"What a lovely girl she is," said Mrs. Bridges. "Mr. Peck shows fine -critical acumen in being very fond of her." - -Crane was desperately silent. "He's a handsome man, too, and I suspect -it's a genuine love affair," Mrs. Bridges went on, fanning herself -complacently. Back and forth, walking slowly and conversing in a soft -minor key, save when now and then Miss Moyne laughed melodiously, the -promenaders passed and repassed, Peck never deigning to glance toward -Crane, who had forgotten both Sappho and the moon. Miss Moyne did, -however, once or twice turn her eyes upon the silent poet. - -"Oh," went on Miss Crabb, filling Dufour's ears with the hurried din of -her words, "Oh, I'm going to write a novel about this place. I never saw -a better chance for local color, real transcripts from life, original -scenes and genuine romance all tumbled together. Don't you think I might -do it?" - -"It does appear tempting," said Dufour. "There's Tolliver for instance, -a genuine Chilhowee moonshiner." He appeared to laugh inwardly as he -spoke. Indeed he heard the plash of water and the dripping, shivering -mountaineer stood forth in his memory down there in the gorge. - -"A moonshiner!" gasped Miss Crabb, fluttering the leaves of her -note-book and writing by moonlight with a celerity that amazed Dufour. - -"Potentially, at least," he replied evasively. "He looks like one and he -don't like water." - -"If he _does_ turn out to be a real moonshiner," Miss Crabb proceeded -reflectively to say, "it will be just too delicious for anything. I -don't mind telling you, confidentially, Mr. Dufour, that I am to write -some letters while here to the _Chicago Daily Lightning Express_. So I'd -take it as a great favor if you'd give me all the points you get." - -"That's interesting," he said, with a keen scrutiny of her face for a -second. "I shall be glad to be of assistance to you." - -He made a movement to go, but lingered to say: "Pray give me all the -points, too, will you?" - -"Oh, are you a journalist too?" she inquired, breathlessly hanging over -him. "What paper--" - -"I'm not much of anything," he hurriedly interposed, "but I like to know -what is going on, that's all." - -He walked away without further excuse and went up to his room. - -"I've got to watch him," soliloquized Miss Crabb, "or he'll get the -scoop of all the news. Give him points, indeed! Maybe so, but not till -after I've sent them to the _Lightning Express_! I'll keep even with -him, or know the reason why." - -It was a grand panorama that the climbing moon lighted up all around -Mount Boab, a vast billowy sea of gloom and sheen. Here were shining -cliffs, there dusky gulches; yonder the pines glittered like steel-armed -sentinels on the hill-tops, whilst lower down they appeared to skulk -like cloaked assassins. Shadows came and went, now broad-winged and -wavering, again slender and swift as the arrows of death. The hotel was -bright within and without. Some one was at the grand piano in the hall -making rich music--a fragment from Beethoven,--and a great horned owl -down the ravine was booming an effective counterpoint. - -Crane stood leaning on the railing of the veranda and scowling savagely -as Peck and Miss Moyne continued to promenade and converse. He was, -without doubt, considering sinister things. Mrs. Bridges, finding him -entirely unsympathetic, went to join Miss Crabb, who was alone where she -had been left by Dufour. Meantime, up in his room, with his chair tilted -far back and his feet thrust out over the sill of an open window, -Dufour was smoking a fragrant Cuban cigar, (fifty cents at retail) and -alternating smiles with frowns as he contemplated his surroundings. - -"Authors," he thought, "are the silliest, the vainest, and the most -impractical lot of human geese that ever were plucked for their valuable -feathers. And newspaper people! Humph!" He chuckled till his chin shook -upon his immaculate collar. "Just the idea, now, of that young woman -asking me to furnish her with points!" - -There was something almost jocund blent with his air of solid -self-possession, and he smoked the precious cigars one after another -with prodigal indifference and yet with the perfect grace of him to the -manner born. - -"Hotel Helicon on Mt. Boab!" he repeated, and then betook himself to -bed. - - -VII. - -Some people are born to find things out--to overhear, to reach a place -just at the moment in which an event comes to pass there--born indeed, -with the news-gatherer's instinct perfectly developed. Miss Crabb was -one of these. How she chanced to over-hear some low-spoken but deadly -sounding words that passed between Peck and Crane, it would be hard to -say; still she overheard them, and her heart jumped almost into her -mouth. It was a thrillingly dramatic passage, there under the -heavy-topped oak by the west veranda in the gloom. - -"Villain!" exclaimed Crane, in the hissing voice of a young -tragedy-player at rehearsal, - -"Villain! you shall not escape me. Defend yourself!" - -"Nonsense," said Peck, "you talk like a fool. I don't want to fight! -What's that you've got in your hand?" - -"A sword, you cowardly craven!" - -"You call me a coward! If I had a good club I should soon show you what -I could do, you sneaking assassin!" - -More words and just as bitter followed, till at last a fight was agreed -upon to take place immediately, at a certain point on the verge of a -cliff not far away. There were to be no seconds and the meeting was to -end in the death of one or both of the combatants. - -To Miss Crabb all this had a sound and an appearance as weird as -anything in the wildest romance she ever had read. It was near -mid-night; the hotel was quite soundless and the moon on high made the -shadows short and black. - -"Meet me promptly at the Eagle's Nest in ten minutes," said Crane, "I'll -fetch my other sword and give you choice." - -"All right, sir," responded Peck, "but a club would do." - -The peculiar hollowness of their voices affected the listener as if -the sounds had come from a tomb. She felt clammy. Doubtless there is a -considerable element of humorous, almost ludicrous bravado in such a -scene when coolly viewed; but Miss Crabb could not take a calm, critical -attitude just then. At first she was impelled almost irresistibly toward -interfering and preventing a bloody encounter; but her professional -ambition swept the feeling aside. Still, being a woman, she was -dreadfully nervous. "Ugh!" she shuddered, "it will be just awful, but I -can't afford to miss getting the full particulars for the _Lightning -Express_. A sure enough duel! It will make my fortune! Oh, if I were a -man, now, just only for a few hours, what a comfort it would be! But all -the same I must follow them--I must see the encounter, describe it as -an eye-witness and send it by wire early in the morning." - -It occurred to her mind just then that the nearest telegraph station was -twelve miles down the mountain, but she did not flinch or waver. The -thought that she was required to do what a man might well have shrunk -from gave an element of heroism to her pluck. She was conscious of this -and went about her task with an elasticity and facility truly admirable. - -Eagle's Nest was the name of a small area on the top of a beetling cliff -whose almost perpendicular wall was dotted with clumps of sturdy little -cedar trees growing out of the chinks. It was a dizzy place at all -times, but by night the effect of its airy height was very trying on any -but the best nerves. Crane and Peck both were men of fine physique and -were possessed of stubborn courage and great combativeness. They met on -the spot and after choosing swords, coolly and promptly proceeded to the -fight. On one hand, close to the cliff's edge, was a thick mass of small -oak bushes, on the other hand lay a broken wall of fragmentary stones. -The footing-space was fairly good, though a few angular blocks of stone -lay here and there, and some brushes of stiff wood-grass were scattered -around. - -Crane led with more caution than one would have expected of an irate -Kentuckian, and Peck responded with the brilliant aplomb of an -enthusiastic duelist. - -The swords were neither rapiers nor broad-swords, being the ordinary -dress-weapons worn by Confederate Infantry officers in the war -time--weapons with a history, since they had been at the thigh of father -and son, the bravest of Kentucky Cranes, through many a stormy battle. - -Peck's back was toward the precipice-brink at the commencement of the -engagement, but neither had much the advantage, as the moon was almost -directly overhead. As their weapons began to flash and clink, the -slender keen echoes fell over into the yawning chasm and went rattling -down the steep, ragged face of the precipice. They were vigorous and -rather good fencers and it would have been evident to an onlooker of -experience that the fight was to be a long one, notwithstanding the -great weight of the swords they were using. They soon began to fight -fiercely and grew more vehemently aggressive each second, their blows -and thrusts and parries and counter-cuts following each other faster and -faster until the sounds ran together and the sparks leaped and shone -even in the bright moonlight. They mingled broad-sword exercise with -legitimate rapier fencing and leaped about each other like boxers, their -weapons whirling, darting, rising, falling, whilst their breathing -became loud and heavy. It was a scene to have stirred the blood of men -and women four hundred years ago, when love was worth fighting for and -when men were quite able and willing to fight for it. - -The combatants strained every point of their strength and skill, and -not a drop of blood could either draw. Slash, thrust, whack, clink, -clank, clack, click, cling! Round and round they labored, the fury of -their efforts flaming out of their eyes and concentrating in the deep -lines of their mouths. As if to listen, the breeze lay still in the -trees and the great owl quit hooting in the ravine. Faster and faster -fell the blows, swifter and keener leaped the thrusts, quicker and surer -the parries were interposed. The swords were hacked and notched like -hand-saws, the blades shook and hummed like lyre-cords. Now close to -the cliff's edge, now over by the heap of broken stones and then close -beside the clump of oak bushes, the men, panting and sweating, their -muscles knotted, their sinews leaping like bow-strings, their eyes -standing out, as if starting from their sockets, pursued each other -without a second's rest or wavering. - -At last, with an irresistible spurt of fury, Crane drove Peck right into -the bushes with a great crash and would not let him out. The critic -was not vanquished, however, for, despite the foliage and twigs, he -continued to parry and thrust with dangerous accuracy and force. - -Just at this point a strange thing happened. Right behind Peck there was -a tearing, crashing sound and a cry, loud, keen, despairing, terrible, -followed immediately by the noise of a body descending among the cedars -growing along the face of the awful precipice. - -It was a woman's voice, shrieking in deadly horror that then came up -out of the dizzy depth of space below! - -The men let fall their swords and leaped to the edge of the cliff with -the common thought that it was Miss Moyne who had fallen over. They -reeled back giddy and sick, staggering as if drunken. - -Far down they had seen something white fluttering and gleaming amid a -tuft of cedars and a quavering voice had cried: - -"Help, help, oh, help!" - -And so the duel was at an end. - - -VIII. - -Hotel Helicon was shaken out of its sleep by the startling rumor to the -effect that Miss Moyne had fallen down the precipice at Eagle's Nest. - -Of all the rudely awakened and mightily frightened inmates, perhaps Miss -Moyne herself was most excited by this waft of bad news. She had been -sleeping very soundly in dreamless security and did not at first -feel the absurdity of being told that she had just tumbled down the -escarpment, which in fact she never yet had summoned the courage to -approach, even when sustained by a strong masculine arm. - -"O dear! how did it happen?" she demanded of her aunt, Mrs. Coleman -Rhodes, who had rushed upon her dainty couch with the frightful -announcement of her accident. - -"Oh, Alice! you are here, you are not hurt at all! Oh!" Mrs. Rhodes went -on, "and what _can_ it all mean!" - -Everybody rushed out, of course, as soon as hurried dressing would -permit, and fell into the confusion that filled the halls and main -veranda. - -Crane was talking in a loud, but well modulated strain, explaining the -accident: - -"Mr. Peck and I," he went on to say, "were enjoying a friendly turn at -sword-play up here at Eagle's Nest; couldn't sleep, needed exercise, and -went up there so as not to disturb any one. While we were fencing she -came rushing past through those bushes and leaped right over with a -great shriek. She--" - -"Don't stop to talk," cried Mr. E. Hobbs Lucas, with a directness and -clearness quite unusual in a historian. "Don't stop to talk, let's go do -something!" - -"Yes, come on," quavered poor Peck, his face whiter than the moon and -his beard quivering in sympathy with his voice. - -"Oh, it's dreadful, awful!" moaned little Mrs. Philpot, "poor, dear Miss -Moyne, to think that she is gone!" and she leaned heavily on Miss -Moyne's shoulder as she spoke. - -It was a strange scene, too confused for the best dramatic effect, -but spectacular in the extreme. Servants swarmed out with lights that -wavered fantastically in the moonshine, while the huddled guests swayed -to and fro in a body. Every face was pinched with intense excitement -and looked haggard under its crown of disheveled hair. Even the hotel -windows stared in stupid horror, and the kindly countenances of the -negro waiters took on a bewildered and meaningless grin set in a black -scowl of superstition and terror. - -When Dufour came upon the scene, he did not appear in the least -flurried, and the first thing he did was to lay his hand on Miss Moyne's -shoulder and exclaim in a clear tenor strain: - -"Why, here! it's all a mistake! What are you talking about? Here's Miss -Moyne! Here she stands!" - -"Mercy! where?" enquired little Mrs. Philpot, who was still leaning on -her friend and shedding bitter tears. - -Dufour, with a quiet: "Please don't take offence," put a hand on either -side of Miss Moyne and lifted her so that she stood in a chair looking -very sweetly down over the crowd of people. - -Few indeed are they who can look beautiful under such circumstances, but -Miss Moyne certainly did, especially in the eyes of Crane and Peck as -they gazed up at her. - -Forthwith the tragedy became a farce. - -"That Kentuckian must romance, I suppose," grumbled R. Hobbs Lucas. -"Wonder what he'll tell next." - -"I don't see how I could be so mistaken," said Peck, after quiet had -been somewhat restored, "I would have willingly been sworn to--" - -He was interrupted by a dozen voices hurling ironical phrases at him. - -"It is every word truth," exclaimed Crane testily. "Do you suppose I -would trifle with so--" - -"Oh, don't you absolutely know that we suppose just that very thing?" -said Lucas. - -With the return of self-consciousness the company began to scatter, the -ladies especially scampering to their rooms with rustling celerity. The -men grumbled not a little, as if being deprived of a shocking accident -touched them with a sting. - -"The grotesque idea!" ejaculated Dufour. "Such a practical -joke--impractical joke, I might better say, could originate only between -a poet and a critic." - -Everybody went back to bed, feeling more or less injured by Crane and -Peck, who shared in their own breasts the common impression that they -had made great fools of themselves. If these crest-fallen knights, so -lately militant and self-confident, had any cause of quarrel now it -was based upon a question as to which should feel the meaner and which -should more deeply dread to meet Miss Moyne on the morrow. - -As for Miss Moyne herself she was indignant although she tried to quiet -her aunt, who was ready to shake the dust of Mt. Boab from her feet at -once. - -Next morning, however, when it was discovered that Miss Crabb was -missing and that after all something tragic probably had happened, -everybody felt relieved. - - -IX - -Mr. Wesley Tolliver might well have served the turn of romancer or -realist, as he stood in the shadow of a cedar-clump with the mysterious -stillness of midnight all around him. He was a very real and substantial -looking personage, and yet his gun, his pistols, his fantastic mountain -garb and the wild setting in which he was framed gave him the appearance -of a strong sketch meant to illustrate a story by Craddock. Above him -towered the cliff at Eagle's Nest and near by was the mountain "Pocket" -in which nestled the little distillery whose lurking-place had long been -the elusive dream of utopian revenue officers. In a space of brilliant -moonlight, Tolliver's dog, a gaunt, brindle cur, sat in statuesque -worthlessness, remembering no doubt the hares he never had caught and -the meatless bones he had vainly buried during a long ignoble life. - -The hotel and its inmates had rendered the distillery and its furtive -operatives very uneasy of late, and now as Tolliver in his due turn -stood guard by night he considered the probability of having to look -for some better situation for his obscure manufactory with a species of -sadness which it would be impossible to describe. He thought with deep -bitterness of all the annoyance he had suffered at the hands of meddling -government agents and from the outside world in general and he tried -to understand how any person could pretend to see justice in such -persecution. What had he done to merit being hunted like a wild beast? -Nothing but buy his neighbor's apples at the fair price of twenty cents -a bushel and distil them into apple brandy! Could this possibly be any -injury to any government official, or to anybody else? He paid for his -still, he paid for the apples, he paid fair wages to the men who worked -for him, what more could be justly demanded of him? - -It was while he was wholly absorbed in trying to solve this knotty -problem that far above a strange clink and clatter began, which sounded -to him as if it were falling from among the stars. Nothing within his -knowledge or experience suggested an explanation of such a phenomenon. -He felt a thrill of superstitious terror creep through his iron nerves -as the aerial racket increased and seemed to whisk itself from place to -place with lightning celerity. An eccentric echo due to the angles and -projections of the cliff added weird effect to the sounds. - -The dog uttered a low plaintive whine and crept close to his master, and -even wedged himself with tremulous desperation between the knees of that -wondering and startled sentinel. - -The clinking and clanging soon became loud and continuous, falling in -a cataract down the escarpment, accompanied now and again by small -fragments of stone and soil. - -At last Tolliver got control of himself sufficiently, and looked out -from his shadowy station and up towards the dizzy crown of Eagle's -Nest. - -Just at that moment there was a crash and a scream. He saw a -wide-winged, ghostly object come over the edge and swoop down. Another -scream, another and another, a tearing sound, a crushing of cedar -boughs, a shower of small stones and lumps of soil. - -Tolliver, frightened as he never before had been, turned and fled, -followed by his ecstatic dog. - -A voice, keen, clear, high, beseeching pursued him and reached his ears. - -"Help! help! Oh, help!" - -Surely this was the "Harnt that walks Mt. Boab!" This syren of the -mountains had lured many a hunter to his doom. - -"Oh, me! Oh, my! Oh, mercy on me! Help! help!" - -Tolliver ran all the faster, as the voice seemed to follow him, turn as -he would. He bruised his shins on angular rocks, he ran against trees, -he fell over logs, and at last found himself hopelessly entangled in a -net of wild grape-vines, with his enthusiastic dog still faithfully -wriggling between his knees. - -The plaintive voice of the syren, now greatly modified by distance, -assailed his ears with piteous persistence, as he vainly struggled to -free himself. The spot was dark as Erebus, being in the bottom of a -ravine, and the more he exerted himself the worse off he became. - -It was his turn to call for help, but if any of his friends heard they -did not heed his supplications, thinking them but baleful echoes of the -Harnt's deceitful voice. - -It was at the gray of dawn when at last Tolliver got clear of the -vines and made his way out of the ravine. By this time he had entirely -overcome his fright, and with that stubbornness characteristic of all -mountain men, he betook himself back to the exact spot whence he had so -precipitately retreated. His dog, forlornly nonchalant, trotted behind -him to the place and resumed the seat from which the Harnt had driven -him a few hours ago. In this attitude, the animal drooped his nose and -indifferently sniffed a curious object lying near. - -"What's thet ther' thing, Mose?" inquired Tolliver, addressing the dog. - -"Well I'll ber dorg-goned!" he added, as he picked up a woman's bonnet. -"If this here don't beat the worl' an' all camp meetin'! Hit air--well, -I'll ber dorged--hit air--I'm er ghost if hit aint Miss Sara' Anna -Crabb's bonnet, by Ned!" - -He held it up by one silk string and gazed at it with a ludicrously -puzzled stare. The dog whined and wagged his tail in humble sympathy -with his master's bewilderment. - -"Hit's kinder interestin', haint it, Mose?" Tolliver went on dryly. -"We'll hev ter look inter this here thing, won't we, Mose?" - -As for Mose, he was looking into it with all his eyes. Indeed he was -beginning to show extreme interest, and his tail was pounding the -ground with great rapidity. - -Suddenly a thought leaped into Tolliver's brain and with a start he -glanced up the escarpment, his mouth open and his brown cheeks betraying -strong emotion. Mose followed his master's movements with kindling eyes, -and whined dolefully, his wolfish nose lifted almost vertically. - -"Is that you, Mr. Tolliver?" fell a voice out of a cedar clump a little -way up the side of the cliff. - -"Hit air me," he responded, as he saw Miss Crabb perched among the -thick branches. She had her little red note-book open and was writing -vigorously. Her yellow hair was disheveled so that it appeared to -surround her face with a flickering light which to Tolliver's mind gave -it a most beautiful and altogether lovely expression. - -"Well, I'll ber--" he checked himself and stood in picturesque suspense. - -"Now, Mr. Tolliver, won't you please help me down from here?" she -demanded, closing her note-book and placing her pencil behind her ear. -"I'm awfully cramped, sitting in this position so long." - -The chivalrous mountaineer did not wait to be appealed to a second time, -but laying down his gun to which he had clung throughout the night, he -clambered up the steep face of the rock, from projection to projection, -until he reached the tree in which Miss Crabb sat. Meantime she watched -him with admiring eyes and just as he was about to take her in his arms -and descend with her she exclaimed: - -"Wait a moment, I might lose the thought, I'll just jot it down." - -She took her note-book and pencil again and hurriedly made the following -entry: _Sinewy, virile, lithe, hirsute, fearless, plucky, bronzed, -vigorous, lank, Greek-eyed, Roman-nosed, prompt, large-eared, typical -American. Good hero for dramatic, short, winning dialect story. The -magazines never refuse dialect stories._ - -"Now, if you please, Mr. Tolliver, I will go with you." - -It was an Herculean labor, but Tolliver was a true hero. With one arm -wound around her, after the fashion of the serpent in the group of the -Laocoön, and with her long yellow hair streaming in crinkled jets over -his shoulder, he slowly made his way down to the ground. - -Meantime Mose, the dog, with true canine sympathy and helpfulness, had -torn the bonnet into pathetic shreds, and was now lying half asleep -under a tree with a bit of ribbon in his teeth. - -"Well, I'll jest ber--beg parding Miss Crabb, but thet ther dog hev et -up yer head-gear," said Tolliver as he viewed with dilating eyes the -scattered fragments. - -She comprehended her calamity with one swift glance, but she had caught -a new dialect phrase at the same time. - -"Head-gear, you call it, I believe?" she inquired, again producing book -and pencil. - -"Beg parding all over, Miss Crabb, I meant bonnet," he hurried to say. - -"Oh, it's all right, I assure you," she replied, writing rapidly, "it's -a delightfully fresh and artistic bit of special coloring." - -Miss Crabb's clothes were badly torn and she looked as if she had spent -the night wretchedly, but with the exception of a few slight scratches -and bruises she was unhurt. - -"Well jes' look a there, will ye!" exclaimed Tolliver as he spied Mose. -There was more of admiration than anger in his voice. "Ef thet ther -'fernal dog haint got yer chin-ribbon in his ole mouth, I'm er rooster!" - -"Chin-ribbon," repeated Miss Crabb, making a note, "I'm er rooster," and -she smiled with intense satisfaction. "You don't know, Mr. Tolliver, how -much I am indebted to you." - -"Not a tall, Miss Crabb, not a tall. Don't mention of it," he humbly -said, "hit taint wo'th talkin' erbout." - -The morning was in full blow now and the cat-birds were singing sweetly -down the ravine. Overhead a patch of blue sky gleamed and burned with -the true empyrean glow. Far away, down in the valley by the little -river, a breakfast horn was blown with many a mellow flourish and a cool -gentle breeze with dew on its wings fanned Miss Crabb's sallow cheeks -and rustled Tolliver's tawny beard. At the sound of the horn Mose sprang -to his feet and loped away with the bit of ribbon fluttering from his -mouth. - - -X. - -It was late in the forenoon before it was discovered at Hotel Helicon -that Miss Crabb was missing, and even then there arose so many doubts -about the tragic side of the event that before any organized search -for her had been begun, she returned, appearing upon the scene mounted -behind Wesley Tolliver on a small, thin, wiry mountain mule. - -Crane and Peck each drew a deep, swift sigh of relief upon seeing her, -for the sense of guilt in their breasts had been horrible. They had by -tacit conspiracy prevented any examination of Eagle's Nest, for they -dreaded what might be disclosed. Of course they did not mean to hide the -awful fate of the poor girl, nor would they willingly have shifted the -weight of their dreadful responsibility, but it was all so much like -a vivid dream, so utterly strange and theatrical as it arose in their -memories, that they could not fully believe in it. - -Miss Crabb looked quite ludicrous perched behind the tall mountaineer -on such a dwarfish mule. Especially comical was the effect of the -sun-bonnet she wore. She had accepted this article of apparel from -Tolliver's mother, and it appeared to clutch her head in its stiff folds -and to elongate her face by sheer compression. - -Everybody laughed involuntarily, as much for joy at her safe return as -in response to the demand of her melodramatic appearance. - -"I've brung back yer runerway," said Tolliver cheerily, as he helped the -young woman to dismount. "She clim down the mounting by one pertic'ler -trail an' I jes' fotch her up by t'other." - -Miss Crabb spoke not a word, but ran into the hotel and up to her room -without glancing to the right or to the left. In her great haste the -stiff old sun-bonnet fell from her head and tumbled upon the ground. - -"Wush ye'd jes' be erbligin' enough ter han' thet there head-gear up ter -me, Mister," said Tolliver addressing Crane, who was standing near. "My -mammy'd raise er rumpage ef I'd go back 'thout thet ther bonnet." - -With evident reluctance and disgust Crane gingerly took up the fallen -article and gave it to Tolliver, who thanked him so politely that all -the onlooking company felt a glow of admiration for the uncouth and yet -rather handsome cavalier. - -"Thet gal," he observed, glancing in the direction that Miss Crabb had -gone, "she hev the winnin'est ways of any gal I ever seed in my life. Ye -orter seen 'er up inter thet there bush a writin' in 'er book! She'd -jes' tumbled kerwhummox down the clift an' hed lodged ther' in them -cedars; but as she wer' a writin' when she started ter fall w'y she -struck a writin' an' jes' kep' on at it same's if nothin' had happened. -She's game, thet ole gal air, I tell ye! She don't propose for any -little thing like fallin' off'n a clift, ter interfere with w'at she's a -doin' at thet time, le' me say ter ye. Lord but she wer' hongry, though, -settin' up ther a writin' all night, an' it'd a done ye good to a -seen 'er eat thet chicken and them cake-biscuits my mammy cooked for -breakfast. She air a mos' alarmin' fine gal, for a fac'." - -At this point Dufour came out of the hotel, and when Tolliver saw him -there was an instantaneous change in the expression of the mountaineer's -face. - -"Well I'll ber dorged!" he exclaimed with a smile of delight, "ef ther' -haint the same leetle John the Baptis' what bapsonsed me down yer inter -the branch! Give us yer baby-spanker, ole feller! How air ye!" - -Dufour cordially shook hands with him, laughing in a jolly way. - -"Fust an' only man at ever ducked me, I'm here ter say ter ye," Tolliver -went on, in a cheery, half-bantering tone, and sitting sidewise on the -mule. "Ye mus' hev' a sight o' muscle onto them duck legs and bantam -arms o' your'n." - -He had the last word still in his mouth when the little beast suddenly -put down its head and flung high its hind feet. - -"Woirp!" they heard him cry, as he whirled over in the air and fell -sprawling on the ground. - -Dufour leaped forward to see if the man was hurt, but Tolliver was -upright in an instant and grinning sheepishly. - -"Thet's right, Bonus," he said to the mule which stood quite still in -its place, "thet's right ole fel, try ter ac' smart in comp'ny. Yer a -beauty now, ain't ye?" - -He replaced his hat, which had fallen from his head, patted the mule -caressingly on the neck, then lightly vaulting to the old saddle-tree, -he waved his hand to the company and turning dashed at a gallop down the -mountain road, his spurs jingling merrily as he went. - -"What a delicious character!" - -"What precious dialect!" - -"How typically American!" - -"A veritable hero!" - -Everybody at Hotel Helicon appeared to have been captivated by this -droll fellow. - -"How like Tolstoi's lovely Russians he is!" observed Miss Fidelia -Arkwright, of Boston, a near-sighted maiden who did translations and who -doted on virile literature. - -"When I was in Russia, I visited Tolstoi at his shoe-shop--" began -Crane, but nobody appeared to hear him, so busy were all in making notes -for a dialect story. - -"Tolstoi is the greatest fraud of the nineteenth century," said Peck. -"That shoe-making pretence of his is about on a par with his genius in -genuineness and sincerity. His novels are great chunks of raw filth, -rank, garlic garnished and hideous. We touch them only because the -French critics have called them savory. If the _Revue de Deux Mondes_ -should praise a Turkish novel we could not wait to read it before we -joined in. Tolstoi is remarkable for two things: his coarseness and his -vulgar disregard of decency and truth. His life and his writings are -alike crammed with absurdities and contradictory puerilities which would -be laughable but for their evil tendencies." - -"But, my dear sir, how then do you account for the many editions of -Tolstoi's books?" inquired the historian, R. Hobbs Lucas. - -"Just as I account for the editions of Cowper and Montgomery and -Wordsworth and even Shakespeare," responded Peck. "You put a ten per -cent. author's royalty on all those dear classics and see how soon -the publishers will quit uttering them! If Tolstoi's Russian raw meat -stories were put upon the market in a fair competition with American -novels the latter would beat them all hollow in selling." - -"Oh, we ought to have international copyright," plaintively exclaimed a -dozen voices, and so the conversation ended. - -Strangely enough, each one of the company in growing silent did so in -order to weigh certain suggestions arising out of Peck's assertions. It -was as if a score of semi-annual statements of copyright accounts were -fluttering in the breeze, and it was as if a score of wistful voices had -whispered: - -"How in the world do publishers grow rich when the books they publish -never sell?" - -Perhaps Gaspard Dufour should be mentioned as appearing to have little -sympathy with Peck's theory or with the inward mutterings it had -engendered in the case of the rest of the company. - -If there was any change in Dufour's face it was expressed in a smile of -intense self-satisfaction. - - -XI. - -It was, of course, not long that the newspapers of our wide-awake -country were kept from giving their readers very picturesque glimpses of -what was going on among the dwellers on Mt. Boab. The humorists of the -press, those charming fellows whose work is so enjoyable when performed -upon one's neighbor and so excruciating when turned against oneself, -saw the vulnerable points of the situation and let go a broadside of -ridicule that reverberated from the Atlantic to the Pacific. It became -a matter of daily amusement among the inmates of Hotel Helicon to come -together in little groups and discuss these humorous missiles fired upon -them from California, Texas, Arkansas and Wisconsin, from Brooklyn, -Pittsburgh, Atlanta, and Oil-City, Detroit and--, but from everywhere, -indeed. - -When it came to Miss Crabb's adventure, every humorist excelled himself -in descriptive smartness and in cunning turns of ironical phrasing. The -head-line experts did telling work in the same connection. All this was -perfectly understood and enjoyed at home, but foreigners, especially the -English, stubbornly insisted upon viewing it as the high-water mark of -American refinement and culture. - -When that genial periodical, the Smartsburgh _Bulldozer_, announced with -due gravity that Miss Crabb, a Western journalist, had leaped from the -top of Mt. Boab to the valley below, and had been caught in the arms of -a stalwart moonshiner, where she safely reposed, etc., the London -_Times_ copied the paragraph and made it a text for a heavy editorial -upon the barbaric influences of Republican institutions, to which the -American Minister felt bound to advert in a characteristic after-dinner -speech at a London club. So humorous, however, were his remarks that he -was understood to be vigorously in earnest, and the result was perfect -confirmation of the old world's opinion as to the rudimentary character -of our national culture. - -Meantime Hotel Helicon continued to be the scene of varied if not -startling incidents. In their search for local color and picturesque -material, the litterateurs invaded every nook and corner of the region -upon and round about Mt. Boab, sketching, making notes, recording -suggestions, studying dialect, and filling their minds with the uncouth -peculiarities of the mountain folk. - -"It has come to this," grumbled Peck, "that American literature, its -fiction I mean, is founded on dialect drivel and vulgar yawp. Look at -our magazines; four-fifths of their short stories are full of negro -talk, or cracker lingo, or mountain jibberish, or New England farm -yawp, or Hoosier dialect. It is horribly humiliating. It actually makes -foreigners think that we are a nation of green-horns. Why, a day or two -ago I had occasion to consult the article on American literature in the -Encyclopædia Britannica and therein I was told in one breath how great -a writer and how truly American Mr. Lowell is, and in the next breath -I was informed that a poem beginning with the verse, 'Under the yaller -pines I house' is one of his master-pieces! Do you see? Do you catch the -drift of the Englishman's argument? To be truly great, _as an American_, -one must be surpassingly vulgar, even in poetry!" - -This off-hand shower of critical observation had as little effect upon -the minds of Peck's hearers as a summer rain has on the backs of a flock -of ducks. They even grew more vehement in their pursuit of local color. - -"When I was spending a month at Rockledge castle with Lord Knownaught," -said Crane, "his lordship frequently suggested that I should make a poem -on the life of Jesse James." - -"Well, why didn't you do it?" inquired Miss Crabb with a ring of -impatience in her voice, "if you had you might have made a hit. You -might have attracted some attention." - -Dufour laughed heartily, as if he had caught some occult humor from the -young woman's words. - -"I did write it," said Crane retrospectively, "and sent it to George -Dunkirk & Co." - -"Well?" sighed Miss Crabb with intense interest. - -"Well," replied Crane, "they rejected the MS. without reading it." - -Again Dufour laughed, as if at a good joke. - -"George Dunkirk & Co.!" cried Guilford Ferris, the romancer, "George -Dunkirk & Co.! They are thieves. They have been making false reports on -copyright to me for five years or more!" - -Dufour chuckled as if his jaws would fall off, and finally with a red -face and gleaming humorous eyes got up from the chair he was filling on -the veranda, and went up to his room. - -The rest of the company looked at one another inquiringly. - -"Who is he, anyhow?" demanded Peck. - -"That's just my query," said Ferris. - -"Nobody in the house knows anything definite about him," remarked R. -Hobbs Lucas. "And yet he evidently is a distinguished person, and his -name haunts me." - -"So it does me," said Miss Moyne. - -"I tell you he's a newspaper reporter. His cheek proves that," remarked -Peck. - -Miss Crabb made a note, her own cheek flaming. "I presume you call that -humor," she observed, "it's about like New York's best efforts. In the -West reporters are respectable people." - -"I beg pardon," Peck said hastily, "I did not mean to insinuate that -anybody is not respectable. Everybody is eminently respectable if I -speak of them. I never trouble myself with the other kind." - -"Well, I don't believe that Mr. Dufour is a reporter at all," replied -Miss Crabb, with emphasis, "for he's not inquisitive, he don't make -notes, and he don't appear to be writing any." - -"In my opinion he's a realist--a genuine analytical, motive-dissecting, -commonplace-recording, international novelist in disguise," said Ferris. - -"Oh!" - -"Ah!" - -"Dear me!" - -"But who?" - -"It may be Arthur Selby himself, incog. Who knows?" - -"Humph!" growled Crane with a lofty scrowl, "I should think I ought to -know Selby. I drank wine with him at--" - -His remark was cut short by the arrival of the mail and the general -scramble that followed. - -Upon this occasion the number of newspapers that fell to the hand of -each guest was much greater than usual, and it was soon discovered that -Miss Crabb's latest letter had been forwarded to a "syndicate" and was -appearing simultaneously in ninety odd different journals. - -No piece of composition ever was more stunningly realistic or more -impartially, nay, abjectly truthful than was that letter. It gave -a minute account of the quarrel between Peck and Crane over their -attentions to Miss Moyne, the fight, Miss Crabb's fall, the subsequent -adventures and all the hotel gossip of every sort. It was personal to -the last degree, but it was not in the slightest libelous. No person -could say that any untruth had been told, or even that any tinge of -false-coloring had been laid upon the facts as recorded; and yet how -merciless! - -Of course Miss Crabb's name did not appear with the article, save as -one of its subjects, and she saw at once that she had better guard her -secret. - -That was a breeze which rustled through Hotel Helicon. Everybody was -supremely indignant; but there was no clue to the traitor who had -thus betrayed everybody's secrets. It would be absurd to suppose that -Miss Crabb was not suspected at once, on account of her constant and -superfluous show of note-making, still there were others who might be -guilty. Crane and Peck were indignant, the former especially ready to -resent to the death any allusion to the details of the duel. Miss Moyne -with the quick insight of a clever and gifted young woman, comprehended -the situation in its general terms and was vexed as much as amused. The -whole thing had to her mind the appearance of a melodramatic, broadly -sensational sketch, in which she had played the part of the innocent, -unconscious, but all-powerful heroine. Indeed the newspaper account -placed her in this unpleasant attitude before a million readers. - -"A lucky affair for you, Miss Moyne," said Dufour to her, a few days -later, "you cannot over-reckon the boom it will give to your latest -book. You may expect a pretty round sum with your next copyright -statement." - -He spoke with the voice and air of one who knew how to read the signs of -the day. - -"But the ridiculous idea of having all this stuff about me going the -rounds of the newspapers!" she responded, her beautiful patrician face -showing just a hint of color. - -"Don't care for it a moment," said Dufour, "it will not hurt you." - -"The thought of having that hideous picture in all the patent inside -pages of the cheap press, with my name under it, _en toutes lettres_, -and--why it is horrible!" she went on, with trembling lips. - -Dufour smiled upon her, as if indulgently, a curious, tender gleam in -his eyes. - -"Wait," he said, "and don't allow it to trouble you. The world -discriminates pretty well, after all. It will not hurt you. It's a -mighty boom for you." - -She looked at him with a sudden flash in her cheeks and eyes, and -exclaimed almost vehemently: "I will not permit it! They shall not -do it. I cannot bear to be treated as if--as if I were a theatrical -person--a variety actress!" - -"My dear Miss Moyne," he hurriedly said, his own face showing a tinge of -embarrassment, "you are taking a wrong point of view, indeed you are. -Wait till you see the out-come." His tone was humble and apologetic as -he continued--"My opinion is that this very thing will quadruple the -sales of your book." - -"I don't want them quadrupled," she cried, "just look at that front hair -and that nose!" She held up a newspaper for him to inspect a picture of -herself, a miserable, distorted thing. "It is absolutely disgraceful. -My dresses never fit like that, and who ever saw me with a man's collar -on!" - -Tears were in her beautiful eyes. - -Dufour consoled her as best he could, though he could not resist the -temptation to suggest that even a caricature of her face was sure to -have in it the fascination of genuine loveliness, a suggestion which was -phrased with consummate art and received with an appearance of innocence -that was beyond all art. - - -XII. - -Summer on Mt. Boab was much like summer on any other mountain, and life -at Hotel Helicon was very like life at any other mountain hotel, save -that a certain specialization due to the influence of literature and art -was apparent in the present instance, giving to the house, the landscape -and the intercourse of the guests a peculiar tinge, so to say, of -self-consciousness and artificiality. Not that these authors, thus drawn -together by the grace of a man grown suddenly rich, were very different -from men and women of other lines in life, the real peculiarity sprang -out of the obligation by which every one felt bound to make the most, in -a professional way, of the situation and the environment. Perhaps there -was not a soul under the broad roof of Hotel Helicon, servants excepted, -that did not secrete in its substance the material for a novel, a poem, -or an essay which was to brim with the local life and flash with the -local color of the region of Mt. Boab. Yes, there appeared to be one -exception. Dufour constantly expressed a contempt for the mountaineers -and their country. - -"To be sure," he conceded, "to be sure there is a demand for dialect -stories, and I suppose that they must be written; but for my part I -cannot see why we Americans must stultify ourselves in the eyes of all -the world by flooding our magazines, newspapers and books with yawp -instead of with a truly characteristic American literature of a high -order. There is some excuse for a quasi-negro literature, and even the -Creoles might have a niche set apart for them, but dialect, on the -whole, is growing to be a literary bore." - -"But don't you think," said Miss Crabb, drawing her chin under, and -projecting her upper teeth to such a degree that anything like realistic -description would appear brutal, "don't you think, Mr. Dufour, that Mr. -Tolliver would make a great character in a mountain romance?" - -"No. There is nothing great in a clown, as such," he promptly answered. -"If Tolliver is great he would be great without his jargon." - -"Yes," she admitted, "but the picturesqueness, the color, the contrast, -you know, would be gone. Now Craddock--" - -"Craddock is excellent, so long as there is but one Craddock, but when -there are some dozens of him it is different," said Dufour, "and it is -the process of multiplication that I object to. There's Cable, who is -no longer a genius of one species. The writers of Creole stories are -swarming by the score, and, poor old Uncle Remus! everybody writes negro -dialect now. Literary claim-jumpers are utterly conscienceless. The book -market will soon be utterly ruined." - -Miss Crabb puffed out her lean sallow cheeks and sighed heavily. - -"I had hoped," she said, "to get my novel on the market before this, but -I have not yet found a publisher to suit me." - -She winced inwardly at this way of expressing the fact that every -publisher, high and low, far and near, had declined her MS. out of hand; -but she could not say the awful truth in its simpliest terms, while -speaking to one so prosperous as Dufour. She felt that she must at all -hazards preserve a reasonable show of literary independence. Crane came -to her aid. - -"One publisher is just as good as another," he said almost savagely. -"They are all thieves. They report every book a failure, save those they -own outright, and yet they all get rich. I shall publish for myself my -next volume." - -Dufour smiled grimly and turned away. It was rather monotonous, this -iteration and reiteration of so grave a charge against the moral -character of publishers, and this threat of Crane's to become his own -publisher was a bit of unconscious and therefore irresistible humor. - -"It's too pathetic to be laughed at," Dufour thought, as he strolled -along to where Miss Moyne sat under a tree, "but that Kentuckian -actually thinks himself a poet!" - -With all his good nature and kind