diff options
Diffstat (limited to '41823-8.txt')
| -rw-r--r-- | 41823-8.txt | 9728 |
1 files changed, 0 insertions, 9728 deletions
diff --git a/41823-8.txt b/41823-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index e250188..0000000 --- a/41823-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,9728 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Belford's Magazine, Vol II, No. 10, March -1889, by Various - -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: Belford's Magazine, Vol II, No. 10, March 1889 - -Author: Various - -Release Date: January 12, 2013 [EBook #41823] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BELFORD'S MAGAZINE, MARCH, 1889 *** - - - - -Produced by Barbara Tozier, Bill Tozier, JoAnn Greenwood, -and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at -http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - - Transcriber's Note: The following Table of Contents was not - present in the original and has been added for the convenience - of readers. - - Remaining transcriber's notes are at the end of the text. - - WEALTH AND ITS CONSEQUENCES. - A YOUNG GIRL'S IDEAL. - THISTLE-DOWN. - NOVELISTS ON NOVELS. - A QUEEN'S EPITAPH. - THE COST OF THINGS. - ASLEEP. - A COUPLE OF VAGABONDS. - A MEMORY. - THE NIGHT OF THE FRENCH BALL. - DOES THE HIGH TARIFF AFFECT OUR EDUCATIONAL SYSTEM? - MARCH 4th, 1889. - EDITORIAL DEPARTMENT. - THE PASSING SHOW. - REVIEWS. - THE APPEAL. - A COVENANT WITH DEATH. - - - - - BELFORD'S MAGAZINE. - - VOL. II. MARCH, 1889. NO. 10. - - - - -_WEALTH AND ITS CONSEQUENCES._ - - -When the government established by our forefathers became a recognized -fact both at home and abroad, and for three-quarters of a century -thereafter, no one dreamed that the greatest danger which threatened -its existence was the wealth which might accumulate within its realm; -indeed, no one ever dreamed of the possibilities which lay in that -direction. - -It is only during the past twenty years that the accumulation of -wealth has entered into the problem. Down to the period of 1861, the -only disturbing element of any magnitude was slavery. It was the -slavery problem which weighed so heavily upon the "godlike" Webster. -It was an ever-present, ghastly, and hideous form, appealing to his -patriotic soul. It is certain that it cast a shadow of melancholy over -his whole life. But Mr. Webster did not live to witness the dreadful -loss of life and treasure, and the awful gloom, of its going out. - -There is a question now of far greater magnitude than that which was -settled by the sword, and that is the question of the enormous wealth, -and its increase in the hands of the few. No reference is now made to -the owners of the thousands or the hundreds of thousands--to the -industrious and prosperous people scattered all over the land; for -moderate wealth, universally diffused, is the prime safeguard of a -nation: but I refer to the millions, the tens of millions, and the -hundreds of millions owned and controlled by the few. - -The ignorant poor and the no less ignorant rich may ridicule or sneer -at the expression of fear that harm may come to the Republic on -account of great wealth; but ridicule never settled any question. -Ridicule is always the weapon of the ignorant and the vicious. None -but the ignorant will ridicule the subject, for the history of the -world reveals the destruction of nations on account of wealth--never -from poverty. - -What if a man does have millions--is it any of the people's business? -is the query of the ignorant. This is the question that is to be -solved. This is, in fact, the supreme question. If the government is a -government of the people and for the people, under the people's -Constitution the people have the right to protect themselves. If the -possession of millions by any person is a menace to the liberties of -the people and to the permanence of their government, the people have -the right to legislate upon the matter and to protect themselves. That -this Republic belongs to the people, no one can doubt. That it was -established, by their blood and treasure, as an asylum for the -oppressed of all nations and the perpetual abode of free men, every -page of American history attests. The protest of our forefathers to -British tyranny, the Declaration of Independence, the war which -followed, the steps taken for the adoption of a Constitution, the Bill -of Rights, and the Constitution all declare, in terms not to be -mistaken, the right of the people to protection against foes from -within and foes from without. How this menace will be met I have no -means of knowing; but that it must be met, or sooner or later the -Republic will be destroyed, no intelligent man can doubt. - -As matters now stand, bad as they are, it might perhaps be endurable; -but wealth accumulates, and the man with ten millions to-day may have -a hundred millions in ten years, and the man with a hundred millions -may have a thousand. There is not a king or an emperor on a throne -to-day that would be safe a single moment with a subject possessing a -thousand million dollars; and can it be expected that a Republic would -be safer? The wealth of the Rothschilds was for a long time the wonder -of the world. They held the purse-strings of nearly all Europe; kings, -emperors, and principalities were and are yet at their mercy. But the -wealth of the Rothschilds, the accumulations of generations, pales -into insignificance before the wealth of the Vanderbilts, the Goulds, -the Astors, the Lelands, the Carnegies, and the Spreckels, when the -period of acquisition is taken into account. History fails to record -any accumulation of wealth so rapid and so colossal as that which has -taken place in this country, and during a period of from five to -twenty-five years. - -The wealth of the Rothschilds has been the marvel of generations until -within the past decade; but their wealth ceases to dazzle and -bewilder even the youths of America in this generation. Their wealth, -however, has been the accumulation of a hundred and twenty-five years, -with all Europe for their field of operations. Their accumulations do -not represent the robbery of the masses. They never levied a tax upon -or demanded a toll upon the necessaries of life. Their operations were -mainly confined to the negotiation of loans, the placing of -investments for the wealthy men of Europe, and to the legitimate -sphere of banking. They had a bank in the capitals of France, Austria, -Italy, England, and Prussia; but neither of those nations ever gave -them the authority to issue money. The toiling millions of Europe are -taxed to maintain armies and support dynasties; but they were never -the subjects of a moneyed aristocracy, or victims to their cupidity, -in the sense that American toilers are. Emperors and kings did indeed -make their burdens heavy, and oft-times intolerable, but they taxed to -maintain their governments. They were the sole despots or robbers; and -there is this difference between the robbers of Europe and those of -America: that European despots maintained a government, while the -American despots rob the people, by the aid of the government, for -purely personal profit. True, the Rothschilds' power was great. They -could probably make or unmake kings; but their power was never used to -build up towns and cities in one section of country and tear them down -in another; to build up manufacturing establishments and great -commercial monopolies in one kingdom or state, and destroy them -elsewhere. They never attempted to control lines of transportation, -corner the price of meat, bread, coffee, sugar, light, fuel, and other -necessaries of life. No such operations were ever attempted by them, -and no king or emperor would have been safe a day upon his throne who -would have permitted such crimes as have been and are openly -perpetrated by the millionaires of our country in their operations -with beef, pork, coffee, oil, coal, sugar, wheat, and almost every -other necessary of life. Under an absolute, or even a limited -monarchy, these evils can be prevented or remedied; but as yet no -means have been discovered to remedy or prevent them under our form of -government. - -Events of great magnitude crowd fast upon each other in our rapidly -growing country. New questions of great importance and new phases of -old questions have arisen and assumed huge proportions in a brief -period, requiring the highest virtue, intelligence, and patriotism to -deal with; and, while yet there may appear no