heartedness, Dufour could be -prejudiced, and he drew the line at what he called the "prevailing -tendency toward boastful prevarication among Kentucky gentlemen." - -As he walked away he heard Crane saying: - -"George Dunkirk & Co. have stolen at least twenty thousand dollars in -royalties from me during the past three years." - -It was the voice of Ferris that made interrogative response: - -"Is Dunkirk your publisher?" - -"Yes, or rather my robber." - -"Glad of it, misery loves company." - -Dufour half turned about and cast a quick glance at the speakers. He did -not say anything, however, but resumed his progress toward Miss Moyne, -who had just been joined by Mrs. Nancy Jones Black, a stoutish and -oldish woman very famous on account of having assumed much and done -little. Mrs. Nancy Jones Black was from Boston. She was president of the -Woman's Antiquarian Club, of the Ladies' Greek Association, of The -Sappho Patriotic Club, of the Newport Fashionable Near-sighted Club for -the study of Esoteric Transcendentalism, and it may not be catalogued -how many more societies and clubs. She was a great poet who had never -written any great poem, a great essayist whom publishers and editors -avoided, whom critics regarded as below mediocrity, but of whom -everybody stood in breathless awe, and she was an authority in many -literary and philosophical fields of which she really knew absolutely -nothing. She was a reformer and a person of influence who had made a -large number of her kinsfolk famous as poets and novelists without any -apparent relevancy between the fame and the literary work done. If your -name were Jones and you could trace out your relationship to Mrs. Nancy -Jones Black and could get Mrs. Nancy Jones Black interested in your -behalf, you could write four novels a year with great profit ever -afterward. - -As Dufour approached he heard Miss Moyne say: - -"I publish my poor little works with George Dunkirk & Co. and the firm -has been very kind to me. I feel great encouragement, but I don't see -how I can bear this horrible newspaper familiarity and vulgarity." - -"My dear child," said Mrs. Nancy Jones Black, placing her plump, -motherly hand on the young woman's arm, "you must not appear to notice -it. Do as did my daughter Lois when they assailed her first little novel -with sugar-plum praise. Why, when it began to leak out that Lois was -the author of _A Sea-Side Symphony_ the poor girl was almost smothered -with praise. Of course I had to take the matter in hand and under my -advice Lois went abroad for six months. When she returned she found -herself famous." - -"Talking shop?" inquired Dufour, accepting the offer of a place on the -bench beside Mrs. Black. - -"Yes," said she, with a comprehensive wave of her hand, "I am taking -Miss Moyne under my wing, so to say, and am offering her the comfort of -my experience. She is a genius whom it doesn't spoil to praise. She's -going to be the next sensation in the East." - -"I suggested as much to her," said Dufour. "She is already on a strong -wave, but she must try and avoid being refractory, you know." He said -this in a straightforward, business way, but his voice was touched with -a certain sort of admirable tenderness. - -Miss Moyne was looking out over the deep, hazy valley, her cheeks still -warm with the thought of that newspaper portrait with its shabby clothes -and towsled bangs. What was fame, bought at such a price! She bridled a -little, but did not turn her head as she said. - -"I am not refractory, I am indignant, and I have a right to be. They -cannot justify the liberty they have taken, besides I will not accept -notoriety--I--" - -"There, now, dear, that is what Lois said, and Milton John Jones, -my nephew, was at first bound that he wouldn't let Tom, my brother, -advertise him; but he soon saw his way clear, I assure you, and now he -publishes four serials at once. Be prudent, dear, be prudent." - -"But the idea of picturing me with great barbaric rings in my ears and -with a corkscrew curl on each side and--" - -Dufour interrupted her with a laugh almost hearty enough to be called a -guffaw, and Mrs. Black smiled indulgently as if at a clever child which -must be led, not driven. - -"Being conscious that you really are stylish and beautiful, you needn't -care for the picture," said Dufour, in a tone of sturdy sincerity. - -"There is nothing so effective as a foil," added Mrs. Black. - -Miss Moyne arose and with her pretty chin slightly elevated walked away. - -"How beautiful she is!" exclaimed Dufour, gazing after her, "and I am -delighted to know that you are taking an interest in her." - -Mrs. Black smiled complacently, and with a bland sidewise glance at him, -remarked: - -"She grows upon one." - -"Yes," said he, with self-satisfied obtuseness, "yes, she is magnetic, -she is a genuine genius." - -"Precisely, she stirs one's heart strangely," replied Mrs. Black. - -"Yes, I have noted that; it's very remarkable." - -"You should speak of it to her at the first opportunity." - -Dufour started a little, flushed and finally laughed as one does who -discovers a bit of clever and harmless treachery. - -"If I only dared," he presently said, with something very like fervor in -his tone. "If I only dared." - -Mrs. Black looked at him a moment, as if measuring in her mind his -degree of worthiness, then with a wave of her hand she said: - -"Never do you dare to dare. Mr. Crane stands right in your path." - -Dufour leaped to his feet with the nimbleness and dangerous celerity of -a tiger. - -"Crane!" he exclaimed with a world of contempt in his voice, "If he--" -but he stopped short and laughed at himself. - -Mrs. Black looked at him with a patronizing expression in her eyes. - -"Leave it to me," she said, in her most insinuating tone. - - -XIII. - -Crane tried not to show the bitterness he felt as he saw his hope of -winning the favor of Miss Moyne fading rapidly out, but now and again a -cloud of irresistible melancholy fell upon him. - -At such times it was his habit to lean upon the new fence that -circumscribed Hotel Helicon and dreamily smoke a cigar. He felt a blind -desire to assassinate somebody, if he could only know who. Of course not -Peck, for Peck, too, was disconsolate, but somebody, anybody who would -claim the place of a successful rival. - -One morning while he stood thus regaling himself with his tobacco and -his misery, Tolliver rode up, on a handsome horse this time, and, -lifting his broad hat, bowed picturesquely and said: - -"Good mornin,' Kyernel, how're ye this mornin'?" - -"Good morning," growled Crane. - -Tolliver looked off over the valley and up at the sky which was flecked -with tags of fleece-cloud. - -"Hit look like hit mought rain in er day er two," he remarked. - -"Yes, I don't know, quite likely," said Crane, gazing evasively in -another direction. - -"Ever'body's well, I s'pose, up ther' at the tavern?" inquired Tolliver. - -"I believe so," was the cold answer. - -Tolliver leaned over the pommel of his saddle-tree and combed his -horse's mane with his sinewy fingers. Meantime the expression in his -face was one of exceeding embarrassment blent with cunning. - -"Kyernel, c'u'd ye do a feller a leetle yerrent what's of importance?" -he asked with peculiar faltering. - -"Do what?" inquired Crane lifting his eye-brows and turning the cigar in -his mouth. - -"Jest a leetle frien'ly job o' kindness," said Tolliver, "jest ter -please ask thet young leddy--thet Miss Crabb 'at I fotch up yer on er -mule tother day, ye know; well, jest ax her for me ef I moughtn't come -in an' see 'er on pertic'lar an' pressin' business, ef ye please, sir." - -By this time the mountaineer's embarrassment had become painfully -apparent. Any good judge of human nature could have seen at once that he -was almost overcome with the burden and worry of the matter in hand. His -cheeks were pale and his eyes appeared to be fading into utter vacancy -of expression. Crane told him that there was no need to be particularly -formal, that if he would go in and ask for Miss Crabb she would see him -in the parlor. - -"But, Kyernel, hit's er private, sort er confidential confab 'at I must -hev wi' 'er, an'----" - -"Oh, well, that's all right, you'll not be interrupted in the parlor." - -"Air ye pine blank shore of it, Kyernel?" - -"Certainly." - -"Dead shore?" - -"Quite, I assure you." - -Crane had become interested in Tolliver's affair, whatever it might be. -He could not keep from sharing the man's evident intensity of mood, and -all the time he was wondering what the matter could be. Certainly no -common-place subject could so affect a man of iron like Tolliver. The -poet's lively imagination was all aglow over the mystery, but it could -not formulate any reasonable theory of explanation. - -Miss Crabb appeared in the parlor promptly and met Tolliver with a -cordiality that, instead of reassuring him, threw him into another fit -of embarrassment from which he at first made no effort to recover. His -wide-brimmed hat, as he twirled it on his knees, quivered convulsively -in accord with the ague of excitement with which his whole frame was -shaking. He made certain soundless movements with his lips, as if -muttering to himself. - -Miss Crabb at first did not notice his confusion, and went on talking -rapidly, reiterating thanks for the kindness he had shown her in her -recent mishap, and managing to put into her voice some tones that to him -sounded very tender and sweet. - -"You don't know--you can't imagine, Mr. Tolliver, what I suffered during -that awful night," she said, turning her head to one side and drawing -her chin under until it almost disappeared in the lace at her throat. -"It was horrible." - -Tolliver looked at her helplessly, his mouth open, his eyes dull and -sunken. - -"How did you happen to discover me up there, anyway, Mr. Tolliver?" she -demanded, leaning toward him and laughing a little. - -"The dog he treed ye, an' then I seed ye settin' up ther' er writin' -away," he managed to say, a wave of relief passing over his face at the -sound of his own voice. - -"It was perfectly ridiculous, perfectly preposterous," she exclaimed, -"but I'm mighty thankful that I was not hurt." - -"Yes, well ye mought be, Miss Crabb," he stammered out. "Wonder ye -wasn't scrunched inter pieces an' scattered all eround ther'." - -She slipped out her book, took a pencil from over her ear and made a -note. - -Tolliver eyed her dolefully. "How do you spell scrunched, Mr. Tolliver, -in your dialect?" she paused to inquire. - -His jaw fell a little lower for a moment, then he made an effort: - -"S--q--r--u--" he paused and shook his head, "S--q--k--no thet's not -hit--s--k--q--r--dorg ef I ken spell thet word--begging yer parding, hit -air 'tirely too hard for me." He settled so low in his chair that his -knees appeared almost as high as his head. - -"All right," she cheerily exclaimed, "I can get it phonetically. It's -a new word. I don't think either Craddock or Johnson uses it, it's -valuable." - -There was a silence during which Miss Crabb thoughtfully drummed on her -projecting front teeth with the end of her pencil. - -Tolliver nerved himself and said: - -"Miss Crabb I--I, well, ye know, I--that is, begging yer parding, but I -hev something' I want er say ter ye, ef ye please." He glanced furtively -around, as if suspecting that some person lay secreted among the -curtains of a bay window hard by. And indeed, Dufour was there, lightly -indulging in a morning nap, while the mountain breeze flowed over him. -He was in a deep bamboo chair behind those very curtains. - -"Oh, certainly, certainly, Mr. Tolliver, go on, I shall be delighted, -charmed indeed, to hear what you have to say," Miss Crabb responded, -turning a fresh leaf of her note-book and putting on a hopeful look. - -"I hope ye'll stick ter thet after I've done said it ter ye," he -proceeded to say, "but dorg on me ef I know how ter begin sayin' it." - -"Oh, just go right on, it's all right; I assure you, Mr. Tolliver, I am -very anxious to hear." - -"Mebbe ye air, I don't dispute yer word, but I feel mighty onery all the -same." - -"Onery is a Western word," mused Miss Crabb, making a note. - -"Proceed, Mr. Tolliver," she continued after a pause, "proceed, I am -listening with great interest." - -"What I'm ergwine ter state ter ye mought mek ye mad, but hit can't be -holp, I jest hev ter say it--I air jest erbleeged ter say it." - -His voice was husky and he was assuming a tragic air. Miss Crabb felt a -strange thrill creep throughout her frame as a sudden suspicion seemed -to leap back and forth between her heart and her brain. - -"No, I assure you that I could not be angry with you, Mr. Tolliver, -under any circumstances," she murmured, "you have been so very kind to -me." - -"Hit air awful confusin' an' hit mek a feller feel smaller 'n a mouse -ter speak it right out, but then hit air no foolishness, hit air pine -blank business." - -"Of course," said Miss Crabb pensively, "of course you feel some -embarrassment." - -He hitched himself up in his chair and crossed his legs. - -"Ef ye don't like w'at I say, w'y I won't blame ye a bit. I feel jest as -if I wer a doin' somethin' 'at I hadn't orter do, but my mammy she say I -must, an' that do everlastin'ly settle it." - -"Yes, your mother's advice is always safe." - -"Safe, I shed say so! Hit's mighty onsafe fer me not ter foller it, I -kin tell ye. She'd thump my old gourd fer me in ermazin' style ef I -didn't." - -"Thump my old gourd," repeated Miss Crabb, making a note. "Go on, Mr. -Tolliver, please." - -"S'pose I mought as well, seein' 'at it has ter be said." He paused, -faltered, and then proceeded: "Well, beggin' yer parding, Miss Crabb, -but ever sence ye wer' down ther' ter we all's cabin, hit's been a -worryin' my mammy and me, an' we hev' talked it all over an' over." - -"Yes," sighed Miss Crabb. - -"Hit's not the cost of them beads, Miss Crabb, they air not wo'th much, -but they was guv ter mammy by her aunt Mandy Ann Bobus, an' she feel -like she jest can't give 'em up." - -Miss Crabb looked puzzled. - -"Ef ye'll jest erblige me an' hand them beads over ter me, I'll never -say er wo'd ter nobody ner nothin." - -"Mr. Tolliver, what in the world do you mean?" cried Miss Crabb, rising -and standing before him with a face that flamed with sudden anger. - -"Ye mought er tuck 'em kinder accidentally, ye know," he suggested in a -conciliatory tone, rising also. - -"Mr. Tolliver!" she almost screamed. - -"Ther' now, be still, er ye'll let ever'body know all erbout it," he -half whispered. "Hit'd be disgraceful." - -"Mr. Tolliver!" - -"Sh-h-h! They'll hear ye!" - -"Get right out of this room, you--" - -Just then Dufour, who had been slowly aroused from his nap and who while -yet half asleep had overheard much of what had been said, stepped forth -from behind the curtains and stood looking from one to the other of the -excited actors in the little drama. - -"What's up?" he, demanded bluntly. - -"He's accusing me of stealing beads!" cried Miss Crabb. "He's insulting -me!" - -"What!" exclaimed Dufour, glaring at Tolliver. - -"I feel mighty onery a doin' it," said Tolliver, "but hit air pine blank -mighty suspicious, Kyernel, hit air for a fac'." - -Dufour looked as if he hardly knew which he should do, laugh -boisterously, or fling Tolliver out of the window, but he quickly pulled -himself together and said calmly: - -"You are wrong, sir, and you must apologize." - -"Certingly, certingly," said Tolliver, "thet air jest what I air a -doin'. I beg parding er thousan' times fer sayin' what I hev, but, -Kyernel, hit air a Lor' a mighty's truth, all the same, le' me tell ye. -Them beads was ther' w'en she come, an' they was gone w'en she was gone, -an'--" - -"Stop that! Take back those words or I'll throw you--" - -Dufour took a step towards Tolliver, but stopped suddenly when the -latter drew a huge revolver with one hand and a long crooked bowie-knife -with the other and said: - -"No yer don't, Kyernel, not by er good deal. Jest ye open yer bread-trap -ergain an' I'll jest clean up this ole shanty in erbout two minutes." - -It may not be inferred how this bit of dramatic experience would have -ended had not a lean, wizzen-faced mountain lad rushed in just then with -a three-cornered piece of paper in his hand upon which was scrawled the -following message: - -"I hev fown them beeds. They wus in mi terbacker bag." - -Tolliver read this and wilted. - -The boy was panting and almost exhausted. He had run all the way up the -mountain from the Tolliver cabin. - -"Yer mammy say kum home," he gasped. - -"Hit air jest as I 'spected," said Tolliver. "Mammy hev made a pine -blank eejit of me again." He handed the message to Dufour as he spoke. -His pistol and knife had disappeared. - -A full explanation followed, and at the end of a half-hour Tolliver went -away crest-fallen but happy. - -As for Miss Crabb she had made a number of valuable dialect notes. - -Dufour promised not to let the rest of the guests know what had just -happened in the parlor. - - -XIV. - -"Literature-making has not yet taken the rank of a profession, but of -late the world has modified its opinion as to the ability of literary -people to drive a close bargain, or to manage financial affairs with -success. Many women and some men have shown that it is possible for a -vivid imagination and a brilliant style in writing to go close along -with a practical judgment and a fair share of selfish shrewdness in -matters of bargain and sale. Still, after all, it remains true that a -strong majority of literary people are of the Micawber genus, with great -faith in what is to turn up, always nicely balancing themselves on the -extreme verge of expectancy and gazing over into the promise-land of -fame and fortune with pathetically hopeful, yet awfully hollow eyes. -Indeed there is no species of gambling more uncertain in its results or -more irresistibly fascinating to its victims than literary gambling. -Day after day, month after month, year after year, the deluded, -enthusiastic, ever defeated but never discouraged writer plies his pen, -besieges the publishers and editors, receives their rebuffs, rough or -smooth, takes back his declined manuscripts, tries it over and over, -sweats, fumes, execrates, coaxes, bullies, raves, re-writes, takes a new -_nom de plume_ and new courage, goes on and on to the end. Here or there -rumor goes that some fortunate literator has turned the right card and -has drawn a great prize; this rumor, never quite authentic, is enough to -re-invigorate all the fainting scribblers and to entice new victims -into the gilded casino of the Cadmean vice. The man who manipulates the -literary machine is the publisher, that invisible person who usually -grows rich upon the profits of unsuccessful books. He it is who -inveigles the infatuated young novelist, essayist, or poet, into the -beautiful bunco-den of the book business and there fastens him and holds -him as long as he will not squeal; but at the first note of remonstrance -he kicks him out and fills his place with a fresh victim. The literary -Micawber, however, does not despair. He may be a little silly from the -effect of the summersault to which the publisher's boot has treated him, -but after a distraught look about him he gets up, brushes the dust off -his seedy clothes and goes directly back into the den again with another -manuscript under his arm and with a feverish faith burning in his -deep-set eyes. What serene and beautiful courage, by the way, have the -literary women! Of course the monster who presides at the publisher's -desk cannot be as brutal to her as he is to men, but he manipulates her -copyright statements all the same, so that her book never passes the -line of fifteen hundred copies sold. How can we ever account for a woman -who has written forty-three novels under such circumstances and has -died, finally, a devout Christian and a staunch friend of her publisher? -Poor thing! up to the hour of her demise, white-haired, wrinkled, -over-worked, nervous and semi-paralytic, she nursed the rosy hope that -to-morrow, or at the very latest, the day after to-morrow, the reward -of all her self-devotion would come to her in the form of a liberal -copyright statement from her long-suffering and charitable publisher. - -"Out in the West they have a disease called milk-sickness, an awful -malady, of which everybody stands in deadly terror, but which nobody -has ever seen. If you set out to find a case of milk-sickness it is -like following a _will-o'-the-wisp_, it is always just a little way -farther on, over in the next settlement; you never find it. The really -successful author in America is, like the milk-sickness, never visible, -except on the remote horizon. You hear much of him, but you never have -the pleasure of shaking his cunning right hand. The fact is, he is a -myth. On the other hand, however, the American cities are full of -successful publishers who have become millionaires upon the profits of -books which have starved their authors. Of course this appears to be a -paradox, but I suppose that it can be explained by the rule of profit -and loss. The author's loss is the publisher's profit." - -The foregoing is, in substance, the opening part of an address delivered -by Ferris before the assembled guests of Hotel Helicon. - -Mrs. Nancy Jones Black presided at the meeting; indeed she always -presided at meetings. On this occasion, which was informal and -impromptu, Ferris was in excellent mood for speaking, as he just had -been notified by a letter from Dunkirk & Co. that he was expected to pay -in advance for the plates of his new romance, _A Mysterious Missive_, -and that a personal check would not be accepted--a draft on New York -must be sent forthwith. Although Ferris was a thoroughly good fellow, -who cared nothing for money as money, this demand for a sum the half -of which he could not command if his life were at stake, hit him like -a bullet-stroke. A chance to talk off the soreness of the wound was -accepted with avidity. He felt guilty of a meanness, it is true, in thus -stirring up old troubles and opening afresh ancient hurts in the breasts -of his listening friends; but the relief to him was so great that he -could not forego it. "The American publisher," he went on, "proclaims -himself a fraud by demanding of the author a contract which places the -author's business wholly in the control of the publisher. I take it that -publishers are just as honest and just as dishonest, as any other class -of respectable men. You know and I know, that, as a rule, the man -who trusts his business entirely to others will, in the long run, be -robbed. Administrators of estates rob the heirs, in two-thirds of the -instances, as every probate lawyer well knows. Every merchant has to -treat his clerks and salesmen as if they were thieves, or if he do not -they will become thieves. The government has to appoint bank examiners -to watch the bankers, and yet they steal. The Indian agents steal from -the government. Senators steal, aldermen steal, Wall street men steal -from one another and from everybody else. Canada is overflowing with men -who have betrayed and robbed those who trusted their business with them. -Even clergymen (that poorly paid and much abused class) now and again -fall before the temptation offered by the demon of manipulated returns -of trust funds. The fact is, one may feel perfectly safe in saying that -in regard to all the professions, trades, and occupations, there is -absolutely no safety in trusting one's affairs wholly in the hands of -another. (Great applause). Even your milkman waters the milk and the -dairyman sells you butter that never was in a churn. If you neglect to -keep a pass-book your grocer runs up the bill to--(a great rustle, and -some excited whispering) up to something enormous. Of course it is not -everybody that is dishonest, but experience shows that if a man has -the temptation to defraud his customers constantly before him, with -absolutely no need to fear detection, he will soon reason himself into -believing it his right to have the lion's share of all that goes into -his hands. - -"Now isn't it strange, in view of the premises, that nobody ever heard -of such a thing as a publisher being convicted of making false returns? -Is it possible that the business of book-publishing is so pure and good -of itself that it attracts to it none but perfect men? (Great applause). -Publishers do fail financially once in a while, but their books of -accounts invariably show that just eleven hundred and forty copies of -each copyrighted book on their lists have been sold to date, no more, no -less. (Suppressed applause). Nobody ever saw cleaner or better balanced -books of accounts than those kept by the publishers. They foot up -correctly to a cent. Indeed it would be a very strange thing if a -man couldn't make books balance under such circumstances! (Prolonged -hand-clapping). I am rather poor at double entry, but I fancy I could -make a credit of eleven hundred and forty copies sold, so as to have it -show up all right. (Cheers). I must not lose my head in speaking on this -subject, for I cannot permit you to misunderstand my motive. So long as -authors submit to the per centum method of publication, so long they -will be the prey of the publishers. The only method by which justice -can be assured to both author and publisher is the cash-sale method. If -every author in America would refuse to let his manuscript go out of -hand before he had received the cash value for it, the trade would soon -adjust itself properly. In that case the author's reputation would be -his own property. So soon as he had made an audience his manuscripts -would command a certain price. If one publisher would not pay enough -for it another would. As the method now is, it makes little difference -whether the author have a reputation or not. Indeed most publishers -prefer to publish the novels, for example, of clever tyros, because -these fledglings are so proud of seeing themselves in print that -they never think of questioning copyright statements. Eleven hundred -and forty copies usually will delight them almost beyond endurance. -(Laughter and applause). Go look at the book lists of the publishers and -you will feel the truth of what I have said. - -"Now let me ask you if you can give, or if any publisher can give -one solitary honest reason why the publishing business should not be -put upon a cash basis--a manuscript for so much money? The publisher -controls his own business, he knows every nook and corner, every -leaf and every line of it, and he should be able to say, just as the -corn-merchant does, I will give you so much, to which the author would -say: I will take it, or I will not take it. But what is the good of -standing here and arguing? You believe every word I speak, but you don't -expect to profit by it. You will go on gambling at the publisher's faro -table just as long as he will smile and deal the cards. Some of these -days you will win, you think. Poor deluded wretches, go on and die in -the faith!" - -No sooner had Ferris ended than Lucas the historian arose and expressed -grave doubts as to the propriety of the address. He was decidedly of the -opinion that authors could not afford to express themselves so freely -and, if he must say it, recklessly. How could Mr. Ferris substantiate by -proof any of the damaging allegations he had made against publishers of -high standing? What Mr. Ferris had said might be strictly true, but the -facts were certainly, very hard to come at, he thought. He hoped that -Mr. Ferris's address would not be reported to the press (here he glanced -appealingly at Miss Crabb), at least not as the sense of the meeting. -Such a thing would, in his opinion, be liable to work a great harm to -all present. He felt sure that the publishers would resent the whole -thing as malicious and libellous. - -Throughout the audience there was a nervous stirring, a looking at one -another askance. It was as if a cold wave had flowed over them. Nobody -had anything further to say, and it was a great relief when Dufour moved -an adjournment _sine die_, which was carried by a vote that suggested a -reserve of power. Every face in the audience, with the exception of -Dufour's, wore a half-guilty look, and everybody crept silently out of -the room. - - -XV. - -It caused quite a commotion on Mt. Boab when Bartley Hubbard and Miss -Henrietta Stackpole, newspaper people from Boston, arrived at Hotel -Helicon. Miss Stackpole had just returned from Europe, and Bartley -Hubbard had run down from Boston for a week to get some points for his -paper. She had met Mr. Henry James on the continent and Hubbard had -dined with Mr. Howells just before leaving Boston. - -No two persons in all the world would have been less welcome among the -guests at the hotel, just then, than were these professional reporters. -Of course everybody tried to give them a cordial greeting, but they were -classed along with Miss Crabb as dangerous characters whom it would be -folly to snub. Miss Moyne was in downright terror of them, associating -the thought of them with those ineffable pictures of herself which were -still appearing at second and third hand in the "patent insides" of the -country journals, but she was very good to them, and Miss Stackpole -at once attached herself to her unshakably. Hubbard did likewise with -little Mrs. Philpot, who amused him mightily with her strictures upon -analytical realism in fiction. - -"I do think that Mr. Howells treated you most shamefully," she said to -him. "He had no right to represent you as a disagreeable person who was -cruel to his wife and who had no moral stamina." - -Hubbard laughed as one who hears an absurd joke. "Oh, Howells and I have -an understanding. We are really great friends," he said. "I sat to him -for my portrait and I really think he flattered me. I managed to keep -him from seeing some of my ugliest lines." - -"Now you are not quite sincere," said Mrs. Philpot, glancing over him -from head to foot. "You are not so bad as he made you out to be. It's -one of Mr. Howells's hobbies to represent men as rather flabby -nonentities and women as invalids or dolls." - -"He's got the men down fine," replied Hubbard, "but I guess he is rather -light on women. You will admit, however, that he dissects feminine -meanness and inconsequence with a deft turn." - -"He makes fun of women," said Mrs. Philpot, a little testily, "he -caricatures them, wreaks his humor on them; but you know very well that -he misrepresents them even in his most serious and _quasi_ truthful -moods." - -Hubbard laughed, and there was something essentially vulgar in the notes -of the laugh. Mrs. Philpot admitted this mentally, and she found herself -shrinking from his steadfast but almost conscienceless eyes. - -"I imagine I shouldn't be as bad a husband as he did me into, but--" - -Mrs. Philpot interrupted him with a start and a little cry. - -"Dear me! and aren't you married?" she asked in exclamatory deprecation -of what his words had implied. - -He laughed again very coarsely and looked at her with eyes that almost -lured. "Married!" he exclaimed, "do I look like a marrying man? A -newspaper man can't afford to marry." - -"How strange," reflected Mrs. Philpot, "how funny, and Mr. Howells calls -himself a realist!" - -"Realist!" laughed Hubbard, "why he does not know enough about the -actual world to be competent to purchase a family horse. He's a capital -fellow, good and true and kind-hearted, but what does he know about -affairs? He doesn't even know how to flatter women!" - -"How absurd!" exclaimed little Mrs. Philpot, but Hubbard could not -be sure for the life of him just what she meant the expression to -characterize. - -"And you like Mr. Howells?" she inquired. - -"Like him! everybody likes him," he cordially said. - -"Well, you are quite different from Miss Crabb. _She_ hates Maurice -Thompson for putting _her_ into a story." - -"Oh, well," said Hubbard, indifferently, "women are not like men. They -take life more seriously. If Thompson had had more experience he would -not have tampered with a newspaper woman. He's got the whole crew down -on him. Miss Stackpole hates him almost as fiercely as she hates Henry -James." - -"I don't blame her," exclaimed Mrs. Philpot, "it's mean and contemptible -for men to caricature women." - -"Oh, I don't know," yawned Hubbard, "it all goes in a lifetime." - -At this opportune moment Miss Crabb and Miss Stackpole joined them, -coming arm in arm. Miss Crabb looking all the more sallow and slender in -comparison with the plump, well-fed appearance of her companion. - -"May I introduce you to Miss Crabb of the Ringville _Star_, Mr. -Hubbard," Miss Stackpole asked, in a high but by no means rich voice, -as she fastened her steady, button-like eyes on Mrs. Philpot. - -Hubbard arose lazily and went through the process of introduction -perfunctorily, giving Miss Crabb a sweeping but indifferent glance. - -"There's an impromptu pedestrian excursion on hand," said Miss -Stackpole, "and I feel bound to go. One of the gentlemen has discovered -a hermit's cabin down a ravine near here, and he offers to personally -conduct a party to it. You will go, Mr. Hubbard?" - -"Go! I should remark that I will. You don't get a scoop of that item, I -assure you." - -Miss Stackpole was a plump and rather pretty young woman, fairly well -dressed in drab drapery. She stood firmly on her feet and had an air -of self-reliance and self-control in strong contrast with the fussy, -nervous manner of Miss Crabb. - -Mrs. Philpot surveyed the two young women with that comprehensive, -critical glance which takes in everything that is visible, and quickly -enough she made up her comparison and estimate of them. - -She decided that Miss Crabb had no style, no _savoir faire_, no repose; -but then Miss Stackpole was forward, almost impudent in appearance, and -her greater ease of manner was really the ease that comes of a long -training in intrusiveness, and of rubbing against an older civilization. -She felt quite distinctly the decided dash of vulgarity in the three -newspaper representatives before her, and she could not help suspecting -that it would not be safe to judge the press reporters by these -examples. - -The question arose in her mind whether after all Howells and Henry James -and Maurice Thompson had acted fairly in taking these as representative -newspaper people. - -She had met a great many newspaper people and had learned to like them -as a class; she had many good and helpful friends among them. - -Unconsciously she was showing to all present that she was dissecting the -three reporters. Her unfavorable opinion of them slowly took expression -in her tell-tale face. Not that she wholly disliked or distrusted them; -she really pitied them. How could they be content to live such a life, -dependent upon what they could make by meddling, so to speak? - -Then too, she felt a vague shame, a chagrin, a regret that real people -must be put into works of fiction with all the seamy side of their -natures turned out to the world's eye. - -"We're in for it," exclaimed Hubbard, "Mrs. Philpot is making a study of -us as a group. See the dreaming look in her eyes!" - -"Oh, no! she never studies anybody or anything," said Miss Crabb. "Poor -little woman, real life is a constant puzzle to her, and she makes not -the slightest effort to understand it." - -Hubbard and Miss Stackpole glanced curiously at each other and then at -Miss Crabb. Evidently their thought was a common one. - - -XVI. - -The pedestrian excursion spoken of by Miss Stackpole promised to be an -enjoyable affair to those of the Helicon guests who could venture upon -it. A writer of oddly entertaining and preposterously impossible short -stories, John B. Cattleton, had been mousing among the ravines of Mt. -Boab, and had stumbled upon what he described as a "very obscure little -cabin, jammed under a cliff in an angle of the cañon and right over a -bright stream of cold, pure spring-water. It's a miserably picturesque -and forlornly prepossessing place," he went on in his droll way, "where -all sorts of engaging ghosts and entertaining ogres might be supposed -to congregate at midnight. I didn't go quite down to it, but I was near -enough to it to make out its main features, and I saw the queerest being -imaginable poking around the premises. A veritable hermit, I should -call him, as old as the rocks themselves. His dress was absurdly -old-fashioned, a caricature of the uniform of our soldier sires of -revolutionary renown. A long spike-tailed blue coat with notable brass -buttons, a triangular hat somewhat bell-crowned and tow or cotton -trousers. Shirt? Vest? Yes, if I remember well they were of copperas -homespun. His hair and beard were white, fine and thin, hanging in -tags and wisps as fluffy as lint. I sat upon a rock in the shadow of a -cedar tree and watched his queer manoeuvres for a good while. All his -movements were furtive and peculiar, like those of a shy, wild beast." - -"It's the Prophet of the Smoky Mountain," said Miss Crabb in an earnest -stage whisper. "He's Craddock's material, we can't touch him." - -"Touch him! I'll interview him on dialect in politics," said Hubbard, -"and get his views on sex in genius." - -"I should like a sketch of his life. There must be a human interest to -serve as straw for my brick," remarked Miss Stackpole. "The motive that -induced him to become a hermit, and all that." - -Miss Crabb dared not confess that she desired a sketch of the old man -for the newspaper syndicate, so she merely drummed on her front teeth -with her pencil. - -Dufour joined the pedestrian party with great enthusiasm, having dressed -himself for the occasion in a pair of tennis trousers, a blue flannel -shirt, a loose jacket and a shooting cap. - -His shoes were genuine alpine foot-gear with short spikes in their heels -and soles. - -"Lead on Cattleton," he cried jovially, "and let our motto be, 'On to -the hut of Friar Tuck'!" - -"Good," answered Cattleton in like spirit, "and you shall be my -lieutenant, come, walk beside me." - -"Thank you, from the bottom of my heart," replied Dufour, "but I cannot -accept. I have contracted to be Miss Moyne's servant instead." - -That was a gay procession filing away from Hotel Helicon through the -thin forest that fringed one shoulder of stately Mt. Boab. Cattleton -led the column, flinging back from time to time his odd sayings and -preposterous conceits. - -The day was delightfully cool with a steady wind running over the -mountain and eddying in the sheltered coves where the ferns were thick -and tall. In the sky were a few pale clouds slowly vanishing, whilst -some broad-pinioned buzzards wheeled round and round above the -blue-green abyss of the valley. There were sounds of a vague, dreamy -sort abroad in the woods, like the whisperings and laughter of legions -of invisible beings. Everybody felt exhilarated and buoyant, tramping -gaily away to the hut of the hermit. - -At a certain point Cattleton commanded a halt, and pointing out the -entrance to the ravine, said: - -"Now, good friends, we must have perfect silence during the descent, -or our visit will be all in vain. Furthermore, the attraction of -gravitation demands that, in going down, we must preserve our -uprightness, else our progress may be facilitated to an alarming degree, -and our advent at the hut be far from becomingly dignified." - -Like a snake, flecked with touches of gay color, the procession crawled -down the ravine, the way becoming steeper and more tortuous at every -step. Thicker and thicker and thicker grew the trees, saving where the -rock broke forth from the soil, and closer drew the zig-zags of the -barely possible route. Cattleton silenced every voice and rebuked every -person who showed signs of weakening. - -"It's just a few steps farther," he whispered back from his advanced -position, "don't make the least sound." - -But the ravine proved, upon this second descent much more difficult and -dangerous than it had appeared to Cattleton at first, and it was with -the most heroic exertions that he finally led the party down to the -point whence he had viewed the cabin. By this time the column was -pressing upon him and he could not stop. Down he went, faster and -faster, barely able to keep his feet, now sliding, now clutching a tree -or rock, with the breathless and excited line of followers gathering -dangerous momentum behind him. - -It was too late now to command silence or to control the company in any -way. An avalanche of little stones, loosened by scrambling feet, swept -past him and went leaping on down below. He heard Miss Moyne utter a -little scream of terror that mingled with many exclamations from both -men and women, and then he lost his feet and began to slide. Down he -sped and down sped the party after him, till in a cataract of mightily -frightened, but unharmed men and women, they all went over a little -precipice and landed in a scattered heap on a great bed of oak leaves -that the winds had drifted against the rock. - -A few moments of strange silence followed, then everybody sprang up, -disheveled and red-faced, to look around and see what was the matter. - -They found themselves close to the long, low cabin, from under which -flowed a stream of water. A little column of smoke was wandering out -of a curious clay chimney. Beside the low door-way stood a long, deep -trough filled with water in which a metal pipe was coiled fantastically. -Two earthen jugs with cob stoppers sat hard by. A sourish smell -assaulted their sense and a faint spirituous flavor burdened the air. - -Cattleton, who was first upon his feet, shook himself together and -drolly remarked: - -"We have arrived in good order, let's interview the----" - -Just then rushed forth from the door the old man of the place, who -halted outside and snatched from its rack on the wall a long tin horn, -which he proceeded to blow vigorously, the echoes prowling through the -woods and over the foot-hills and scampering far away up and down the -valley. - -Not a soul present ever could forget that sketch, the old man with his -shrunken legs bent and wide apart, his arms akimbo as he leaned far -back and held up that wailing, howling, bellowing horn, and his long -coat-tail almost touching the ground, whilst his fantastic hat quivered -in unison with the strain he was blowing. How his shriveled cheeks -puffed out, and how his eyes appeared to be starting from their bony -sockets! - -"That is what I call a fitting reception," said Cattleton, gazing at the -trumpeter. - -"See here," exclaimed Crane with evident excitement, "I smell whisky! -This----" - -"Hyer! what d'ye mean hyer, you all a comin' down hyer?" broke forth a -wrathful voice, and Wesley Tolliver rushed with melodramatic fierceness -upon the scene. - -"Oh! I--I--wa--want to g--go home!" cried little Mrs. Philpot, clutching -Bartley Hubbard's arm. - -"So do I," said he with phlegmatic cleverness. "I should like to see my -mother. I'm feeling a little lonely and----" - -"What upon yearth do this yer mean, anyhow?" thundered Tolliver. "Who -invited you all down yer, tell me thet, will ye?" - -"Oh, Mr. Tolliver, Mr. Tolliver!" exclaimed Miss Crabb, rushing upon -him excitedly, "I'm _so_ glad you are here!" - -"Well, I'll ber dorged!" he ejaculated, "you down hyer again! Well, I -never seed the like afore in all my born days." - -He gazed at first one and then another of the party, and a sudden light -flashed into his face. - -"Well I'll ber dorged ef ther whole kepoodle of 'em hain't done jest -gone and tumbled off'n the mounting an' jest rolled down hyer!" - -"You're a very accurate reasoner, my friend," said Cattleton, trying to -get his hat into shape. "I think we touched at two or three points as we -came down, however." - -About this time four or five more mountaineers appeared bearing guns and -looking savage. - -"Bandits," said Miss Stackpole with a shudder. - -"Moonshiners," muttered Crane. - -"Oh, for heaven's sake, Mr. Hubbard, do t--t--take m--me home!" wailed -Mrs. Philpot. - -"I should be delighted," said Hubbard, his voice concealing the -uneasiness he felt. "Indeed I should." - -More men appeared and at the same time a roll of thunder tumbled across -the darkening sky. A sudden mountain storm had arisen. - -The pedestrians found themselves surrounded by a line of grim and silent -men who appeared to be waiting for orders from Tolliver. - -A few large drops of rain come slanting down from the advancing fringe -of the sable-cloud, and again the thunder bounded across the heavens. - -"I guess you'd better invite us in," suggested Cattleton, turning to the -old man, who stood leaning on his tin horn. "The ladies will get wet." - -"I say, Cattleton," called out Bartley Hubbard, "if a fellow only had -a little supply of Stockton's negative gravity he could ameliorate his -condition, don't you think?" - -"Yes, I'd like to fall up hill just now. The excitement would be -refreshing." - -There came a spiteful dash of rain and a flurry of wind. - -"You'ns had better go inter the still-house," said Tolliver. "Hit air -goin' ter rain yearlin' calves. Go right erlong in, ye sha'n't be hurt." - -Another gush of rain enforced the invitation, and they all scrambled -into the cabin pell-mell, glad of the relief from a strain that had -become almost unbearable to some of them, but they stared at each other -when they found the door closed and securely locked on the outside. - -"Prisoners!" cried some one whose voice was drowned by a deafening crash -of thunder and a mighty flood of rain that threatened to crush in the -rickety roof of the house. - -"The treacherous villain!" exclaimed Dufour, speaking of Tolliver and -holding Miss Moyne's hand. The poor girl was so frightened that it was a -comfort to her to have her hand held. - -"How grand, how noble it is in Mr. Tolliver and his friends," said Miss -Crabb, "to stand out there in the rain and let us have the shelter! I -never saw a more virile and thoroughly unselfish man than he is. He is -one of Nature's unshorn heroes, a man of the ancient god-like race." - -Mrs. Nancy Jones Black gave the young woman a look of profound contempt. - -Then a crash of thunder, wind, and rain scattered everybody's thoughts. - - -XVII. - -The storm was wild enough, but of short duration, and it came to its end -as suddenly as it had begun. As the black cloud departed from the sky, -the darkness, which had been almost a solid inside the still-house, was -pierced by certain lines of mild light coming through various chinks in -the walls and roof. Our friends examined one another curiously, as if to -be sure that it was not all a dream. - -Cattleton found himself face to face with a demure-looking young man, -whom he at once recognized as Harry Punner, a writer of delicious verses -and editor of a rollicking humorous journal at New York. - -"Hello, Hal! you here?" he cried. "Well how does it strike your funny -bone? It insists upon appearing serious to me." - -"I'm smothering for a whiff of fresh air," said Punner, in a very -matter-of-fact tone. "Can't we raise a window or something?" - -"The only window visible to the naked eye," said Cattleton, "is already -raised higher than I can reach," and he pointed to a square hole in the -wall about seven and a-half feet above the ground and very near the -roof. - -Crane went about in the room remarking that the aroma floating in the -air was the bouquet of the very purest and richest copper-distilled corn -whisky and that if he could find it he was quite sure that a sip of it -would prove very refreshing under the peculiar circumstances of the -case, an observation which called forth from Mrs. Nancy Jones Black a -withering temperance reprimand. - -"As the presiding officer of the _Woman's Prohibition Promulgation -Society_ I cannot let such a remark pass without condemning it. If -this really is a liquor establishment I desire to be let out of it -forthwith." - -"So do I!" exclaimed little Mrs. Philpot with great vehemence. "Open the -door Mr. Hubbard, please." - -Hubbard went to the door and finding that it was constructed to open -outwardly, gave it a shove with all his might. There was a short tussle -and he staggered back. - -"Why don't you push it open?" fretfully exclaimed Mrs. Nancy Jones -Black. - -"The gentlemen outside object, for reasons not stated," was the rather -stolidly spoken answer. - -Cattleton had taken off his hat and was going about through the company -soliciting handkerchiefs. - -"Drop them in, drop them in," he urged, "I need all of them that I can -get." - -He offered his hat as a contribution box as he spoke, and nearly -every-one gave a handkerchief, without in the least suspecting his -purpose. - -When he had collected a round dozen, Cattleton crammed them all down in -the crown of his hat which he then put on his head. - -"Now Hal," he said, addressing Punner, "give me a boost and I'll make an -observation through that window." - -The rain was now entirely ended and the wind had fallen still. - -With Punner's help Cattleton got up to the window and poked out his -head. - -"Git back ther'!" growled a vicious voice, and at the same time the dull -sound of a heavy blow was followed by the retreat of Cattleton from the -window to the floor in a great hurry. - -Upon top of his hat was a deep trench made by a club. - -"The handkerchiefs did their duty nobly," he remarked. "Let everybody -come forward and identify his property." - -"What did you see?" asked Punner. - -"A giant with an oak tree in his hand and murder in his eye," said -Cattleton, busily selecting and returning the handkerchiefs. "This -eleemosynary padding was all that saved me. The blow was aimed at my -divine intellect." - -"See here," cried Peck, in great earnest, "this is no joking matter. -We're in the power of a set of mountain moonshiners, and may be -murdered in cold blood. We'd better do something." - -Crane had prowled around until he had found a small jug of fragrant -mountain dew whisky, which he was proceeding to taste in true Kentucky -style, when a gaunt form rose in a corner of the room, and tottering -forward seized the jug and took it out of his hand. - -"No ye don't, sonny, no ye don't! This yer mounting jew air not -ever'body's licker 'at wants it. Not by er half er mile at the littlest -calc'lation!" - -Miss Crabb made a note. Crane gazed pathetically at the fantastic old -man before him, and brushed his handkerchief across his lips, as if from -habit, as he managed to say: - -"I meant no undue liberty, I assure you. That whisky is----" - -"Overpowerin'," interrupted the old man, taking a sip from the vessel. -"Yes, I don't blame ye fur a wantin' of it, but this yer licker air -mine." - -"Up in Kentucky," said Crane, "we are proud to offer----" - -"Kaintucky! did ye say ole Kaintuck? Air ye from ther', boy?" - -The octogenarian leaned forward as he spoke and gazed at Crane with -steadfast, rheumy eyes. - -Miss Henrietta Stackpole came forward to hear what was to follow, her -instinct telling her that a point of human interest was about to be -reached. - -"Yes," said Crane, "I was born and reared on Lulbegrud creek." - -"Lulbegrud!" - -"Yes." - -"How fur f'om Wright's mill?" - -"Close by, at Kiddville," said Crane. - -"Ye 'member Easton's Springs close by an' Pilot Knob away off in the -distance?" - -"Very well, indeed, and Guoff's pond." - -"Boy, what mought yer name be?" - -"Crane." - -"Crane!" - -"Yes." - -"Well, I'll ber dorg!" - -The old man stood gazing and grinning at Crane for some moments, and -then added: - -"What's yer pap's name?" - -"Eliphas Crane." - -"'Liphas Crane yore pap!" - -"Yes." - -"Child, I air yer pap's uncle." - -"What!" - -"I air Peter Job Crane." - -"You!" - -"Sartin es anything." - -"Are you my father's uncle Peter?" - -"I air yer pap's uncle Pete." - -"How strange!" - -Miss Stackpole did not permit a word, a look, or a shade of this -interview to escape her. She now turned to Bartley Hubbard and said: - -"We Americans are the victims of heterogeneous consanguinity. Such an -incident as this could not happen in England. It will be a long time -before we can get rid of our ancestors." - -"Yes," assented Hubbard, nonchalantly, "Yer pap's uncle certainly is a -large factor in American life." - -"How many men did you see when you looked out?" Peck inquired, -addressing Cattleton. - -"I saw only one, but he was a monster," was the ready reply. "It's no -use brooding over trying to escape by force. We're utterly helpless, and -that jolt on my head has rendered me unfit for diplomatic efforts." - -"What do you suppose they will do with us?" - -"They won't dare let us go." - -"Why?" - -"They'd be afraid that we would report their illicit distillery." - -"Ah, I see." - -The affair began to take on a very serious and gloomy aspect, and the -room was growing oppressively hot, owing to the presence of a a small -but energetic furnace that glowed under a sighing boiler. Outside, with -the clearing sky and refreshed air, there arose a clamor of bird-song in -the dripping trees. Under the floor the spring-stream gurgled sweetly. - -"Ye 'member Abbott's still house on ole Lulbegrud?" said the old man, -pursuing his reminisences, after he had permitted his grand-nephew to -taste the "mounting jew," "an' Dan Rankin's ole bob-tail hoss?" - -"Very well, indeed," responded Crane, "and Billy Pace's blackberry -fields where I picked berries in summer and chased rabbits in winter." - -"Take er nother drop o' the jyful juice, boy, fur the mem'ry o' ole -Kaintuck!" - -"Oh dear! but isn't it incomparably awful?" exclaimed Mrs. Nancy Jones -Black, gazing in horrified fascination upon the two Kentuckians, as they -bowed to each other and drank alternately from the little jug. - -"Characteristic Southern scene not used by Craddock," murmured Miss -Crabb, making a whole page of a single note. - -"Don't this yere liquor taste o' one thing an' smell o' another an' jes' -kinder git ter the lowest p'int o' yer appetite?" continued Crane's -great uncle Peter. - -"Delicious beyond compare," responded the young man, drinking again, "it -is nectar of the gods." - -Mrs. Nancy Jones Black groaned, but could not withdraw her eyes from the -scene. - -"Good deal like ole times down to Abbott's still-house on Lulbegrud, -boy," the old man suggested, "ye don't forgit erbout Dan Rankin's mule -a-kickin' ole man Hornback's hat off?" - -The poet laughed retrospectively and mopped his glowing face with -his handkerchief. The heat from the furnace and the stimulus of the -excellent beverage were causing him to feel the need of fresh air. - -Indeed, everybody was beginning to pant. Miss Moyne was so overcome with -excitement and with the heat of the place, that she was ready to faint, -when the door was flung open and Tolliver appeared. A rush of sweet cool -air, flooding the room, revived her, just as she was sinking into -Dufour's arms. - - -XVIII. - -Authors who have added the vice of elocution to the weakness of dialect -verse-making, are often at a loss for a sympathetic audience. Whilst -it is true that literary people are apt to bear with a good deal of -patience the mutually offered inflictions incident to meeting one -another, they draw the line at dialect recitations; and, as a rule, -stubbornly refuse to be bored with a fantastic rendition of "When -Johnny got spanked by a mule," or "Livery-stable Bob," or "Samantha's -Courtin'," or "Over the Ridge to the Pest-house," no matter how dear a -friend may offer the scourge. Circumstances alter cases, however, and -although neither Carleton, nor Riley, nor yet Burdette, nor Bill Nye -(those really irresistible and wholly delightful humorists), had come to -Hotel Helicon, there was a certain relief for those of the guests who -had not joined the luckless pedestrians, in hearing Miss Amelia Lotus -Nebeker recite a long poem written in New Jersey patois. - -Miss Nebeker was very hard of hearing, almost stone deaf, indeed, which -affliction lent a pathetic effect even to her humor. She was rather -stout, decidedly short, and had a way of making wry faces with a view to -adding comicality to certain turns of her New Jersey phraseology, and -yet she was somewhat of a bore at times. Possibly she wished to read too -often and sometimes upon very unsuitable occasions. It was Mrs. Bridges -who once said that, if the minister at a funeral should ask some one to -say a few appropriate words, Miss Nebeker, if present, would immediately -clear her throat and begin reciting "A Jerseyman's Jewsharp." "And if -she once got started you'd never be able to stop her, for she's as deaf -as an adder." - -It was during the rainstorm, while those of the guests who had not gone -to the hermit's hut with Cattleton, were in the cool and spacious parlor -of the hotel, that something was said about Charles Dickens reading from -his own works. Strangely enough, although the remark was uttered in -a low key and at some distance from Miss Nebeker, she responded at -once with an offer to give them a new rendering of _The Jerseyman's -Jewsharp_. Lucas, the historian, objected vigorously, but she insisted -upon interpreting his words and gestures as emphatic applause of her -proposition. She arose while he was saying: - -"Oh now, that's too much, we're tired of the jangling of that old harp; -give us a rest!" - -This unexpected and surprising slang from so grave and dignified -a man set everybody to laughing. Miss Nebeker bowed in smiling -acknowledgement of what appeared to her to be a flattering anticipation -of her humor, and taking her manuscript from some hiding-place in her -drapery, made a grimace and began to read. Mrs. Philpot's cat, in the -absence of its mistress, had taken up with the elocutionist and now came -to rub and purr around her feet while she recited. This was a small -matter, but in school or church or lecture-hall, small matters attract -attention. The fact that the cat now and again mewed plaintively set -some of the audience to smiling and even to laughing. - -Such apparent approval of her new rendition thrilled Miss Nebeker to her -heart's core. Her voice deepened, her intonations caught the spirit of -her mood, and she read wildly well. - -Every one who has even a smattering of the _patois_ current in New -Jersey, will understand how effective it might be made in the larynx -of a cunning elocutionist; and then whoever has had the delicious -experience of hearing a genuine Jerseyman play on the jewsharp will -naturally jump to a correct conclusion concerning the pathos of the -subject which Miss Nebeker had in hand. She felt its influence and threw -all her power into it. Heavy as she was, she arose on her tip-toes at -the turning point of the story and gesticulated vehemently. - -The cat, taken by surprise, leaped aside a pace or two and glared in a -half-frightened way, with each separate hair on its tail set stiffly. -Of course there was more laughter which the reader took as applause. - -"A brace of cats!" exclaimed the historian. "A brace of cats!" - -Nobody knew what he meant, but the laughing increased, simply for the -reason that there was nothing to laugh at. - -Discovering pretty soon that Miss Nebeker really meant no harm by her -manoeuvres, the cat went back to rub and purr at her feet. Then Miss -Nebeker let down her heel on the cat's tail, at the same time beginning -with the pathetic part of _The Jerseyman's Jewsharp_. - -The unearthly squall that poor puss gave forth was wholly lost on the -excited elocutionist, but it quite upset the audience, who, not wishing -to appear rude, used their handkerchiefs freely. - -Miss Nebeker paused to give full effect to a touching line. - -The cat writhed and rolled and clawed the air and wailed like a lost -spirit in its vain endeavor to free its tail; but Miss Nebeker, all -unconscious of the situation, and seeing her hearers convulsed and -wiping tears from their faces, redoubled her elocutionary artifices and -poured incomparable feeling into her voice. - -Suddenly the tortured and writhing animal uttered a scream of -blood-curdling agony and lunged at Miss Nebeker's ankles with tooth and -claw. - -She was in the midst of the passage where the dying Jerseyman lifts -himself on his elbow and calls for his trusty Jewsharp: - -"Gi' me my juice-harp, Sarah Ann----" she was saying, when of a sudden -she screamed louder than the cat and bounded into the air, sending her -manuscript in fluttering leaves all over the room. - -The cat, with level tail and fiery eyes, sailed through the door-way -into the hall, and went as if possessed of a devil, bounding up the -stairway to Mrs. Philpot's room. - -Congratulations were in order, and Lucas insisted upon bellowing in Miss -Nebeker's ear his appreciation of the powerful effect produced by the -last scene in the little drama. - -"If our friends who are out in this rain are finding anything half as -entertaining," he thundered, "they needn't mind the drenching." - -"But I'm bitten, I'm scratched, I'm hurt," she exclaimed. - -Lucas suddenly realized the brutality of his attitude, and hastened to -rectify it by collecting the leaves of her manuscript and handing them -to her. - -"I beg pardon," he said sincerely, "I hope you are not hurt much." - -"Just like a cat," she cried, "always under somebody's feet! I do -despise them!" - -With a burning face and trembling hands she swiftly rearranged the -manuscript and assuming the proper attitude asked the audience to be -seated again. - -"I am bitten and scratched quite severely," she said, "and am suffering -great pain, but if you will resume your places I will begin over -again." - -"Call that cat back, then, quick!" exclaimed Lucas, "it's the star -performer in the play." - -She proceeded forthwith, setting out on a new journey through the -tortuous ways of the poem, and held up very well to the end. What she -called New Jersey patois was a trifle flat when put into verse and she -lacked the polished buffoonery of a successful dialect reader, wherefore -she failed to get along very successfully with her audience in the -absence of the cat; still the reading served to kill a good deal of -time, by a mangling process. - -The storm was over long ago when she had finished, and the sun was -flooding the valley with golden splendor. Along the far away mountain -ridges some slanting wisps of whitish mist sailed slowly, like aerial -yachts riding dark blue billows. The foliage of the trees, lately dusky -and drooping, twinkled vividly with a green that was almost dazzling, -and the air was deliciously fresh and fragrant. - -Everybody went out on the veranda for a turn and a deep breath. - -The mail had arrived and by a mistake a bundle of letters bearing the -card of George Dunkirk & Co., and addressed to "George Dunkirk, Esq., -Hotel Helicon, room 24," was handed to Lucas. - -The historian gazed at the superscription, adjusted his glasses and -gazed again, and slowly the truth crept into his mind. There were ten or -fifteen of the letters. Evidently some of them, as Lucas's experience -suggested, had alien letters inclosed within their envelopes, and thus -forwarded by the mailing clerk of the firm had at last come to the -senior partner at room 24. - -"Gaspard Dufour, indeed!" Lucas exclaimed inwardly. "George Dunkirk, -rather. This is a pretty kettle of fish!" - -He sent the letters up to room 24, to await the return of their proper -recipient, and fell to reflecting upon the many, very many and very -insulting things that he and nearly all the rest of the hotel guests as -well had said in Dufour's hearing about publishers in general and about -George Dunkirk & Co., in particular. His face burned with the heat -of the retrospect, as he recalled such phrases as "sleek thief," -"manipulator of copy-right statements," "Cadmean wolf" "ghoul of -literary grave-yards," and a hundred others, applied with utter -unrestraint and bandied around, while George Dunkirk was sitting by -listening to it all! - -He called Ferris to him and imparted his discovery in a stage whisper. - -"The dickens!" was all that gentleman could say, as the full text of his -address of the other evening rushed upon him. - -"It is awkward, devilish awkward," remarked Lucas, wiping his glasses -and nervously readjusting them. - -A few minutes later two men rode up to the hotel. One of them was a very -quiet-looking fellow who dryly stated that he was the high sheriff of -Mt. Boab county. - - -XIX. - -Meantime down the ravine in the obscure little still-house our -pedestrians were held in durance vile by Tolliver and his obedient -moon-shiners. - -It was a puzzling situation to all concerned. Far from wishing or -intending to harm his prisoners, Tolliver still could not see his way -clear to setting them at liberty. On the other hand he was clever -enough to perceive that to hold them very long would be sure to lead to -disaster, for their friends would institute a search and at the same -time telegraph an account of their disappearance all over the country. - -"'Pears ter me like I've ketched bigger game 'an my trap'll hold," he -thought, as he stood in the door-way surveying his victims. - -"What ye all a doin' a monkeyin' round' these yer premerses, anyhow?" he -demanded. "W'y c'udn't ye jest wait 'll I sent for ye ter kem yer?" - -"It's a sort of surprise party, my dear sir," said Cattleton. "Don't you -see?" - -"S'prise set o' meddlin' Yankees a foolin' roun' wher' they air not got -no business at," responded Tolliver, "that's w'at I calls it." - -"Where's your pantry?" inquired Punner, "I'm as hungry as a wolf." - -"Hongry, air ye? What'd ye 'spect ter git ter eat at er still-house, -anyhow? Hain't ye got no sense er tall? Air ye er plum blasted eejit?" - -Tolliver made these inquiries in a voice and manner suggestive of -suppressed but utter wrath. - -"Oh he's _always_ hungry, he would starve in a feed-store," exclaimed -Cattleton. "Don't pay the least attention to him, Mr. Tolliver. He's -incurably hungry." - -"W'y ef the man's really hongry----" Tolliver began to say in a -sympathetic tone. - -"Here," interrupted Hubbard gruffly, "let us out of this immediately, -can't you? The ladies can't bear this foul air much longer, it's -beastly." - -"Mebbe hit air you 'at air a running this yer chebang," said Tolliver -with a scowl. "I'll jes' let ye out w'en I git ready an' not a minute -sooner, nother. So ye've hearn my tin horn." - -Miss Stackpole and Miss Crabb made notes in amazing haste. - -Hubbard shrugged his heavy shoulders and bit his lip. He was baffled. - -"Do you think they'll kill us?" murmured Miss Moyne in Dufour's ear. - -Dufour could not answer. - -Crane and his "pap's uncle Pete" were still hobnobbing over the jug. - -"Yer's a lookin' at ye, boy, an' a hopin' agin hope 'at ye may turn out -ter be es likely a man es yer pap," the old man was saying, preliminary -to another draught. - -Crane was bowing with extreme politeness in acknowledgement of the -sentiment, and was saying: - -"I am told that I look like my father----" - -"Yes, ye do look a leetle like im," interrupted the old man with a leer -over the jug, "but l'me say at it air dern leetle, boy, dern leetle!" - -Punner overhearing this reply, laughed uproariously. Crane appeared -oblivious to the whole force of the joke, however. He was simply waiting -for his turn at the jug. - -"As I wer' a sayin'," resumed the old man, "yer's er hopin' agin' hope, -an' a lookin' at ye----" - -"How utterly brutal and disgusting!" cried Mrs. Nancy Jones Black. "I -must leave here, I cannot bear it longer! This is nothing but a low, -vile dram-shop! Let me pass!" - -She attempted to go through the doorway, but Tolliver interfered. - -"Stay wher' ye air," he said, in a respectful but very stern tone. "Ye -can't git out o' yer jist yit." - -"Dear me! Dear me!" wailed Mrs. Black, "what an outrage, what an insult! -Are you men?" she cried, turning upon the gentlemen near her, "and will -you brook this?" - -"Give me your handkerchiefs again," said Cattleton, "and I will once -more poke out my head; 'tis all that I can do!" - -"Shoot the fust head 'at comes out'n thet ther winder, Dave!" ordered -Tolliver, speaking to some one outside. - -"I don't care for any handkerchiefs, thank you," said Cattleton, "I've -changed my mind." - -Miss Moyne was holding Dufour's arm with a nervous clutch, her eyes were -full of tears, and she was trembling violently. He strove to quiet her -by telling her that there was no danger, that he would shield her, die -for her and all that; but Tolliver looked so grim and the situation was -so strange and threatening that she could not control herself. - -"Goodness! but isn't this rich material," Miss Crabb soliloquized, -writing in her little red book with might and main. "Bret Harte never -discovered anything better." - -Miss Henrietta Stackpole was too busy absorbing the human interest of -the interview between the two Cranes, to be more than indirectly aware -of anything else that was going on around her. - -"Ye needn't be erfeard as ter bein' hurt, boy," said the old man, "not -es long es yer pap's uncle Pete air eroun' yer. Hit ain't often 'at I -meets up wi' kinfolks downyer, an' w'en I does meet up wi' 'em I treats -'em es er Southern gen'l'man orter treat his kinfolks." - -"Precisely so," said Crane, taking another sip, "hospitality is a -crowning Southern virtue. When I go up to Louisville Henry Watterson and -I always have a good time." - -"Spect ye do, boy, spect ye do. Louisville use ter be a roarin' good -place ter be at." - -Tolliver, whose wits had been hard at work, now proposed what he called -"terms o' pay-roll, like what they hed in the war." - -"Ef ye'll all take a oath an' swa' at ye'll never tell nothin' erbout -nothin," said he, "w'y I'll jest let ye off this yer time." - -"That is fair enough," said Dufour, "we are not in the detective -service." - -"Then," observed Tolliver, "ef I ken git the 'tention of this yer -meetin', I move 'at it air yerby considered swore 'at nothin' air ter be -said erbout nothin' at no time an' never. Do ye all swa'?" - -"Yes!" rang out a chorus of voices. - -"Hit air cyarried," said Tolliver, "an' the meetin' air dismissed, sigh -er die. Ye kin all go on erbout yer business." - -The pedestrians filed out into the open air feeling greatly relieved. -Crane lingered to have a few more passages with his sociable and -hospitable grand-uncle. Indeed he remained until the rest of the party -had passed out of sight up the ravine and he did not reach the hotel -until far in the night, when he sang some songs under Miss Moyne's -window. - -Taken altogether, the pedestrians felt that they had been quite -successful in their excursion. - -Dufour was happiness itself. On the way back he had chosen for himself -and Miss Moyne a path which separated them from the others, giving him -an opportunity to say a great deal to her. - -Now it is a part of our common stock of understanding that when a man -has an excellent and uninterrupted opportunity to say a great deal to -a beautiful young woman, he usually does not find himself able to say -much; still he rarely fails to make himself understood. - -They both looked so self-consciously happy (when they arrived a little -later than the rest at Hotel Helicon) that suspicion would have been -aroused but for two startling and all-absorbing disclosures which drove -away every other thought. - -One was the disclosure of the fact that Dufour was not Dufour, but -George Dunkirk, and the other was the disclosure of the fact that the -high sheriff of Mt. Boab County was in Hotel Helicon on important -official business. - -Little Mrs. Philpot was the first to discover that the great publisher -really had not practiced any deception as to his name. Indeed her album -showed that the signature therein was, after all, George Dunkirk and not -Gaspard Dufour. The autograph was not very plain, it is true, but it was -decipherable and the mistake was due to her own bad reading. - -If the sheriff had been out of the question the humiliation felt by -the authors, for whom Dunkirk was publisher and who had talked so -outrageously about him, would have crushed them into the dust; but the -sheriff was there in his most terrible form, and he forced himself -upon their consideration with his quiet but effective methods of legal -procedure. - - -XX. - -"Gaslucky has been caught in a wheat corner at Chicago," Lucas -explained, "and has been squeezed to death." - -"Dead!" cried Punner, "it's a great loss. We'll have to hold a meeting -and pass res----" - -"We'll have to get out of this place in short order," said Lucas, "the -sheriff has levied an attachment on the hotel and all it contains." - -"What!" - -"How's that?" - -"Do you mean that the house is to be shut up and we turned out?" - -"Just that," said Lucas. "The sheriff has invoiced every thing, even the -provisions on hand. He says that we can't eat another bite here." - -"And I'm starving even now!" exclaimed Punner. "I could eat most -anything. Let's walk round to Delmonico's, Cattleton." - -"But really, what can we do?" demanded Ferris, dolefully enough. - -"Go home, of course," said Cattleton. - -Ferris looked blank and stood with his hands thrust in his pockets. - -"I can't go home," he presently remarked. - -"Why?" - -"I haven't money enough to pay my way." - -"By George! neither have I!" exclaimed Cattleton with a start. - -"That is precisely my fix," said Lucas gravely. - -"You echo my predicament," said Peck. - -"My salary is suspended during my absence," said Punner, with his eyes -bent on the floor. - -Little Mrs. Philpot was speechless for a time as the force of the -situation broke upon her. - -"Squeezed in a wheat corner?" inquired Miss Stackpole, "what do you mean -by that?" - -"I mean that Gaslucky got sheared in the big deal the other day at -Chicago," Lucas explained. - -"Got sheared?" - -"Yes, the bulls sat down on him." - -"Oh, you mean a speculation--a--" - -"Yes, Gaslucky was in for all he was worth, and they run it down on -him and flattened him. A gas-man's no business in wheat, especially in -Chicago; they spread him out, just as the sheriffs proceedings have -flattened all our hopes for the present." - -"It's just outrageous!" cried little Mrs. Philpot, finding her voice. -"He should have notified us, so that--" - -"They didn't notify him, I guess," said Cattleton. - -"No, he found it out afterwards," remarked Lucas, glancing gloomily -toward where Dunkirk and Miss Moyne stood, apparently in light and -pleasant conversation. - -Viewed in any light the predicament was a peculiar and distressing -one to the guests of Hotel Helicon. The sheriff, a rather ignorant, -but very stubborn and determined man, held executions and writs of -attachment sued out by Gaslucky creditors, which he had proceeded to -levy on the hotel and on all the personalty visible in it belonging to -the proprietor. - -"'Course," said he, "hit'll be poorty hard on you'ns, but I can't help -it, I've got ter do my juty, let it hurt whoever it will. Not er thing -kin ye tech at's in this yer tavern, 'ceptin' what's your'n, that air's -jest how it air. So now mind w'at yer a doin'." - -The servants were idle, the dining-room closed, the kitchen and pantries -locked up. Never was there a more doleful set of people. Mrs. Nancy -Jones Black thought of playing a piece of sacred music, but she found -the grand piano locked, with its key deep in the sheriff's pocket. - -The situation was made doubly disagreeable when at last the officer -informed the guests that they would have to vacate their rooms -forthwith, as he should proceed at once to close up the building. - -"Heavens, man, are you going to turn us out into the woods?" demanded -Peck. - -"Woods er no woods," he replied, "ye'll hev ter git out'n yer, right -off." - -"But the ladies, Mr. Sheriff," suggested Punner, "no Southern gentleman -can turn a lady out of doors." - -The officer actually colored with the force of the insinuation. He stood -silent for some time with his eyes fixed on the floor. Presently he -looked up and said: - -"The weeming kin stay till mornin'." - -"Well they must have something to eat," said Punner. "They can't -starve." - -"Thet's so," the sheriff admitted, "they kin hev a bite er so." - -"And we----" - -"You men folks cayn't hev a dorg gone mouthful, so shet up!" - -"Well," observed Cattleton, dryly, "it appears the odds is the -difference between falling into the hands of moonshiners and coming -under the influence of a lawful sheriff." - -"I know a little law," interposed Bartley Hubbard with a sullen -emphasis, "and I know that this sheriff has no right to tumble us out of -doors, and for my part----" - -"Fur yer part," said the sheriff coolly, "fur yer part, Mister, ef ye -fool erlong o' me I'll crack yer gourd fur ye." - -"You'll do what?" - -"I'll stave in yer piggin." - -"I don't understand." - -"W'y, blame yer ignorant hide, wha' wer' ye borned and fotch up? I'll -jest knock the everlastin' head off'n ye, _thet's_ 'zac'ly w'at I says. -Mebbe ye don't understan' _thet_?" - -"Yes," said Hubbard, visibly shrinking into himself, "I begin to suspect -your meaning." - -Miss Crabb was taking notes with enthusiastic rapidity. - -Dunkirk called the sheriff to him and a long conference was held between -them, the result of which was presently announced. - -"I heve thort it over," said the quiet officer of the law, "an' es hit -appear thet w'at grub air on han' an' done cooked might spile afore it -c'u'd be sold, therefore I proclamate an' say at you'ns kin stay yer -tell termorrer an' eat w'at's cooked, but tech nothin' else." - -Cattleton and Punner applauded loudly. To everybody the announcement was -a reprieve of no small moment, and a sigh of relief rustled through the -groups of troubled guests. Those who had been down the ravine were very -tired and hungry; the thought of a cold luncheon to them was the vision -of a feast. - -Dunkirk had a basket of wine brought down from his room and he made the -sheriff sit beside him at the table. - -"We may as well make the most of our last evening together," he said, -glancing jovially around. - -"We shall have to walk down the mountain in the morning, I suppose," -remarked Bartley Hubbard. - -"That's jest w'at's the matter," observed the sheriff. - -"But the ladies, my dear sir, the ladies----" began Punner. - -"The weeming, they'll hev kinveyances, young man, so ye kin jest shet up -ef ye please," the officer interrupted, with a good-natured wink and a -knowing wag of his head. - -A disinterested observer would have noted readily enough that the feast -was far from a banquet. There was Ferris, for instance, munching a -biscuit and sipping his wine and pretending to enjoy Punner's sallies -and Cattleton's drolleries, while down in his heart lay the leaden -thought, the hideous knowledge of an empty pocket. Indeed the reflection -was a common one, weighting down almost every breast at the board. - -One little incident did make even Ferris forget himself for a moment or -two, it was when deaf Miss Nebeker misinterpreted some remark made by -Hubbard and arose with a view to reciting _The Jerseyman's Jewsharp_, -with a new variation, "Oh, Jerseyman Joe had a Jewsharp of gold," she -began, in her most melodious drawl. She could not hear the protesting -voices of her friends and she misinterpreted the stare of the sheriff. - -"For the good heaven's sake, Hubbard," cried Lucas, "do use your -influence; quick, please, or I shall collapse." - -Bartley Hubbard took hold of her dress and gently pulled her down into -her chair. - -"The sheriff objects!" he yelled in her ear. - -"After dinner?" she resignedly inquired, "well, then after dinner, in -the parlor." - -When the feast had come to the crumbs, Dunkirk arose and said: - -"We all have had a good time at the Hotel Helicon, but our sojourn upon -the heights of Mt. Boab has been cut short by a certain chain of mishaps -over which we have had no control, and to-morrow we go away, doubtless -forever. I feel like saying that I harbor no unpleasant recollections -of the days we have spent together." - -Cattleton sprung to his feet to move a vote of thanks "to the -public-spirited and benevolent man who built this magnificent hotel and -threw open its doors to us." - -It was carried. - -"Now then," said Lucas, adjusting his glasses and speaking in his -gravest chest-tones, "I move that it be taken as the sense of this -assembly, that it is our duty to draw upon our publisher for money -enough to take us home." - -The response was overwhelming. - -Dunkirk felt the true state of affairs. He arose, his broad face -wreathed with genial smiles, and said: - -"To the certain knowledge of your unhappy publisher your accounts are -already overdrawn, but in view of the rich material you have been -gathering of late, your publisher will honor you draughts to the limit -of your expenses home." - -Never did happier people go to bed. The last sleep in Hotel Helicon -proved to be the sweetest. - -Far in the night, it is true, some one sang loudly but plaintively under -Miss Moyne's window until the sheriff awoke and sallied forth to end -the serenade with some remarks about "cracking that eejit's gourd;" but -there was no disturbance, the sounds blending sweetly with the dreams of -the slumberers. They all knew that it was Crane, poor fellow, who had -finally torn himself away from his father's fascinating uncle. - - -XXI. - -The retreat from Hotel Helicon was picturesque in the extreme. There had -been much difficulty in finding vehicles to take the retiring guests -down the mountain to the railway station, but Tolliver had come to the -rescue with a mule, a horse, a cart, and an ox. These, when added to -the rather incongruous collection of wagons and carts from every other -available source, barely sufficed. Tolliver led the mule with Ferris on -its back, while Miss Crabb and Miss Stackpole occupied the ox-cart, the -former acting as driver. - -"Good-bye and good luck to ye!" the sheriff called after them. "Mighty -sorry ter discommode ye, but juty air juty, an' a officer air no -respecter of persons." - -Mrs. Nancy Jones Black sat beside Crane in a rickety wagon, and between -jolts gave him many a word of wisdom on the subject of strong drink, -which the handsome Bourbon poet stowed away for future consideration. - -Dunkirk and Miss Moyne rode upon the "hounds" of a naked wood-wain, -as happy as two blue-birds in April, while Bartley Hubbard, with -little Mrs. Philpot and her child and some other ladies, was in an old -weather-beaten barouche, a sad relic of the _ante-bellum_ times. For the -rest there were vehicles of every sort save the comfortable sort, and -all went slowly winding and zig-zagging down Mt. Boab toward the valley -and the river. Why pursue them? Once they all looked up from far down -the slope and saw Hotel Helicon shining like a castle of gold in the -flood of summer sunlight. Its verandas were empty, its windows closed, -but the flag on its wooden tower still floated bravely in the breeze, -its folds appearing to touch the soft gray-blue sky. - - * * * * * - -A year later Crane and Peck met at Saratoga and talked over old times. -At length coming down to the present, Crane said: - -"Of all of us who were guests on Mt. Boab, Miss Moyne is the only one -who has found success. Her story, _On The Heights_, is in its seventieth -edition." - -"Oh, well," said Peck, "that goes without the saying. Anybody could -succeed with her chance." - -"_Her_ chance, why do you say that?" - -"Haven't you heard? Ah, I see that the news has not yet penetrated the -wilds of Kentucky. The open secret of Miss Moyne's success lies in the -fact that she has married her publisher." - -A silence of some minutes followed, during which Crane burned his cigar -very rapidly. - -"What fools we were," Peck presently ventured, "to be fighting a duel -about her!" - -"No, sir," said Crane, with a far-away look in his eyes, "no, sir, I -would die for her right now." - -So the subject was dropped between them forever. - -Some of Gaslucky's creditors bought Hotel Helicon at the sheriff's sale, -but it proved a barren investment. - -The house stands there now, weather-beaten and lonely on the peak of Mt. -Boab, all tenantless and forlorn. - -As to Tolliver's still-house I cannot say, but at stated intervals Crane -receives a small cask marked: "J'yful juice, hannel with keer," which -comes from his "Pap's uncle Pete." - - -THE END. - - - - -THE TALE OF A SCULPTOR - -BY HUGH CONWAY - - - - -THE TALE OF A SCULPTOR. - - -CHAPTER I. - -After you pass the "Blue Anchor"--the sign of which swings from the -branch of an elm tree older even than the house itself--a few steps -along the road bring you in sight of the pinnacled, square tower of -Coombe-Acton Church. You cannot see the church itself, as, with schools -and rectory close by it, it lies at the back of the village, about two -hundred yards up a lane. Like the village to whose spiritual needs it -ministers, the church, to an ordinary observer, is nothing out of the -common, although certain small peculiarities of architecture, not -noticed by an uncultured eye, make it an object of some interest to -archæologists. Visit it or not, according to your inclination, but -afterwards keep on straight through the long, straggling village, until -the houses begin to grow even more straggling, the gardens larger and -less cared for as ornaments, displaying more cabbages and scarlet -runners than roses--keep on until the houses cease altogether and -hawthorn hedges take the place of palings and crumbling walls, and at -last you will come to Watercress Farm, a long, low white house, one side -of which abuts on the highway, whilst the other looks over the three -hundred acres of land attached to it. - -Not a very large acreage, it is true, but then it is all good land, for -the most part such as auctioneers describe as rich, warm, deep, old -pasture land; such land that, at the time this tale opens, any farmer, -by thrift, knowledge of his business, and hard work, could make even -more than a bare living out of, and could meet his landlord on rent day -with a cheerful face, knowing that after rent and other outgoings were -provided for something would yet be left for himself. - -Who occupies the Watercress Farm now, and whether in these days of -depression his rent is forthcoming or not, matters little. At the time -I write of it, it was rented by farmer Leigh, even as his forefathers, -according to village tradition, had rented it for some two hundred -years. In quiet, conservative places like Coombe-Acton, a farm of this -kind often goes from father to son with more regularity than an entailed -estate, landlord and tenant well knowing that their interests are -identical. - -It was a fine afternoon towards the end of June. Abraham Leigh was -standing by the gate of the field known as the home meadow looking at -the long, ripe grass rippling as the summer breeze swept across it. -He was a thoroughly good specimen of the Somersetshire farmer. A big, -sturdy man, whose movements were slow and deliberate. His face, if heavy -and stolid, not by any means the face of a fool. No doubt, a man of -circumscribed views--the world, for him, extending eastwards to Bristol -market and westwards to the Bristol Channel. Nevertheless, respected in -his little world as a wonderful judge of a beast, a great authority on -tillages, and, above all, a man who always had a balance in his favor -at the Somersetshire Bank; a type of that extinct race, the prosperous -farmer, who looked on all townsmen with contempt, thinking, as all -farmers should think, that the owners of broad acres, and those engaged -in agriculture were alone worthy of respect. - -Yet, to-day, in spite of his advantages and acquirements, Farmer Leigh -looked on the fifteen-acre meadow with a puzzled and discontented -expression on his honest face; and, moreover, murmurs of dissatisfaction -were proceeding from his lips. Farmers--Somersetshire farmers -especially--are proverbial grumblers, but it is seldom they grumble -without an audience. It is outsiders who get the benefit of their -complaints. Besides, one would think that the tenant of Watercress Farm -had little at present to complain of. The drop of rain so badly wanted -had been long in coming, but it had come just in the nick of time to -save the grass, and if the crop outwardly looked a little thin, Mr. -Leigh's experienced eye told him that the undergrowth was thick, and -that the quality of the hay would be first-class. Moreover, what corn -and roots he had looked promising, so it seems strange that the farmer -should be grumbling when he had no one to listen to him, and should lean -so disconsolately upon the gate of the field when no one observed him. - -"I can't make him out," he said. "Good boy he be, too; yet, instead o' -helping me with the land, always going about dreaming or messing with -mud. Can't think where he got his notions from. Suppose it must 'a been -from the mother, poor thing! Always fond o' gimcracks and such like, -she were. Gave the lad such an outlandish name I'm ashamed to hear -it. Father's and grandfather's name ought to be good enough for a -Leigh--good boy though he be, too!" - -A soft look settled on Abraham Leigh's face as he repeated the last -words; then he went deeper into his slough of despond, where, no doubt, -he battled as manfully as a Christian until he reached the other shore -and fancied he had found the solution of his difficulties. - -His face brightened. "Tell 'ee what," he said, addressing the waving -grass in front of him, "I'll ask Mr. Herbert. Squire's a man who have -seen the world. I'll take his advice about the boy. Seems hard like -on me, too. Ne'er a Leigh till this one but what were a farmer to the -backbone!" - -His mind made up, the farmer strode off to make arrangement with mowers. -Had he been troubled with twenty unnatural and incompetent sons, the hay -must be made while the sun shines. - -Although he had settled what to do, it was some time before the weighty -resolve was carried into execution. Folks about Coombe-Acton do not -move with the celerity of cotton brokers or other men of business. Sure -they are, but slow. So it was not until the September rent day that -the farmer consulted his landlord about his domestic difficulty--the -possession of a son, an only child, of about fifteen, who, instead of -making himself useful on the land, did little else save wander about in -a dreamy way, looking at all objects in nature, animate or inanimate, or -employed himself in the mysterious pursuit which his father described as -"messing with mud." Such conduct was a departure from the respectable -bucolic traditions of the Leigh family, so great, that at times the -father thought it an infliction laid upon him for some cause or other -by an inscrutable Providence. - -There are certain Spanish noblemen who, on account of the antiquity of -their families and services rendered, are permitted to enter the royal -presence with covered heads. It was, perhaps, for somewhat similar -reasons, a custom handed down from father to son and established by -time, that the tenant of Watercress Farm paid his rent to the landlord -in person, not through the medium of an agent. Mr. Herbert being -an important man in the West country, the Leigh family valued this -privilege as highly as ever hidalgo valued the one above mentioned. -Mr. Herbert, a refined, intellectual-looking man of about fifty, -received the farmer kindly, and after the rent, without a word as -to abatement or reduction, had been paid in notes of the county -bank--dark and greasy, but valued in this particular district far -above Bank of England promises--landlord and tenant settled down to -a few minutes' conversation on crops and kindred subjects. Then the -farmer unburdened his mind. - -"I've come to ask a favor of your advice, sir, about my boy, Jerry." - -"Yes," said Mr. Herbert, "I know him--a nice, good-looking boy. I see -him at church with you, and about your place when I pass. What of him?" - -"Well, you zee, zur," said the farmer, speaking with more Somerset -dialect than usual, "he've a been at Bristol Grammar School till just -now. Masters all send good accounts of him. I don't hold wi' too much -learning, so thought 'twere time he come home and helped me like. But -not a bit o' good he be on the varm; not a bit, zur! Spends near all his -time messing about wi' dirt." - -"Doing what?" asked Mr. Herbert, astonished. - -"A-muddling and a-messing with bits o' clay. Making little figgers, -like, and tries to bake 'em in the oven." - -"Oh, I see what you mean. What sort of figures?" - -"All sorts, sir. Little clay figgers of horses, dogs, pigs--why, you'd -scarce believe it, sir--last week I found him making the figger of a -naked 'ooman! A naked 'ooman! Why, the lad could never a' seen such a -thing." - -Abraham Leigh waited with open eyes to hear Mr. Herbert's opinion of -such an extraordinary, if not positively unusual, proceeding. - -Mr. Herbert smiled. "Perhaps your son is a youthful genius." - -"Genius or not, I want to know, sir, what to do wi' him. How's the boy -to make a living? A farmer he'll never be." - -"You follow me and I will show you something." - -Mr. Herbert led his guest to his drawing-room--a room furnished with -the taste of a travelled man. As the farmer gaped at its splendor, he -directed his attention to four beautiful statues standing in the corners -of the room. - -"I gave the man who made those seven hundred pounds for them, and could -sell them to-morrow for a thousand if I chose. That's almost as good as -farming, isn't it?" - -His tenant's eyes were wide with amazement. "A thousand pounds, sir!" he -gasped. "Why, you might have bought that fourteen-acre field with that." - -"These give me more pleasure than land," replied Mr. Herbert. "But about -your boy; when I am riding by I will look in and see what he can do, -then give you my advice." - -The farmer thanked him and returned home. As he jogged along the road to -Watercress Farm, he muttered at intervals: "A thousand pounds in those -white figures! Well, well, well, I never