constitutional means for -protection against the illegitimate use of wealth under the operation -of trusts and syndicates, without infringing upon the constitutional -rights of citizens, it is absolutely certain that a way must be found -to do so, or this great Republic, which promised so much for humanity, -will cease to exist, and the hope of a "government of the people, for -the people, and by the people" will be crushed from out the hearts of -men. - - N. G. PARKER. - - - - -_A YOUNG GIRL'S IDEAL._ - - -There are people one meets with now and then who seem so perfectly -fitted to their age and condition that it is difficult and almost -painful to imagine them in any other--some old ladies, for instance, -so sweet-faced, cheery-hearted, and placid-minded that one rebels -against the reflection that they were ever crude, impulsive girls or -busy matrons; and some busy matrons there are whose supply of energy -and capacity seems so admirably to equal the demands made upon it -that, for them, girlhood and old age appear to be alike--states of -lacking opportunity; and, in the third place, there are crude, -impulsive girls who wear these attributes so blithely that one does -not want to think of them developed and matured. - -Of these was Kate Severn, aged eighteen--a tall, brown-skinned, -brown-eyed, brown-haired creature, so richly and freshly tinted that -these three shades blended, in a beautiful harmony, in a face of -rounded lines and gracious curves such as belong alone to the lovely -time of youth. She was an affectionate and dutiful daughter to her -widowed mother, whose only child she was, and yet almost everyone who -heard Kate Severn talked about at all heard her called cold, the basis -of this appellation being a disinclination to the society and -attentions of young gentlemen, which, in a girl of her age and -appearance, seemed a positive eccentricity. She had had this trait -from a child, when she would fly into sudden rages and fight and -scratch the little boys who called her their sweetheart; and it had -grown with her growth. Every summer, when she and her mother would -come back to the old country-place, near the dull little town of -Marston, where all the summers of her life had been spent, this -determination to avoid the society of young men was more resolutely -set forth by her looks and tones. It was not so aggressive as -formerly, for she had acquired a fine dignity with her advancing -girlhood, and was too proud not to avoid the danger of being called -ridiculous. Therefore, her resentment of all masculine approaches was -now quiet and severe, where it had once been angry and vehement; but -it was as positive as ever, as the youth of Marston had reason to -know. They said they didn't mind it, but they did immensely. A -favorite remark among them was that, if she could stand it, they -could--and stand it she did, magnificently. Who that saw her, driving -her smart trap and strong bay horse along the country roads of -Marston, with rein taut and whip alert, her erect and beautiful figure -strikingly contrasted with her little mother's bent and fragile one, -could suppose for one instant that it mattered an atom to her whether -those were men or wooden images that walked the streets of Marston or -drove about its suburbs, having their salutes to the tall cart -returned by a swift, cool bow from its driver, who disdained to rest -her handsome eyes upon them long enough to discern the half-indignant, -half-admiring gazes with which they looked after her. - -She was not, at heart, an unsocial creature, and in her childhood had -been rather a favorite with the girls who came in contact with her, -but she always was unlike them; and this dissimilarity now constituted -a distinct isolation for her, since the fact that she had herself no -beaux,--to use the term in vogue in Marston society,--and took no -interest in hearing of those of her girl friends, left the latter much -at a loss for topics, and forced upon Kate herself the conviction that -she had not the power of interesting them. Dr. Brett, the country -doctor who was her mother's physician and chief friend when she came -to her country home, used to try to adjust matters for Kate, and made -many praiseworthy efforts to promote a spirit of sociability between -her and the young people of Marston, each and every one of which was a -flat failure. At last he had given up in despair and let the matter -drop, for Kate, in this her eighteenth summer, was more difficult, as -well as taller, straighter, and handsomer, than ever. So reflected Dr. -Brett as he drove homeward from his first visit to the Severns, -feeling a good deal cheered by the recurrence into his humdrum life of -this attractive mother and daughter, who received him into their home -with a cordiality and friendliness enjoyed by a few people only. Mrs. -Severn was an invalid, and unequal to seeing much company; and Kate, -though the very opposite of an invalid, had contrived, as I have -shown, to cut herself off from society--in Marston, at least--rather -effectually. She liked Dr. Brett, and seemed always glad to see him--a -departure in his favor which he was not old enough to relish -altogether. Still, the gods had provided him a pleasant spot of -refreshment in the midst of a rather dull professional routine, and -he gladly made the most of it. Kate, who was extremely fastidious, -criticized him severely to her mother, and regretted very often that a -man who had some capabilities should neglect his appearance as he -did--allowing his face and hands to get so sunburned, his hair to grow -so long, and his clothes to look so shabby and old-fashioned. - -Perhaps the reason that she was so hard upon good Dr. Brett was -accounted for by the fact that this man-repudiating young lady carried -about in her mind a beautiful ideal of her own, of whose existence, -even in this immaterial form, no being in the world besides herself -had a suspicion. His appearance, in truth, was wholly and entirely -ideal, but he was founded on fact, and that fact was a certain -manuscript which five years ago she had fished up from an old box in -the garret. This garret had been for generations the receptacle for -all the old, disused belongings of the Severns; and it had been Kate's -delight, from childhood up, to explore its old chests and trunks, and -invent for herself vivid stories of the old-time ladies and gentlemen -to whom had belonged these queer old gowns and uniforms--these scant -petticoats and meagre waists, and these knee-breeches and lace-trimmed -coats. There were spinning-wheels and guitars to suggest poses for the -women, and cocked hats and swords for the men. As she grew older, -these childish games lost part of their charm for her, and these mere -suits and trappings of the creatures of her imagination gave her such -a sense of lack that she turned to some old papers in one of the -boxes, in the hope that she might get some light upon the spirits and -souls that had animated them. In her own fair young body there had -arisen certain insistent demands which there was nothing in the life -she led to supply. The tortures of the Inquisition would not have -drawn this confession from her; but so indeed it was, and I must have -sketched the personality of this young lady very clumsily indeed if it -has not appeared that, beneath this independent, self-sufficing -surface, there was a heart full of romance and sentiment, a feeling -all the stronger for being denied a vent. - -It was an era in Kate Severn's life--that rainy day in late -summertime, when she found in the garret the old roll of manuscript -from which was formulated the ideal that afterward so wholly took -possession of her. It was a budget of closely written sheets, on blue -paper turned white at the edges with age. The ink used must have been -of exceptionally good quality, for it was still dark and distinct. The -writing was clear, and done with a very fine pen--but there were -evidences of haste. This, however, was not to be wondered at, for the -subject was an exciting one, and Kate pictured to herself, with -enthusiasm, the exquisite young gentleman (whom she promptly invested -with the blue-velvet, lace-ruffled coat, and the handsome hat and -sword which were among the paraphernalia of the attic) bending his -ardent, impassioned gaze over the sheets on which were written such -beautiful, fervent, reverential love-words. It was not in the form of -a letter, though it was a direct appeal, or, rather, a sort of -aspiration, from