did!" - -Mr. Herbert was a man who kept a promise, whether made to high or low. -Five days after his interview with Abraham Leigh he rode up to the -door of the farm. He was not alone. By his side rode a gay, laughing, -light-haired child of thirteen, who ruled an indulgent father with a rod -of iron. Mr. Herbert had been a widower for some years; the girl, and -a boy who was just leaving Harrow for the university, being his only -surviving children. The boy was, perhaps, all that Mr. Herbert might -have wished, but he could see no fault in the precocious, imperious, -spoilt little maid, who was the sunshine of his life. - -She tripped lightly after her father into the farm-house, laughing at -the way in which he was obliged to bend his head to avoid damage from -the low doorway; she seated herself with becoming dignity on the chair -which the widowed sister, who kept house for Abraham Leigh, tendered -her with many courtesies. A pretty child, indeed, and one who gave rare -promise of growing into a lovely woman. - -The farmer was away somewhere on the farm, but could be fetched in a -minute if Mr. Herbert would wait. Mr. Herbert waited, and very soon his -tenant made his appearance and thanked his visitor for the trouble he -was taking on his behalf. - -"Now let me see the boy," said Mr. Herbert, after disclaiming all sense -of trouble. - -Leigh went to the door of the room and shouted out, "Jerry, Jerry, come -down. You're wanted, my man." - -In a moment the door opened, and the cause of Mr. Leigh's discontent -came upon the scene in the form of a dark-eyed, dark-haired, pale-faced -boy, tall but slightly built; not, so far as physique went, much credit -to the country-side. Yet in some respects a striking-looking if not -handsome lad. The dark, eloquent eyes and strongly-marked brow would -arrest attention; but the face was too thin, too thoughtful for the -age, and could scarcely be associated with what commonly constitutes a -good-looking lad. Yet regularity of feature was there, and no one would -dare to be sure that beauty would not come with manhood. - -He was not seen at that moment under advantageous circumstances. Knowing -nothing about the distinguished visitors, he had obeyed his father's -summons in hot haste; consequently he entered the room in his shirt -sleeves, which were certainly not very clean, and with hands covered -with red clay. Mr. Herbert looked amused, while the little princess -turned up her nose in great disdain. - -Poor Abraham Leigh was much mortified at the unpresentable state in -which his son showed himself. To make matters worse, the boy was not -soiled by honest, legitimate toil. - -"Tut! tut!" he said, crossly. "All of a muck, as usual." - -The boy, who felt that his father had a right to complain, hung his head -and showed signs of retreating. Mr. Herbert came to the rescue. - -"Never mind," he said, patting young Leigh on the shoulder, "he has -been working in his own fashion. I have come on purpose to see those -modellings of yours, my boy." - -The boy started as one surprised. His cheek flushed, and he looked at -the speaker with incredulity yet hope in his eyes. - -"Yes," said his father, sharply. "Go and put your hands under the pump, -Jerry; then bring some of 'em down. Maybe, anyway, they'll amuse the -little lady." - -"No, no," said Mr. Herbert. "I'll come with you and see them for myself. -Lead the way." - -Young Leigh did not speak, but his eyes thanked Mr. Herbert. That -gentleman followed him from the room, leaving the farmer to amuse -the little maid. He did this so far as he was able by producing a -well-thumbed copy of the "Pilgrim's Progress," the leaves of which Miss -Herbert condescended to turn daintily over until she was quite terrified -by the picture of the combat with Apollyon. - -Meanwhile "Jerry," with a beating heart, led Mr. Herbert up-stairs to -a room destitute of furniture save an old table and chair. A bucket -half-full of common red clay stood in one corner, and on the table were -several of the little clay figures which had excited the farmer's ire -and consternation. - -Crude, defective, full of faults as they were, there was enough power in -them to make Mr. Herbert look at the lad in wonderment, almost envy. He -was a man who worshipped art; who had dabbled as an amateur in painting -and sculpturing for years; who considered a gifted artist the most -fortunate of mankind. So the word envy is not ill-chosen. What he would -have given half his wealth to possess came to this boy unsought for--to -the son of a clod of a farmer the precious gift was vouchsafed! - -As he would have expected, the most ambitious efforts were the -worst--the "naked 'ooman" was particularly atrocious--but, still wet, -and not ruined by an abortive attempt at baking, was a group modelled -from life; a vulgar subject, representing, as it did, Abraham Leigh's -prize sow, surrounded by her ten greedy offspring. There was such power -and talent in this production that, had he seen nothing else, Mr. -Herbert would have been certain that the lad as a modeller and copyist -must take the first rank. If, in addition to his manual dexterity, he -had poetry, feeling, and imagination, it might well be that one of the -greatest sculptors of the nineteenth century stood in embryo before him. - -As Mr. Herbert glanced from the rough clay sketches to the pale boy -who stood breathless, as one expecting a verdict of life or death, he -wondered what could have been the cause of such a divergence from the -traits habitual to the Leighs. Then he remembered that some twenty -years ago Abraham Leigh had chosen for a wife, not one of his own -kind, but a dweller in cities--a governess, who exchanged, no doubt, a -life of penury and servitude for the rough but comfortable home the -Somersetshire farmer was willing to give her. Mr. Herbert remembered -her; remembered how utterly out of place the delicate, refined woman -seemed to be as Leigh's wife; remembered how, a few years after the -birth of the boy, she sickened and died. It was from the mother's side -the artistic taste came. - -Mr. Herbert, although a kind man, was cautious. He had no intention of -raising hopes which might be futile. Yet he felt a word of encouragement -was due to the lad. - -"Some of these figures show decided talent," he said. "After seeing -them, I need scarcely ask you if you wish to be a sculptor?" - -Young Leigh clasped his hands together. "Oh, sir!" he gasped. "If it -could only be!" - -"You do not care to be a farmer, like your father?" - -"I could never be a farmer, sir. I am not fit for it." - -"Yet, if you follow in your father's track, you will lead a comfortable, -useful life. If you follow art, you may go through years of poverty and -suffering before success is attained." - -The boy raised his head and looked full at the speaker; there was almost -passionate entreaty in his eyes. - -"Oh, sir," he said, "if you would only persuade my father to let me -try--even for a few years. If I did not succeed I would come back to him -and work as a laborer for the rest of my life without a murmur." - -Mr. Herbert was impressed by the boy's earnestness. "I will speak to -your father," he said. Then the two went back to the sitting-room, where -they found Abraham Leigh much exercised by some difficult questions -propounded by Miss Herbert respecting the nature of Apollyon. - -"Take my little girl for a walk round the garden," said Mr. Herbert to -young Leigh. "I want to speak to your father." - -In spite of the great gulf between her and the clay-bespattered boy -in his shirt sleeves, the little princess was too glad of a change of -scene to wish to disobey her father. She followed her conductor to the -back of the house, and the boy and girl stepped out into the autumnal -sunshine. - -The little maid looked so trim and dainty in her neat riding-habit, -coquettish hat and tiny gloves that his own draggled appearance struck -the boy forcibly. - -"If you will excuse me a minute," he said, "I will run and wash my -hands." - -"Yes; I think it will be better," said Miss Herbert, with dignity. - -In a minute or two young Leigh returned. He had found time not only to -wash the rich red clay from his long, well-shaped fingers, but to slip -on his coat and generally beautify himself. His improved appearance had -a great effect upon the child, who, like most of her age, was influenced -by exteriors. - -So Miss Herbert, this little great lady, unbent and allowed "Jerry" to -lead her round the old-fashioned garden, to the out-houses and pigsties, -where the obese pigs lay oblivious of what fate had in store for them; -to the stables; to the dairy, where she condescended to drink a glass of -new milk, and by the time they had returned to the garden the two were -as good friends as their different stations in life would permit. Young -Leigh, who saw in this dainty little maid the incarnation of fairies, -nymphs, goddesses, and other ideals which, in a dim way, were forming -themselves in his brain, endeavored, after his first shyness had passed -away, to show her what beautiful shapes and forms could be found in -flower, leaf, and tree, and other things in nature. His talk, indeed, -soared far above her pretty little head, and when they returned to the -garden he was trying to make her see that those masses of white clouds -low down in the distance were two bodies of warriors just about to meet -in deadly fray. - -"You are a very, very funny boy," said Miss Herbert, with such an air of -conviction that he was startled into silence. - -"Your name is Jerry, isn't it?" she continued. "Jerry's an ugly name." - -"My name is Gerald--Gerald Leigh." - -"Oh; Gerald!" Even this child could see the impropriety of a tenant -farmer having a son named Gerald. No wonder Abraham Leigh addressed his -boy as Jerry! - -"Do you like being a farmer?" she asked. - -"I am not going to be a farmer; I don't like it." - -"What a pity! Farmers are such a worthy, respectable class of men," said -the girl, using a stock phrase she had caught up somewhere. - -The boy laughed merrily. Mr. Herbert's approbation sat newly upon him, -and he was only talking to a child; so he said: - -"I hope to be worthy and respectable, but a much greater man than a -farmer." - -"Oh! How great? as great as papa?" - -"Yes; I hope so." - -"That's absurd, you know," said Miss Herbert, with all the outraged -family pride that thirteen years can feel; and, turning away, she -switched at the flowers with her riding-whip. - -However, a few words from Gerald made them friends once more, and she -expressed her pleasure that he should pick her one of the few roses -which remained in the garden. - -"Roses are common," said the boy. "Every one gives roses. I will give -you something prettier." - -He went to the sunny side of the house, and soon returned with half a -dozen pale lavender stars in his hands. They were blossoms of a new sort -of late clematis, which some one's gardener had given Abraham Leigh. -Gerald's deft fingers arranged them into a most artistic bouquet, the -appearance of which was entirely spoilt by Miss Herbert's insistence -that two or three roses should be added. The bouquet was just finished -and presented when Mr. Herbert, followed by the farmer, appeared. - -Although he said nothing more to young Leigh on the subject which was -uppermost in the boy's mind, the kindly encouraging look he gave him -raised the widest hopes in his heart. Mr. Herbert bade the father and -son a pleasant good-day, and rode off with his little daughter. - -Miss Herbert carried the bunch of clematis for about two miles when, -finding it rather encumbered her, tossed it over a hedge. - -Gerald Leigh went back to his attic and commenced about half a dozen -clay sketches of the prettiest object which as yet had crossed his path. -For several days he was on thorns to hear what fate had in store for -him; but fate, personified by his father, made no sign, but went about -his work stolid and sphinx-like. Mr. Herbert, Gerald learned, had gone -to London for a few days. - -However, before a fortnight had gone by, Abraham Leigh received a letter -from his landlord, and the same evening, whilst smoking his pipe in the -farm kitchen, informed his son and his sister that to-morrow he was -going into Gloucestershire to see if his brother Joseph could spare him -one of his many boys to take Jerry's place. Jerry was to go to London -the next day and meet Mr. Herbert. Most likely he'd stay there. 'Twas -clear as noontide the boy would never make a farmer, and if there were -fools enough in the world to buy white figures at hundreds of pounds -apiece, Jerry might as well try to make his living that way as any -other. - -The truth is, Mr. Herbert told Abraham Leigh that if he would not -consent to pay for his son's art education, he, Mr. Herbert, would -bear the expense himself. But the monetary part of it troubled the -substantial farmer little. He could pay for his child's keep if he could -bring his mind to consent to his going. And now the consent was given. - -Gerald heard his father's communication with glowing eyes. For shame's -sake he hid his joy, for he knew that, with all his stolid demeanor, his -father almost broke down as he contemplated the diverging paths his son -and he must henceforward thread. The boy thanked him from his heart, and -the rough farmer, laying his hand on his child's head, blessed him and -bade him go and prosper. - -In this way Gerald Leigh left Coombe-Acton. At long intervals he -reappeared for a few days. The worthy villagers eyed him askance; the -only conception they could form of his profession being connected with -dark-skinned itinerants who bore double-tiered platforms on their heads, -and earned a precarious livehood by traversing the country selling -conventional representations of angels and busts of eminent men. - - -CHAPTER II. - -Some seven years after the ambitious boy left Coombe-Acton, honest -farmer Abraham, just when the old-fashioned hawthorn hedges were in -whitest bloom, sickened, turned his stolid face to the wall and died. -Gerald had been summoned, but arrived too late to see his father alive. -Perhaps it was as well it should be so, the farmer's last moments were -troubled ones and full of regret that Watercress Farm would no longer -know a Leigh. The nephew who had taken Gerald's place had turned out an -utter failure, so much so that Abraham Leigh had roundly declared that -he would be bothered with no more boys, and for the last few years had -managed his business single-handed. However, although Gerald's upheaval -of family traditions made the farmer's deathbed unhappy, he showed -that his son had not forfeited his love. All he possessed, some three -thousand pounds, was left to him. Mr. Herbert took the lease of the farm -off the young man's hands, by and by the live and the dead stock were -sold off, and Watercress Farm was waiting for another tenant. - -The winding-up of the father's affairs kept Gerald in the neighborhood -of some weeks, and when it became known that Mr. Herbert had insisted -upon his taking up his quarters at the hall the simple Coombe-Acton -folks were stricken with a great wonder. Knowing nothing of what is -called the "aristocracy of art," their minds were much exercised by such -an unheard of proceeding. What had "Jerry" Leigh being doing in the last -seven years to merit such a distinction? - -Nothing his agricultural friends could have understood. After picking up -the rudiments of his art in a well-known sculptor's studio, young Leigh -had been sent to study in the schools at Paris. Mr. Herbert told him -that, so far as his art was concerned, Paris was the workshop of the -world,--Rome its bazaar and showroom. So to Paris the boy went. He -studied hard and lived frugally. He won certain prizes and medals, and -was now looking forward to the time when he must strike boldly for fame. -Even now he was not quite unknown. A couple of modest but very beautiful -studies in low relief had appeared in last year's exhibition, and, if -overlooked by the majority, had attracted the notice of a few whose -praise was well worth winning. He was quite satisfied with the results -of his first attempt. In all things that concerned his art he was wise -and patient. No sooner had he placed his foot on the lowest step of the -ladder than he realized the amount of work to be done--the technical -skill to be acquired before he could call himself a sculptor. Even -now, after seven years' study and labor, he had selfdenial enough to -resolve upon being a pupil for three years longer before he made his -great effort to place himself by the side of contemporary sculptors. -Passionate and impulsive as was his true nature, he could follow and woo -art with that calm persistency and method which seem to be the surest -way of winning her smiles. - -He is now a man--a singularly handsome man. If not so tall as his youth -promised, he is well built and graceful. Artist is stamped all over -him. Brow, eyes, even the slender, well-shaped hands, proclaim it. The -general expression of his face is one of calm and repose; yet an acute -observer might assert that, when the moment came, that face might depict -passions stronger than those which sway most men. - -His dark hair and eyes, and something in the style of his dress, gave -him a look not quite that of an Englishman--a look that terribly vexed -poor Abraham Leigh on those rare occasions when his erratic boy paid him -a visit; but, nevertheless, it is a look not out of place on a young -artist. - -This is the kind of man Gerald Leigh has grown into; and, whilst his -transformation has been in progress, Miss Eugenia Herbert has become a -woman. - -Although remembering every feature of the child, who seemed in some way -associated with the day of his liberation, Gerald had not again seen -her until his father's death called him back to England. Each time he -had visited Coombe-Acton he had, of course, reported progress to Mr. -Herbert; but, shortly after the change in his life, Mr. Herbert by a -great effort of self-denial, had sent his darling away to school, and at -school she had always been when Gerald called at the Hall; but now, when -he accepted Mr. Herbert's hospitality, he found the fairy-like child -grown, it seemed to him, into his ideal woman, and found, moreover, that -there was a passion so intense that even the love of art must pale -before it. - -He made no attempt to resist it. He let it master him; overwhelm him; -sweep him along. Ere a week had gone by, not only by looks, but also in -burning words, he had told Eugenia he loved her. And how did he fare? - -His very audacity and disregard of everything, save that he loved -the girl, succeeded to a marvel. Eugenia had already met with many -admirers, but not one like this. Such passionate pleading, such fiery -love, such vivid eloquence were strange and new to her. There was an -originality, a freshness, a thoroughness in the love he offered her. -His very unreasonableness affected her reason. All the wealth of his -imagination, all the crystallizations of his poetical dreams, he threw -into his passion. His ecstasy whirled the girl from her mental feet; his -warmth created an answering warmth; his reckless pleading conquered. She -forgot obstacles as his eloquence overleaped them; she forgot social -distinction as his great dark eyes looked into hers, and at last she -confessed she loved him. - -Then Gerald Leigh came down from the clouds and realized what he had -done, and as soon as he touched the earth and became reasonable Eugenia -fancied she did not care for him quite so much. - -His conscience smote him. Not only must Mr. Herbert be reckoned with, -but a terrible interval must elapse before he had fame and fortune to -lay before Eugenia. He could scarcely expect her to leave her luxurious -home in order to live _au quatrieme_ or _au cinquieme_ in Paris whilst -he completed his studies. He grew sad and downcast as he thought of -these things, and Eugenia, who liked pleasant, bright, well-to-do -people, felt less kindly disposed toward him and showed she did so. - -This made him reckless again. He threw the future to the winds, -recommenced his passionate wooing, recovered his lost ground and gained, -perhaps, a little more. - -But Abraham Leigh's affairs were settled up, and Gerald knew he must -tear himself from Acton Hall and go back to work. He had lingered a few -days to finish a bust of Mr. Herbert. This done he had no excuse for -staying longer. - -The summer twilight deepened into night. The sculptor and Miss Herbert -stood upon the broad and gravelled terrace-walk that runs along the -stately front of Acton Hall. They leaned upon the gray stone balustrade; -the girl with musing eye was looking down on shadowy lawn and flower-bed -underneath; the young man looked at her, and her alone. Silence reigned -long between them, but at last she spoke. - -"You really go to-morrow?" - -"Tell me to stay, and I will stay," he said, passionately, "but next -week--next month--next year, the moment, when it does come, will be just -as bitter." - -She did not urge him. She was silent. He drew very near to her. - -"Eugenia," he whispered, "you love me?" - -"I think so." Her eyes were still looking over the darkening garden. She -spoke dreamily, and as one who is not quite certain. - -"You think so! Listen! Before we part let me tell you what your love -means to me. If, when first I asked for it you had scorned me, I could -have left you unhappy, but still a man. Now it means life or death to -me. There is no middle course--no question of joy or misery--simply life -or death! Eugenia, look at me and say you love me!" - -His dark eyes charmed and compelled her. "I love you! I love you?" she -murmured. Her words satisfied him; moreover, she let the hand he grasped -remain in his, perhaps even returning the pressure of his own. So they -stood for more than an hour, whilst Gerald talked of the future and the -fame he meant to win--talked as one who has the fullest confidence in -his own powers and directing genius. - -Presently they saw Mr. Herbert walking through the twilight towards -them. Gerald's hand tightened on the girl's so as to cause her positive -pain. - -"Remember," he whispered; "life or death! Think of it while we are -apart. Your love means a man's life or death!" - -Many a lover has said an equally extravagant thing, but Eugenia Herbert -knew that his words were not those of poetical imagery, and as she -re-entered the house she trembled at the passion she had aroused. What -if time and opposition should work a change in her feelings? She tried -to reassure herself by thinking that if she did not love him in the same -blind, reckless way, at any rate she would never meet another man whom -she could love as she loved Gerald Leigh. - -The sculptor went back to Paris--to his art and his dreams of love and -fame. Two years slipped by without any event of serious import happening -to the persons about whom we are concerned. Then came a great change. - -Mr. Herbert died so suddenly that neither doctor nor lawyer could be -summoned in time, either to aid him to live or to carry out his last -wishes. His will gave Eugenia two thousand pounds and an estate he owned -in Gloucestershire--everything else to his son. Unfortunately, some -six months before, he had sold the Gloucestershire property, and, with -culpable negligence, had not made a fresh will. Therefore, the small -money bequest was all that his daughter could claim. However, this -seemed of little moment, as her brother at once announced his intention -of settling upon her the amount to which she was equitably entitled. He -had given his solicitors instructions to prepare the deed. - -James Herbert, Eugenia's brother, was unmarried, and at present had no -intention of settling down to the life of a country gentleman. Six weeks -after Mr. Herbert's death the greater number of the servants were paid -off, and Acton Hall was practically shut up. Eugenia, after spending -some weeks with friends in the north of England, came to London to live -for an indefinite time with her mother's sister, a Mrs. Cathcart. - -Since her father's death Gerald Leigh had written to her several -times--letters full of passionate love and penned as if the writer felt -sure of her constancy and wish to keep her promise. He, too, was coming -to London. Had she wished it, he would at once have come to her side; -but as it was he would take up his quarters in town about the same time -Eugenia arrived there. - -The hour was at hand--the hour to which Miss Herbert had for two years -looked forward with strangely mingled feelings--when her friends must be -told that she intended to marry the young, and as yet unknown sculptor, -Gerald Leigh, the son of her father's late tenant farmer, Abraham. - -She loved him still. She felt sure of that much. If time and absence had -somewhat weakened the spell he had thrown over her proud nature, she -knew that unless the man was greatly changed the magic of his words -and looks would sway her as irresistibly as before. She loved him, yet -rebelled against her fate. - -Her father had died ignorant of what had passed between his daughter -and the young artist. Many a time Eugenia had tried to bring herself to -confess the truth to him. She now regretted she had not done so. Mr. -Herbert's approval or disapproval would have been at least a staff by -which to guide her steps. He had suspected nothing. The few letters -which passed between the lovers had been unnoticed. Their love was as -yet a secret known only to themselves. - -She loved him, but why had he dared to make her love him? Or, why was -he not well-born and wealthy? Could she find strength to face, for his -sake, the scorn of her friends? - -She must decide at once. She is sitting and thinking all these things in -her own room at Mrs. Cathcart's, and in front of her lies a letter in -which Gerald announces his intention of calling upon her to-morrow. She -knows that if she receives him she will be bound to proclaim herself his -affianced wife. - -He called. She saw him. Mrs. Cathcart was out, So Eugenia was alone -when the servant announced Mr. Leigh. She started and turned pale. She -trembled in every limb as he crossed the room to where she stood. He -took her hand and looked into her face. He spoke, and his rich musical -voice thrilled her. - -"Eugenia, is it life or death?" - -She could not answer. She could not turn her eyes from his. She saw the -intensity of their expression deepen; saw a fierce yearning look come -into them, a look which startled her. - -"Is it life or death?" he repeated. - -His love conquered. "Gerald, it is life," she said. - -Drunk with joy, he threw his arms around her and kissed her until the -blushes dyed her cheeks. He stayed with her as long as she would allow, -but his delight was too delicious to permit him to say much about his -plans for the future. When at last she made him leave her, he gave her -the number of a studio at Chelsea, which he had taken, and she promised -to write and let him know when he might call again. - -They parted. Eugenia walked to the window, and for a long time looked -out on the gay thoroughfare, now full of carriages going to and -returning from the park. Of course, she loved Gerald dearly; that was -now beyond a doubt. But what would she have to go through when the -engagement was announced? what had she to look forward to as his wife? -Must love and worldly misery be synonymous? - -The current of her thoughts was interrupted by the arrival of another -visitor--her brother. James Herbert was a tall young man, faultlessly -dressed, and bearing a general look of what is termed high breeding. He -bore a likeness to his father, but the likeness was but an outward one. -By this time he was a cold cynical man of the world. He had not lived -the best of lives, but, being no fool, had gained experience and -caution. He was clever enough to study human nature with a view of -turning his knowledge to account. Eugenia had some pride of birth; -her brother had, or affected, a great deal more. He was by no means -unpopular; few men could make themselves more agreeable and fascinating -than James Herbert when it was worth his while to be so. In his way he -was fond of his sister; certainly proud of her beauty; and she, who knew -nothing of his true nature, thought him as perfect as a brother can be. - -He kissed her, complimented her on her good looks, then sat down and -made himself pleasant. She answered his remarks somewhat mechanically, -wondering all the time what effect her news would have upon him. She -hated things hanging over her head, and had made up her mind to tell him -of her intentions, if not to-day the next time she met him. - -"The lawyers have almost settled your little matter," he said. "It's -lucky for you I made up my mind at once; things haven't turned out so -well as we expected." - -She thanked him--not effusively, as if he was doing no more than she had -a right to expect. Yet the thought flashed across her that before she -took his bounty she was by honor compelled to make him acquainted with -what she proposed doing. - -"By-the-bye, Eugenia," said Herbert, "you know Ralph Norgate?" - -"Yes. He called a day or two ago. I did not see him." - -"Well, I expect he'll soon call again. He has been forcing his -friendship on me lately. In fact--I'd better tell you--his mind is made -up--you are to be the future Lady Norgate. Now you know what to look -forward to." - -Her face flushed. Her troubles were beginning. - -"But, James," she stammered, "I was just going to tell you--I am already -engaged." - -He raised his eyebrows. To express great surprise was against his creed, -and the idea that Eugenia was capable of disgracing herself did not -enter his head. - -"So much the worse for Norgate," he said. "Who is the happy man?" - -"You will be angry, very angry, I fear." She spoke timidly. His manner -told her she had good grounds for fear. His mouth hardened, but he still -spoke politely and pleasantly. - -"My dear girl, don't discount my displeasure; tell me who it is?" - -"His name is Gerald Leigh." - -"A pretty name, and one which sounds familiar to me. Now, who is Gerald -Leigh?" - -"He is a sculptor." - -"Ah! now I know. Son of that excellent old tenant of my father's. The -genius he discovered on a dungheap. Eugenia, are you quite mad?" - -"He will be a famous man some day." - -Herbert shrugged his shoulders in a peculiarly irritating way. - -"Let him be as famous as he likes. What does it matter?" - -"The proudest family may be proud of allying themselves to a great -artist." - -Herbert looked at his sister with a pitying but amused smile. "My poor -girl, don't be led astray by the temporary glorification of things -artistic. When these fellows grow talked about we ask them to our houses -and make much of them. It's the fashion. But we don't marry them. -Indeed, as they all begin in the lower ranks of life, like your friend, -they are generally provided with wives of their own station, who stay at -home and trouble no one." - -She winced under the sting of his scorn. He saw it, and knew he was -pursuing the right treatment for her disease. - -"Now, this young Leigh," he continued. "What will he be for years and -years? A sort of superior stone-cutter. He will make what living he -can by going about and doing busts of mayors and mayoresses, and other -people of that class, who want their common features perpetuated. -Perhaps he might get a job on a tombstone for a change. Bah! Of course -you have been jesting with me, Eugenia. I shall tell Norgate to call as -soon as possible." - -"I shall marry Gerald Leigh," said Eugenia, sullenly. All the same the -busts and tombstones weighed heavily upon her. - -"That," said her brother, rising, and still speaking with a smile, "I -am not the least afraid of, although you are of age and mistress of two -thousand pounds. You are not cut out to ornament an attic. I need not -say I must countermand that settlement. It must wait until you marry -Norgate or some other suitable man." - -He kissed her and walked carelessly away. To all appearance the matter -did not cause him a moment's anxiety. He was a clever man, and flattered -himself he knew how to treat Eugenia; human nature should be assailed at -its weakest points. - -His carelessness was, of course, assumed; for, meeting Mrs. Cathcart as -she drove home, Eugenia's news was sufficiently disturbing to make him -stop the carriage, seat himself beside his aunt, and beg her to take -another turn in the park, during which he told her what had transpired. - -They were fitting coadjutors. Mrs. Cathcart was delighted to hear of Sir -Ralph's overtures, and was shocked to find that Eugenia was entangled -in some low attachment. She quite agreed that the girl must be led, not -driven; must be laughed, not talked, out of her folly. "Girls nearly -always make fools of themselves once in their lives," said Mr. Cathcart, -cynically. - -"They do," said James Herbert, who knew something about the sex. "All -the same, Eugenia shall not. Find out all about the fellow, where he -lives, and all the rest of it. She doesn't know I've told you about -this. Keep a sharp lookout for any letters." - -So the next day, when Eugenia and her aunt were together, the latter, a -skilled domestic diplomatist, commenced operations by regretting that -Mr. Herbert, although so fond of statuary, had never employed a sculptor -to make his own bust. Mrs. Cathcart spoke so naturally that Eugenia fell -into the trap, and informed her that Mr. Herbert's likeness had been -taken in clay two years ago by a young sculptor then staying at Acton -Hall. It had been done for pleasure, not profit, but her father had -always intended to order a copy in marble. Mrs. Cathcart was delighted. -Did Eugenia know where the young man could be found? - -Eugenia did know. She told her with a tinge of color on her cheeks, -and took advantage of the opportunity, and perhaps soothed her spirit -somewhat by expatiating on what a great man her lover was to become. -Mrs. Cathcart, in return, spoke of geniuses as struggling, poverty -stricken persons, to befriend whom was the one great wish of her life. -It was indeed pleasant for Miss Herbert to hear her aunt speak of her -lover as she might of a hard-working seamstress or deserving laundress. -She had not yet written to Gerald. She must find strength to throw off -her brother's scorn and the busts and tombstones before she again met -her lover. - -Sir Ralph Norgate called that morning. He was a man of about forty. Not -ill-looking, but with the unmistakable appearance of one who had led a -hard life. He was rich, and of fine old family. It was clear to Mrs. -Cathcart that he meant business. Eugenia had met him several times last -year, and it was no news to her that he was her ardent admirer. She was -very cold towards him to-day, but Mrs. Cathcart did not chide her. She, -clever woman, knew that men like Norgate value a prize at what it costs -them to win it. So the baronet came, stayed his appointed time, then -went away, presumably in fair train to a declaration by and by. - - -CHAPTER III. - -The next day, whilst driving with her niece, Mrs. Cathcart was seized -by a sudden thought. "My dear," she said, "let us go and see about that -bust. Where did you say the sculptor man was to be found? Nelson -Studios, King's Road. What number?" - -"No. 10," said Eugenia, wondering if her aunt's sudden resolve would be -productive of good or evil. - -The carriage went to Nelson Studios; the ladies dismounted, and Mrs. -Cathcart tapped at the door of No. 10, a studio which, being a -sculptor's, was of course on the ground-floor. - -The door was opened by a handsome young man whose outside garb was a -ragged old blouse, and whose hands were white with half-dried clay--one -of those hands, moreover, held a short pipe. Indeed, Gerald Leigh was in -as unpresentable trim as when years ago he first met Miss Herbert. - -He did not at once see the girl. She was behind Mrs. Cathcart, and that -lady's majestic presence absorbed all his attention. Mrs. Cathcart put -up her eye-glass. - -"Is your master in?" she asked. - -Gerald laughed. "I am my own master," he said. - -"This is Mr. Leigh, aunt," said Eugenia, coming forward. - -"Oh!" said Mrs. Cathcart, and the palpable meaning of that exclamatory -monosyllable sent the blood to Eugenia's cheek. - -Gerald started as he heard the girl's voice and recognized her in the -shadow. He stretched out his clay-covered hand, then withdrew it and -laughed. Mrs. Cathcart, who saw the action, put on a look of supreme -astonishment; then she recovered herself. - -"Oh, I forgot," she said to Eugenia. "Of course, you have seen Mr. Leigh -before. May we come in, Mr. Leigh?" - -He moved aside and the ladies entered the studio. He placed his two -chairs at their disposal. He wondered the while what had brought Eugenia -to him. He gave her a questioning glance, but her eyes avoided his. Then -Mrs. Cathcart began. She spoke in that manner which certain persons -assume towards those whom they are pleased to think their inferiors. - -"I believe, some time ago, you made a bust of my late brother-in-law, -Mr. Herbert, of Coombe-Acton." - -Gerald bowed. - -"I wish to have a copy of it. Can you make one?" - -"Certainly. In marble?" - -"In marble, of course. How much will it cost?" - -It was a painful experience to Eugenia, to hear her future husband -talked to by Mrs. Cathcart much as that lady talked to the obliging -young men and women at the various emporiums which enjoyed her -patronage. - -"Mr. Herbert was my best friend," said Gerald. "My services are at your -disposal." - -"You do not understand me," said Mrs. Cathcart, coldly. "I asked you -what it would cost." - -Gerald colored and glanced at Eugenia. He was utterly puzzled. It could -only have been through the agency of the girl he loved that this new -patroness sought him. - -"Mr. Leigh was my father's friend, aunt," said Eugenia. - -"My dear! Mr. Leigh is not _my_ friend. I want to know his terms for a -marble bust." - -"Eighty pounds, madam," said Gerald, rather shortly. - -"Oh, much too much! Eugenia, do you not think such a price -extortionate?" - -Eugenia was silent, but her cheeks burned. Gerald's lip quivered with -anger. Only Mrs. Cathcart was calm. "I will pay you forty pounds," she -said, "but then it must be approved by a competent judge." - -"You have heard my terms, madam," said Leigh curtly. - -"Absurd! I will even say fifty pounds. If you like to take that you may -call upon me. Good-morning. Come, Eugenia!" - -She swept out of the studio. Eugenia followed her. She looked back and -saw Gerald's face wearing an expression of actual pain. For a moment her -impulse was to run back, throw her arms round his neck, and defy every -one. However, she did not yield to it, but followed her aunt to the -carriage. - -"I call that young man a most common, ill-bred person," said Mrs. -Cathcart. - -Eugenia flushed. "He is not," she said hotly. "Your manner towards him -must have been most mortifying." - -"My dear child!" exclaimed Mrs. Cathcart, in innocent surprise, "and I -was trying to befriend the young man? He presumes on his acquaintance -with your father. I always told your poor father it was a mistake -becoming intimate with persons of that class." - -Eugenia said no more. If she had thought of so doing it was not the -moment to open her heart to Mrs. Cathcart. She went to her room -intending to write to Gerald; but no letter was written that day. How -could she ask him to call at her aunt's after what had occurred? - -"I love him," she said to herself, "but I am not brave enough to give up -all for him. Oh, why did we ever meet?" - -The next morning she received a letter from Gerald. It contained no -reproach--only an entreaty that she would name a time when he might see -her. Mrs. Cathcart was true to her duty. Before James Herbert was out of -bed she had sent him word that a letter had come for Eugenia. He went at -once to his sister. His greeting was quite friendly. - -"Eugenia," he said presently, "of course by now you have put all that -nonsense about that sculptor-fellow out of your pretty head?" - -"It is no nonsense." - -"Well, if you mean to be obstinate I must interfere. Have you seen him -since?" - -"Aunt went to his studio. I was with her." - -"She ought to have known better. If she encourages you we shall quarrel. -Do you correspond? Tell me the truth." - -She offered him Gerald's letter. He waved it aside as a thing beneath -his notice. - -"Have you answered it?" he asked. - -"Not yet. I am just going to." - -Her brother still remained calm and polite, with that contemptuous, -incredulous smile playing round his lips. - -"If you will make a fool of yourself, I can't stop you. If you, with -your beauty and position, choose to go and live in a garret, you must do -so. Still, as your brother, I have certain responsibilities which would -still be mine were your lover the highest in the land. I must make -inquiries as to his character and moral worth--these fellows are -generally a loose lot." - -"You may make what inquiries you choose." - -"Thank you. Now one favor--a command, the last I shall ask or give. You -will not answer this letter--you will not see the man--until I have -satisfied myself on these points. It is not too much to ask, Eugenia." - -She felt the justice of his remarks--could it be she was weak enough to -be glad of a little delay and breathing space? But Gerald's face, as -last she saw it, rose before her. - -"You must name a time," she said. - -"So impatient for true love and social extinction," sneered Herbert. -"Surely you can restrain yourself until this day week." - -It was longer than she had meant. But her brother's bitter sneers -settled it. "So be it," she said, "until this day week." - -The promise given James Herbert dismissed the matter, but he filled up -the next half-hour with the very cream of society gossip, which was -undoubtedly as palatable to Eugenia as it would have been to any other -woman. James Herbert lived within the inner circle, and as to-day, for -purposes of his own, he spoke to Eugenia as if she were one of the -initiated; his conversation was not without charm. - -He was clever to know when to trust. He had not the slightest fear that -Eugenia would break her promise. So he cautioned Mrs. Cathcart to keep -the little fool well within sight, and thus avoid danger of a chance -meeting; to order the servants to refuse the sculptor admission if -he ventured to call--and above all to be sure that Norgate had every -opportunity of pressing his suit. After this he waited calmly, and did -nothing more in the matter for six whole days. - -Days during which Gerald Leigh chafed and fretted. He refused to doubt, -but his heart grew heavy within him. He felt sure that Mrs. Cathcart's -visit boded no good. At last he could bear the suspense no longer. He -called and asked for Eugenia. She was out. He called again--the same -result. He went back to his studio and tried to conquer his growing -uneasiness by hard work. One morning a gentleman called and introduced -himself as James Herbert. - -Gerald received him courteously. Herbert was suave, smiling and bland. -He spoke of the interest he felt in the young sculptor for his father, -Mr. Herbert's sake. He admired some embryo designs, and wished and -prophesied all success. Then, as Gerald began to hope that Eugenia's -brother might some day be his friend, he turned upon him and tore him to -pieces. - -"But, after all, Mr. Leigh, my great object in calling concerns my -sister." - -Gerald grew very pale. - -"She is a good girl, but weak. She has confessed to me that some sort of -romantic nonsense had passed between you." - -"She has vowed to be my wife--no more, no less." - -His impetuosity seemed to amuse Herbert. "I am afraid such a thing -is an impossibility," he said serenely. "I shall not insult you by -telling you she is all but penniless--geniuses, I know, never think of -money--but I fear I must pain you by saying she repents of her hasty -words." - -"That," said Gerald slowly, yet fiercely, "is a lie." - -"My good sir, I cannot allow you to use such words. My temper is fair, -but it has its limits." - -"I apologize," said Gerald sullenly. "I should have said you were -coercing her." - -"I never coerced any one in my life; much less my sister. Naturally, I -shall object to her marriage with you; but that makes no difference." - -"Tell me what you have to tell," said Gerald nervously. He hated and -feared this smooth, smiling man. - -"In a few words, then, my sister is unhappy and unsettled. For several -days she has been trying to answer a letter you sent her. At last she -confided all to me. I am sure I am not going too far when I say she -would be glad to think that all boy and girl promises between you were -forgotten." - -"She sent you to tell me this?" asked Gerald hoarsely. - -"No. She knew I was coming. I am putting her thoughts in my own words." - -"I don't expect you to understand what my love for your sister means; -you could not," said Gerald. "But you know she has vowed to be my wife." - -"Yes; and will keep her promise if you insist upon it." The emphasis -Herbert laid on insist made Gerald's heart sick. - -He said nothing; but, with a strange smile on his white face, he went -to a table and wrote a few words. He handed the paper to his visitor. -"Read," he said; "you say you are her messenger; now you can be mine." -The words were: - -"Eugenia: If this is unanswered I shall believe you wish to recall -everything that has passed between us." - -"Thank you," said Herbert. "This is all I could expect." - -With trembling hands the sculptor placed the paper in an envelope, and -once more tendered it to Herbert. - -"No, thank you," said Herbert. "People have been tempted to suppress -letters before now. Post it in the ordinary way." - -Gerald left the room. He returned in a few moments, and Herbert knew -that the letter had been posted. He had nothing further to do with -Gerald, so held out his hand affably. - -"No," said Gerald, "I would rather not." His eyes were gleaming -strangely. - -"As you will," said Herbert with indifference. - -"I will change my mind," said Gerald in a low voice, and taking the -other's hand; "condemned people always shake hands with the hangman, -I think." - -He spoke with a ghastly attempt at mirth. Herbert left the studio -without another word, but, as he drove to Mrs. Cathcart's, said to -himself, "The sooner that beggar shoots or hangs himself the better." - -He went straight to his sister. He placed his hand on her shoulder, -and, with a look she had never yet seen on his face, said in a cold, -contemptuous manner: - -"Eugenia, I have been taking some trouble on your behalf. To-day two -things are going to happen which will settle your future. Norgate will -be here presently and ask you to be his wife. By the next post you will -get a letter from that stone-cutter. Before you answer it, shut yourself -up and think until you are in a proper frame of mind. Women are fools, -but surely you can't be the biggest among them." - -"You have seen him?" asked Eugenia faintly. - -"Yes. An extremely nice young man--in his place." - -"Was he well?" - -"Very well, and very comfortable. My dear girl, he quite won my -respect--a thoroughly practical young man, with lots of common-sense. -Now good-bye. Don't make any mistake." - -Did she hear aright? Her brother found Gerald a thoroughly practical -young man! The lie was so gigantic that it seemed impossible it could be -all a lie. She was revolving it in her mind even when Sir Ralph Norgate -was announced. - -As for the practical young man, he had locked his door, and thrown -himself on the ground. James Herbert's words had impressed him, and -perhaps his faith in Eugenia's faith was not so great as he fancied. -To-morrow he would know the verdict. He felt sure that if his letter -remained unanswered for twenty-four hours James Herbert had spoken the -truth. - -Miss Herbert found her brother a true prophet. Sir Ralph Norgate offered -his hand, and when the offer was refused, told her he did not mean to -accept her answer as final. She did not, on her part, say anything about -her love being given elsewhere. Then Gerald's letter came, and following -her brother's advice she did think everything over; she sat for hours -trying to nerve herself to answer the letter as love and faith -demanded. - -She loved him. Had he been present her indecision would soon have -vanished; but, as it was, she could reflect fully on what an answer to -his letter must mean--alienation of all her friends--an end of social -ambition--many years, if not a life, of poverty. Eugenia shuddered as -she thought of the consequences, and wished that she and Gerald had -never met. She wished moreover, that the temptations of rank and wealth -held out by her other suitor were less. - -What would Gerald do if his letter was not answered? If she could but -persuade herself that her brother's estimate of his character was the -right one! Possibly it might be; James knew mankind well. If she could -but think so--could believe that Gerald would forget--she might then -find it easier to be wise, and, by taking him at his word, save herself -and perhaps him from what must insure unhappiness. - -So she reasoned--so she excused her half-meditated treason--so she -persuaded herself it would eventually be better for both if they parted. -Yet all the while she knew she loved Gerald Leigh as she could love no -other man. In this mental conflict the day passed and night found the -letter unanswered. Then James Herbert came to her. - -"Eugenia, have you replied to that letter?" - -She shook her head. - -"Give it to me," he said. - -She did so. It was a relief to get rid of it. He tore it into fragments. - -"There," he said. "I knew I could trust your good sense. There is an -end of the affair. It is a secret between you and me, and I shall never -again allude to it." - -For good or ill the die was cast. She had freed herself. But she had -left the room with swimming eyes, and went to Mrs. Cathcart. - -"Aunt," she cried, "will you take me abroad--for a long time?" - -It was hard for Mrs. Cathcart to be called upon to give up the rest of -the London season. But then Mr. Herbert's recent death prevented her -going out much, and it was paramount that Eugenia's future should be -satisfactorily disposed of. So the excellent woman sacrificed herself at -once. - -"I will take you abroad, Eugenia, if you will promise to be Sir Ralph's -wife." - -Eugenia had chosen her own path, and knew where it would lead; yet for -very shame she would not show her thoughts to others. - -"I can promise nothing," she said. "Take me away." - -Three days afterward, Gerald Leigh learned that Eugenia had gone abroad -with her aunt. - -Although in his studio all day long, the sculptor did no work for -weeks; at last he aroused himself, engaged a model and set to work with -feverish energy. From morn to night he thumbed and pushed about the -ductile clay. He laughed in a sort of bitter triumph. His hands had not -lost their cunning. The work grew and grew apace until the clay was done -with, and a fair white block of marble stood in the centre of the studio -waiting to be hewn into the statue which was to be Gerald Leigh's first -high bid for fame. - - -CHAPTER IV. - -It was early in May. The Academy had been open about a week, long enough -for the newspaper critics to tell the public what it ought to admire. -Strange to say, this year the critics were unanimous in bestowing their -highest praises on a piece of statuary, and a great future for the -sculptor was predicted. - -No. 1460 in the catalogue appealed to no one by cheap sentiment or -sensational treatment. It was but the lightly-draped figure of a -beautiful girl; one in the first flush of womanhood. She was in the act -of stepping hastily forward. Her arms were extended as if to welcome, -perhaps embrace, some one who was coming towards her. Her face bore a -smile of eager delight. The grace, the likeness, the life of the figure -arrested each passer by. The fall of the drapery, the position of each -well-rounded limb, conveyed the idea of rapid motion. It was indeed hard -to believe that she was doomed to remain forever in one fixed attitude. -The stock remark of the spectators was that in a minute they expected to -see her at the other side of the room. - -This statute bore no distinguishing title, but those persons who turned -to their catalogues found, under the number and the artist's name, a few -words of poetry: - - "Her hands outstretched - To greet the new love; whilst her feet - Tread, scornful, on the old love's gifts." - -After reading this one turned, of course, to her feet, and found that -one of them was treading on flowers--roses and large star-shaped -blossoms. - -Several people, whilst admiring the statue, fancied they had somewhere -seen the original of that beautiful face; but, save the sculptor, only -one, James Herbert, knew the truth. He cursed Leigh's impertinence, but -was too wise to take any notice of it. Yet he determined to keep Eugenia -from the Academy, if possible. - -She was in town, and in a week's time was to be married to Sir Ralph. -Two months after Mrs. Cathcart had taken her niece abroad, the baronet -joined them, and renewed his proposals; this time with success. The girl -stipulated that the marriage should not take place until the spring. -The truth is she wanted some months' delay in order to get rid of the -memories of Gerald Leigh, and by the time she returned to England -flattered herself she had successfully completed the operation. - -She had in the last few days heard some talk about the statue, but -had steadfastly kept her eyes from the art criticisms, fearing to see -Gerald's name. Nevertheless, she wished to visit the Academy, and was -surprised when James Herbert, now amiability itself, refused to take her -there. - -"You mustn't go this year," he said; "that fellow's statute is creating -quite a furore." - -"Well, what of that!" asked Eugenia, coldly. - -"He has had bad taste enough to represent you. The likeness is -unmistakable. It is a maudlin thing--a girl deserting her old love, or -some such nonsense. Still, you'd better not go." - -Eugenia said no more, but all day long she was thinking of her -brother's words, and longing to see what Gerald had wrought. That -evening she dined out. At the table were several persons who worshipped -art, and Eugenia's cheek burned as she heard the praise bestowed on the -new sculptor and the great future prophesied for him. Had she, after -all, been wrong? Would it not have been better to have followed the -mandates of her heart? Had she not been weak and mercenary? No matter; -it was too late now to repent. Poor Gerald! She must see this wonderful -image of herself. - -Early next morning she went alone to Burlington House. Unlike others, -she knew the meaning of the statue, knew the mute reproach it conveyed, -knew why the marble foot trod down those particular flowers. She had -never told him the fate of his boyish gift; but Gerald had often and -often recalled his first meeting with her. Eugenia's heart swelled as -she remembered his brave words and confidence in himself--how sure he -felt of success. He had, indeed, succeeded, but the first great work -from his hands was a memento of his love for a faithless woman--herself. - -Two gentlemen were at her side. They were talking of the work and the -sculptor. One of them she knew. He was a lord, famous for his love of -art and encouragement of rising artists. - -"I tried to buy it," he said, "but found it was not for sale." - -"Commercially speaking," said his companion, "it is as well you cannot -buy it." - -"Why? The man must go to the top of his profession." - -"I think not. Indeed, my belief is he will do little more. I have -inquired about him. He does not live the life a genius must live in -these days if he wants to succeed." - -"I am sorry to hear it," said Lord ----, moving away. - -Miss Herbert left the Academy with an echo of Gerald's extravagant -statement that life or death hung upon her love sounding in her ears. -The conversation she had overheard distressed her greatly. The thought -that her treachery had ruined a life full of promise would not be -dismissed. She spent a most miserable day, and its misery was not -diminished by the truth, which she could no longer conceal from herself, -that she still loved Gerald. She loved him more than ever. Too late! too -late! And Eugenia Herbert wept, as many others have wept, that the past -could not be undone. - -Sir Ralph Norgate and James Herbert dined that evening at Mrs. -Cathcart's. Their society was little comfort to Eugenia. She felt now -that she hated her lover--hated his polite, hollow society ways and -expressions--hated that _blasé_ look which so often settled on his face. -She had never cared for him. Their love-making had been of a frigid -kind--not, be it said, by Sir Ralph's wish. He was proud of, and perhaps -really fond of, the beautiful girl he had bought; so it was scarcely -fair that Eugenia should compare his polite wooing with that of the -impassioned boy's, which recked no obstacles--heeded no consequences. - -Her bitter thoughts made it impossible for her to sit out the dinner. -Very soon she pleaded headache and went to her own room to resume her -self-revilings. She made no further attempt to banish Gerald from -her thoughts. She lived again every moment she had spent in his -company--heard again every word of wild love--felt his hand close on -hers--his lips press her own--and shuddered as the dismal words "Life or -death," seemed echoing through her ears. If she could but undo the past! - -Why not! The thought rushed through her. What hindered her save the -false gods to whom she had bent? She was still legally free. Gerald -was in the same town. Why should she heed her friends? Why trouble as -to what people would think or say? By one bold step she could right -everything. If to-morrow--nay, this very hour--she went to Gerald and -bade him take her and hold her against all, she knew he would do so. He -would forgive. To him her action would not seem bold or unmaidenly. In -his eyes she would rank as high as ever; and what mattered the rest? -To-morrow they might be miles away, and the bliss of being Gerald's wife -might well compensate for what people would say about her conduct. She -herself could forget all, save that she was now bound forever to the man -she loved! - -She would do it. With feverish impatience she threw off her rich dress -and wrapped herself in a plain cloak. She put on the quietest hat she -could find, stole down stairs, and was out of the house before second -thoughts had time to bring irresolution. Her heart beat wildly. She -hailed a cab and was driven to Nelson Studios. On the way she remembered -it was an unlikely hour to find an artist in his studio, but, -nevertheless, now she had set out, resolved to complete her journey. - -She walked quickly to Gerald's door. She knocked softly, but met -with no response. She dared not wait longer outside. The pictured -consequences of her rash act were assuming tremendous proportions in -her brain. Another minute's delay and she must leave the spot never to -return. She turned the handle of the door and entered the room. - -Now, Miss Herbert's half-formed plan of action when she found herself -face to face with her ill-treated lover, had been something like -this--she would walk up to him and simply say, "Gerald, I am come." The -rest must be left to him, but she believed, in spite of her weakness and -treachery, he would freely forgive her all. - -Gerald was not in the studio. The gas was half-turned down, and the clay -casts on the wall looked grim and spectral. But, if Gerald was not in -the room it was still inhabited. On a low couch--a couch covered by a -rich Oriental rug--lay a woman, fast asleep. - -She crept across the room and gazed on the sleeper. Even by the dim -gas-light she knew that she gazed on beauty before which her own must -pale. The woman might have been some five years older than herself, and -those wonderful charms were at their zenith. The rich, clear, warm color -on the cheek, the long black lashes, the arched and perfect eyebrows, -told of Southern lands. The full, voluptuous figure, the shapely, -rounded arms, the red lips, the soft creamy neck--before these the heart -of man would run as wax before a fire. Eugenia, seeking her lover, found -this woman in her stead. - -A bitter, scornful smile played on Miss Herbert's lips as she gazed at -the sleeper. Somehow that oval, sunny face seemed familiar to her. Well -might it be. In London, Paris, everywhere, she had seen it in the shop -windows. There were few people in France or England who had not heard -the name of Mlle. Carlotta, singer, dancer, darling of opera-bouffe, -whose adventures and amours were notorious, who had ruined more men than -she could count on the fingers of her fair hands. - -Eugenia recognized her, and her smile of scorn deepened. The sight of -a half-emptied champagne bottle close to the sleeper, a half-smoked -cigarette lying on the floor just as it had fallen from her fingers, -added nothing to the contempt Miss Herbert's smile expressed. Gathering -her skirts together to avoid any chance of contamination by touch, she -was preparing to leave the studio as noiselessly as she had entered it, -when suddenly the sleeper awoke. - -Awoke without any warning. Simply opened her splendid dark eyes, stared -for half a second, then, with wonderful lightness and agility, sprang to -her feet. - -"_Que faites vous la?_ Why are you here?" she cried. - -Without a word Eugenia moved towards the door. Mlle. Carlotta was before -her. She turned the key and placed her back against the door. - -"_Doucement! doucement! ma belle_," she said. "Permit me to know who -honors me with a visit?" - -"I wished to see Mr. Leigh. I suppose he is out. Be good enough to let -me pass." - -"Are you a model, then? But no; models look not as you look." - -"I am not a model." - -"Not! _fi donc!_ You are, perhaps, one of those young misses who write -Geraldo letters of love. _A la bonne heure!_ I wish to see one of -them--_moi_." - -With a saucy smile Carlotta pocketed the key, turned up the gas, and -commenced a cool scrutiny of her prisoner. Eugenia blushed crimson. - -"_Qui vous etes belle, ma chere--belle mais blonde_, and Geraldo, he -loves not the blonde." - -"Let me pass!" said Eugenia, stamping her foot. - -Her tormentor laughed, but not ill-temperedly. - -"He will soon be here," she said mockingly. "Surely Mademoiselle will -wait. He will be enchanted to see one of the young misses." - -Mlle. Carlotta, when not injured, was not vindictive or unkindly; but -she was as mischievous as a monkey. No doubt, having teased the girl to -her satisfaction, she would have soon released her, but it happened that -Eugenia turned her head, and for the first time the light shone full -upon her face. Her gaoler started. She sprang towards her, seized her -arm and dragged her across the room. Still holding her captive, she tore -down a sheet and revealed the clay model of the statue which had made -Gerald famous. She looked from the lifeless to the living face then -burst into a peal of derisive laughter. Eugenia's secret was discovered. - -"Ha! ha! ha! The young miss that Geraldo loved. The one who threw him -away for a rich lover! Yet, she wishes to see him again--so at night she -comes. Ah, Mademoiselle, you have w-r-r-recked him, c-r-r-rushed him, -r-r-ruined him, still would see him. Good; good! it is now his turn. My -Gerald shall have revenge--revenge!" - -Eugenia, thoroughly aroused, commanded her to let her go. Carlotta -laughed in her face, was even ill-bred enough to snap her fingers and -poke out her tongue at her prisoner. Eugenia humbled herself, and -implored her by their common womanhood. Carlotta laughed the louder. -Eugenia appealed to her venality, and tried to bribe her. Carlotta -lowered her black eyebrows and scowled, but laughed louder than ever. -"He will come very soon," was all she said. "He will not stop long away -from me--Carlotta." - -Miss Herbert was at her wit's end. Yet, even through the shame of the -situation, the anguish of her heart made itself felt. After having -wrought herself up to make such a sacrifice, such an atonement, it was -pitiable to find Gerald no better than the rest of his sex! She sat upon -a chair longing for release, yet dreading to hear the step which would -herald it. - -Half an hour passed. Mlle. Carlotta whiled it away by emptying a glass -of champagne, smoking a cigarette, and making comments upon Gerald's -prolonged absence. Presently she cried, "Ah, Mademoiselle, this is dull -for you; see, I will dance to you," and therewith she raised herself on -her toes and went pirouetting round her captive, humming the while -an air of Offenbach's. Her dress was long, but she managed it with -marvellous skill, and Eugenia, whilst loathing, could not help watching -her with a sort of fascination. She was as agile as a panther; every -attitude was full of grace, every gesture alluring. - -Suddenly she stopped short. Her great eyes sparkled even more brightly. -She glanced at her victim. "Hist!" she said. "I hear him. I know his -step. He comes!" - -A moment afterwards the door was tried. Eugenia covered her face with -her hands. She knew not what the woman meant to do or say, but she felt -that her crowning shame was at hand. Yet her heart beat at the thought -of seeing Gerald once more, and a wild idea of forgiveness on either -side passed through her. - -Mlle. Carlotta turned down the gas, unlocked the door, and, as it -opened, threw herself into the arms of the new-comer. Eugenia heard the -sound of kisses given and returned, and her heart grew like stone. - -"Geraldo, _mon ami_," she heard the dancer say in passionate tones, -"_dis moi, que tu m'aimes--que tu m'aimes toujours!_" - -"_Je t'adore ma belle--tu es ravissante!_" - -"Tell me in your own dear barbarous tongue. Swear it to me in English." - -"I swear it, my beautiful gipsy. I love you." - -"Me only?" - -"You only;" and Eugenia heard him kiss her again and again. - -"Dis done, my Geraldo. You love me more than the pale-faced miss who -scorned you?" He laughed a wild, unpleasant sounding laugh. - -"Why not? You can love or say you can love. She was the changeable white -moon; you are the glorious Southern sun. She was ice; you are fire. -Better be burnt to death than die of cold and starvation. Men have -worshipped you--men have died for you. I love you." - -They came into the room. His arm was round her. Her radiant face rested -on his shoulder. Again and again he kissed those beautiful lips. His -eyes were only for her and saw not Eugenia. - -Miss Herbert rose. Her face was as white as her marble prototype's. She -might have passed out unobserved by Gerald, but Mlle. Carlotta was on -the watch. She pointed to her, and Gerald turned and saw Eugenia. - -He had but time to realize it was no vision--then she was gone. With a -wild cry he turned to follow her, but the woman twined her arms around -him and restrained him. She was strong, and for some moments detained -him. Her resistance maddened him. With a fierce oath he grasped her -round arms and tore them from his neck, throwing her away with such -force that she fell upon the floor. Then he rushed after Eugenia. - -She was walking swiftly along the road. He soon reached her side; but, -although aware of his presence, she neither spoke nor looked at him. - -"What brought you here?" he said hoarsely. - -She made no reply--only walked the faster. - -"Tell me why you came?" he said. "I will never leave you until you -answer me." - -She turned and looked at him. Fresh from that scene in the studio--with -those words still ringing in her ears--even the great change she saw in -his face did not move her to pity. - -"I came," she said, "on the eve of my marriage, to ask forgiveness of a -man whom I fancied I had wronged. I am glad I came. I found him happy, -and in society after his own heart." - -Her voice was cold and contemptuous. He quivered beneath her scorn. At -that moment a cab passed. Eugenia called it. - -"Leave me!" she said to Gerald. "Leave me! Our paths in life shall cross -no more." - -He grasped her wrist. "Do you dare to reproach me? You! Eugenia, I told -you it was life or death." - -"Life or death!" she repeated. "Death, at any rate, seems made very -sweet to you." - -Still holding her wrist, he looked into her eyes in a strange, hopeless -way. He saw nothing in them to help him. He leaned down to her ear. - -"Yes, death," he said in a solemn whisper; "but the moral and spiritual -death comes first." - -His hand left her wrist. He turned, and without a word strode away. -Whither? Even as Tannhauser returned to the Venusberg, so Gerald Leigh -returned to his studio and Carlotta. - -Eugenia wept all the way home. Wept for herself and Gerald. Wept for -the shame she had endured. Wept for the uselessness of the contemplated -atonement. Wept for the life before her, and for a man's future and -career wrecked by her weakness. - -The next week she married Sir Ralph Norgate. The ceremony was surrounded -by befitting splendor. Yet, even at the alter, Gerald Leigh's pale -passionate face rose before her, and she knew it would never leave her -thoughts. She loved him still! - -On her wedding morning she received many letters. She had no time to -read them, so took them with her, and perused them as she went north -with her husband. Among them was one in a strange handwriting; it ran -thus: - -"For your sake he struck me--Carlotta! But he came back to me and is -mine again. Him I forgive; not you. We go abroad together to warm, sunny -lands. Some day we shall quarrel and part. Then I shall remember you -and take my revenge. How? That husband, for whom you deserted Gerald, I -shall take from you." - -Eugenia's lip curled. She tore the letter and threw the pieces out of -the carriage window. - -Two years afterwards Lady Norgate was listlessly turning the leaves of -a society journal. Although she was a great and fashionable lady she -was often listless, and found life rather a dreary proceeding. She -read to-day, among the theatrical notes, that Mlle. Carlotta, the -divine opera bouffe actress, was engaged to appear next month at the -"Frivolity." Although the woman's absurd threat was unheeded, if not -forgotten, her name recalled too vividly the most painful episode in -Lady Norgate's life. She turned to another part of the paper and -read that the gentleman who committed suicide under such distressing -circumstances, at Monaco, had now been identified. He was Mr. Gerald -Leigh, the sculptor, whose first important work attracted so much -attention two years ago. It was hinted that his passion for a well-known -actress was the cause of the rash deed. - -Lady Norgate dropped the paper, and covered her face with her hands. He -had spoken truly. Her love meant life or death! - -Had she believed, or troubled about the concluding paragraph of the -notice, had she ventured to tell herself it was true that Gerald had -forgotten her, and Carlotta was responsible for his death, her mind -would soon have been set at rest. - -Like a courteous foe who gives fair warning, Mlle. Carlotta wrote once -more: - -"He is dead. He died for your sake, not mine. Your name, not mine, was -on his lips. Look to yourself. I am coming to London." - -No doubt Carlotta meant this letter as a first blow towards revenge. -She would hardly have written it had she known that Lady Norgate would -cherish those words forever. Poor comfort as it was, they told her that -Gerald had loved her to the last. - -Then Mlle. Carlotta, more beautiful, more enticing, more audacious than -ever, came to London. - -For some months it had been whispered in society that Sir Ralph Norgate -was not so perfect a husband as such a wife as Eugenia might rightly -expect. After Carlotta's reappearance the whispers grew louder, the -statements more circumstantial. Eugenia caught an echo of them and -smiled disdainfully. - -Then the name of Carlotta's new victim became town-talk. Yet Eugenia -made no sign. - -Not even when she met her husband, in broad daylight, seated side by -side with the siren. The man had the grace to turn his head away, but -Carlotta shot a glance of malicious triumph at the pale lady who passed -without a quiver of the lip. James Herbert was with his sister, and -found this encounter too much even for his cynicism. He was bound to -speak. - -"The blackguard!" he said. "But Eugenia, I don't think I would have a -divorce or a separation. It makes such a scandal." - -"It is a matter of perfect indifference to me," she said coldly. - -She spoke the truth. Carlotta's romantic vengeance was an utter failure. -Lady Norgate and her husband were, in truth, no farther apart than they -had been for many months. Eugenia was indifferent. - -And, as time goes on, grows more and more so. Indifferent to wealth, -indifferent to rank, to pleasure, even to pain. She cherishes nothing, -cares for nothing, save the remembrance that she was once loved by -Gerald Leigh--that he bade her give him life or death--that although she -gave him death, he died with her name on his lips! - - - - -CARRISTON'S GIFT. - -PART I. - -_TOLD BY PHILIP BRAND, M.D., LONDON._ - - -I. - -I wish I had the courage to begin this tale by turning to my -professional visiting books, and, taking at random any month out of the -last twenty years, give its record as a fair sample of my ordinary work. -The dismal extract would tell you what a doctor's--I suppose I may say -a successful doctor's--lot is, when his practice lies in a poor and -densely-populated district of London. Dreary as such a beginning might -be, it would perhaps allay some of the incredulity which this tale may -probably provoke, as it would plainly show how little room there is for -things imaginative or romantic in work so hard as mine, or among such -grim realities of poverty, pain, and grief as those by which I have been -surrounded. It would certainly make it appear extremely unlikely that -I should have found time to imagine, much less to write, a romance or -melodrama. - -The truth is that when a man has toiled from nine o'clock in the -morning until nine o'clock at night, such leisure as he can enjoy is -precious to him, especially when even that short respite is liable to -be broken in upon at any moment. - -Still, in spite of the doleful picture I have drawn of what may be -called "the daily grind," I begin this tale with the account of a -holiday. - -In the autumn of 1864 I turned my back with right good-will upon London -streets, hospitals, and patients, and took my seat in the North Express. -The first revolution of the wheels sent a thrill of delight through my -jaded frame. A joyful sense of freedom came over me. I had really got -away at last! Moreover, I had left no address behind me, so for three -blessed weeks might roam an undisputed lord of myself. Three weeks were -not very many to take out of the fifty-two, but they were all I could -venture to give myself; for even at that time my practice, if not so -lucrative as I could wish, was a large and increasing one. Having done -a twelvemonth's hard work, I felt that no one in the kingdom could -take his holiday with a conscience clearer than mine, so I lay back in -a peculiarly contented frame of mind, and discounted the coming -pleasures of my brief respite from labor. - -There are many ways of passing a holiday--many places at which it may be -spent; but after all, if you wish to enjoy it thoroughly there is but -one royal rule to be followed. That is, simply to please yourself--go -where you like, and mount the innocent holiday hobby which is dearest -to your heart, let its name be botany, geology, entomology, conchology, -venery, piscation, or what not. Then you will be happy, and return well -braced up for the battle of life. I knew a city clerk with literary -tastes, who invariably spent his annual fortnight among the mustiest -tomes of the British Museum, and averred that his health was more -benefited by so doing than if he had passed the time inhaling the -freshest sea-breezes. I dare say he was right in his assertion. - -Sketching has always been my favorite holiday pursuit. Poor as my -drawings may be, nevertheless, as I turn them over in my portfolio, they -bring to me at least vivid remembrances of many sweet and picturesque -spots, happy days, and congenial companions. It was not for me to say -anything of their actual merits, but they are dear to me for their -associations. - -This particular year I went to North Wales, and made Bettws-y-Coed my -headquarters. I stayed at the Royal Oak, that well-known little inn dear -to many an artist's heart, and teeming with reminiscences of famous men -who have sojourned there times without number. It was here I made the -acquaintance of the man with whose life the curious events here told are -connected. - -On the first day after my arrival at Bettws my appreciation of my -liberty was so thorough, my appetite for the enjoyment of the beauties -of nature so keen and insatiable, that I went so far and saw so much, -that when I returned to the Royal Oak night had fallen and the hour of -dinner had long passed by. I was, when my own meal was placed on the -table, the only occupant of the coffee-room. Just then a young man -entered, and ordered something to eat. The waiter knowing no doubt -something of the frank _camaraderie_ which exists, or should exist, -between the followers of the painter's craft, laid his cover at my -table. The new-comer seated himself, gave me a pleasant smile and a -nod, and in five minutes we were in full swing of conversation. - -The moment my eyes fell upon the young man I had noticed how singularly -handsome he was. Charles Carriston--for this I found afterwards to -be his name--was about twenty-two years of age. He was tall, but -slightly built; his whole bearing and figure being remarkably elegant -and graceful. He looked even more than gentlemanly,--he looked -distinguished. His face was pale, its features well-cut, straight, and -regular. His forehead spoke of high intellectual qualities, and there -was somewhat of that development over the eye-brows which phrenologists, -I believe, consider as evidence of the possession of imagination. The -general expression of his face was one of sadness, and its refined -beauty was heightened by a pair of soft, dark, dreamy-looking eyes. - -It only remains to add that, from his attire, I judged him to be an -artist--a professional artist--to the backbone. In the course of -conversation I told him how I had classified him. He smiled. - -"I am only an amateur," he said; "an idle man, nothing more--and you?" - -"Alas! I am a doctor." - -"Then we shall not have to answer to each other for our sins in -painting." - -We talked on pleasantly until our bodily wants were satisfied. Then came -that pleasant craving for tobacco, which after a good meal, is natural -to a well-regulated digestion. - -"Shall we go and smoke outside?" said Carriston. "The night is -delicious." - -We went out and sat on one of the wooden benches. As my new friend said, -the night was delicious. There was scarcely a breath of air moving. The -stars and the moon shone brightly, and the rush of the not far distant -stream came to us with a soothing murmur. Near us were three or four -jovial young artists. They were in merry mood; one of them had that day -sold a picture to a tourist. We listened to their banter until, most -likely growing thirsty, they re-entered the inn. - -Carriston had said little since we had been out of doors. He smoked -his cigar placidly and gazed up at the skies. With the white moonlight -falling on his strikingly-beautiful face--the graceful pose into which -he fell--he seemed to me the embodiment of poetry. He paid no heed -to the merry talk or the artists, which so much amused me--indeed, I -doubted if he heard their voices. - -Yet he must have done so, for as soon as they had left us he came out of -his reverie. - -"It must be very nice," he said, "to have to make one's living by Art." - -"Nice for those who can make livings by it," I answered. - -"All can do that who are worth it. The day of neglected genius is gone -by. Muller was the last sufferer, I think--and he died young." - -"If you are so sanguine, why not try your own luck at it?" - -"I would; but unfortunately I am a rich man." - -I laughed at this misplaced regret. Then Carriston, in the most simple -way, told me a good deal about himself. He was an orphan; an only child. -He had already ample means; but fortune had still favors in store for -him. At the death of his uncle, now an aged man, he must succeed to a -large estate and a baronetcy. The natural, unaffected way in which he -made these confidences, moreover made them not, I knew, from any wish -to increase his importance in my eyes, greatly impressed me. By the -time we parted for the night I had grown much interested in my new -acquaintance--an interest not untinged by envy. Young, handsome, rich, -free to come or go, work or play, as he listed! Happy Carriston! - - -II. - -I am disposed to think that never before did a sincere friendship, one -which was fated to last unbroken for years, ripen so quickly as that -between Carriston and myself. As I now look back I find it hard to -associate him with any, even a brief, period of time subsequent to our -meeting, during which he was not my bosom friend. I forget whether our -meeting at the same picturesque spot on the morning which followed our -self-introduction was the result of accident or arrangement. Anyway, we -spent the day together, and that day was the precursor of many passed in -each other's society. Morning after morning we sallied forth to do our -best to transfer the same bits of scenery to our sketching-blocks. -Evening after evening we returned to dine side by side, and afterward to -talk and smoke together, indoors or outdoors as the temperature advised -or our wishes inclined. - -Great friends we soon became--inseparable as long as my short holiday -lasted. It was, perhaps, pleasant for each to work in company with an -amateur like himself. Each could ask the other's opinion of the merits -of the work done, and feel happy at the approval duly given. An artist's -standard of excellence is too high for a non-professional. When he -praises your work he praises it but as the work of an outsider. You feel -that such commendation condemns it and disheartens you. - -However, had Carriston cared to do so, I think he might have fearlessly -submitted his productions to any conscientious critic. His drawings were -immeasurably more artistic and powerful than mine. He had undoubtedly -great talent, and I was much surprised to find that good as he was at -landscape, he was even better at the figure. He could, with a firm, bold -hand draw rapidly the most marvellous likenesses. So spirited and true -were some of the studies he showed me, that I could without flattery -advise him, provided he could finish as he began, to keep entirely to -the higher branch of the art. I have now before me a series of outline -faces drawn by him--many of them from memory; and as I look at them the -original of each comes at once before my eyes. - -From the very first I had been much interested in the young man, and as -day by day went by, and the peculiarities of his character were revealed -to me, my interest grew deeper and deeper. I flatter myself that I am -a keen observer and skilful analyst of personal character, and until -now fancied that to write a description of its component parts was an -easy matter. Yet when I am put to the proof I find it no simple task -to convey in words a proper idea of Charles Carriston's mental -organization. - -I soon discovered that he was, I may say, afflicted by a peculiarly -sensitive nature. Although strong and apparently in good health, the -very changes of the weather seemed to affect him almost to the same -extent as they affect a flower. Sweet as his disposition always was, the -tone of his mind, his spirits, his conversation, varied, as it were, -with the atmosphere. He was full of imagination, and that imagination, -always rich, was at times weird, even grotesquely weird. Not for one -moment did he seem to doubt the stability of the wild theories he -started, or the possibility of the poetical dreams he dreamed being -realized. He had his faults, of course; he was hasty and impulsive; -indeed to me one of the greatest charms about the boy was that, right -or wrong, each word he spoke came straight from his heart. - -So far as I could judge, the whole organization of his mind was too -highly strung, too finely wrought for every-day use. A note of joy, of -sorrow, even of pity vibrated through it too strongly for his comfort or -well-being. As yet it had not been called upon to bear the test of love, -and fortunately--I use the word advisedly--fortunately he was not, -according to the usual significance of the word, a religious man, or I -should have thought it not unlikely that some day he would fall a victim -to that religious mania so well known to my professional brethren, and -have developed hysteria or melancholia. He might even have fancied -himself a messenger sent from heaven for the regeneration of mankind. -From natures like Carriston's are prophets made. - -In short, I may say that my exhaustive study of my new friend's -character resulted in a certain amount of uneasiness as to his -future--an uneasiness not entirely free from professional curiosity. - -Although the smile came readily and frequently to his lips, the general -bent of his disposition was sad, even despondent and morbid. And yet few -young men's lives promised to be so pleasant as Charles Carriston's. - -I was rallying him one day on his future rank and its responsibilities. - -"You will, of course, be disgustingly rich?" I said. - -Carriston sighed. "Yes, if I live long enough; but I don't suppose I -shall." - -"Why in the world shouldn't you? You look pale and thin, but are in -capital health. Twelve long miles we have walked to-day--you never -turned a hair." - -Carriston made no reply. He seemed in deep thought. - -"Your friends ought to look after you and get you a wife," I said. - -"I have no friends," he said sadly. "No nearer relation than a cousin a -good deal older than I am, who looks upon me as one who was born to rob -him of what should be his." - -"But by the law of primogeniture, so sacred to the upper ten thousand, -he must know you are entitled to it." - -"Yes; but for years and years I was always going to die. My life was not -thought worth six months' purchase. All of a sudden I got well. Ever -since then I have seemed, even to myself, a kind of interloper." - -"It must be unpleasant to have a man longing for one's death. All the -more reason you should marry, and put other lives between him and the -title." - -"I fancy I shall never marry," said Carriston, looking at me with his -soft dark eyes. "You see, a boy who has waited for years expecting to -die, doesn't grow up with exactly the same feelings as other people. I -don't think I shall ever meet a woman I can care for enough to make my -wife. No, I expect my cousin will be Sir Ralph yet." - -I tried to laugh him out of his morbid ideas. "Those who live will see," -I said. "Only promise to ask me to your wedding, and better still, if -you live in town, appoint me your family doctor. It may prove the -nucleus of that West End practice which it is the dream of every doctor -to establish." - -I have already alluded to the strange beauty of Carriston's dark eyes. -As soon as companionship commenced between us those eyes became to -me, from scientific reasons, objects of curiosity on account of the -mysterious expression which at times I detected in them. Often and often -they wore a look the like to which, I imagine, is found only in the eyes -of a somnambulist--a look which one feels certain is intently fixed upon -something, yet upon something beyond the range of one's own vision. -During the first two or three days of our new-born intimacy, I found -this eccentricity of Carriston's positively startling. When now and then -I turned to him, and found him staring with all his might at nothing, my -eyes were compelled to follow the direction in which his own were bent. -It was at first impossible to divest one's self of the belief that -something should be there to justify so fixed a gaze. However, as the -rapid growth of our friendly intercourse soon showed me that he was a -boy of most ardent poetic temperament--perhaps even more a poet than an -artist--I laid at the door of the Muse these absent looks and recurring -flights into vacancy. - -We were at the Fairy Glen one morning, sketching, to the best of our -ability, the swirling stream, the gray rocks, and the overhanging trees, -the last just growing brilliant with autumnal tints. So beautiful was -everything around that for a long time I worked, idled, or dreamed -in contented silence. Carriston had set up his easel at some little -distance from mine. At last I turned to see how his sketch was -progressing. He had evidently fallen into one of his brown studies, -and, apparently, a harder one than usual. His brush had fallen from his -fingers, his features were immovable, and his strange dark eyes were -absolutely riveted upon a large rock in front of him, at which he gazed -as intently as if his hope of heaven depended upon seeing through it. - -He seemed for the while oblivious to things mundane. A party of -laughing, chattering, terrible tourist girls scrambled down the rugged -steps, and one by one passed in front of him. Neither their presence nor -the inquisitive glances they cast on his statuesque face roused him from -his fit of abstraction. For a moment I wondered if the boy took opium or -some other narcotic on the sly. Full of the thought I rose, crossed over -to him, and laid my hand upon his shoulder. As he felt my touch he came -to himself, and looked up at me in a dazed, inquiring way. - -"Really, Carriston," I said, laughingly, "you must reserve your dreaming -fits until we are in places where tourists do not congregate, or you -will be thought a madman, or at least a poet." - -He made no reply. He turned away from me impatiently, even rudely; then, -picking up his brush, went on with his sketch. After awhile he seemed -to recover from his pettishness, and we spent the remainder of the day -as pleasantly as usual. - -As we trudged home in the twilight, he said to me in an apologetic, -almost penitent way, - -"I hope I was not rude to you just now." - -"When do you mean?" I asked, having almost forgotten the trivial -incident. - -"When you woke me from what you called my dreaming." - -"Oh dear, no. You were not at all rude. If you had been, it was but the -penalty due to my presumption. The flight of genius should be respected, -not checked by a material hand." - -"That is nonsense; I am not a genius, and you must forgive me for my -rudeness," said Carriston simply. - -After walking some distance in silence he spoke again. "I wish when you -are with me you would try and stop me from getting into that state. It -does me no good." - -Seeing he was in earnest I promised to do my best, and was curious -enough to ask him whither his thoughts wandered during those abstracted -moments. - -"I can scarcely tell you," he said. Presently he asked, speaking -with hesitation, "I suppose you never feel that under certain -circumstances--circumstances which you cannot explain--you might be -able to see things which are invisible to others?" - -"To see things. What things?" - -"Things, as I said, which no one else can see. You must know there are -people who possess this power." - -"I know that certain people have asserted they possess what they -call second-sight; but the assertion is too absurd to waste time in -refuting." - -"Yet," said Carriston dreamily, "I know that if I did not strive to -avoid it some such power would come to me." - -"You are too ridiculous, Carriston," I said. "Some people see what -others don't because they have longer sight. You may, of course, imagine -anything. But your eyes--handsome eyes they are, too--contain certain -properties, known as humors and lenses, therefore in order to see--" - -"Yes, yes," interrupted Carriston; "I know exactly all you are going to -say. You, a man of science, ridicule everything which breaks what you -are pleased to call the law of Nature. Yet take all the unaccountable -tales told. Nine hundred and ninety-nine you expose to scorn or throw -grave doubt upon, yet the thousandth rests on evidence which cannot be -upset or disputed. The possibility of that one proves the possibility of -all." - -"Not at all; but enough for your argument," I said, amused at the boy's -wild talk. - -"You doctors," he continued with that delicious air of superiority so -often assumed by laymen when they are in good health, "put too much to -the credit of diseased imagination." - -"No doubt; it's a convenient shelf on which to put a difficulty. But go -on." - -"The body is your province, yet you can't explain why a cataleptic -patient should hear a watch tick when it is placed against his foot." - -"Nor you; nor any one. But perhaps it may aid you to get rid of your -rubbishing theories if I tell you that catalepsy, as you understand it, -is a disease not known to us; in fact, it does not exist." - -He seemed crestfallen at hearing this. "But what do you want to prove?" -I asked. "What have you yourself seen?" - -"Nothing, I tell you. And I pray I may never see anything." - -After this he seemed inclined to shirk the subject, but I pinned him to -it. I was really anxious to get at the true state of his mind. In answer -to the leading questions with which I plied him, Carriston revealed an -amount of superstition which seemed utterly childish and out of place -beside the intellectual faculties which he undoubtedly possessed. So -much so, that at last I