the heart of a man for the love of a woman. There was -not a name in it from beginning to end, and there was a sort of -impersonal tone in it that made Kate believe that it was addressed to -an imagined woman instead of a known one. This thought occurred to her -even in that first breathless perusal, and all the subsequent ones -(which were countless, for she was subject to certain moods in which -this old manuscript was her only balm) confirmed it. In consequence of -this conviction, she did a most un-Kate-like thing. It required only a -slight effort of that powerful imagination of hers to put herself in -the place of this loved and importuned lady; and she actually went so -far as to compose and indite answer after answer to this fond -appeal--impassioned outpourings of a heart which was full and had to -be emptied. These she would lock away in her desk, along with the -precious blue manuscript--and read and amplify from time to time. - -She had never told anyone about the finding of this manuscript, though -she had questioned her mother frequently and closely about the various -contents of the attic boxes, only to hear repeated the statement that -they were all belongings of the Severns, and had been in the house -long before her occupancy. So this precious manuscript, it must -appear, was written by some by-gone relative of her father, who, it -pleased her to believe, had died with all these beautiful aspirations -unfulfilled. That was a thought that smiled upon far more than the -picture of her ideal hero comfortably settled as a commonplace husband -and father, with degenerate modern descendants. So Kate, who had no -lovers in reality, made the most of this impalpable essence of one. -And really he suited her much better. She could endow him with all the -attributes that she admired, and even alter these at will, as her -state of mind changed or her tastes developed, and a real lover could -never have kept pace with her so well. Then, too, she could imagine -him as beautiful and elegant as she desired--and she loved beauty and -elegance in a man so much that she had never seen one yet who came up -to her standard. She invested him with the most gorgeous changes of -apparel--the blue velvet coat in the old trunk being one of his -commonest costumes. It is true that it did not occur to her that, to -fit the wishes of the manuscript to the time of the knee-breeches and -lace ruffles, etc., suggested the propriety of his expressing himself -in old English, while that of the blue manuscript was quite modern; -but an anachronism or two of this sort was a trifling matter in so -broad a scheme as hers. One effect of the finding of the paper was to -make Miss Kate far more than ever scrupulous in her person, and gentle -and courteous in her ways, for, although she had no superstitious idea -that he really saw her out of the spirit-world, still it was her pride -and pleasure to be what she knew he would have her to be. So she -dressed herself in very charming gowns, with a slight expression of -old-timeness about them that was not unnatural, and wore her severe, -scant coifs and little folded kerchief with a prim grace that was a -matter of contemporaneous benefit. Her mother and Dr. Brett got the -most of it, for out-of-doors her dress was necessarily conventional, -and out-of-doors, also, she encountered so many antagonistic elements -that she was often made to feel that her bearing and state of mind -were not such as her loyal knight would have approved. That he was a -person of the gentlest heart, the kindest nature, the most loving -spirit, no one who read those heartfelt words of his could doubt. Very -often he would interrupt his rhapsodies to his lady-love to prostrate -himself before himself, at the thought of his unworthiness to ask the -love of so divine and perfect a being as her whom he addressed. How -great, then, was the necessity laid upon her who had appropriated -these addresses to be circumspect in thought and act! - -So Kate grew every day more sweet and winning, until Dr. Brett began -to wonder how he could ever have thought her hard and conceited--as he -confessed to himself, with abasement, that he had. She felt that her -knight and lover would have wished her to be kind to this poor, lonely -old doctor, who was so good to the sick and humble about him, and led -such a cheerless, companionless, bachelor existence; and she used to -make his cup of tea in the evenings when he would drop in to see her -mother at the close of a hard day's work, and minister to his comfort -in a manner that was certainly new to her. Before the finding of that -manuscript, it was little enough that she had cared about his comfort; -but now it seemed of real importance to her. The more his country-made -clothes, and sun-burned hands, and awkward, heavy shoes grated on her, -the more it came home to her how she would be pleasing some one who -wore velvet coats, with rich lace ruffles that bordered tapering white -hands, and with shapely feet encased in fine silk stockings and fine -diamond-buckled slippers--if he could see her! Hers was quite a happy -love affair, and she had no occasion to mourn her lover dead, as she -had not known him living--so, as yet, he had brought only pleasure -into her life. - -It was at the age of sixteen that Kate had found the blue manuscript, -and so her _affaire_ was a matter of two years' date when she returned -to Marston on the occasion of her eighteenth summer. The blue-coated -knight had held his own with inviolate security during those two -years, and Kate was as indifferent as ever to the approaches of the -youth and valor of Marston. So she and her mother settled quickly down -into the routine of the old dull life. The usual visitors called, but -they, too, were dull, and therefore undisturbing, and life flowed -monotonously on. It was only a little less quiet existence than the -one she led in winter in the city, for she never went to parties, and -not often to the theatre unless there happened to be some unusual -musical attraction; and her friends and relatives, of whom there were -quite a number, gave her up as an incorrigibly queer girl, whom no one -need try and do anything for. It is true she had her music and -painting lessons there, which were some variety and diversion, but she -practised both here in the country; and the life, on the whole, -pleased her better. Her eccentricity, as it was called, was commented -on by fewer people, and she had more time for those delicious reveries -over the old blue manuscript. She loved, on rainy days, when it was -not too warm up there, to steal off to the garret and look at the blue -coat, and the sword, and hat, etc., and feel herself a little nearer, -in that way, to her knight. It seemed a very lonely time indeed, when -she looked back to the years and days before the finding of the -manuscript. It had introduced an element into her life almost as -strong as reality. And yet there were times--and they came oftener, -now that womanhood was ripening--when a great emptiness and longing -got hold of her, and the blue manuscript, which had once been so -sufficient, would not satisfy her. She hugged it closer to her heart -than ever, though, and all it represented to her. She often told -herself it suited her a great deal better than marriage, which she had -always looked upon as a grinding and grovelling existence for a woman, -and expressed and felt a fine superiority to. It was quite too -commonplace and humdrum an affair for her, and she told herself, with -emphasis and distinctness, that she was quite content with an ideal -love. And yet, to mock her, came the thought of the pictured domestic -life which the blue manuscript had so tenderly described--with such -longings for the fireside, the home circle, the family love that she -held in scorn. She got the old blue paper and read it over, and those -words of winning tenderness brought the tears to her eyes. She found -herself half wishing, for his sake, while a numb pain seized her heart -for herself, that he had lived to realize these sweet dreams of home -and domestic love. If that was so, her ideal was gone, and how could -she do without it, seeing she had nothing else? The tears became too -thick, the pain in her throat was unsupportable, she felt the great -sobs rising, and, springing up, she rushed down the stairs, flew to -her room, bathed her face and adjusted her toilet, and then went down -to make tea for her mother and Dr. Brett, after which she played away -the spirit of sadness and unrest with all the gay and brilliant music -she knew. By bed-time she was her own calm self, and the next day she -regarded her strange mood with wonder, but she could not forget that -it had been, and she was horribly afraid of its recurrence. - -One morning she was driving herself alone in her pretty cart along a -shady road that ran outside the town, when she recognized Dr. Brett's -buggy and horse fastened to a tree near a small shady house. This was -nothing to surprise her, for he was always working away on poor and -helpless people who couldn't pay him, and she would have passed on -without giving the matter a second thought, but that, just as she got -to the dilapidated little gate, a woman rushed out of the house, with -a girl of about fourteen after her, both of them screaming and -throwing their hands about in a way that caused Kate's horse to take -fright and gave her all she could do to control him for the next few -minutes. He ran for a little way straight down the road, but she soon -got him in hand and turned back to inquire into the cause of the -trouble. The two females were still whooping and gesticulating in the -yard, and the scene had been furthermore enlivened by the addition of -three or four dirty and half-clothed children, who were also crying. -Just as Kate came up, Dr. Brett appeared in the doorway, with his coat -off and a very angry expression on his face. He caught hold of the -woman and gave her an energetic shake, telling her to hold her tongue -and control her children; and just at this point he looked up and -caught sight of Kate, gazing down upon the scene from the top of her -pretty cart, whose horse was now as quiet as a lamb. - -"What is the matter?" asked Kate, while the whole party suspended -their screams a moment to gaze at her. - -"I wish to goodness you could help me," said Dr. Brett, half -desperately. "I was about to perform a very simple operation on this -woman's child and had everything in readiness, supposing I could trust -her to assist me, when she began to bawl like an idiot, and -demoralized this child who was helping me, too, and simply upset the -whole thing. I came out to see if there was anyone in sight who could -give me some assistance; but of course--" - -"I'll help you," said Kate at once, beginning to get down from the -cart. "I suppose if these people could do it I could--at least I won't -lose my head." - -"Oh, if you only would help!" said Dr. Brett. "I can't stop to tie -your horse even. I must see about the child. Here, somebody come tie -this horse, and keep out of the way, every one of you! If I hear any -more howling out here, I'll box the ears of the whole party!" And with -these words he disappeared into the house. - -A small boy came up and took the horse's rein, and the woman promised -eagerly that they would take care of everything. She was still half -sobbing, and began to make excuses for herself, saying she couldn't a -stayed to see it done, not if she'd die for it. - -Kate did not stop to listen to her, but ran up the rickety steps, -drawing off her long gloves as she did so, and entered the wretched -little room. She had only time to take in its expression of squalor -and destitution, when she paused abruptly, affrighted, in spite of -herself, at the sight before her. On a table in the middle of the room -was stretched a little child, dressed in a clean white frock, and with -a fair little face, above which gleamed a mass of rich auburn curls. -She glanced at the pretty face in its statuesque repose, and then saw -that the little legs, bare from the knees, were horribly deformed, the -feet being curled inward in a frightfully distorted manner. - -"Is it dead?" said Kate, in a hushed whisper. - -"Dead? My dear young lady, you don't suppose I've asked you to assist -at a post-mortem," said the doctor cheerily, as he chose an instrument -out of his case. "It's bad enough as it is. I don't know what I'll say -of myself when this thing's over. But tell me! do you think you can -stand it? There'll be only a few drops of blood. But I can put it off, -if you say so. Tell the truth!" - -"I don't want you to put it off," said Kate. "I am perfectly ready to -help you. Tell me what to do." - -She smelt the strong fumes of chloroform now, and realized that the -child was under its influence and would feel no pain, and the -knowledge strengthened her. She watched the doctor as he bent over and -lifted one little hand, letting it drop back heavily, and then raised -up one eyelid, for a second, and examined the pupil. - -"All right," he said. "Now, are you frightened or nervous?" - -"Not in the least," she answered, calmly, feeling a wonderful strength -come into her as she met his steady, confident, reassuring gaze. It -was strange, but it was the first time she had noticed how fine his -eyes were. - -"That's right," he said; "I knew you were not a coward. Now you must -watch the child's face carefully, and at the first movement or sign of -returning consciousness you must douse some chloroform out of that -bottle inside that towel, and hold it cone-shaped, as it is, over the -baby's nose and mouth; I'll tell you how long. Don't be frightened; -there's not the least danger of giving too much, and the operation is -extremely simple and short." - -As he spoke the baby contracted its face a little and turned its head. - -"See--I'll show you," he said. And wetting the towel from the bottle -he put it over the baby's face and held it there a little while, -looking up at Kate, into whose face a sweet compassion had gathered, -softening and beautifying it wonderfully. She was not looking at him, -but down at the baby; and with a wonderful movement of tenderness she -laid her fair hand on the poor deformed feet and gave them a little -gentle pressure. She was utterly unconscious of herself or she -couldn't have done it. Theoretically, she hated children. - -The doctor now took his position at the foot of the table, and holding -one of the child's feet in his hand, felt with his thumb and -forefinger for a second and then made a slight incision. Kate saw one -big drop of blood come out and then turned her eyes to the face of the -child, as she had been instructed. The little creature was sleeping as -sweetly as if in a noonday nap, and looked so unconscious and placid -that it seemed all the more pitiful. She bent over and smoothed the -bright curls, and then kissed the soft cheek. - -"Poor little man!" she murmured, softly. She thought no one heard. -Suddenly, behind her, there was a little snap. - -"Hear that?" said the doctor, cheerfully. "_That's_ all right." - -She looked around and saw he was holding his thumb over the little cut -he had made, and looking across at her with an encouraging smile. - -"You're first-rate," he said, heartily. "I wish that screaming idiot -could see how a brave woman behaves." - -"Ah, but she is its mother!" said Kate, in a tender voice, "and it's -such a little dear. I don't wonder she loves it!" - -Was this really Kate Severn? He didn't have time to think whether it -was or not, for the blood had stopped, and he now took up the other -foot. At the same time the baby moved again and gave a little whimper. -Kate promptly doused the towel and put it over the child's face, who, -at its next breath, relapsed into unconsciousness. - -"First-rate!" said the doctor again. "That will do for this time," and -then proceeded with the other foot. Again Kate heard the little -snapping sound, as the tendon was cut, though her eyes were fixed upon -the placid face of the child. - -"Now look, if you want to see a pair of straight little feet," said -the doctor. And she turned around and saw, as he had said, instead of -that curled deformity, two natural childish feet. - -"Wonderful!" said the girl. "Oh, how thankful you must be that you are -capable of such a thing as this!" - -The doctor laughed his cheery, pleasant laugh. - -"Why next to nobody could do that," he said. But it was plain that her -commendation pleased him. - -He then rapidly explained to her how into the vessel of warm water -standing by she was to dip the little rolls of plaster spread between -long strips of gauze, and rolled up like bolts of ribbon, and squeeze -them out and hand them to him very promptly as he needed them. - -"Never mind watching the baby," he said. "If it cries you must clap -the towel over its face. You've got enough to do to watch me, and hand -me the plaster as I need it." - -Kate obeyed implicitly, and in a little