felt more inclined to laugh at than to argue -with him. - -Yet I was not altogether amused by his talk. His wild arguments and -wilder beliefs made me fancy there must be a weak spot somewhere in his -brain--even made me fear lest his end might be madness. The thought -made me sad; for, with the exception of the eccentricities which I have -mentioned, I reckoned Carriston the pleasantest friend I had ever made. -His amiable nature, his good looks, and perfect breeding had endeared -the young man to me; so much so, that I resolved, during the remainder -of the time we should spend together, to do all I could toward talking -the nonsense out of him. - -My efforts were unavailing. I kept a sharp lookout upon him, and let -him fall into no more mysterious reveries; but the curious idea that -he possessed, or could possess, some gift above human nature, was too -firmly rooted to be displaced. On all other subjects he argued fairly -and was open to reason. On this one point he was immovable. When I -could get him to notice my attacks at all, his answer was: - -"You doctors, clever as you are with the body, know as little of -psychology as you did three thousand years ago." - -When the time came for me to fold up my easel and return to the drudgery -of life, I parted from Carriston with much regret. One of those solemn, -but often broken, promises to join together next year in another -sketching tour passed between us. Then I went back to London, and during -the subsequent months, although I saw nothing of him, I often thought of -my friend of the autumn. - - -III. - -In the spring of 1865 I went down to Bournemouth to see, for the last -time, an old friend who was dying of consumption. During a great part -of the journey down I had for a travelling companion a well-dressed -gentlemanly man of about forty years of age. We were alone in the -compartment, and after interchanging some small civilities, such as the -barter of newspapers, slid into conversation. My fellow-traveller seemed -to be an intellectual man, and well posted up in the doings of the day. -He talked fluently and easily on various topics, and judging by his talk -must have moved in good society. Although I fancied his features bore -traces of hard living and dissipation, he was not unprepossessing in -appearance. The greatest faults in his face were the remarkable thinness -of the lips, and his eyes being a shade closer together than one cares -to see. With a casual acquaintance such peculiarities are of little -moment, but for my part I should not choose for a friend one who -possessed them without due trial and searching proof. - -At this time the English public were much interested in an important -will case which was then being tried. The reversion to a vast sum of -money depended upon the testator's sanity or insanity. Like most other -people we duly discussed the matter. I suppose, from some of my remarks, -my companion understood that I was a doctor. He asked me a good many -technical questions, and I described several curious cases of mania -which had come under my notice. He seemed greatly interested in the -subject. - -"You must sometimes find it hard to say where sanity ends and insanity -begins," he said thoughtfully. - -"Yes. The boundary-line is in some instances hard to define. To give in -such a dubious case an opinion which would satisfy myself I should want -to have known the patient at the time he was considered quite sane." - -"To mark the difference?" - -"Exactly. And to know the bent of the character. For instance, there is -a friend of mine. He was perfectly sane when last I saw him, but for all -I know he may have made great progress the other way in the interval." - -Then without mentioning names, dates, or places, I described Carriston's -peculiar disposition to my intelligent listener. He heard me with rapt -interest. - -"You predict he will go mad?" he said. - -"Certainly not. Unless anything unforeseen arises he will probably live -and die as sane as you or I." - -"Why do you fear for him, then?" - -"For this reason. I think that any sudden emotion--violent grief, for -instance--any unexpected and crushing blow--might at once disturb the -balance of his mind. Let his life run on in an even groove, and all will -be well with him." - -My companion was silent for a few moments. - -"Did you mention your friend's name?" he asked. - -I laughed. "Doctors never give names when they quote cases." - -At the next station my companion left the train. He bade me a polite -adieu, and thanked me for the pleasure my conversation had given him. -After wondering what station in life he occupied I dismissed him from my -mind, as one who had crossed my path for a short time and would probably -never cross it again. - -Although I did not see Charles Carriston I received several letters from -him during the course of the year. He had not forgotten our undertaking -to pass my next holiday together. Early in the autumn, just as I was -beginning to long with a passionate longing for open air and blue skies, -a letter came from Carriston. He was now, he said, roughing it in the -Western Highlands. He reminded me of last year's promise. Could I get -away from work now? Would I join him? If I did not care to visit -Scotland, would I suggest some other place where he could join me? -Still, the scenery by which he was now surrounded was superb, and the -accommodation he had secured, if not luxurious, fairly comfortable. He -thought we could not do better. A postscript to his letter asked me to -address him as Cecil Carr, not Charles Carriston. He had a reason for -changing his name; a foolish reason I should no doubt call it. When we -met he would let me know it. - -This letter at once decided me to accept his invitation. In a week's -time my arrangements for leave of absence were complete, and I was -speeding northward in the highest spirits, and well equipped with -everything necessary for my favorite holiday pursuit. I looked forward -with the greatest pleasure to again meeting Carriston. I found him at -Callendar waiting for me. The coach did not follow the route we were -obliged to take in order to reach the somewhat unfrequented part of the -country in which our tent was pitched, so my friend had secured the -services of a primitive vehicle and a strong shaggy pony to bear us the -remainder of the journey. - -So soon as our first hearty greetings were over I proceeded to ascertain -how the last year had treated Carriston. I was both delighted and -astonished at the great change for the better which had taken place in -his manner, no less than his appearance. He looked far more robust; he -seemed happier, brighter; although more like ordinary humanity. Not only -had he greeted me with almost boisterous glee, but during our drive -through the wonderful scenery he was in the gayest of spirits and full -of fun and anecdote. I congratulated him heartily upon the marked -improvement in his health, both mentally and physically. - -"Yes, I am much better," he said. "I followed a part of your advice; -gave up moping, tried constant change of scene, interested myself in -many more things. I am quite a different man." - -"No supernatural visitations?" I asked, anxious to learn that his cure -in that direction was complete. - -His face fell. He hesitated a second before answering. - -"No--not now," he said. "I fought against the strange feeling, and I -believe have got rid of it--at least I hope so." - -I said no more on the subject. Carriston plunged into a series of vivid -and mimetic descriptions of the varieties of Scotch character which he -had met with during his stay. He depicted his experiences so amusingly -that I laughed heartily for many a mile. - -"But why the change in your name?" I asked, when he paused for a moment -in his merry talk. - -He blushed, and looked rather ashamed. "I scarcely like to tell you; you -will think my reason so absurd." - -"Never mind. I don't judge you by the ordinary standard." - -"Well, the fact is, my cousin is also in Scotland. I feared if I gave -my true name at the hotel at which I stayed on my way here, he might -perchance see it, and look me up in these wild regions." - -"Well, and what if he did?" - -"I can't tell you. I hate to know I feel like it. But I have always, -perhaps without cause, been afraid of him; and this place is horribly -lonely." - -Now that I understood the meaning of his words, I thought the boy must -be joking; but the grave look on his face showed he was never further -from merriment. - -"Why, Carriston!" I cried, "you are positively ridiculous about your -cousin. You can't think the man wants to murder you?" - -"I don't know what I think. I am saying things to you which I ought not -to say; but every time I meet him I feel he hates me, and wishes me out -of the world." - -"Between wishing and doing there is a great difference. I dare say all -this 's fancy on your part." - -"Perhaps so. Any way, Cecil Carr is as good a name up here as Charles -Carriston, so please humor my whim and say no more about it." - -As it made no difference to me by what name he chose to call himself I -dropped the subject. I knew of old that some of his strange prejudices -were proof against anything I could do to remove them. - -At last we reached our temporary abode. It was a substantial, low-built -house, owned and inhabited by a thrifty middle-aged widow, who, although -well-to-do so far as the simple ideas of her neighbors went, was -nevertheless always willing to add to her resources by accommodating -such stray tourists as wished to bury themselves for a day or two in -solitude, or artists who, like ourselves, preferred to enjoy the -beauties of Nature undisturbed by the usual ebbing and flowing stream of -sightseers. - -As Carriston asserted, the accommodation if homely was good enough for -two single men; the fare was plentiful, and our rooms were the picture -of cleanliness. After a cursory inspection I felt sure that I could for -a few weeks make myself very happy in these quarters. - -I had not been twenty-four hours in the house before I found out one -reason for the great change for the better in Charles Carriston's -demeanor; knew his step was lighter, his eye brighter, his voice gayer, -and his whole bearing altered. Whether the reason was a subject of -congratulation or not I could not as yet say. - -The boy was in love; in love as only a passionate, romantic, imaginative -nature can be; and even then only once in a lifetime. Heedless, -headstrong, impulsive, and entirely his own master, he had given his -very heart and soul into the keeping of a woman. - - -IV. - -That a man of Carriston's rank, breeding and refinement should meet his -fate within the walls of a lonely farm-house, beyond the Trossachs, -seems incredible. One would scarcely expect to find among such humble -surroundings a wife suitable to a man of his stamp. And yet when I saw -the woman who had won him I neither wondered at the conquest nor did I -blame him for weakness. - -I made the great discovery on the morning after my arrival. Eager to -taste the freshness of the morning air, I rose betimes and went for a -short stroll. I returned, and whilst standing at the door of the house, -was positively startled by the beauty of a girl who passed me and -entered, as if she was a regular inhabitant of the place. Not a rosy -Scotch lassie, such as one would expect to find indigenous to the soil; -but a slim, graceful girl, with delicate classical features. A girl with -a mass of knotted light hair, yet with the apparent anomaly, dark eyes, -eyelashes, and eyebrows--a combination which, to my mind, makes a style -of beauty rare, irresistible, and dangerous above all others. The -features which filled the exquisite oval of her face were refined and -faultless. Her complexion was pale, but its pallor in no way suggested -anything save perfect health. To cut my enthusiastic description short, -I may at once say it has never been my good fortune to cast my eyes on a -lovelier creature than this young girl. - -Although her dress was of the plainest and simplest description, no one -could have mistaken her for a servant; and much as I admire the bonny, -healthy Scotch country lassie, I felt sure that mountain air had never -reared a being of this ethereally beautiful type. As she passed me I -raised my hat instinctively. She gracefully bent her golden head, and -bade me a quiet but unembarrassed good-morning. My eyes followed her -until she vanished at the end of the dark passage which led to the back -of the house. - -Even during the brief glimpse I enjoyed of this fair unknown a strange -idea occurred to me. There was a remarkable likeness between her -delicate features and those, scarcely less delicate, of Carriston. -This resemblance may have added to the interest the girl's appearance -awoke in my mind. Any way I entered our sitting-room, and, a prey to -curiosity, and perhaps, hunger, awaited with much impatience the -appearance of Carriston--and breakfast. - -The former arrived first. Generally speaking he was afoot long before I -was, but this morning we had reversed the usual order of things. As soon -as I saw him I cried, - -"Carriston! tell me at once who is the lovely girl I met outside? -An angel with dark eyes and golden hair. Is she staying here like -ourselves?" - -A look of pleasure flashed into his eyes--a look which pretty well told -me everything. Nevertheless he answered as carelessly as if such lovely -young women were as common to the mountain side as rocks and brambles. - -"I expect you mean Miss Rowan; a niece of our worthy landlady. She lives -with her." - -"She cannot be Scotch, with such a face and eyes?" - -"Half-and-half. Her father was called an Englishman; but was, I believe, -of French extraction. They say the name was originally Rohan." - -Carriston seemed to have made close inquiries as to Miss Rowan's -parentage. - -"But what brings her here?" I asked. - -"She has nowhere else to go. Rowan was an artist. He married a sister of -our hostess, and bore her away from her native land. Some years ago she -died, leaving this one daughter. Last year the father died, penniless, -they tell me, so the girl has since then lived with her only relative, -her aunt." - -"Well," I said, "as you seem to know all about her, you can introduce me -by and by." - -"With the greatest pleasure, if Miss Rowan permits," said Carriston. I -was glad to hear him give the conditional promise with as much respect -to the lady's wishes as if she had been a duchess. - -Then, with the liberty a close friend may take, I drew toward me a -portfolio, full, I presumed, of sketches of surrounding scenery. To my -surprise Carriston jumped up hastily and snatched it from me. "They -are too bad to look at," he said. As I struggled to regain possession, -sundry strings broke, and, lo and behold! the floor was littered, -not with delineations of rock, lake, and torrent, but with images of -the young girl I had seen a few minutes before. Full face, profile, -three quarter face, five, even seven eight face, all were there--each -study perfectly executed by Carriston's clever pencil. I threw myself -into a chair and laughed aloud, whilst the young man, blushing and -discomforted, quickly huddled the portraits between the covers, just as -a genuine Scotch lassie bore in the plentiful and, to me, very welcome -breakfast. - -Carriston did favor me with his company during the whole of that day; -but, in spite of my having come to Scotland to enjoy his society, that -day, from easily-guessed reasons, was the only one in which I had -undisputed possession of my friend. - -Of course I bantered him a great deal on the portfolio episode. He took -it in good part, attempting little or no defence. Indeed, before night -he had told me, with all a boy's fervor, how he had loved Madeline Rowan -at first sight, how in the short space of time which had elapsed since -that meeting he had wooed her and won her; how good and beautiful she -was; how he worshipped her; how happy he felt; how, when I went south, -he should accompany me; and, after making a few necessary arrangements, -return at once and bear his bride away. - -I could only listen to him, and congratulate him. It was not my place to -act the elder, and advise him either for or against the marriage. -Carriston had only himself to please, and, if he made a rash step, only -himself to blame for the consequences. And why should I have dissuaded? -I who, in two days, envied the boy's good fortune. - -I saw a great deal of Madeline Rowan. How strange and out-of-place her -name and face seemed amid our surroundings. If at first somewhat shy and -retiring, she soon, if only for Carriston's sake, consented to look upon -me as a friend, and talked to me freely and unreservedly. Then I found -that her nature was as sweet as her face. Such a conquest did she make -of me that, save for one chimerical reason, I should have felt quite -certain that Carriston had chosen well, and would be happy in wedding -the girl of his choice, heedless of her humble position in the world, -and absence of fitting wealth. When once his wife, I felt sure that -if he cared for her to win social success her looks and bearing would -insure it, and from the great improvement which, as I have already said, -I noticed in his health and spirits, I believed that his marriage would -make his life longer, happier, and better. - -Now for my objection, which seems almost a laughable one. I objected on -the score of the extraordinary resemblance which, so far as a man may -resemble a woman, existed between Charles Carriston and Madeline Rowan. -The more I saw them together, the more I was struck by it. A stranger -might well have taken them for twin brother and sister. The same -delicate features, drawn in the same lines; the same soft, dark, dreamy -eyes; even the same shaped heads. Comparing the two, it needed no -phrenologist or physiognomist to tell you that where one excelled the -other excelled; where one failed, the other was wanting. Now, could I -have selected a wife for my friend, I would have chosen one with habits -and constitution entirely different from his own. She should have been a -bright, bustling woman, with lots of energy and common-sense--one -who would have rattled him about and kept him going--not a lovely, -dark-eyed, dreamy girl, who could for hours at a stretch make herself -supremely happy if only sitting at her lover's feet and speaking no -word. Yet they were a handsome couple, and never have I seen two people -so utterly devoted to each other as those two seemed to be during those -autumn days which I spent with them. - -I soon had a clear proof of the closeness of their mental resemblance. -One evening Carriston, Madeline, and I were sitting out-of-doors, -watching the gray mist deepening in the valley at our feet. Two of the -party were, of course, hand-in-hand, the third seated at a discreet -distance--not so far away as to preclude conversation, but far enough -off to be able to pretend that he saw and heard only what was intended -for his eyes and ears. - -How certain topics, which I would have avoided discussing with -Carriston, were started I hardly remember. Probably some strange -tale had been passed down from wilder and even more solitary regions -than ours--some ridiculous tale of Highland superstition, no doubt -embellished and augmented by each one who repeated it to his fellows. -From her awed talk I soon found that Madeline Rowan, perhaps by reason -of the Scotch blood in her veins, was as firm a believer in things -visionary and beyond nature as ever Charles Carriston in his silliest -moments could be. As soon as I could I stopped the talk, and the next -day, finding the girl for a few minutes alone, told her plainly that -subjects of this kind should be kept as far as possible from her future -husband's thoughts. She promised obedience, with dreamy eyes which -looked as far away and full of visions as Carriston's. - -"By the by," I said, "has he ever spoken to you about seeing strange -things?" - -"Yes; he has hinted at it." - -"And you believe him?" - -"Of course I do; he told me so." - -This was unanswerable. "A pretty pair they will make," I muttered, as -Madeline slipped from me to welcome her lover who was approaching. "They -will see ghosts in every corner, and goblins behind every curtain." - -Nevertheless, the young people had no doubts about their coming bliss. -Everything was going smoothly and pleasantly for them. Carriston had at -once spoken to Madeline's aunt, and obtained the old Scotchwoman's ready -consent to their union. I was rather vexed at his still keeping to his -absurd whim, and concealing his true name. He said he was afraid of -alarming her aunt by telling her he was passing under an _alias_, whilst -if he gave Madeline his true reason for so doing she would be miserable. -Moreover, I found he had formed the romantic plan of marrying her -without telling her in what an enviable position she would be placed -so far as worldly gear went. A kind of Lord Burleigh surprise no doubt -commended itself to his imaginative brain. - -The last day of my holiday came. I bade a long and sad farewell to lake -and mountain, and, accompanied by Carriston, started for home. I did not -see the parting proper between the young people--that was far too sacred -a thing to be intruded upon--but even when that protracted affair was -over, I waited many, many minutes whilst Carriston stood hand-in-hand -with Madeline, comforting himself and her by reiterating "Only six -weeks--six short weeks! And then--and then!" It was the girl who at last -tore herself away, and then Carriston mounted reluctantly by my side on -the rough vehicle. - -From Edinburgh we travelled by the night train. The greater part of the -way we had the compartment to ourselves. Carriston, as a lover will, -talked of nothing but coming bliss and his plans for the future. After -a while I grew quite weary of the monotony of the subject, and at last -dozed off, and for some little time slept. The shrill whistle which told -us a tunnel was at hand aroused me. My companion was sitting opposite to -me, and as I glanced across at him my attention was arrested by the same -strange intense look which I had on a previous occasion at Bettws-y-Coed -noticed in his eyes--the same fixed stare--the same obliviousness to -all that was passing. Remembering his request, I shook him, somewhat -roughly, back to his senses. He regarded me for a moment vacantly, then -said: - -"Now I have found out what was wanting to make the power I told you of -complete. I could see her if I wished." - -"Of course you can see her--in your mind's eye. All lovers can do that." - -"If I tried I could see her bodily--know exactly what she is doing." He -spoke with an air of complete conviction. - -"Then I hope, for the sake of modesty, you won't try. It is now nearly -three o'clock. She ought to be in bed and asleep." - -I spoke lightly, thinking it better to try and laugh him out of his -folly. He took no notice of my sorry joke. - -"No," he said, quietly, "I am not going to try. But I know now what -was wanting. Love--such love as mine--such love as hers--makes the -connecting link, and enables sight or some other sense to cross over -space, and pass through every material obstacle." - -"Look here, Carriston," I said seriously, "you are talking as a madman -talks. I don't want to frighten you, but I am bound both as a doctor -and your sincere friend to tell you that unless you cure yourself of -these absurd delusions they will grow upon you, develop fresh forms, and -you will probably end your days under restraint. Ask any doctor, he will -tell you the same." - -"Doctors are a clever race," answered my strange young friend, "but they -don't know everything." - -So saying he closed his eyes and appeared to sleep. - -We parted upon reaching London. Many kind words and wishes passed -between us, and I gave him some well-meant, and, I believed, needed -warnings. He was going down to see his uncle, the baronet. Then he had -some matters to arrange with his lawyers, and above all, had to select -a residence for himself and his wife. He would, no doubt, be in London -for a short time. If possible he would come and see me. Any way he would -write and let me know the exact date of his approaching marriage. If I -could manage to come to it, so much the better. If not he would try, -as they passed through town, to bring his bride to pay me a flying and -friendly visit. He left me in the best of spirits, and I went back to my -patients and worked hard to make up lost ground, and counteract whatever -errors had been committed by my substitute. - -Some six weeks afterward--late at night--whilst I was deep in a new and -clever treatise on zymotics, a man, haggard, wild, unshorn, and unkempt, -rushed past my startled servant, and entered the room in which I sat. -He threw himself into a chair, and I was horrified to recognize in the -intruder my clever and brilliant friend, Charles Carriston! - - -V. - -"The end has come sooner than I expected." These were the sad words I -muttered to myself as waving my frightened servant away I closed the -door, and stood alone with the supposed maniac. He rose and wrung my -hand, then without a word sank back into his chair and buried his face -in his hands. A sort of nervous trembling seemed to run through his -frame. Deeply distressed I drew his hands from his face. - -"Now, Carriston," I said, as firmly as I could, "look up, and tell me -what all this means. Look up, I say, man, and speak to me." - -He raised his eyes to mine, and kept them there, whilst a ghastly -smile--a phantom humor--flickered across his white face. No doubt his -native quickness told him what I suspected, so he looked me full and -steadily in the face. - -"No," he said, "not as you think. But let there be no mistake. Question -me. Talk to me. Put me to any test. Satisfy yourself, once for all, that -I am as sane as you are." - -He spoke so rationally, his eyes met mine so unflinchingly, that I was -rejoiced to know that my fears were as yet ungrounded. There was grief, -excitement, want of rest in his appearance, but his general manner told -me he was, as he said, as sane as I was. - -"Thank heaven you can speak to me and look at me like this," I -exclaimed. - -"You are satisfied then?" he said. - -"On this point, yes. Now tell me what is wrong?" - -Now that he had set my doubts at rest his agitation and excitement -seemed to return. He grasped my hand convulsively. - -"Madeline!" he whispered; "Madeline--my love--she is gone." - -"Gone!" I repeated. "Gone where?" - -"She is gone, I say--stolen from me by some black-hearted -traitor--perhaps forever. Who can tell?" - -"But, Carriston, surely, in so short a time her love cannot have been -won by another. If so, all I can say is--" - -"What!" he shouted. "You have seen her! You in your wildest dreams to -imagine that Madeline Rowan would leave me of her own free-will! No, -sir; she has been stolen from me--entrapped--carried away--hidden. But -I will find her, or I will kill the black-hearted villain who has done -this." - -He rose and paced the room. His face was distorted with rage. He -clinched and unclinched his long slender hands. - -"My dear fellow," I said; "you are talking riddles. Sit down and tell me -calmly what has happened. But, first of all, as you look utterly worn -out, I will ring for my man to get you some food." - -"No," he said; "I want nothing. Weary I am, for I have been to Scotland -and back as fast as man can travel. I reached London a short time ago, -and after seeing one man have come straight to you, my only friend, -for help--it may be for protection. But I have eaten and I have drank, -knowing I must keep my health and strength." - -However, I insisted on some wine being brought. He drank a glass, and -then with a strange enforced calm, told me what had taken place. His -tale was this: - -After we had parted company on our return from Scotland, Carriston went -down to the family seat in Oxfordshire, and informed his uncle of the -impending change in his life. The baronet, an extremely old man, infirm -and all but childish, troubled little about the matter. Every acre of -his large property was strictly entailed, so his pleasure or displeasure -could make but little alteration in his nephew's prospects. Still, he -was the head of the family, and Carriston was in duty bound to make -the important news known to him. The young man made no secret of his -approaching marriage, so in a very short time every member of the family -was aware that the heir and future head was about to ally himself to -a nobody. Knowing nothing of Madeline Rowan's rare beauty and sweet -nature Carriston's kinsmen and kinswomen were sparing with their -congratulations. Indeed, Mr. Ralph Carriston, the cousin whose name was -coupled with such absurd suspicions, went so far as to write a bitter, -sarcastic letter, full of ironical felicitations. This, and Charles -Carriston's haughty reply, did not make the affection between the -cousins any stronger. Moreover, shortly afterward the younger man heard -that inquiries were being made in the neighborhood of Madeline's home as -to her position and parentage. Feeling sure that only his cousin Ralph -could have had the curiosity to institute such inquiries, he wrote and -thanked him for the keen interest he was manifesting in his future -welfare, but begged that hereafter Mr. Carriston would apply to him -direct for any information he wanted. The two men were now no longer on -speaking terms. - -Charles Carriston in his present frame of mind cared little whether his -relatives wished to bless or forbid the banns. He was passionately in -love, and at once set about making arrangements for a speedy marriage. -Although Madeline was still ignorant of the exalted position held by her -lover--although she came to him absolutely penniless--he was resolved in -the matter of money to treat her as generously as he would have treated -the most eligible damsel in the country. There were several legal -questions to be set at rest concerning certain property he wished to -settle upon her. This of course caused delay. As soon as they were -adjusted to his own, or rather to his lawyer's satisfaction, he purposed -going to Scotland and carrying away his beautiful bride. In the meantime -he cast about for a residence. - -Somewhat Bohemian in his nature, Carriston had no intention of settling -down just yet to live the life of an ordinary moneyed Englishman. His -intention was to take Madeline abroad for some months. He had fixed -upon Cannes as a desirable place at which to winter, but having grown -somewhat tired of hotel life, wished to rent a furnished house. He had -received from an agent to whom he had been advised to apply the refusal -of a house, which, from the glowing description given, seemed the one -above all others he wanted. As an early decision was insisted upon, -my impulsive young friend thought nothing of crossing the Channel and -running down to the south of France to see, with his own eyes, that -the much-lauded place was worthy of the fair being who was to be its -temporary mistress. - -He wrote to Madeline, and told her he was going from home for a few -days. He said he should be travelling the greater part of the time, so -it should be no use her writing to him until his return. He did not -reveal the object of his journey. Were Madeline to know it was to choose -a winter residence at Cannes she would be filled with amazement, and the -innocent deception he was still keeping up would not be carried through -to the romantic end which he pictured to himself. - -The day before he started for France Madeline wrote that her aunt was -very unwell, but said nothing as to her malady causing any alarm. -Perhaps Carriston thought less about the old Scotch widow than her -relationship and kindness to Miss Rowan merited. He started on his -travels without any forebodings of evil. - -His journey to Cannes and back was hurried; he wasted no time on the -road, but was delayed for two days at the place itself before he could -make final arrangements with the owner and the present occupier of the -house. Thinking he was going to start every moment, he did not write to -Madeline--at the rate at which he meant to return, a letter posted in -England would reach her almost as quickly as if posted at Cannes. - -He reached his home, which for the last few weeks had been Oxford, and -found two letters waiting for him. The first, dated on the day he left -England, was from Madeline. It told him that her aunt's illness had -suddenly taken a fatal turn--that she had died that day, almost without -warning. The second letter was anonymous. - -It was written apparently by a woman, and advised Mr. Carr to look -sharply after his lady-love or he would find himself left in the lurch. -The writer would not be surprised to hear some fine day that she had -eloped with a certain gentleman who should be nameless. This precious -epistle, probably an emanation of feminine spite, Carriston treated as -it deserved--he tore it up and threw the pieces to the wind. - -But the thought of Madeline being alone at that lonely house troubled -him greatly. The dead woman had no sons or daughters; all the anxiety -and responsibility connected with her affairs would fall on the poor -girl. The next day he threw himself into the Scotch Express and started -for her far-away home. - -On arriving there he found it occupied only by the rough farm servants. -They seemed in a state of wonderment, and volubly questioned Carriston -as to the whereabouts of Madeline. The question sent a chill of fear to -his heart. He answered their questions by others, and soon learned all -they had to communicate. - -Little enough it was. On the morning after the old woman's funeral -Madeline had gone to Callendar to ask the advice of an old friend of her -aunt's as to what steps should now be taken. She had neither been to -this friend, nor had she returned home. She had, however, sent a message -that she must go to London at once, and would write from there. That was -the last heard of her--all that was known about her. - -Upon hearing this news Carriston became a prey to the acutest terror--an -emotion which was quite inexplicable to the honest people, his -informants. The girl had gone, but she had sent word whither she had -gone. True, they did not know the reason for her departure, so sudden -and without luggage of any description; true, she had not written as -promised, but no doubt they would hear from her to-morrow. Carriston -knew better. Without revealing the extent of his fears he flew back to -Callendar. Inquiries at the railway station informed him that she had -gone, or had purposed going, to London; but whether she ever reached it, -or whether any trace of her could be found there, was at least a matter -of doubt. No good could be gained by remaining in Scotland, so he -travelled back at once to town, half-distracted, sleepless, and racking -his brain to know where to look for her. - -"She has been decoyed away," he said in conclusion. "She is hidden, -imprisoned somewhere. And I know, as well as if he told me, who has done -this thing. I can trace Ralph Carriston's cursed hand through it all." - -I glanced at him askance. This morbid suspicion of his cousin amounted -almost to monomania. He had told the tale of Madeline's disappearance -clearly and tersely; but when he began to account for it his theory was -a wild and untenable one. However much he suspected Ralph Carriston of -longing to stand in his shoes, I could see no object for the crime of -which he accused him, that of decoying away Madeline Rowan. - -"But why should he have done this?" I asked. "To prevent your marriage? -You are young; he must have foreseen that you would marry some day." - -Carriston leaned toward me, and dropped his voice to a whisper. - -"This is his reason," he said; "this is why I come to you. You are not -the only one who has entirely misread my nature, and seen a strong -tendency to insanity in it. Of course I know that you are all wrong, but -I know that Ralph Carriston has stolen my love--stolen her because he -thinks and hopes that her loss will drive me mad--perhaps drive me to -kill myself. I went straight to him--I have just come from him. Brand, -I tell you that when I taxed him with the crime--when I raved at -him--when I threatened to tear the life out of him--his cold, wicked -eyes leaped with joy. I heard him mutter between his teeth, 'Men have -been put in strait-waistcoats for less than this.' Then I knew why he -had done this. I curbed myself and left him. Most likely he will try to -shut me up as a lunatic; but I count upon your protection--count upon -your help to find my love." - -That any man could be guilty of such a subtle refinement of crime as -that of which he accused his cousin seemed to me, if not impossible, at -least improbable. But as at present there was no doubt about my friend's -sanity I promised my aid readily. - -"And now," I said, "my dear boy, I won't hear another word to-night. -Nothing can be done until to-morrow; then we will consult as to what -steps should be taken. Drink this and go to bed; yes, you are as sane as -I am, but, remember, insomnia soon drives the strongest man out of his -senses." - -I poured out an opiate. He drank it obediently. Before I left him for -the night I saw him in bed and sleeping a heavy sleep. - - -VI. - -The advantage to one who writes, not a tale of imagination, but a simple -record of events, is this: He need not be bound by the recognized canons -of the story-telling art--need not exercise his ingenuity to mislead his -reader--need not suppress some things and lay undue stress on others to -create mysteries to be cleared up at the end of the tale. Therefore, -using the privilege of a plain narrator, I shall here give some account -of what became of Miss Rowan, as, so far as I can remember, I heard it -some time afterward from her own lips. - -The old Scotchwoman's funeral over, and those friends who had been -present departed, Madeline was left in the little farm-house alone, save -for the presence of the two servants. Several kind bodies had offered to -come and stay with her, but she had declined the offers. She was in no -mood for company, and perhaps being of such a different race and breed, -would not have found much comfort in the rough homely sympathy which was -offered to her. She preferred being alone with her grief--grief which -after all was bound to be much lightened by the thought of her own -approaching happiness, for the day was drawing near when her lover would -cross the border and bear his bonny bride away. She felt sure that she -would not be long alone--that the moment Carriston heard of her aunt's -death he would come to her assistance. In such a peaceful, God-fearing -neighborhood she had no fear of being left without protection. Moreover, -her position in the house was well-defined. The old woman, who was -childless, had left her niece all of which she died possessed. So -Madeline decided to wait quietly until she heard from her lover. - -Still there were business matters to be attended to, and at the funeral -Mr. Douglas, of Callendar, the executor under the will, had suggested -that an early interview would be desirable. He offered to drive out to -the little farm the next day, but Miss Rowan, who had to see to some -feminine necessaries which could only be supplied by shops, decided that -she would come to the town instead of troubling Mr. Douglas to drive so -far out. - -Madeline, in spite of the superstitious element in her character, was -a brave girl, and in spite of her refined style of beauty, strong and -healthy. Early hours were the rule in that humble home, so before seven -o'clock in the morning she was ready to start on her drive to the little -town. At first she thought of taking with her the boy who did the rough -out-door work; but he was busy about something or other, and besides, -was a garrulous lad who would be certain to chatter the whole way, -and this morning Miss Rowan wanted no companions save her own mingled -thoughts of sadness and joy. She knew every inch of the road; she feared -no evil; she would be home again long before nightfall; the pony was -quiet and sure-footed--so away went Madeline in the strong primitive -vehicle on her lonely twelve miles' drive through the fair scenery. - -She passed few people on the road. Indeed, she remembered meeting no one -except one or two pedestrian tourists, who like sensible men were doing -a portion of their day's task in the early morning. I have no doubt but -Miss Rowan seemed to them a passing vision of loveliness. - -But when she was a mile or two from Callendar, she saw a boy on a pony. -The boy, who must have known her by sight, stopped and handed her a -telegram. She had to pay several shillings for the delivery, or intended -delivery of the message, so far from the station. The boy galloped away, -congratulating himself on having been spared a long ride, and Miss Rowan -tore open the envelope left in her hands. - -The message was brief: "Mr. Carr is seriously ill. Come at once. You -will be met in London." - -Madeline did not scream or faint. She gave one low moan of pain, set her -teeth, and with the face of one in a dream drove as quickly as she could -to Callendar, straight to the railway station. - -Fortunately, or rather unfortunately, she had money with her, so she did -not waste time in going to Mr. Douglas. In spite of the crushing blow -she had received the girl had all her wits about her. A train would -start in ten minutes' time. She took her ticket, then found an idler -outside the station, and paid him to take the pony and carriage back to -the farm, with the message as repeated to Carriston. - -The journey passed like a long dream. The girl could think of nothing -but her lover, dying, dying--perhaps dead before she could reach him. -The miles flew by unnoticed; twilight crept on; the carriage grew dark; -at last--London at last! Miss Rowan stepped out on the broad platform, -not knowing what to do or where to turn. Presently a tall well-dressed -man came up to her, and removing his hat, addressed her by name. The -promise as to her being met had been kept. - -She clasped her hands. "Tell me--oh tell me, he is not dead," she cried. - -"Mr. Carr is not dead. He is ill, very ill--delirious and calling for -you." - -"Where is he? Oh take me to him!" - -"He is miles and miles from here--at a friend's house. I have been -deputed to meet you and to accompany you, if you feel strong enough to -continue the journey at once." - -"Come," said Madeline. "Take me to him." - -"Your luggage?" asked the gentleman. - -"I have none. Come!" - -"You must take some refreshment." - -"I need nothing. Come!" - -The gentleman glanced at his watch. "There is just time," he said. He -called a cab, told the driver to go at top speed. They reached -Paddington just in time to catch the mail. - -During the drive across London Madeline asked many questions, and -learned from her companion that Mr. Carr had been staying for a day or -two at a friend's house in the west of England. That yesterday he had -fallen from his horse and sustained such injuries that his life was -despaired of. He had been continually calling for Madeline. They -had found her address on a letter, and had telegraphed as soon as -possible--for which act Miss Rowan thanked her companion with tears in -her eyes. - -Her conductor did not say much of his own accord, but in replying to her -questions he was politely sympathetic. She thought of little outside the -fearful picture which filled every corner of her brain, but from her -conductor's manner received the impression that he was a medical adviser -who had seen the sufferer, and assisted in the treatment of the case. -She did not ask his name, nor did he reveal it. - -At Paddington he placed her in a ladies' carriage and left her. - -He was a smoker, he said. She wondered somewhat at this desertion. Then -the train sped down West. At the large stations the gentleman came to -her and offered her refreshments. Hunger seemed to have left her; but -she accepted a cup of tea once or twice. At last sorrow, fatigue, and -weakness produced by such a prolonged fast had their natural effect. -With the tears still on her lashes the girl fell asleep, and must have -slept for many miles: a sleep unbroken by stoppages at stations. - -Her conductor at last aroused her. He stood at the door of the carriage. -"We must get out here," he said. All the momentarily-forgotten anguish -came back to her as she stood beside him on the almost unoccupied -platform. - -"Are we there at last?" she asked. - -"I am sorry to say we have still a long drive; would you like to rest -first?" - -"No--no. Come on, if you please." She spoke with feverish eagerness. - -The man bowed. "A carriage waits," he said. - -Outside the station was a carriage of some sort, drawn by one horse, and -driven by a man muffled up to the eyes. It was still night, but Madeline -fancied dawn could not be far off. Her conductor opened the door of the -carriage and waited for her to enter. - -She paused. "Ask him--that man must know if--" - -"I am most remiss," said the gentleman. He exchanged a few words with -the driver, and coming back, told Madeline that Mr. Carr was still -alive, sensible, and expecting her eagerly. - -"Oh, please, please drive fast," said the poor girl, springing into the -carriage. The gentleman seated himself beside her, and for a long time -they drove on in silence. At last they stopped. The dawn was just -glimmering. They alighted in front of a house. The door was open. -Madeline entered swiftly. "Which way--which way?" she asked. She was -too agitated to notice any surroundings; her one wish was to reach her -lover. - -"Allow me," said the conductor, passing her. "This way; please follow -me." He went up a short flight of stairs, then paused, and opened a -door quietly. He stood aside for the girl to enter. The room was dimly -lit, and contained a bed with drawn curtains. Madeline flew past her -travelling companion, and as she threw herself on her knees beside the -bed upon which she expected to see the helpless and shattered form of -the man she loved, heard, or fancied she heard, the door locked behind -her. - - -VII. - -Carriston slept on late into the next day. Knowing that every moment -of bodily and mental rest was a precious boon to him, I left him -undisturbed. He was still fast asleep when, about mid-day, a gentleman -called upon me. He sent up no card, and I supposed he came to consult -me professionally. - -The moment he entered my room I recognized him. He was the thin-lipped, -gentlemanly person whom I had met on my journey to Bournemouth last -spring--the man who had seemed so much impressed by my views on -insanity, and had manifested such interest in the description I had -given--without mentioning any name--of Carriston's peculiar mind. - -I should have at once claimed acquaintanceship with my visitor, but -before I could speak he advanced, and apologized gracefully for his -intrusion. - -"You will forgive it," he added, "when I tell you my name is Ralph -Carriston." - -Remembering our chance conversation, the thought that, after all, -Charles Carriston's wild suspicion was well-founded, flashed through me -like lightning. My great hope was that my visitor might not remember my -face as I remembered his. I bowed coldly but said nothing. - -"I believe, Dr. Brand," he continued, "you have a young relative of mine -at present staying with you?" - -"Yes, Mr. Carriston is my guest," I answered. "We are old friends." - -"Ah, I did not know that. I do not remember having heard him mention -your name as a friend. But as it is so, no one knows better than -you do the unfortunate state of his health. How do you find him -to-day--violent?" - -I pretended to ignore the man's meaning, and answered smilingly, -"Violence is the last thing I should look for. He is tired out and -exhausted by travel, and is in great distress. That, I believe, is the -whole of his complaint." - -"Yes, yes; to be sure, poor boy! His sweetheart has left him, or -something. But as a doctor you must know that his mental condition is -not quite what it should be. His friends are very anxious about him. -They fear that a little restraint--temporary, I hope--must be put upon -his actions. I called to ask your advice and aid." - -"In what, Mr. Carriston?" - -"In this. A young man can't be left free to go about threatening his -friends' lives. I have brought Dr. Daley with me; you know him, of -course. He is below in my carriage. I will call him up, with your -permission. He could then see poor Charles, and the needful certificate -could be signed by you two doctors." - -"Mr. Carriston," I said decidedly, "let me tell you in the plainest -words that your cousin is at present as fully in possession of his wits -as you are. Dr. Daley, whoever he may be, could sign no certificate, and -in our day no asylum would dare to keep Mr. Carriston within its walls." - -An unpleasant sinister look crossed my listener's face, but his voice -still remained bland and suave. "I am sorry to differ from you, Dr. -Brand," he said, "but I know him better than you do. I have seen him as -you have never yet seen him. Only last night he came to me in a frantic -state. I expected every moment he would make a murderous attack on me." - -"Perhaps he fancied he had some reasons for anger," I said. - -Ralph Carriston looked at me with those cold eyes of which his cousin -had spoken. "If the boy has succeeded in converting you to any of his -delusions I can only say that doctors are more credulous than I fancied. -But the question is not worth arguing. You decline to assist me, so I -must do without you. Good-morning, Dr. Brand." - -He left the room as gracefully as he had entered it. I remained in a -state of doubt. It was curious that Ralph Carriston turned out to be -the man whom I had met in the train; but the evidence offered by the -coincidence was not enough to convict him of the crime of endeavoring to -drive his cousin mad by such a far-fetched stratagem as the inveigling -away of Madeline Rowan. Besides, even in wishing to prove Charles -Carriston mad he had much to say on his side. Supposing him to be -innocent of having abducted Madeline, Carriston's violent behavior on -the preceding evening must have seemed very much like insanity. In -spite of the aversion with which Ralph Carriston inspired me, I scarcely -knew which side to believe. - -Carriston still slept; so when I went out on my afternoon rounds I left -a note, begging him to remain in the house until my return. Then I found -him up, dressed, and looking much more like himself. When I entered, -dinner was on the table; so not until that meal was over could we talk -unrestrainedly upon the subject which was uppermost in both our minds. - -As soon as we were alone I turned toward my guest. "And now," I said, -"we must settle what to do. There seems to me to be but one course open. -You have plenty of money, so your best plan is to engage skilled police -assistance. Young ladies can't be spirited away like this without -leaving a trace." - -To my surprise Carriston flatly objected to this course. "No," he said, -"I shall not go to the police. The man who took her away has placed her -where no police can find her. I must find her myself." - -"Find her yourself! Why, it may be months, years, before you do that! -Good heavens, Carriston! She may be murdered, or worse--" - -"I shall know if any further evil happens to her--then I shall kill -Ralph Carriston." - -"But you tell me you have no clew whatever to trace her by. Do talk -plainly. Tell me all or nothing." - -Carriston smiled very faintly. "No clew that you, at any rate, will -believe in," he said. "But I know this much, she is a prisoner -somewhere. She is unhappy, but not, as yet, ill-treated. Heavens! do -you think if I did not know this I should keep my senses for an hour?" - -"How can you possibly know it?" - -"By that gift--that extra sense or whatever it is--which you deride. I -knew it would come to me some day, but I little thought how I should -welcome it. I know that in some way I shall find her by it. I tell you -I have already seen her three times. I may see her again at any moment -when the strange fit comes over me." - -All this fantastic nonsense was spoken so simply and with such an air of -conviction that once more my suspicions as to the state of his mind were -aroused. In spite of the brave answers which I had given Mr. Ralph -Carriston, I felt that common-sense was undeniably on his side. - -"Tell me what you mean by your strange fit," I said, resolved to find -out the nature of Carriston's fancies or hallucinations. "Is it a kind -of trance you fall into?" - -He seemed loath to give any information on the subject, but I pressed -him for an answer. - -"Yes," he said at last. "It must be a kind of trance. An indescribable -feeling comes over me. I know that my eyes are fixed on some -object--presently that object vanishes, and I see Madeline." - -"How do you see her?" - -"She seems to stand in a blurred circle of light as cast by a magic -lantern. That is the only way that I can describe it. But her figure -is plain and clear--she might be close to me. The carpet on which she -stands I can see, the chair on which she sits, the table on which she -leans her hand, anything she touches I can see; but no more. I have -seen her talking. I knew she was entreating some one, but that some one -was invisible. Yet, if she touched that person, the virtue of her touch -would enable me to see him." - -So far as I could see, Carriston's case appeared to be one of -over-wrought, or unduly-stimulated imagination. His I had always -considered to be a mind of the most peculiar construction. In his -present state of love, grief, and suspense these hallucinations might -come in the same way in which dreams come. For a little while I sat -in silence, considering how I could best combat with and dispel his -remarkable delusions. Before I had arrived at any decision I was called -away to see a patient. I was but a short time engaged. Then I returned -to Carriston, intending to continue my inquiries. - -Upon re-entering the room I found him sitting, as I had left -him--directly opposite to the door. His face was turned fully toward -me, and I trembled as I caught sight of it. He was leaning forward; his -hands on the table-cloth, his whole frame rigid, his eyes staring in one -direction, yet, I knew, capable of seeing nothing that I could see. He -seemed even oblivious to sound, for I entered the room and closed the -door behind me without causing him to change look or position. The -moment I saw the man I knew that he had been overtaken by what he called -the strange fit. - -My first impulse--a natural one--was to arouse him; but second thoughts -told me that this was an opportunity for studying his disease which -should not be lost--I felt that I could call it by no other name -than disease--so I proceeded to make a systematic examination of his -symptoms. - -I leaned across the table; and, with my face about a foot from his, -looked straight into his eyes. They betrayed no sign of recognition--no -knowledge of my presence. I am ashamed to say I could not divest myself -of the impression that they were looking through me. The pupils were -greatly dilated. The lids were wide apart. I lighted a taper and held it -before them, but could see no expansion of the iris. It was a case, I -confess, entirely beyond my comprehension. I had no experience which -might serve as a guide as to what was the best course to adopt. All I -could do was to stand and watch carefully for any change. - -Save for his regular breathing and a sort of convulsive twitching of his -fingers, Carriston might have been a corpse or a statue. His face could -scarcely grow paler than it had been before the attack. Altogether, it -was an uncomfortable sight: a creepy sight--this motionless man, utterly -regardless of all that went on around him, and seeing, or giving one the -idea that he saw something far away. I sighed as I looked at the strange -spectacle, and foresaw what the end must surely be. But although I -longed for him to awake, I determined on this occasion to let the -trance, or fit, run its full course, that I might notice in what manner -and how soon consciousness returned. - -I must have waited and watched some ten minutes--minutes which seemed to -me interminable. At last I saw the lips quiver, the lids flicker once or -twice, and eventually close wearily over the eyes. The unnatural tension -of every muscle seemed to relax, and, sighing deeply, and apparently -quite exhausted, Carriston sank back into his chair with beads of -perspiration forming on his white brow. The fit was over. - -In a moment I was at his side and forcing a glass of wine down his -throat. He looked up at me and spoke. His voice was faint, but his words -were quite collected. - -"I have seen her again," he said. "She is well; but so unhappy. I saw -her kneel down and pray. She stretched her beautiful arms out to me. And -yet I know not where to look for her--my poor love! my poor love!" - -I waited until I thought he had sufficiently recovered from his -exhaustion to talk without injurious consequences. "Carriston," I said, -"let me ask you one question: Are these trances or visions voluntary or -not?" - -He reflected for a few moments. "I can't quite tell you," he said; "or, -rather, I would put in this way. I do not think I can exercise my power -at will; but I can feel when the fit is coming on me, and, I believe, -can if I choose stop myself from yielding to it." - -"Very well. Now listen. Promise me you will fight against these seizures -as much as you can. If you don't you will be raving mad in a month." - -"I can't promise that," said Carriston, quietly. "See her at times I -must, or I shall die. But I promise to yield as seldom as may be. I -know, as well as you do, that the very exhaustion I now feel must be -injurious to any one." - -In truth, he looked utterly worn out. Very much dissatisfied with his -concession, the best I could get from him, I sent him to bed, knowing -that natural rest, if he could get it, would do more than anything else -toward restoring a healthy tone to his mind. - - -VIII. - -Although Carriston stated that he came to me for aid, and, it may be, -for protection, he manifested the greatest reluctance in following -any advice I offered him. The obstinacy of his refusal to obtain the -assistance of the police placed me in a predicament. That Madeline Rowan -had really disappeared I was, of course, compelled to believe. It might -even be possible that she was kept against her will in some place of -concealment. In such a case it behooved us to take proper steps to trace -her. Her welfare should not depend upon the hallucinations and eccentric -ideas of a man half out of his senses with love and grief. I all but -resolved, even at the risk of forfeiting Carriston's friendship, to put -the whole matter in the hands of the police, unless in the course of a -day or two we heard from the girl herself, or Carriston suggested some -better plan. - -Curiously enough, although refusing to be guided by me, he made no -suggestion on his own account. He was racked by fear and suspense, yet -his only idea of solving difficulties seemed to be that of waiting. He -did nothing. He simply waited, as if he expected that chance would bring -what he should have been searching for high and low. - -Some days passed before I could get a tardy consent that aid should be -sought. Even then he would not go to the proper quarter; but he allowed -me to summon to our councils a man who advertised himself as being a -private detective. This man, or one of his men, came at our call, and -heard what was wanted of him. Carriston reluctantly gave him one of -Madeline's photographs. He also told him that only by watching and -spying on Ralph Carriston's every action could he hope to obtain the -clew. I did not much like the course adopted, nor did I like the look of -the man to whom the inquiry was intrusted; but at any rate something was -being done. - -A week passed without any news from our agent. Carriston, in truth, did -not seem to expect any. I believe he only employed the man in deference -to my wishes. He moved about the house in a disconsolate fashion. I had -not told him of my interview with his cousin, but had cautioned him on -the rare occasions upon which he went out of doors to avoid speaking to -strangers, and my servants had strict instructions to prevent any one -coming in and taking my guest by surprise. - -For I had during those days opened a confidential inquiry on my own -account. I wanted to learn something about this Mr. Ralph Carriston. So -I asked a man who knew everybody to find out all about him. - -He reported that Ralph Carriston was a man well known about London. He -was married and had a house in Dorsetshire; but the greater part of his -time was spent in town. Once he was supposed to be well-off; but now it -was the general opinion that every acre he owned was mortgaged, and that -he was much pressed for money. "But," my informant said, "there is but -one life between him and the reversion to large estates, and that life -is a poor one. I believe even now there is talk about the man who stands -in his way being mad. If so, Ralph Carriston will get the management of -everything." - -After this news I felt it more than ever needful to keep a watchful -eye on my friend. So far as I knew there had been no recurrence of -the trance, and I began to hope that proper treatment would effect a -complete cure, when, to my great alarm and annoyance, Carriston, while -sitting with me, suddenly and without warning fell into the same strange -state of body and mind as previously described. This time he was sitting -in another part of the room. After watching him for a minute or two, and -just as I was making up my mind to arouse him and scold him thoroughly -for his folly, he sprung to his feet, and shouting, "Let her go! Loose -her, I say!" rushed violently across the room--so violently, that I had -barely time to interpose and prevent him from coming into contact with -the opposite wall. - -Upon returning to his senses he told me, with great excitement, that -he had again seen Madeline; moreover, this time he had seen a man with -her--a man who had placed his hand upon her wrist and kept it there; and -so, according to Carriston's wild reasoning, became, on account of the -contact, visible to him. - -He told me he had watched them for some moments, until the man, -tightening his grip on the girl's arm, endeavored, he thought, to lead -her or induce her to follow him somewhere. At this juncture, unaware -that he was gazing at a vision, he had rushed to her assistance in the -frantic way I have described--then he awoke. - -He also told me he had studied the man's features and general appearance -most carefully with a view to future recognition. All these ridiculous -statements were made as he made the former ones, with the air of one -relating simple, undeniable facts--one speaking the plain, unvarnished -truth, and expecting full credence to be given to his words. - -It was too absurd! too sad! It was evident to me that the barrier -between his hallucinations, dreams, visions, or what he chose to call -them, and pure insanity, was now a very slight and fragile one. But -before I gave up his case as hopeless I determined to make another -strong appeal to his common-sense. I told him of his cousin's visit to -me--of his intentions and proposition. I begged him to consider what -consequences his extraordinary beliefs and extravagant actions must -eventually entail. He listened attentively and calmly. - -"You see now," he said, "how right I was in attributing all this to -Ralph Carriston--how right I was to come to you, a doctor of standing, -who can vouch for my sanity." - -"Vouch for your sanity! How can I when you sit here and talk such arrant -nonsense, and expect me to believe it? When you jump from your chair and -rush madly at some visionary foe? Sane as you may be in all else, any -evidence I could give in your favor must break down in cross-examination -if an inkling of these things got about. Come, Carriston, be reasonable, -and prove your sanity by setting about this search for Miss Rowan in a -proper way." - -He made no reply, but walked up and down the room apparently in deep -thought. My words seemed to have had no effect upon him. Presently he -seated himself; and, as if to avoid returning to the argument, drew a -book at hazard from my shelves and began to read. He opened the volume -at random, but after reading a few lines seemed struck by something -that met his eyes, and in a few minutes was deeply immersed in the -contents of the book. I glanced at it to see what had so awakened his -interest. By a curious fatality he had chosen a book the very worst for -him in his present frame of mind--Gilchrist's recently published life of -William Blake, that masterly memoir of a man who was on certain points -as mad as Carriston himself. I was about to remonstrate, when he laid -down the volume and turned to me. - -"Varley, the painter," he said, "was a firm believer in Blake's -visions." - -"Varley was a bigger fool than Blake," I retorted. "Fancy his sitting -down and watching his clever but mad friend draw spectral heads, and -believing them to be genuine portraits of dead kings whose forms -condescended to appear to Blake!" - -A sudden thought seemed to strike Carriston. "Will you give me some -paper and chalk?" he asked. Upon being furnished with these materials he -seated himself at the table and began to draw. At least a dozen times he -sketched, with his usual rapidity, some object or another, and a dozen -times, after a moment's consideration, threw each sketch aside with an -air of disappointment and began a fresh one. At last one of his attempts -seemed to come up to his requirements. "I have it now, exactly!" he -cried with joy--even triumph--in his voice. He spent some time in -putting finishing touches to the successful sketch, then he handed me -the paper. - -"That is the man I saw just now with Madeline," he said. "When I find -him I shall find her." He spoke with all sincerity and conviction. I -looked at the paper with, I am bound to say, a great amount of -curiosity. - -No matter from what visionary source Carriston had drawn his -inspiration, his sketch was vigorous and natural enough. I have already -mentioned his wonderful power of drawing portraits from memory, so was -willing to grant that he might have reproduced the outline of some face -which had somewhere struck him. Yet why should it have been this one? -His drawing represented the three quarter face of a man--an ordinary -man--apparently between forty and fifty years of age. It was a -coarse-featured, ill-favored face, with a ragged ruff of hair round -the chin. It was not the face of a gentleman, nor even the face of a -gentle-nurtured man; and the artist, by a few cunning strokes, had made -it wear a crafty and sullen look. The sketch, as I write this, lies -before me, so that I am not speaking from memory. - -Now, there are some portraits of which, without having seen the -original, we say, "What splendid likenesses these must be." It was so -with Carriston's sketch. Looking at it you felt sure it was exactly like -the man whom it was intended to represent. So that, with the certain -amount of art knowledge which I am at least supposed to possess, it -was hard for me, after examining the drawing and recognizing the true -artist's touch in every line, to bring myself to accept the fact that it -was but the outcome of a diseased imagination. As, at this very moment, -I glance at that drawing, I scarcely blame myself for the question -that faintly frames itself in my innermost heart. "Could it be -possible--could there be in certain organizations powers not yet -known--not yet properly investigated?" - -My thought, supposing such a thought was ever there--was not discouraged -by Carriston, who, speaking as if his faith in the bodily existence of -the man whose portrait lay in my hand was unassailable, said, - -"I noticed that his general appearance was that of a countryman--an -English peasant; so in the country I shall find my love. Moreover, it -will be easy to identify the man, as the top joint is missing from the -middle finger of his right hand. As it lay on Madeline's arm I noticed -that." - -I argued with him no more. I felt that words would be but wasted. - - -IX. - -A day or two after I had witnessed what I must call Carriston's second -seizure we were favored with a visit from the man whose services we had -secured to trace Madeline. Since he had received his instructions we had -heard nothing of his proceeding until he now called to report progress -in person. Carriston had not expressed the slightest curiosity as to -where the man was or what he was about. Probably he looked upon the -employment of this private detective as nothing more useful than a salve -to my conscience. That Madeline was only to be found through the power -which he professed to hold of seeing her in his visions was, I felt -certain, becoming a rooted belief of his. Whenever I expressed my -surprise that our agent had brought or sent no information, Carriston -shrugged his shoulders, and assured me that from the first he knew the -man's researches would be fruitless. However, the fellow had called at -last, and, I hoped, had brought us good news. - -He was a glib-tongued man, who spoke in a confident, matter-of-fact way. -When he saw us he rubbed his hands as one who had brought affairs to a -successful issue, and now meant to reap praise and other rewards. His -whole bearing told me he had made an important discovery; so I begged -him to be seated, and give us his news. - -Carriston gave him a careless glance, and stood at some little distance -from us. He looked as if he thought the impending communication scarcely -worth the trouble of listening to. He might, indeed, from his looks, -have been the most disinterested person of the three. He even left me to -do the questioning. - -"Now, then, Mr. Sharpe," I said, "let us hear if you have earned your -money." - -"I think so, sir," replied Sharpe, looking curiously at Carriston, who, -strange to say, heard this answer with supreme indifference. - -"I think I may say I have, sir," continued the detective--"that is if -the gentlemen can identify these articles as being the young lady's -property." - -Thereupon he produced from a thick letter-case a ribbon in which was -stuck a silver pin, mounted with Scotch pebbles, an ornament that -I remembered having seen Madeline wear. Mr. Sharpe handed them to -Carriston. He examined them, and I saw his cheeks flush and his eyes -grow bright. - -"How did you come by this?" he cried, pointing to the silver ornament. - -"I'll tell you presently, sir. Do you recognize it?" - -"I gave it to Miss Rowan myself." - -"Then we are on the right track," I cried, joyfully. "Go on, Mr. -Sharpe." - -"Yes, gentlemen, we are certainly on the right track; but after all, it -isn't my fault if the track don't lead exactly where you wish. You see, -when I heard of this mysterious disappearance of the lady, I began to -concoct my own theory. I said to myself, when a young and beautiful--" - -"Confound your theories!" cried Carriston fiercely. "Go on with your -tale." - -The man gave his interrupter a spiteful glance. "Well, sir," he said, -"as you gave me strict instructions to watch a certain gentleman -closely, I obeyed those instructions, of course, although I knew I was -on a fool's errand." - -"Will you go on?" cried Carriston. "If you know where Miss Rowan is, say -so; your money will be paid you the moment I find her." - -"I don't say I exactly know where to find the lady, but I can soon know -if you wish me to." - -"Tell your tale your own way, but as shortly as possible," I said, -seeing that my excitable friend was preparing for another outburst. - -"I found there was nothing to be gained by keeping watch on the -gentleman you mentioned, sir, so I went to Scotland and tried back from -there. As soon as I worked on my own lay I found out all about it. The -lady went from Callendar to Edinburgh, from Edinburgh to London, from -London to Folkestone, and from Folkestone to Boulong." - -I glanced at Carriston. All his calmness seemed to have returned. He was -leaning against the mantelpiece, and appeared quite unmoved by Mr. -Sharpe's clear statement as to the route Madeline had taken. - -"Of course," continued Mr. Sharpe, "I was not quite certain I was -tracking the right person, although her description corresponded with -the likeness you gave me. But as you are sure this article of jewelry -belonged to the lady you want, the matter is beyond a doubt." - -"Of course," I said, seeing that Carriston had no intention of speaking. -"Where did you find it?" - -"It was left behind, in a bedroom of one of the principal hotels in -Folkestone. I did go over to Boulong, but after that I thought I had -learned all you would care to know." - -There was something in the man's manner which made me dread what was -coming. Again I looked at Carriston. His lips were curved with contempt, -but he still kept silence. - -"Why not have pursued your inquiries past Boulong?" I asked. - -"For this reason, sir. I had learned enough. The theory I had concocted -was the right one after all. The lady went to Edinburgh alone, right -enough: but she didn't leave Edinburgh alone, nor she didn't leave -London alone, nor she didn't stay at Folkestone--where I found the -pin--alone, nor she didn't go to Boulong alone. She was accompanied by -a young gentleman who called himself Mr. Smith; and what's more, she -called herself Mrs. Smith. Perhaps she was; as they lived like man and -wife." - -Whether the fellow was right or mistaken, this explanation of Madeline's -disappearance seemed to give me what I can only compare to a smack in -the face. I stared at the speaker in speechless astonishment. If the -tale he told so glibly and circumstantially was true, farewell, so far -as I was concerned, to belief in the love or purity of women. Madeline -Rowan, that creature of a poet's dream, on the eve of her marriage with -Charles Carriston to fly, whether wed or unwed mattered little, with -another man! And yet, she was but a woman. Carriston--or Carr, as she -only knew him--was in her eyes poor. The companion of her flight might -have won her with gold. Such things have been. Still-- - -My rapid and wrongful meditations were cut short in an unexpected way. -Suddenly I saw Mr. Sharpe dragged bodily out of his chair and thrown -on the floor, while Carriston, standing over him, thrashed the man -vigorously with his own ash stick--a convenient weapon, so convenient -that I felt Mr. Sharpe could not have selected a stick more appropriate -for his own chastisement. So Carriston seemed to think, for he laid on -cheerfully some eight or ten good cutting strokes. - -Nevertheless, being a respectable doctor and a man of peace, I was -compelled to interfere. I held Carriston's arm while Mr. Sharpe -struggled to his feet, and after collecting his hat and his pocket-book, -stood glaring vengefully at his assailant, and rubbing the while such -of the weals on his back as he could reach. Annoyed as I felt at the -unprofessional _fracas_, I could scarcely help laughing at the man's -appearance. I doubt the possibility of any one looking heroic after such -a thrashing. - -"I'll have the law for this," he growled. "I ain't paid to be beaten by -a madman." - -"You're paid to do my work, not another's," said Carriston. "Go to the -man who has over-bribed you and sent you to tell me your lies. Go to -him, tell him that once more he has failed. Out of my sight." - -As Carriston showed signs of recommencing hostile operations, the man -flew as far as the door-way. There, being in comparative safety, he -turned with a malignant look. - -"You'll smart for this," he said; "when they lock you up as a raving -lunatic I'll try and get a post as keeper." - -I was glad to see that Carriston paid no attention to this parting -shaft. He turned his back scornfully, and the fellow left the room and -the house. - -"Now are you convinced?" asked Carriston, turning to me. - -"Convinced of what? That his tale is untrue, or that he has been misled, -I am quite certain." - -"Tush! That is not worth consideration. Don't you see that Ralph has -done all this? I set that man to watch him; he found out the espionage; -suborned my agent, or your agent, I should say; sent him here with a -trumped-up tale. Oh, yes; I was to believe that Madeline had deserted -me--that was to drive me out of my senses. My cousin is a fool after -all!" - -"Without further proof I cannot believe that your suspicions are -correct," I said; but I must own I spoke with some hesitation. - -"Proof! A clever man like you ought to see ample proof in the fact of -that wretch having twice called me a madman. I have seen him but once -before--you know if I then gave him any grounds for making such an -assertion. Tell me, from whom could he have learned the word except -from Ralph Carriston?" - -I was bound, if only to save my own reputation for sagacity, to confess -that the point noted by Carriston had raised certain doubts in my mind. -But if Ralph Carriston really was trying by some finely-wrought scheme -to bring about what he desired, there was all the more reason for great -caution to be exercised. - -"I am sorry you beat him," I said. "He will now swear right and left -that you are not in your senses." - -"Of course he will. What do I care?" - -"Only remember this. It is easier to get put into an asylum than to get -out of it." - -"It is not so very easy for a sane man like myself to be put in, -especially when he is on his guard. I have looked up the law. There -must be a certificate signed by two doctors, surgeons--or, I believe, -apothecaries will do--who have seen the supposed lunatic alone and -together. I'll take very good care I speak to no doctor save yourself, -and keep out of the way of surgeons and apothecaries." - -It quite cheered me to hear him speaking so sensibly and collectedly -about himself, but I again impressed upon him the need of great caution. -Although I could not believe that his cousin had taken Madeline away, I -was inclined to think, after the affair with the spy, that, as Carriston -averred, he aimed at getting him, sane or insane, into a mad-house. - -But after all these days we were not a step nearer to the discovery of -Madeline's whereabouts. Carriston made no sign of doing anything to -facilitate that discovery. Again I urged him to intrust the whole affair -to the police. Again he refused to do so, adding that he was not quite -ready. Ready for what, I wondered! - - -X. - -I must confess, in spite of my affection for Carriston, I felt inclined -to rebel against the course which matters were taking. I was a prosaic -matter-of-fact medical man; doing my work to the best of my ability and -anxious when that work was done that my hours of leisure should be as -free from worry and care as possible. With Carriston's advent several -disturbing elements entered into my quiet life. - -Let Ralph Carriston be guilty or innocent of the extraordinary crime -which his cousin laid at his door, I felt that he was anxious to obtain -possession of the supposed lunatic's person. It would suit his purposes -for his cousin to be proved mad. I did not believe that even if the -capture was legally effected Carriston's liberation would be a matter of -great difficulty so long as he remained in his present state of mind; so -long as I, a doctor of some standing, could go into the witness-box and -swear to his sanity. But my old dread was always with me--the dread that -any further shock would overturn the balance of his sensitive mind. - -So it was that every hour that Carriston was out of my sight was fraught -with anxiety. If Ralph Carriston was really as unscrupulous as my friend -supposed; if he had really, as seemed almost probable, suborned our -agent; he might by some crafty trick obtain the needful certificate, and -some day I should come home and find Carriston had been removed. In such -a case I foresaw great trouble and distress. - -Besides, after all that had occurred, it was as much as I could do to -believe that Carriston was not mad. Any doctor who knew what I knew -would have given the verdict against him. - -After dismissing his visions and hallucinations with the contempt which -they deserved, the fact of a man who was madly, passionately in love -with a woman, and who believed that she had been entrapped and was -still kept in restraint, sitting down quietly, and letting day after day -pass without making an effort toward finding her, was in itself _prima -facie_ evidence of insanity. A sane man would at once have set all the -engines of detection at work. - -I felt that if once Ralph Carriston obtained possession of him he could -make out a strong case in his own favor. First of all, the proposed -marriage out of the defendant's own sphere of life; the passing under a -false name; the ridiculous, or apparently ridiculous, accusation made -against his kinsman; the murderous threats; the chastisement of his own -paid agent who brought him a report which might not seem at all untrue -to any one who knew not Madeline Rowan. Leaving out the question what -might be wrung from me in cross-examination, Ralph Carriston had a -strong case, and I knew that, once in his power, my friend might -possibly be doomed to pass years, if not his whole life, under -restraint. So I was anxious--very anxious. - -And I felt an anxiety, scarcely second to that which prevailed on -Carriston's account, as to the fate of Madeline. Granting for sake of -argument that Carriston's absurd conviction that no bodily harm had as -yet been done her, was true, I felt sure that she with her scarcely less -sensitive nature must feel the separation from her lover as much as he -himself felt the separation from her. Once or twice I tried to comfort -myself with cynicism--tried to persuade myself that a young woman -could not in our days be spirited away--that she had gone by her own -free-will--that there was a man who had at the eleventh hour alienated -her affections from Carriston. But I could not bring myself to believe -this. So I was placed between the horns of a dilemma. - -If Madeline had not fled of her own free-will, some one must have taken -her away, and if so our agent's report was a coined one, and, if a -coined one, issued at Ralph's instance; therefore Ralph must be the -prime actor in the mystery. - -But in sober moments such a deduction seemed an utter absurdity. - -Although I have said that Carriston was doing nothing toward clearing up -the mystery, I wronged him in so saying. After his own erratic way he -was at work. At such work too! I really lost all patience with him. - -He shut himself up in his room, out of which he scarcely stirred for -three days. By that time he had completed a large and beautiful drawing -of his imaginary man. This he took to a well-known photographer's, and -ordered several hundred small photographs of it, to be prepared as -soon as possible. The minute description which he had given me of his -fanciful creation was printed at the foot of each copy. As soon as the -first batch of these precious photographs was sent home, to my great -joy he did what he should have done days ago; yielded to my wishes, and -put the matter into the hands of the police. - -I was glad to find that in giving details of what had happened he said -nothing about the advisability of keeping a watch on Ralph Carriston's -proceedings. He did, indeed, offer an absurdly large reward for the -discovery of the missing girl; and, moreover, gave the officer in charge -of the case a packet of photographs of his phantom man, telling him -in the gravest manner that he knew the original of that likeness had -something to do with the disappearance of Miss Rowan. The officer, who -thought the portrait was that of a natural being, took his instructions -in good faith, although he seemed greatly surprised when he heard -that Carriston knew neither the name nor the occupation, in fact, -knew nothing concerning the man who was to be sought for. However, as -Carriston assured him that finding this man would insure the reward as -much as if he found Madeline, the officer readily promised to combine -the two tasks, little knowing what waste of time any attempt to perform -the latter must be. - -Two days after this Carriston came to me. "I shall leave you to-morrow," -he said. - -"Where are you going?" I asked. "Why do you leave?" - -"I am going to travel about. I have no intention of letting Ralph get -hold of me. So I mean to go from place to place until I find Madeline." - -"Be careful," I urged. - -"I shall be careful enough. I'll take care that no doctors, surgeons, or -even apothecaries get on my track. I shall go just as the fit seizes me. -If I can't say one day where I shall be the next, it will be impossible -for that villain to know." - -This was not a bad argument. In fact, if he carried out his resolve of -passing quickly from place to place I did not see how he could plan -anything more likely to defeat the intentions with which we credited his -cousin. As to his finding Madeline by so doing, that was another matter. - -His idea seemed to be that chance would sooner or later bring him in -contact with the man of his dream. However, now that the search had been -intrusted to the proper persons his own action in the matter was not -worth troubling about. I gave him many cautions. He was to be quiet and -guarded in words and manner. He was not to converse with strangers. If -he found himself dogged or watched by any one he was to communicate at -once with me. But, above all, I begged him not to yield again to his -mental infirmity. The folly of a man who could avoid it, throwing -himself into such a state ought to be apparent to him. - -"Not oftener than I can help," was all the promise I could get from him. -"But see her I must sometimes, or I shall die." - -I had now given up as hopeless the combat with his peculiar -idiosyncrasy. So, with many expressions of gratitude on his part, we -bade each other farewell. - -During his absence he wrote to me nearly every day, so that I might know -his whereabouts in case I had any news to communicate. But I had none. -The police failed to find the slightest clew. I had been called upon -by them once or twice in order that they might have every grain of -information I could give. I took the liberty of advising them not to -waste their time in looking for the man, as his very existence was -problematical. It was but a fancy of my friend's, and not worth thinking -seriously about. I am not sure but what after hearing this they did -not think the whole affair was an imagined one, and so relaxed their -efforts. - -Once or twice, Carriston, happening to be in the neighborhood of London, -came to see me, and slept the night at my house. He also had no news to -report. Still, he seemed hopeful as ever. - -The weeks went by until Christmas was over and the New Year begun; but -no sign, word, or trace of Madeline Rowan. "I have seen her," wrote -Carriston, "several times. She is in the same place--unhappy, but not -ill-treated." - -Evidently his hallucinations were still in full force. - - * * * * * - -At first I intended that the whole of this tale should be told by -myself; but upon getting so far it struck me that the evidence of -another actor who played an important part in the drama would give -certain occurrences to the reader at first instead of at second hand, -so I wrote to my friend Dick Fenton, of Frenchay, Gloucestershire, and -begged him, if he found himself capable of so doing, to put in simple -narrative form his impressions of certain events which happened in -January, 1866: events in which we two were concerned. He has been good -enough to comply with my request. His communication follows. - - - - -PART II. - -TOLD BY RICHARD FENTON, OF FRENCHAY, GLOUCESTERSHIRE, ESQUIRE. - - -I. - -As my old friend Phil Brand has asked me to do this, I suppose I must. -Brand is a right good fellow and a clever fellow, but has plenty of -crotchets of his own. The worst I know of him is that he insists upon -having his own with people. With those who differ from him he is as -obstinate as a mule. Anyhow, he has always had his own way with me. This -custom, so far as I am concerned, commenced years ago when we were boys -at school together, and I have never been able to shake off the bad -habit of giving in to him. He has promised to see that my queen's -English is presentable: for, to tell the truth, I am more at home across -country than across foolscap, and my fingers know the feel of the reins -or the trigger better than that of the pen. - -All the same I hope he won't take too many liberties with my style, bad -though it may be; for old Brand at times is apt to get--well, a bit -prosy. To hear him on the subject of hard work and the sanctity thereof -approaches the sublime! - -What freak took me to the little God-forsaken village of Midcombe in the -depth of winter is entirely between myself and my conscience. The cause -having no bearing upon the matters I am asked to tell you about, is no -one's business but mine. I will only say that now I would not stay in -such a place at such a time of the year for the sake of the prettiest -girl in the world, let alone the bare chance of meeting her once or -twice. But one's ideas change. I am now a good bit older, ride some two -stones heavier, and have been married ever so many years. Perhaps, after -all, as I look back I can find some excuse for being such an ass as to -endure for more than a fortnight all the discomforts heaped upon me in -that little village inn. - -A man who sojourns in such a hole as Midcombe must give some reason for -doing so. My ostensible reason was hunting. I had a horse with me, and a -second-rate subscription pack of slow-going mongrels did meet somewhere -in the neighborhood, so no one could gainsay my explanation. But if -hunting was my object, I got precious little of it. A few days after my -arrival a bitter, biting frost set in--a frost as black as your hat and -as hard as nails. Yet still I stayed on. - -From private information received--no matter how, when or where--I knew -that some people in the neighborhood had organized a party to go skating -on a certain day at Lilymere, a fine sheet of water some distance from -Midcombe. I guessed that some one whom I particularly desired to meet -would be there, and as the skating at Lilymere was free to any one who -chose to take the trouble of getting to such an out-of-the-way place, I -hired a horse and an apology for a dog-cart, and at ten in the morning -started to drive the twelve miles to the pond. I took no one with me. I -had been to Lilymere once before, in bright summer weather, so fancied -I knew the way well enough. - -The sky when I started was cloudy; the wind was chopping round in a way -which made the effete rustic old hostler predict a change of weather. He -was right. Before I had driven two miles light snow began to fall, and -by the time I reached a little wretched wayside inn, about a mile from -the Mere, a film of white covered the whole country. I stabled my horse -as well as I could, then taking my skates with me walked down to the -pond. - -Now, whether I had mistaken the day, or whether the threatening fall of -snow had made certain people change their minds, I don't know; but, to -my annoyance and vexation, no skaters were to be seen, and moreover, -the uncut, white surface told me that none had been on the pond that -morning. Still hoping they might come in spite of the weather, I put on -my skates and went outside-edging and grape-vining all over the place. -But as there was no person in particular--in fact, no one at all--to -note my powers, I soon got tired. It was, indeed, dreary, dreary work. -But I waited and hoped until the snow came down so fast and furiously -that I felt sure that waiting was in vain, and that I had driven to -Lilymere for nothing. - -Back I went to the little inn, utterly disgusted with things in general, -and feeling that to break some one's head would be a relief to me in my -present state of mind. Of course a sensible man would at once have got -his horse between the shafts and driven home. But whatever I may be now, -in those days I was not a sensible man--Brand will, I know, cordially -indorse this remark--the accommodation of the inn was not such as to -induce one to linger within its precincts; but the fire was a right good -one, and a drink, which I skilfully manufactured out of some hot beer, -not to be despised, and proved warming to the body and soothing to the -ruffled temper. So I lingered over the big fire until I began to feel -hungry, and upon the landlady assuring me that she could cook a rasher, -decided it would be wiser to stay where I was until the violence of the -snowstorm was over; for coming down it was now, and no mistake. - -And it kept on coming down. About half-past three, when I sorrowfully -decided I was bound to make a move, it was snowing faster than ever. I -harnessed my horse, and laughing at the old woman's dismal prophecy that -I should never get to Midcombe in such weather, gathered up the reins, -and away I went along the white road. - -I thought I knew the way well enough. In fact I had always prided myself -upon remembering any road once driven over by me; but does any one who -has not tried it really know how a heavy fall of snow changes the aspect -of the country, and makes landmarks snares and delusions? I learned all -about it then, once and for all. I found, also, that the snow lay much -deeper than I thought could possibly be in so short a time, and it still -fell in a manner almost blinding. Yet I went on bravely and merrily for -some miles. Then came a bit of uncertainty-- - -Which of those two roads was the right one? This one, of course--no, the -other. There was no house near; no one was likely to be passing in such -weather, so I was left to exercise my free, unbiased choice; a privilege -I would willingly have dispensed with. However, I made the best -selection I could, and followed it for some two miles. Then I began to -grow doubtful, and soon persuading myself that I was on the wrong track, -retraced my steps. I was by this time something like a huge white -plaster of Paris figure, and the snow which had accumulated on the old -dog-cart made it run heavier by half-a-ton, more or less. By the time I -came to that unlucky junction of roads at which my misfortune began it -was almost dark; the sky as black as a tarpaulin, yet sending down the -white feathery flakes thicker and faster than ever. I felt inclined to -curse my folly in attempting such a drive, at any rate I blamed myself -for not having started two or three hours earlier. I'll warrant that -steady-going old Brand never had to accuse himself of such foolishness -as mine. - -Well, I took the other road; went on some way; came to a turning which -I seemed to remember; and, not without misgivings, followed it. My -misgivings increased when, after a little while, I found the road grew -full of ruts, which the snow and the darkness quite concealed from me -until the wheels got into them. Evidently I was wrong again. I was just -thinking of making the best of my way out of this rough and unfrequented -road, when--there, I don't know how it happened, such things seldom -occur to me--a stumble, a fall on the part of my tired horse sent me -flying over the dashboard, with the only consoling thought that the -reins were still in my hand. - -Luckily the snow had made the falling pretty soft. I soon picked myself -up and set about estimating damages. With some difficulty I got the -horse out of the harness, and then felt free to inspect the dog-cart. -Alas! after the manner of the two-wheel kind whenever a horse thinks fit -to fall, one shaft had snapped off like a carrot; so here was I, five -miles apparently from anywhere, in the thick of a blinding snow-storm, -left standing helpless beside a jaded horse and a broken cart--I should -like to know what Brand would have done under the circumstances. - -As for me, I reflected for some minutes--reflection in a snow-storm is -weary work. I reasoned, I believe logically, and at last came to this -decision: I would follow the road. If, as I suspected, it was but a -cart-track, it would probably soon lead to a habitation of some kind. -Anyway I had better try a bit further. I took hold of the wearied horse, -and with snow under my feet, snow-flakes whirling round me, and a wind -blowing right into my teeth, struggled on. - -It was a journey! I think I must have been three-quarters of an hour -going about a quarter of a mile. I was just beginning to despair, when I -saw a welcome gleam of light. I steered toward it, fondly hoping that my -troubles were at an end. I found the light stole through the ill-fitting -window-shutters of what seemed, so far as I could make out in the -darkness, to be a small farm-house. Tying to a gate the knotted reins -by which I had been leading the horse, I staggered up to the door and -knocked loudly. Upon my honor, until I leaned against that door-post I -had no idea how tired I was--until that moment I never suspected that -the finding of speedy shelter meant absolutely saving my life. Covered -from head to foot with snow, my hat crushed in, I must have been a -pitiable object. - -No answer came to my first summons. It was only after a second and more -imperative application of my heel that the door deigned to give way a -few inches. Through the aperture a woman's voice asked who was there? - -"Let me in," I said. "I have missed my way to Midcombe. My horse has -fallen. You must give me shelter for the night. Open the door and let me -in." - -"Shelter! You can't get shelter here, mister," said a man's gruff voice. -"This ain't an inn, so you'd best be off and go elsewhere." - -"But I must come in," I said, astonished at such inhospitality; "I can't -go a step further. Open the door at once!" - -"You be hanged," said the man. "'Tis my house, not yours." - -"But, you fool, I mean to pay you well for your trouble. Don't you know -it means death wandering about on such a night as this? Let me in." - -"You won't come in here," was the brutal and boorish reply. The door -closed. - -That I was enraged at such incivility may be easily imagined; but if I -said I was thoroughly frightened I believe no one would be surprised. -As getting into that house meant simply life or death to me, into that -house I determined to get, by door or window, by fair means or by foul. -So, as the door closed, I hurled myself against it with all the might I -could muster. Although I ride much heavier now than I did then, all my -weight at that time was bone and muscle. The violence of my attack tore -from the lintel the staple which held the chain; the door went back with -a bang, and I fell forward into the house, fully resolved to stay there -whether welcome or unwelcome. - - -II. - -The door through which I had burst like a battering ram opened straight -into a sort of kitchen, so although I entered in a most undignified way, -in fact on my hands and knees, I was well-established in the centre of -the room before the man and woman emerged from behind the door, where my -successful assault had thrown them. I stood up and faced them. They were -a couple of ordinary, respectably-attired country people. The man, a -sturdy, strong-built, bull-necked rascal, stood scowling at me, and, I -concluded, making up his mind as to what course to pursue. - -"My good people," I said, "you are behaving in the most unheard-of -manner. Can't you understand that I mean to pay you well for any trouble -I give you? But whether you like it or not, here I stay to-night. To -turn me out would be sheer murder." - -So saying I pulled off my overcoat, and began shaking the snow out of my -whiskers. - -I dare say my determined attitude, my respectable, as well as my -muscular appearance, impressed my unwilling hosts. Anyway, they gave -in without more ado. Whilst the woman shut the door, through which the -snow-flakes were whirling, the man said sullenly: - -"Well, you'll have to spend the night on a chair. We've no beds here for -strangers. 'Specially those as ain't wanted." - -"Very well, my friend. Having settled the matter you may as well make -yourself pleasant. Go out and put my horse under cover, and give him a -feed of some sort--make a mash if you can." - -After giving the woman a quick glance as of warning, my scowling host -lit a horn lantern, and went on the errand I suggested. I gladly sank -into a chair, and warmed myself before a cheerful fire. The prospect of -spending the night amid such discomfort was not alluring, but I had, at -least, a roof over my head. - -As a rule, the more churlish the nature, the more avaricious it is found -to be. My promise of liberal remuneration was, after all, not without -its effect upon the strange couple whose refusal to afford me refuge had -so nearly endangered my life. They condescended to get me some tea and -rough food. After I had disposed of all that, the man produced a bottle -of gin. We filled our glasses, and then, with the aid of my pipe, I -settled down to make the best of a night spent in a hard wooden chair. - -I had come across strange people in my travels, but I have no hesitation -in saying that my host was the sullenest, sulkiest, most boorish -specimen of human nature I had as yet met with. In spite of his recent -ill-treatment of me I was quite ready to establish matters on a friendly -footing, and made several attempts to draw him into conversation. The -brute would only answer in monosyllables, or often not answer at all. So -I gave up talking as a bad job, and sat in silence, smoking and looking -into the fire, thinking a good deal, it may be, of some one I should -have met that morning at Lilymere had the wretched snow but kept off. - -The long clock--that cumbrous eight-day machine which inevitably -occupies one corner of every cottager's kitchen--struck nine. The woman -rose and left us. I concluded she was going to bed. If so, I envied her. -Her husband showed no sign of retiring. He still sat over the fire, -opposite me. By this time I was dreadfully tired: every bone in my body -ached. The hard chair which an hour or two ago, seemed all I could -desire, now scarcely came up to my ideas of the comfort I was justly -entitled to claim. My sulky companion had been drinking silently but -steadily. Perhaps the liquor he had poured into himself might have -rendered his frame of mind more pleasant and amenable to reason. - -"My good fellow," I said, "your chairs are excellent ones of the kind, -but deucedly uncomfortable. I am horribly tired. If the resources of -your establishment can't furnish a bed for me to sleep in, couldn't you -find a mattress or something to lay down before the fire?" - -"You've got all you'll get to-night," he answered, knocking the ashes -out his pipe. - -"Oh, but I say!" - -"So do I say. I say this: If you don't like it you can leave it. We -didn't ask you to come." - -"You infernal beast," I muttered--and meant it too--I declare had I not -been so utterly worn out, I would have had that bullet-headed ruffian up -for a few rounds on his own kitchen floor, and tried to knock him into a -more amiable frame of mind. - -"Never mind," I said; "but, remember, civility costs nothing, and often -gets rewarded. However, if you wish to retire to your own couch don't -let your native politeness stand in your way. Pray don't hesitate on my -account. Leave plenty of fuel, and I shall manage until morning." - -"Where you stay, I stay," he answered. Then he filled his pipe, and once -more relapsed into stony silence. - -I bothered about him no more. I dozed off for a few minutes--woke--dozed -off again for some hours. I was in an uncomfortable sort of half sleep, -crammed full of curious dreams--dreams from which I started, wondering -where I was and how I got there. I even began to grow nervous. All sorts -of horrible travellers' tales ran through my head. It was in just such -places as this that unsuspecting voyagers were stated to have been -murdered and robbed, by just such unmitigated ruffians as my host--I -can tell you that altogether I spent a most pleasant night. - -To make matters worse and more dismal the storm still raged outside. The -wind moaned through the trees, but it had again changed, and I knew from -the sound on the window-panes that heavy rain had succeeded snow. As the -big drops of water found their way down the large old-fashioned chimney, -the fire hissed and spluttered like a spiteful vixen. Everything -combined to deprive me of what dog's sleep I could by sheer persistency -snatch. - -I think I tried every position which an ordinary man, not an acrobat, is -capable of adopting with the assistance of a common wooden chair. I even -lay down on the hard flags. I actually tried the table. I propped up the -upper half of my body against the corner walls of the room; but found no -rest. At last I gave up all idea of sleeping, and fully aroused myself. -I comforted myself by saying that my misery was only temporary--that the -longest night must come to an end. - -My companion had by now succumbed to fatigue, or to the combined effects -of fatigue and gin-and-water. His head was hanging sideways, and he -slept in a most uncomfortable attitude. I chuckled as I looked at him, -feeling quite sure that if such a clod was capable of dreaming at all, -his dreams must be worse even than mine. I filled another pipe, poked -the smoldering logs into a blaze, and sat almost nose and knees over the -fire, finding some amusement in speculating upon the condition of the -churl before me, and thanking the Lord I was not like unto this man. -Suddenly an idea flashed across me. - -I had seen this fellow before. But when or where I could not remember. -His features, as I looked at them with keener interest, seemed to grow -more and more familiar to me. Where could I have met him? Somewhere or -other, but where? I racked my brain to associate him with some scene, -some event. Although he was but an ordinary countryman, such as one sees -scores of in a day's ride, only differing from his kind on account of -his unpleasant face, I felt sure we were old acquaintances. When he -awoke for a moment and changed his strained attitude, my feeling grew -stronger and stronger. Yet puzzle and puzzle as I would I could not call -to mind a former encounter; so at last I began to think the supposed -recognition was pure fancy on my part. - -Having smoked out several pipes, I thought that a cigar would be a -slight break to the monotony of the night's proceedings. So I drew out -my case and looked at its contents. Among the weeds was one of a lighter -color than the others. As I took it out I said to myself, "Why, old -Brand gave me that one when I was last at his house." Curiously enough -that cigar was the missing link in the chain of my memory. As I held it -in my hand I knew at once why my host's ugly face seemed familiar to -me. - -About a fortnight before, being in town, I had spent the evening with -the doctor. He was not alone, and I was introduced to a tall pale young -man named Carriston. He was a pleasant, polite young fellow, although -not much in my line. At first I judged him to be a would-be poet of the -fashionable miserable school; but finding that he and Brand talked so -much about art I eventually decided that he was one of the doctor's many -artist friends. Art is a hobby he hacks about on grandly. (Mem. Brand's -own attempt at pictures are simply atrocious!) - -Just before I left, Carriston, the doctor's back being turned, asked me -to step into another room. There he showed me the portrait of a man. It -seemed very cleverly drawn, and I presumed he wanted me to criticise it. - -"I am a precious bad judge," I said. - -"I am not asking you to pass an opinion," said Carriston. "I want -to beg a favor of you. I am almost ashamed to beg it on so short an -acquaintance." - -He seemed modest, and not in want of money, so I encouraged him to -proceed. - -"I heard you say you were going into the country," he resumed. "I want -to ask you if by any chance you should meet the original of that drawing -to telegraph at once to Dr. Brand." - -"Whereabouts does he live?" - -"I have no idea. If chance throws him in your way please do as I ask." - -"Certainly I will," I said, seeing the young man made the request in -solemn earnest. - -He thanked me, and then gave me a small photograph of the picture. This -photograph he begged me to keep in my pocket-book, so that I might -refer to it in case I met the man he wanted. I put it there, went my -way, and, am sorry to say, forget all about it. Had it not been for the -strange cigar in my case bringing back Carriston's unusual request to my -mind, the probabilities are that I should not have thought again of the -matter. Now, by a remarkable coincidence, I was spending the night with -the very man, who, so far as my memory served me, must have sat for the -portrait shown me at Brand's house. - -"I wonder what I did with the photo," I said. I turned out my -letter-case. There it was, right enough! Shading it with one hand, I -carefully compared it with the sleeper. - -Not a doubt about it! So far as a photograph taken from a picture can -go, it was the man himself. The same ragged beard, the same coarse -features, the same surly look. Young Carriston was evidently a wonderful -hand at knocking off a likeness. Moreover, in case I had felt any doubt -in the matter, a printed note at the bottom of the photograph said that -one joint was missing from a right-hand finger. Sure enough, my friend -lacked that small portion of his misbegotten frame. - -This discovery threw me in an ecstasy of delight. I laughed so loudly -that I almost awoke the ruffian. I guessed I was going to take a -glorious revenge for all the discomforts I had suffered. No one, I felt -sure, could be looking for such a fellow as this to do any good to him. -I was quite happy in the thought, and for the remainder of the night -gloated over the idea of putting a spoke in the wheel of one who had -been within an ace of causing my death. I resolved, the moment I got -back to civilization, to send the desired intelligence to Brand, and -hope for the best. - - -III. - -The end of that wretched night came at last. When the welcome morning -broke I found that a great change had taken place out-of-doors. The -fierce snow-storm had been the farewell of the frost. The heavy rain -that followed had filled the roads with slushy and rapidly-thawing snow. -I managed to extort some of a breakfast from my host, then, having -recompensed him according to my promise, not his deserts, started, as -soon as I could, on the bare back of my unfortunate steed, for Midcombe, -which place, after my night's experience, seemed gifted with merits not -its own. - -I was surprised upon leaving the house to find it was of larger -dimensions than, from the little I saw of it during the night, I had -imagined. It was altogether a better class of residence than I had -supposed. My surly friend accompanied me until he had placed me on the -main road, where I could make no possible mistake. He was kind enough to -promise to assist any one I might send out in getting the dog-cart once -more under way. Then, with a hearty wish on my part that I might never -again meet with his like, we parted. - -I found my way to Midcombe without much trouble. I took off my things, -had a wash, and, like a sensible man for once, went to bed. But I did -not forget to send a boy straight off to the nearest telegraph station. -My message to Brand was a brief one. It simply said: "Tell your friend I -have found his man." This duty done, I dismissed all speculation as to -the result from my mind, and settled down to make up arrears of sleep. - -I was surprised at the reply received that same evening from Brand: -"We shall be with you as soon as we can get down to-morrow. Meet -us at station." From this it was clear that my friend was wanted -particularly--all the better! I turned to the time-table and found that, -owing to changes and delays, they could not get to C----, the nearest -station to Midcombe, until three o'clock in the afternoon. I inquired -about the crippled dog-cart. It had been brought in; so I left strict -instructions that a shaft of some sort was to be rigged in time for me -to drive over the next day and meet the doctor and his friend. - -They came as promised. It was a comfort to see friends of any -description, so I gave them a hearty welcome. Carriston took hold of -both my hands, and shook them so warmly that I began to feel I had -discovered a long-lost father of his in my friend. I had almost -forgotten the young fellow's appearance, or he looked a very different -man to-day from the one I had seen when last we met. Then he was a wan, -pensive, romantic, poetical-looking sort of fellow; now he seemed full -of energy, vitality, and grit. Poor old Brand looked as serious as an -undertaker engaged in burying his own mother. - -Carriston began to question me, but Brand stopped him. "You promised I -should make inquiries first," he said. Then he turned to me. - -"Look here, Richard,"--when he calls me Richard I know he is fearfully -in earnest--"I believe you have brought us down on a fool's errand; but -let us go to some place where we can talk together for a few minutes." - -I lead them across the road to the Railway Inn. We entered a room, and, -having for the sake of appearances ordered a little light refreshment, -told the waiter to shut the door from the outside. Brand settled down -with the air of a cross-examining counsel. I expected to see him pull -out a New Testament and put me on my oath. - -"Now, Richard," he said, "before we go further I want to know your -reasons for thinking this man, about whom you telegraphed, is -Carriston's man, as you call him." - -"Reasons! Why of course he is the man. Carriston gave me his photograph. -The likeness is indisputable--leaving the finger-joint out of the -question." - -Here Carriston looked at my cross-examiner triumphantly. The meaning of -that look I have never to this hour understood. But I laughed because I -knew old Brand had for once made a mistake, and was going to be called -to account for it. Carriston was about to speak, but the doctor waved -him aside. - -"Now, Richard, think very carefully. You speak of the missing -finger-joint. We doctors know how many people persuade themselves into -all sorts of thing. Tell me, did you notice the likeness before you saw -the mutilated finger, or did the fact of the finger's being mutilated -bring the likeness to your mind?" - -"Bless the man!" I said; "one would think I had no eyes. I tell you -there is no doubt about this man being the original of the photo." - -"Never mind; answer my question." - -"Well, then, I am ashamed to confess it, but I put the photo in my -pocket, and forgot all about it until I had recognized the man, and -pulled out the likeness to make sure. I didn't even know there was a -printed description at the foot, nor that any member was wanting. -Confound it, Brand! I'm not such a duffer as you think." - -Brand did not retaliate. He turned to his friend and said gravely, "To -me the matter is inexplicable. Take your own course, as I promised you -should." Then he sat down, looking deliciously crest-fallen, and wearing -the discontented expression always natural to him when worsted in -argument. - -It was now Carriston's turn. He plied me with many questions. In fact, I -gave him the whole history of my adventure. "What kind of house is it?" -he asked. - -"Better than a cottage--scarcely a farm-house. A place, I should think, -with a few miserable acres of bad land belonging to it. One of those -wretched little holdings which are simply curses to the country." - -He made lots of other inquiries, the purport of which I could not then -divine. He seemed greatly impressed when I told him that the man had -never for a moment left me alone. He shot a second glance of triumph at -Brand, who still kept silent, and looked as if all the wind had been -taken out of his sails. - -"How far is the place?" asked Carriston. "Could you drive me there after -dark?" - -At this question the doctor returned to life. "What do you mean to do?" -he asked his friend. "Let us have no nonsense. Even now I feel sure that -Fenton is mislead by some chance resemblance--" - -"Deuce a bit, old chap," I said. - -"Well, whether or not, we needn't do foolish things. We must go and -swear information, and get a search-warrant, and the assistance of the -police. The truth is, Richard," he continued, turning to me, "we have -reason to believe, or I should say Carriston persists in fancying, that -a friend of his has for some time been kept in durance by the man whom -you say you recognized." - -"Likely enough," I said. "He looked villain enough for anything up to -murder." - -"Anyway," said Brand, "we must do everything according to law." - -"Law! I want no law," answered Carriston. "I have found her, as I knew -I should find her. I shall simply fetch her, and at once. You can come -with me or stay here, as you like, doctor; but I am afraid I must -trouble your friend to drive me somewhere near the place he speaks of." - -Foreseeing an adventure and great fun--moreover, not unmoved by thoughts -of revenge--I placed myself entirely at Carriston's disposal. He -expressed his gratitude, and suggested that we should start at once. -In a few minutes we were ready, and mounted the dog-cart. Brand, after -grumbling loudly at the whole proceeding, finished up by following us, -and installing himself in the back seat. Carriston placed a parcel he -carried inside the cart, and away we went. - -It was now nearly dark, and raining cats and dogs. I had my lamps -lighted, so we got along without much difficulty. The roads were deep -with mud; but by this time the snow had been pretty nearly washed away -from everywhere. I don't make a mistake in a road twice, so in due -course we reached the scene of my upset. Here I drew up. - -"The house lies about five hundred yards up the lane," I told Carriston; -"we had better get out here." - -"What about the horse?" asked Brand. - -"No chance of any one passing this way on such a night as this; so let -us put out the lamps and tie him up somewhere." - -We did so; then struggled on afoot until we saw the gleam of light which -had been so welcomed by me two nights before. - -It was just about as dark as pitch; but guided by the light, we went on -until we stood in front of the house, where a turf bank and a dry hedge -hid us from sight, although on such a night we had little fear of our -presence being discovered. - -"What do you mean to do now?" asked Brand in a discontented whisper. -"You can't break into the house." - -Carriston said nothing for a minute; then I felt him place his hand on -my shoulder. - -"Are there any horses; any cows about the place?" he asked. - -I told him I thought that my surly friend rejoiced in the possession of -a horse and a cow. - -"Very well. Then we must wait. He'll come out to see to them before he -goes to bed," said Carriston, as decidedly as a general giving orders -just before a battle. - -I could not see how Brand expressed his feelings upon hearing this order -from our commander--I know I shrugged my shoulders, and if I said -nothing, I thought a deal. The present situation was all very well for a -strongly-interested party like Carriston, but he could scarcely expect -others to relish the prospect of waiting, it might be for hours, under -that comfortless hedge. We were all wet to the skin, and although I was -extremely anxious to see the end of the expedition, and find poetical -justice meted out to my late host, Carriston's Fabian tactics lacked the -excitement I longed for. Brand, in spite of his disapproval of the whole -course of action, was better off than I was. As a doctor, he must have -felt sure that, provided he could survive the exposure, he would secure -two fresh patients. However, we made no protest, but waited for events -to develop themselves. - - -IV. - -More than half an hour went by. I was growing numbed and tired, and -beginning to think that we were making asses of ourselves, when I heard -the rattle of a chain, and felt Carriston give my arm a warning touch. -No doubt my late host had made sure that his new door-fastenings were -equal to a stronger test than that to which I had subjected the former -ones; so we were wise in not attempting to carry his castle by force. - -The door opened, and closed again. I saw the feeble glimmer of a lantern -moving toward the out-house in which my horse had been stabled. I heard -a slight rustling in the hedge, and, stretching out my arm, found that -Carriston had left my side. In the absence of any command from him I did -not follow, but resumed the old occupation--waiting. - -In a few minutes the light of the lantern reappeared; the bearer stood -on the threshold of the house, while I wondered what Carriston was -doing. Just as the door was opened for the boor's readmittance, a dark -figure sprung upon him! I heard a fierce oath and cry of surprise; then -the lantern flew out of the man's hand, and he and his assailant tumbled -struggling through the narrow door-way. - -"Hurrah! the door is won, anyway!" I shouted, as, followed closely by -the doctor, I jumped over the hedge and rushed to the scene of the fray. - -Although Carriston's well-conceived attack was so vigorous and -unexpected that the man went down under it; although our leader utilized -the advantage he had gained in a proper and laudable manner, by bumping -that thick bullet-head as violently as he could against the flags on -which it lay; I doubt if, after all, he could have done his work alone. -The countryman was a muscular brute and Carriston but a stripling. -However, our arrival speedily settled the question. - -"Bind him!" panted Carriston; "there is a cord in my pocket." He -appeared to have come quite prepared for contingencies. Whilst Carriston -still embraced his prostrate foe, and Brand, to facilitate matters, -knelt on his shoulders, sat on his head, or did something else useful, I -drew out from the first pocket I tried a nice length of half-inch line, -and had the immense satisfaction of trussing up my scowling friend in a -most workmanlike manner. He must have felt those turns on his wrists for -days afterward. Yet when we were at last at liberty to rise and leave -him lying helpless on his kitchen-floor, I considered I exercised great -self-denial in not bestowing a few kicks upon him, as he swore at us in -the broadest vernacular in a way which, under the circumstances, was no -doubt a great comfort to him. - -We scarcely noticed the man's wife while we rendered her husband -helpless. As we entered she attempted to fly out, but Brand, with a -promptitude which I am glad to record, intercepted her, closed the door, -turned and pocketed the key. After that the woman sat on the floor and -rocked herself to and fro. - -For some moments, while recovering his breath, Carriston stood, and -positively glared at his prostrate foe. At last he found words. - -"Where is she? Where is the key, you hound?" he thundered out, stooping -over the fellow, and shaking him with a violence which did my heart -good. As he received no answers save the unrecordable expressions above -mentioned, we unbuttoned the wretch's pockets, and searched those greasy -receptacles. Among the usual litter we did certainly find a key. -Carriston snatched at it, and shouting "Madeline! Madeline! I come!" -rushed out of the room like a maniac, leaving Brand and me to keep guard -over our prisoners. - -I filled a pipe, lit it, and then came back to my fallen foe. - -"I say, old chap!" I said, stirring him gently with the toe of my boot, -"this will be a lesson to you. Remember, I told you that civility costs -nothing. If you had given me Christian bed accommodation instead of -making me wear out my poor bones on that infernal chair, you could have -jogged along in your rascality quite comfortably, so far as I am -concerned." - -He was very ungrateful--so much so that my desire to kick him was -intensified. I should not like to swear I did not to a slight degree -yield to the temptation. - -"Push a handkerchief in his mouth," cried Brand, suddenly. "A lady is -coming." - -With right good-will I did as the doctor suggested. - -Just then Carriston returned. I don't want to raise home tempests, yet -I must say he was accompanied by the most beautiful creature my eyes -have ever lighted upon. True, she was pale as a lily--looked thin and -delicate, and her face bore traces of anxiety and suffering, but for all -that she was beautiful--too beautiful for this world, I thought, as I -looked at her. She was clinging in a half-frightened, half-confiding way -to Carriston, and he--happy fellow!--regardless of our presence, was -showering down kisses on her sweet pale face. Confound it! I grow quite -romantic as I recall the sight of those lovers. - -A most curious young man, that Carriston! He came to us, the lovely girl -on his arm, without showing a trace of his recent excitement. - -"Let us go now," he said, as calmly as if he had been taking a quiet -evening drive. Then he turned to me. - -"Do you think, Mr. Fenton, you could without much trouble get the -dog-cart up to the house?" - -I said I would try to do so. - -"But what about these people?" asked Brand. - -Carriston gave them a contemptuous glance. "Leave them alone," he said. -"They are but the tools of another--him I cannot touch. Let us go." - -"Yes, yes. But why not verify your suspicions while you can?" - -Just like Brand! He's always wanting to verify everything. - -In searching for the key we had found some papers on our prisoner. Brand -examined them, and handed to Carriston an envelope which contained what -looked like bank-notes. - -Carriston glanced at it. "The handwriting is, of course, disguised," he -said, carelessly; "but the postmark shows whence it came. It is as I -always told you. You agree with me now?" - -"I am afraid I must," said Brand, humbly. "But we must do something -about this man," he continued. - -Hereupon Carriston turned to our prisoner. "Listen, you villain," he -said. "I will let you go scot-free if you breathe no word of this to -your employer for the next fortnight. If he learns from you what has -happened before that time, I swear you shall go to penal servitude. -Which do you choose?" - -I pulled out the gag, and it is needless to say which the fellow chose. - -Then I went off, and recovered the horse and cart. I relighted the -lamps, and with some difficulty got the dog-cart up to the house, -Carriston having exactly anticipated the events of the night. The parcel -he had brought with him contained a bonnet and a thick, warm cloth -cloak. His beautiful friend was equipped with these; then leaving the -woman of the house to untie her husband at her leisure and pleasure, -away we started; the doctor sitting by me; Carriston and the lady -behind. - -We just managed to catch the last train from C----. Not feeling sure -as to what form inquiries might take to-morrow, I thought it better to -go up to town with my friends; so, as we passed through Midcombe, I -stopped, paid my bill, and gave instructions for my luggage to be -forwarded to me. By six o'clock the next morning we were all in London. - - -DR. BRAND IN CONCLUSION. - -When I asked Fenton to relate his experiences I did not mean him to do -so at such length. But there, as he has written it, and as writing is -not a labor of love with him, let it go. - -When Madeline Rowan found the bed by the side of which she had thrown -herself in an ecstasy of grief untenanted, she knew in a moment that she -was the victim of a deep-laid plot. Being ignorant of Carriston's true -position in the world she could conceive no reason for the elaborate -scheme which have been devised to lure her so many miles from her home, -and make a prisoner of her. - -A prisoner she was. Not only was the door locked upon her, but a slip of -paper lay on the bed. It bore these words, "No harm is meant you, and -in due time you will be released. Ask no questions, make no foolish -attempts at escape, and you will be well-treated." - -Upon reading this the girl's first thought was one of thankfulness. -She saw at once that the reported accident to her lover was but an -invention. The probabilities were that Carriston was alive, and in -his usual health. Now that she felt certain of this, she could bear -anything. - -From the day on which she entered that room, to that on which we rescued -her, Madeline was to all intents and purposes as close a prisoner in -that lonely house on the hill-side as she might have been in the deepest -dungeon in the world. Threats, entreaties, promises of bribes availed -nothing. She was not unkindly treated--that is, suffered no absolute -ill-usage. Books, materials for needle-work, and other little aids to -while away time were supplied. But the only living creatures she saw -were the women of the house who attended to her wants, and, on one -or two occasions, the man whom Carriston asserted he had seen in his -trance. She had suffered from the close confinement, but had always felt -certain that sooner or later her lover would find her, and effect her -deliverance. Now that she knew he was alive she could not be unhappy. - -I did not choose to ask her why she had felt so certain on the above -points. I wished to add no more puzzles to the one which, to tell the -truth, exercised, even annoyed me, more than I care to say. But I did -ask her if, during her incarceration, her jailer had ever laid his hand -upon her. - -She told me that some short time after her arrival a stranger had gained -admittance to the house. Whilst he was there the man had entered her -room, held her arm, and threatened her with violence if she made any -outcry. After hearing this, I did not pursue the subject. - -Carriston and Madeline were married at the earliest possible moment, -and left England immediately after the ceremony. A week after their -departure, by Carriston's request, I forwarded the envelope found upon -our prisoner to Mr. Ralph Carriston. With it I sent a few lines stating -where and under what peculiar circumstances we had become possessed -of it. I never received any reply to my communication; so, wild and -improbable as it seems, I am bound to believe that Charles Carriston's -surmise was right--that Madeline was decoyed away and concealed, not -from any ill-will toward herself, but with a view to the possible -baneful effect which her mysterious disappearance might work upon her -lover's strange and excitable organization; and I firmly believe that -had he not in some inexplicable way been firmly convinced that she was -alive and faithful to him, the plot would have been a thorough success, -and Charles Carriston would have spent the rest of his days in an -asylum. - -Both Sir Charles--he succeeded to his title shortly after his -marriage--and Lady Carriston are now dead, or I should not have ventured -to relate these things concerning them. They had twelve years of -happiness. If measured by time the period was but a short one; but I -feel sure that in it they enjoyed more true happiness than many others -find in the course of a protracted life. In word, thought, and deed they -were as one. She died in Rome of fever, and her husband, without so far -as I know any particular complaint, simply followed her. - -I was always honored with their sincerest friendship, and Sir Charles -left me sole trustee and guardian to his three sons; so there are now -plenty of lives between Ralph Carriston and his desire. I am pleased to -say that the boys, who are as dear to me as my own children, as yet show -no evidence of possessing any gifts beyond nature. - -I know that my having made this story public will cause two sets of -objectors to fall equally foul of me--the matter-of-fact prosaic man who -will say that the abduction and subsequent imprisonment of Madeline -Rowan was an absurd impossibility, and the scientific man, like myself, -who cannot, dare not believe that Charles Carriston, from neither memory -nor imagination, could draw a face, and describe peculiarities, by -which a certain man could be identified. I am far from saying there may -not be a simple natural explanation of the puzzle, but I, for one, have -failed to find it, so close this tale as I began it by saying I am a -narrator, and nothing more. - - - - -EERIE TALES OF "CHINATOWN." - -Bits of ... Broken China - -By WILLIAM E. S. FALES - - A collection of captivating novelettes dealing with life in New - York's "Chinatown." - - The struggles and ambitions of the Chinaman in America, his - loves and jealousies, his hopes and fears, his sorrows, his - joys, these are the materials on which Mr. Fales has built his - book.... - - It is a _new field_, and all the more interesting on that - account. The author has made a life study of his subject; and no - one is better qualified than he to present a picture of this - romantic corner of New York where lives the exiled Chinaman.... - - "Bits of Broken China" is undoubtedly one of the most delightful - volumes for lighter reading published this season.... - - Bound in cloth. Gold top. Fully Illustrated - - Price, 75 Cents. - -STREET AND SMITH, _New York and London_ - - - - -A HERO OF THE SWORD. - -The King's Gallant - -By ALEXANDRE DUMAS. - - "The King's Gallant" is deserving of recognition, in that it is - not only a novelization of the earliest of Dumas' plays, but it - marks a distinct triumph in his career.... - - If this production is full of the rushing vigor of youth, it is - because its celebrated author was but a youth when he penned it, - yet it was the stepping stone which led to that upward flight - wherein he was speedily hailed as the "Wizard of Fiction."... - - It is a volume full of action with a strong plot and a truly - masterful deliniation of character.... - - 12mo. Cloth. Price, $1.00. - -STREET AND SMITH, _New York and London_ - - - - -THE STORY OF A FIGHT FOR A THRONE - -D'Artagnan, the King Maker ... - -By ALEXANDRE DUMAS. - - Written originally by Dumas as a play, and now for the first time - novelized and translated into English. - -_The Philadelphia Enquirer says:_ - - "A pretty love story in which the debonair cavalier falls victim - to Cupid's wiles is one of the interesting threads running - through the book."... - -_The Chicago Record-Herald says:_ - - "It is singular that this bit of romance has been suffered to - remain hidden away for so long a time. D'Artagnan's manner of - winning the hermit kingdom contains enough thrills to repay a - careful reading. The story oozes adventure at every chapter." - -_The Brooklyn Eagle says:_ - - "It is a strong tale brimful of incident from the moment when - Cardinal Richelieu dispatches the redoubtable D'Artagnan on his - king-making mission to Portugal."... - - 12mo., Illustrated. Price, $1.00. - -STREET AND SMITH, _New York and London_ - - - - -A BOOK FULL OF "HUMAN" INTEREST. - -QUEER PEOPLE - -By WILLIAM HENRY BISHOP. - -_Author of_ "DETMOLD." - - Not one story, but a number of charming storyettes, terse, - snappy and absorbingly interesting.... - - There is a delightful pen sketch of a woman of small means who - aspires to a connection with the smart set. Her attempts to - disguise the true state of affairs from her out-of-town friends - are laughable; but the fun becomes tinged with pathos when she - borrows a furnished mansion for an evening, and a rich relative, - invited to dine with her, uncloaks the pitiable fraud.... - - The promising boy and the fond patroness are the chief - characters in another brilliant character study in "Queer - People."... - - 12mo., Cloth. Price, $1.00. - -STREET AND SMITH, _New York and London_ - - - - -THE STORY OF A HOPELESS LOVE. - -Tons of Treasure - -By WILLIAM HENRY BISHOP. - -_Author of_ "DETMOLD." - - When two women love one man there is usually trouble brewing. - Nor is the story which Mr. Bishop has to tell an exception. His - hero is a manly New Yorker, who is fired with a zeal to "make - good" a defalcation accredited to his dead father.... - - In quest of gold he visits Mexico and there meets a dreamy-eyed - maid who straightway gives him first place in her heart. But an - American girl has already won his love. It is a pathetic - situation and if one true woman's heart breaks before the man's - mission is ended who is to blame? - - There are many touching incidents in the book, but none more - full of pathos than when the woman who loves bares her soul to - the woman who is loved.... - - 12mo., Cloth. Price, $1.00. - -STREET AND SMITH, _New York and London_ - - - - -A PEEP BEHIND THE SCENES. - -Among the Freaks - -By W. L. ALDEN. - - Here is a volume of unique interest, dealing as it does with the - fortunes and misfortunes of the various "freaks" to be found in - a Dime Museum. It relates the woes of the original Wild Man of - Borneo, tells how the Fat Woman tried to elope, of the marvelous - mechanical tail the dwarf invented, of how the Mermaid boiled - her tail, and of a thrilling plot hatched out by the Giant and - others. Full of telling illustrations. Easily one of the best - works this gifted writer has ever produced.... - - 18mo., Cloth. Price, 75 cents. - -STREET AND SMITH, _New York and London_ - - - - -Transcriber's Note - - -Words in italics were surrounded by _underscores_, and small capitals -changed to all capitals. - -A table of contents has been added. - -In the original the pagenumbers started again from the second story, -this has been changed for reader convenience. - -Obvious errors in punctuation have been corrected. Also the following -corrections have been made, on page - - 55 "anb" changed to "and" (and up towards the dizzy crown) - 68 "out" changed to "but" (understood and enjoyed at home, but - foreigners, especially) - 117 "proprosition" changed to "proposition" (applause of her - proposition.) - 135 "Cattelton" changed to "Cattleton" (Cattleton sprung to his - feet) - 150 "come" changed to "came" (Mr. Herbert came to the rescue.) - 153 "pursuade" changed to "persuade" (you would only persuade my - father) - 156 "insistance" changed to "insistence" (Miss Herbert's insistence - that two or three roses) - 157 double "to" removed (one of his many boys to take Jerry's - place.) - 158 "striken" changed to "stricken" (were stricken with a great - wonder.) - 160 "despict" changed to "depict" (that face might depict passions - stronger than those) - 172 "XIII." changed to "III." (CHAPTER III.) - 172 "neice" changed to "niece" (whilst driving with her niece) - 177 "Ht" changed to "At" (At last he could bear) - 182 "prom-" changed to "promise" (if you will promise to be) - 185 "is" added (it is as well you cannot) - 195 "tarning" changed to "turning" (listlessly turning the leaves - of) - 200 "Bettwsy-Coed" changed to "Bettws-y-Coed" (and made - Bettws-y-Coed my headquarters.) - 213 "with out" changed to "without" (possessed them without due - trial) - 215 "apearance" changed to "appearance" (no less than his - appearance.) - 220 "Cowan's" changed to "Rowan's" (inquiries as to Miss Rowan's - parentage.) - 223 "augument" changed to "augmented" (embellished and augmented by - each one) - 231 "stared" changed to "started" (before he started for France) - 235 "neice" changed to "niece" (had left her niece all of which she - died possessed.) - 257 "gibly" changed to "glibly" (If the tale he told so glibly and - circumstantially) - 260 "Carrisson" changed to "Carriston" (as Carriston averred) - 263 double "was" removed (of these precious photographs was sent - home) - 267 "habi tof" changed to "habit of" (to shake off the bad habit of - giving in) - 280 "misbegotton" changed to "misbegotten" (that small portion of - his misbegotten frame.) - 282 "Midcomb" changed to "Midcombe" (nearest station to Midcombe, - until three o'clock) - 288 "faciliate" changed to "facilitate" (to faciliate matters) - 288 "immence" changed to "immense" (and had the immense satisfaction - of) - 293 "rereived" changed to "received" (I never received any reply). - -Otherwise the original has been preserved, including inconsistencies in -spelling, hyphenation and punctuation. - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's A Fortnight of Folly, by Maurice Thompson - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A FORTNIGHT OF FOLLY *** - -***** This file should be named 41660-8.txt or 41660-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/1/6/6/41660/ - -Produced by eagkw, Suzanne Shell and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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