while both feet had been -deftly and neatly bandaged, from the toes to the knees, with the -plaster bandages, and the little creature, appearing suddenly -unnaturally long from this transformation, was pronounced intact. - -"That's all," said the doctor. "As soon as I wash my hands I'll lay it -on the bed." - -"Let me," said Kate, hastily drying her own hands. And while he -pretended to be engrossed in his ablutions he watched her curiously, -as she lifted the baby tenderly and laid it on the bed. As she put it -down she bent over and kissed it, murmuring sweet words, as a mother -might have done. - -"You must have the legs very straight," he said, coming over and -standing at the bed's foot that he might the more accurately see them. -"In an hour the plaster will be perfectly hard, and then they can move -it anywhere. That's a good job, if we did do it ourselves," he said, -with a bright smile. - -"Oh, may I go and tell the mother?" said Kate, eagerly. "How happy -she'll be to see those straight little legs!" - -She went out and called the mother in. The woman's excitement had -changed into stolidness, and she showed far less feeling in the matter -than Kate had done. She looked at the child, without speaking, and -then said she guessed she'd better clean up all this muss, and -proceeded to set things to rights. Kate was indignant, and showed it -in the look she cast at Dr. Brett, who smiled indulgently in reply, -and said in a low tone, coming near her, "That manner is half -embarrassment. I'm sure she really cares." - -While he was wiping and putting up his instruments, Kate went back to -the bed, a little whimper having warned her that baby was coming to. - -"Don't let him move if you can help it," said the doctor, and she -dropped on her knees by the bed, and began to talk to the child in the -prettiest way, taking out her watch and showing it to him, holding it -to his ear that he might hear it tick, and occupying his attention so -successfully that he lay quite still, gazing up at her with great -earnest brown eyes, and giving a simultaneous little grin and grunt -now and then. Dr. Brett came up and stood behind her for a few moments -unnoticed, observing her with a strange scrutiny. "Who would have -expected a thing like this from this queer girl?" he said to himself. -Then, aloud, he informed Miss Severn that the baby might safely be -left to its mother now; and she got up at once, and, seeing he was -ready to go, followed him out of the house. - -He unfastened her horse and brought the cart to the gate, and, as she -mounted to her seat and took the reins, she looked down at him and -said impulsively: - -"I'm so glad you let me help you. Is this your life--going about all -the time doing good and curing evil? I never thought how beautiful it -was. If I can ever give you help again, let me do it; won't you?" - -"That you shall," he said, and seemed about to add more, but something -stopped the words in his throat, and she drove off, wondering what -they would have been. The mingled surprise and delight in his eyes -made her long to know them. As she turned a bend in the road, she -looked back and saw Dr. Brett standing in the door among the children, -with a hand on the head of one of the untidy little boys, looking down -at him kindly. His figure was certainly both handsome and impressive, -and his head and profile fine. She wondered she had never noticed this -before--but then she had never before been really interested in him. -She wondered suddenly how old he was. - -All the way home she was thinking about him, and how good, and -cheerful, and strong, and clever he was; how everyone loved him, and -what a power he had of making people feel better and brighter as soon -as he came into the room. She began to recall accounts she had heard, -with rather a listless interest, of difficult and successful surgical -operations he had performed, and inducements offered him to go to big -cities and make money, of which he had refused to avail himself simply -because he loved his own people and had his hands full of work where -he was. This was a fine and uncommon feeling, the girl reflected. Why -had she never appreciated Dr. Brett before? By the time she reached -home she had worked herself into quite a fever of appreciation, and -she had a glowing account of the operation to give to her mother, who -listened with great interest. - -"How old is he, mamma?" she said, as she concluded. - -"I really don't know. I never thought," said her mother. "He can't be -much over thirty." - -"Do ask him his age--I'd really like to know. It's wonderful for such -a young man to be so much as he is. I never thought of his being young -before--but thirty is young, of course." - -After that morning's experience Kate and Dr. Brett became fast -friends--on a very different footing from the old one. He told her -about his patients, and took her with him sometimes to see them, -tempering the wind to her with tender thoughtfulness, and refraining -her eyes from seeing some of the forms of want and wretchedness that -were common things to him; but in what she did see there was -opportunity for much loving ministration; and her visits to those poor -dwellings with him were in most cases followed by visits alone, when -she would carry little gifts for the children and delicacies for the -sick, along with the sweeter benefit of a sympathetic presence that -knew, by a singular tact, how to be helpful without obtrusiveness. - -In the midst of all these new interests it was not remarkable that the -Ideal fell into the background. Sometimes for days he would be -forgotten. He didn't harmonize with these practical pursuits; and, -even when old habit sometimes conjured up his image in Kate's mind, it -always made a sort of discord, and, what was worse, made her feel -foolish in a way that she hated. She hadn't been to the garret for a -long time. There was something that gave her a painful sense of -absurdity in the mere thought of the blue velvet coat, and the cocked -hat and sword. What could a man do with those things in this day and -generation? She thought of Dr. Brett's brown hands encumbered with -lace ruffles in the sort of work he had to do, and in her heart of -hearts she knew that she preferred the work to the ruffles. - -But the more the exterior belongings of her Ideal grated on her now, -the more she hugged to her heart his soul and spirit, as expressed in -the old blue manuscript. She read it more eagerly and more -persistently than ever, and, every time, its lovely words and loving -thoughts sank deeper in her heart, carrying a strange unrest there -that was yet sweeter than anything had ever been to her before. All -those longings for a beautiful and perfect love seemed now to come -from herself--from the sacredest depth of her soul--rather than to be -addressed to her. - -One afternoon (it was rainy, and she could not go to drive as usual, -and she no longer cared for her garret _séances_, which would once -have seemed so appropriate to a day like this) she was sitting at the -piano, playing to her mother, when Dr. Brett came in. He had not been -to see them for many days--a most unusual thing--and she had felt -neglected and hurt by it. Perhaps it was this feeling that made her -very quiet in her greeting of him, or perhaps it was the melancholy, -wilful strain of music into which she had wandered--plaintive minor -things that seemed made to touch the founts of tears. At all events -she did not feel like talking, and she drew away, after a few formal -words, and left him to talk to her mother. He explained at once, -however, that he had not come to stay, but to ask Mrs. Severn's -permission to go up into the garret and look for something in an old -box which she had permitted him to store there before he had built the -house he was now occupying. Mrs. Severn remembered the fact that he -had once sent a box there, and of course gave him the permission he -desired. - -"Kate will go with you," she said; "the garret is a favorite resort of -hers, and she can help you to find your box." - -So bidden, Kate was compelled to go; but she felt a strange reluctance -possessing her as she mounted the stairs ahead of Dr. Brett. When -they were in the great, wide-reaching, low-ceilinged room so familiar -to her, she thought of the paraphernalia of her Ideal, and felt more -foolish than she had ever felt yet. What an idiot Dr. Brett would -think her if he knew of the impalpable object on which she had -lavished so much feeling! She thought of the Ideal that had once been -so much to her, and then looked at Dr. Brett. How real he was! how -strong, capable, living! What a powerful, warm-impulsed actuality, -compared to that unresponsive void! She surprised the good doctor by -turning to him a face suffused by a vivid blush. He looked at her -intently for a second, as if he would give a great deal to find out -the meaning of that blush, but he recollected himself, and said -suddenly: - -"There is the old box. It had no lock on it, but that precaution was -not necessary, for no one would ever care to possess themselves of -that old plunder. It was mostly papers, and servants are not apt to -tamper with them." - -He walked over and opened the box, without looking at Kate, who had -turned pale as a ghost and was standing like one transfixed, with her -eyes riveted to him. He knelt down and began to turn over, one by one, -the parcels of papers, which were labelled on the outside and were -principally old deeds and account-books. When he had gone to the -bottom of the trunk, he said, without turning: - -"I cannot find what I want, and yet I know it was in this box. It was -a--a--certain paper of mine, that I put in here years ago. I should -know it in an instant, because it was written on some old blue paper, -bleached white at the edges with age, that I happened to have at hand, -and used for the purpose. I thought I should never want it again, but -now I am anxious to reclaim it. It's too bad," he went on, putting the -parcels back in the box; "every piece of this old trumpery seems to be -here but that." - -He got up and closed the lid, and, taking out his handkerchief, wiped -his hands, and then began to flick the dust from the knees of his -trousers. Kate still stood motionless, and, when at last he looked at -her, his countenance showed him so startled by her expression that she -was obliged to speak. - -"I know where it is," she said; "I've got it. I didn't know it was -yours. Oh, how could it be yours? I thought it was--" - -"You've got it?" he said; "and you've read it?" And now it was his -turn to blush. "Have you really read it?" - -"Oh, yes," she said. "I've read it--and over, and over, and over. How -could I know? I thought it belonged to us. I thought all these old -boxes were ours, and I thought of course that old faded paper was -written by some one years and years ago--some one long dead and -buried." - -"And so it was," he said--"at least, it was written some years ago -indeed, and by a rash fellow, full of the impulsiveness and fire of -youth, whom I thought dead and buried too, until these last few weeks -have brought him to life again. He's come back--for what, I don't -know; but I could get no rest until I tried to find that old, romantic -outpouring of my passionate, hungry thoughts, written one night in -red-hot haste and excitement, and addressed to a shadowy ideal of my -own fancying, and proved to myself how absolutely they were realized -at last--" he paused an instant, and then went on impulsively "--by -you, Kate!--by you, in all your loveliness and goodness. If you have -read those pages, you know how big my expectations were, how -tremendous my desires. Then, let me tell you that you realize them all -beyond my fondest dreams. I know you don't love me, Kate," he said, -coming near and taking both her hands. "I know a rough old fellow like -me could never win your love. I didn't mean to tell you about it. I -never would have, but for this. I know that you don't love me; but I -love you, all the same." - -Kate would not give him her eyes to read, but he felt her hands shake -in his, and he could see that her lips were trembling. What did it -mean? Perhaps, after all--He was on fire with a sudden hope. - -"Kate," he whispered, drawing her toward him by the two hands he still -held fast, "perhaps you do--it seems too wonderful--but perhaps you do -a little--just a little bit--enough to make me hope the rest might -come. Oh, if you do, my Kate, my beautiful, my darling, tell me!" - -She drew her hands away from him and buried her face. - -"Oh, I don't love you a little at all," she said, half-chokingly. "I -love you a great, great deal. I know the truth now." - -Then he took her in his arms and drew her tight against his heart. -When her lips were close to his ear, she spoke again: - -"I knew it the moment you said you had written that paper. I loved -whoever wrote that, already--but it wasn't that. I knew I loved _you_ -because it made me so unhappy, so wretched, for that minute when I -thought maybe you had written those words to some one else you -loved--and then you _couldn't_ love me." - -"Let me tell you," he whispered back: "'Some one else' never existed. -There never was anyone that could command the first emotion of love -from me until you came. But, like many a foolish creature, I have -loved an ideal, tenderly, faithfully, abidingly, and to her these -passionate words were written. Now do you think me irretrievably -silly? Can you ever respect me again?" - -For answer, she told him her own little story, and even got out the -cocked hat and sword and blue velvet coat, and showed them to him, in -a happy glee. He made an effort to take them from her and put them on; -but she prevented him, indignantly. - -"You shall not!" she exclaimed; "I should be ashamed of you! A fine -time you'd have wrapping plaster bandages, with those ridiculous lace -ruffles! Oh, I like you a thousand times better as you are." - -He caught her in his arms and kissed her--a fervent, passionate, happy -kiss. - -"Go and get the paper," he said, as he released her, "and let us read -it together, or, rather, let me read it to you--to whom it was written -in the beginning. My ideal is realized." - -"And so is mine," she said. "How silly we are!" - -"But aren't we happy?" he answered. And then they both laughed like -children. - -She broke away from him and ran noiselessly down stairs, and get the -dear blue paper and brought it to him, and then, seated beside him on -a rickety bench, with his arm around her waist, she listened while he -read. There were many interruptions; many loving looks and tender -pressures; many fervent, happy kisses. As he read the last words the -paper fell from his hands, and they looked at each other, with smiling -lips and brimming eyes. For one brief instant they rested so, and then -both pairs of arms reached out and they were locked in a close -embrace. No words were spoken--that silence was too sweet. - -And this was their betrothal. - - JULIA MAGRUDER. - - - - -_THISTLE-DOWN._ - - - All silver-shod within a weed's - Dark heart, a thousand tiny steeds - Were tethered in one stall. Each wee heart - Panted for flight, and longed to start - Upon the race-course just beyond their walls; - And, while they waited, down the silent stalls - The wind swept softly, and, with fingers light, - Bridled the thistle horses for their flight. - - ANNIE BRONSON KING. - - - - -_NOVELISTS ON NOVELS._ - - -It has sometimes been a matter of pious speculation with literary and -dramatic circles what Shakespeare's personal views on art and -literature would have been had the enterprise and liberality of "Great -Eliza's Golden Days" induced him to formulate them. A simple and -credulous few have been disposed to regret the absence of any -authentic enunciation beyond the curt maxims and, as it were, -fractions of canons scattered throughout his dramas. - -These ardent hero-worshippers dream fondly of the light the master -might have cast on many important points, which can now only be dimly -descried in twilight or guessed at by mere inference, and sigh at the -thought of what the world has lost. Others, rationally and soberly -agnostic, have been saved the heartache and intranquillity of their -brethren, by the very natural and not too profound reflection that it -is entirely problematic whether the actor-lessee of the Blackfriar's -playhouse could have expressed an opinion worth a pinch of salt on any -vital æsthetic question, even supposing him as eager to give as we to -receive. Assumption is dangerous; and the possession of the creative -faculty by no means implies the possession of the critical. - -True, for-- - - "No two virtues, whatever relation they claim, - Nor even two different shades of the same, - Though like as was ever twin brother to brother, - Possessing the one shall imply you've the other." - -Nevertheless, in certain circumstances, "the high priori road is -permissible to the adventurous traveller." With those happily -constituted persons who can imagine Shakespeare writing anything quite -worthless even in the abstruse and difficult domain of scientific -criticism--where so many high qualities are required which are not -held to be essential to the mere creative--I disclaim the remotest -desire to provoke a quarrel. Rather let me frankly congratulate them -on their force of imagination. But those of a simpler faith and a -scantier imaginative endowment will probably incline to the belief -that the brain which fashioned "Lear" and "Othello" could, under the -golden stimulus so potent to-day, have given us pertinent, perhaps -even canotic comments on--say, "Every Man in his Humor," or "A Mad -World my Masters," or "The White Devil." Would it be heretical to -suppose the author of "Macbeth" capable of dissecting an ancient play -in as keen and true a scientific spirit as that in which the _Saturday -Review_ dissects a modern novel? The encumbrance of a conscience -might, indeed, be a serious detriment, inasmuch as it would impair the -pungency of his remarks. His fantastic notions of the quality of mercy -might lead him to exaggerate merits, his lack of a sustaining sense of -self-omniscience to a fatal diffidence in pronouncing on defects; so -that his judgments would lack that fine Jeffreys-like flavor of -judicial rigor which makes _Saturday Review_ a synonym for sterling -Jedburgh justice wherever the beloved and venerable name is known. He -might prove a honey-bee without a sting; a grave defect at a time when -the sting is esteemed more than the honey-bag. Yet, it is not -improbable that, with a little judicious training and proper -enlightenment on the foolishness of sentiment, he would have made a -tolerable critic, for, as has been discriminatingly observed of -Sophocles, the man is not without indications of genius. At any rate, -in later and better appointed times, we have seen the German -Shakespeare, and others of the lawless tribe of creators, enter the -field of criticism and win approbation. It is true that Scott and -Byron, if not exactly categorically related to Mr. Thomas Rymer, were -still but indifferent critics; but we could readily tilt the scale by -throwing Pope, Wordsworth, and Shelley into the other, and yet have -Mr. Arnold, Mr. Swinburne, Mr. Lowell, and Mr. Lang in reserve. - -And, in truth, as there are obvious reasons why lawyers make the best -judges, _ci devant_ thieves the best detectives, reformed drunkards -the best temperance advocates, and the scared sinners (like John -Bunyan) the best preachers, so there are obvious reasons why an -artist's opinions of the productions of creative art, especially of -the productions of that branch of it wherein he labors himself, should -have peculiar value. His intimate acquaintance with the principles of -art should not be detrimental to his perspicacity as a critic. -Fielding's success with Parson Adams would not, I conceive, be any -hindrance to his success in a criticism of the character of Lieutenant -Lismahago, nor would the packed essences of "Esmond" prove Thackeray -incapable of passing a competent judgment on "David Copperfield." - -The fact is, practice has its advantages over theory. To the -intelligent, experience is something more than mere empiricism, and -some value must be conceded to personal experience. Theory is a wench -of great personal attractions, with the coquette's knack of making -the most of them; but she bears the same relation to her plainer, -plodding elder sister Practice that Mark Twain bore to the invaluable -Dan, when that doughty henchman was deputed to take exercise for the -languid humorist. Mark might have the liveliest idea of the rugged -grandeur of the Alps, but Dan knew the toils of the ascent and the -glories of the higher prospects; and though Mark was an invincible -theoretical mountain-climber, Dan would be apt to prove the more -trustworthy guide. - -It was with the view of securing the directions of practical guides -for the reader, in another field of exploration, that the present -paper was written. I may say at once that my object in seeking the -notes--so kindly and courteously placed at my disposition--was not to -gratify idle curiosity with any pungent mess of personal gossip. That -dignified office I gladly leave to the accomplished purveyors of the -Society papers. But I conceived that the curtest expression of the -genuine artist concerning the productions of his own art could not -fail to be valuable as well as interesting. The critics, like our -creditors, we have always with us, to remind us we are still far from -Zion, and the former are just as indispensable to us, in the present -state of the world, as the latter. Unfortunately, neither enjoy -immunity from the universal law of human imperfection. Creditors are -not always generous nor critics always just. One grave difficulty with -the latter is the insidiousness of personal predilection, which cannot -be wholly excluded from the catholic judgment. Different judges have -different tastes. One may have a preference for Burgandy and the other -for champagne, while a third may prefer old port to either. The moral -is obvious, and points to the prudence of occasionally bringing -producers and consumers face to face; having done which I will -withdraw for the present. - - - _From Mr. Robert Buchanan._ - - DEAR SIR: It is difficult to say off-hand what novel I consider - my prime favorite. So much depends upon the mood of the moment - and point of view. I should say, generally, that the "Vicar of - Wakefield" surpassed all English tales, if I did not remember - that Fielding had created Parson Adams; but again, I have got - more pleasure out of Dickens' masterpiece, "David Copperfield," - than all the others put together. Yes, I fix on "David - Copperfield"--from which, you will gather that I do not solicit - in fiction the kind of romance I have myself tried to weave. - - Again, in all the region of foreign fiction, I see no such - figure as Balzac, and no such pathetic creation as "Cousin - Pons." That to me is a divine story, far deeper and truer, of - course, than anything in Dickens, but alas! so sad. While I - tremble at Balzac's insight, I have the childish faith of - Dickens; he at least made the world brighter than he found it, - and after all, there are worse things than his gospel of - plum-pudding. When I am well and strong and full of life, I can - bear the great tragedians, like the Elizabethan group, like - Balzac; but when I am ill and wearied out with the world, I - turn again to our great humorist to gain happiness and help. - - ROBERT BUCHANAN. - - - _From Mr. Hall Caine._ - - MY DEAR SIR: I am not a great reader of novels. My favorite - reading is dramatic poetry and old ballads. Few novelists can - have read fewer novels. During the last five years I have - certainly not read a score of new ones. But I am constantly - reading _in_ the old ones. Portions of chapters that live - vividly in my memory, scenes, passages of dialogue, scraps of - description--these I read and re-read. I could give you a list - of fifty favorite passages, but I would find it hard to say - which is my favorite novel. The mood of the moment would have - much to do with any judgment made on that head. When I am out - of heart Scott suits me well, for his sky is always serene. - When I am in high spirits I enjoy Thackeray, for it is only - then that I find any humor in the odd and the ugly. Dickens - suits me in many moods; there was not a touch of uncharity in - that true soul. There are moments when the tenderness of - Richardson is not maudlin, and when his morality is more - wholesome than that of Goldsmith. Sometimes I find the humor of - Sterne the most delicious thing out of Cervantes, and sometimes - I am readier to cry than to laugh over "The Life and Deeds of - Don Quixote." So that if I were to tell you that in my judgment - this last book is on the whole the most moving piece of - imaginative writing known to me,--strongest in epic spirit, - fullest of inner meaning, the book that touches whatever is - deepest and highest in me,--I should merely be saying that it - is the last romance in which I have been reading with all the - faculties of mind and heart. - - I like, at all times and in all moods, the kind of fiction that - gets closest to human life, and I value it in proportion as I - think it is likely to do the world some good. Thus (to cite - examples without method) I care very little for a book like - "Vathek," and I loathe a book like "Madame Bovary," because the - one is false to the real and the other is false to the ideal. I - see little imagination and much inexperience in "Wuthering - Heights," and great scenic genius and profound ignorance of - human character in "Notre Dame." In Gogol's little story of the - overcoat, and in Turgeneff's little story of the dumb porter I - find tenderness, humor, and true humanity. I miss essential - atmosphere in Godwin's masterpiece, and the best kind of - artistic conviction almost throughout Charles Reade. It makes - some deduction from my pleasure in Hawthorne that his best - characters stand too obviously not for human beings only, but - also for abstract ideas. I like George Eliot best in the first - part of "Silas Marner," and least in the last part of "The - Mill on the Floss." Perhaps I set the highest value on my - friend Blackmore among English novelists now living. I find - Tolstoï a great novelist in the sense in which his - fellow-countryman, Verestchagin, is a great painter--a great - delineator of various life, not a great creator. Björnson, the - Norwegian novelist, in his "Arne" seems to me a more - imaginative artist than Doré in his "Vale of Tears." I do not - worship "Manon Lescaut," and I would rather read "Les - Miserables" than "Germinal." In short, to sum it up in a word, - I suppose I am an English idealist in the sense in which (if I - may say so without presumption) George Sand was a French - idealist. I think it is the best part of the business of art to - lighten the load of life. To do this by writing mere "light - literature," the companion of an idle hour, a panacea for - toothache, a possible soporific, would seem to me so poor an - aim that, if it were the only thing before me I think I would - even yet look about for another profession. Fiction may lighten - life by sterner means--by showing the baffled man the meanness - of much success, and the unsuccessful man the truer triumphs of - failure. To break down the superstitions that separate class - from class, to show that the rule of the world is right, and - that though evil chance plays a part in life, yet that life is - worth living--these are among the functions of the novelist. In - reaching such ends there are few or no materials that I would - deny to him. He should be as free as the Elizabethan dramatists - were, or even the writers of our early ballads. His work would - be various in kind, and not all suited to all readers; but he - would touch no filth for the distinction of being defiled. It - would not trouble him a brass farthing whether his subject led - him to a "good" or a "bad" ending, for he would have a better - ambition than to earn the poor wages of a literary jester, and - his endings would always be good in the best sense where his - direction was good. - - And so in some indirect way I have answered your question; and - I would like to add that I foresee that the dominion of the - novel must be extended. Fiction is now followed by appalling - numbers with amazing fecundity and marvellous skill, which, - though mainly imitative, is occasionally original; but its - channels are few and very narrow. Already the world seems to be - growing weary of feeble copies of feeble men and feeble - manners. It wants more grit, more aim, more thought, and more - imagination. But this is thin ice to tread, and I would not - disparage by a word or a wink the few novelists now living who - will assuredly rank with the best in literature. Dugald Stewart - said that human invention, like the barrel organ, was limited - to a specific number of tunes. The present hurdy-gurdy business - has been going on a longish time. We are threatened with the - Minerva press over again, and the class of readers who see no - difference between Walter Scott and John Galt. But, free of the - prudery of the tabernacle and the prurience of the boulevard, - surely the novel has a great future before it. Its - possibilities seem to me nearly illimitable. Though the best of - the novel is nowhere a match for the best of the drama, yet I - verily believe that if all English fiction, from Defoe - downwards, including names conspicuous and inconspicuous, - remembered and forgotten, were matched against all English - poetry of whatever kind, from Pope to our own day, it would be - found that the English novelist is far ahead of the English - poet in every great quality--imagination, pathos, humor, - largeness of conception, and general intellect. And I will not - hesitate to go further and say that, the art of the novel is - immeasurably greater than the art of the drama itself--more - natural as a vehicle and less limited in its uses, more various - in subject and less trammelled in its mechanism, capable of - everything that the drama (short of the stage) can do, and of - infinitely more resource. - - HALL CAINE. - - - _From Mr. Wilkie Collins._ - -After pleading illness and arrears of literary work and correspondence -in excuse of the brevity of his note, Mr. Collins says: - - Besides, the expression of my opinion in regard to writers of - fiction and their works will lose nothing by being briefly - stated. After more than thirty years' study of the art, I - consider Walter Scott to be the greatest of all novelists, and - "The Antiquary" is, as I think, the most perfect of all - novels. - - WILKIE COLLINS. - - - _From Mr. H. Rider Haggard._ - - DEAR SIR: I think that my favorite novel is Dickens's "Tale of - Two Cities." I will not trouble you with all my reasons for - this preference. I may say, however, and I do so with - humility, and merely as an individual expression of opinion, - that it seems to me that in this great book Dickens touched - his highest level. Of course, the greatness of the subject has - something to do with the effect produced upon the mind, but in - my view there is a dignity and an earnestness in the work - which lift it above the rest. Also I think it one of the most - enthralling stories in the language. - - H. RIDER HAGGARD. - - - _From Mr. Joseph Hatton._ - - DEAR SIR: You ask me to name my favorite novel, and if it - should happen to be a work by a foreign author to mention my - favorite English work of fiction also. I find it impossible to - answer you. When I was a boy "The Last of the Mohicans" was my - favorite novel; a young man and in love, "David Copperfield" - became my favorite. When I grew to be a man "The Scarlet - Letter" took the place of David and the North American Indian; - but ever since I can remember I have always been reading - "Monte Cristo" with unflagging delight. One's favorite book is - a question of mood. Now and then one might be inclined to - regard "Adam Bede" as the most companionable of fiction; there - are other times when "Pickwick" appeals most to one's fancy, - or when one is even in the humor for "L'Homme qui Rit." "Don - Quixote" fits all moods, and there are moments when a page or - two of "Clarissa" are to one's taste. But with Scott, - Dickens, Thackeray, Hugo, Dumas, George Eliot, Hawthorne, - Smollett, Balzac, Erckmann-Chatrian, Lytton, Lever, Ik Marvel, - George Sand, Charles Reade, Turgeneff, and a host of other - famous writers of fiction staring me in the face, don't ask me - to say which of their works is my favorite novel. - - JOSEPH HATTON. - - - _From "Vernon Lee."_ - - DEAR SIR: I hasten to acknowledge your letter. I do not think, - however, that I can answer in a satisfactory manner. I am very - little of a novel reader, and do not feel that my opinion on - the subject of novels is therefore of critical value. Of the - few novels I know (comparing my reading with that of the - average Englishman or woman) I naturally prefer some; but to - give you the titles of them--I think I should place first - Tolstoï's "War and Peace" and Stendhal's "Chartreuse de - Parme"--would not be giving your readers any valuable - information, as I could not find leisure to explain _why_ I - prefer them. - - "VERNON LEE." - - - _From Mr. George Moore._ - - SIR: Waiving the difficulty, if not the impossibility, of a - complete and satisfactory answer to your question, I will come - at once to the point. You ask me to name my favorite work of - fiction, giving reasons for the preference. The interest of - such a question will be found in the amount of naïve sincerity - with which it is answered. I will therefore strive to be as - naïvely sincere as possible. - - Works of romance I must pass over, not because there are none - that I appreciate and enjoy, but because I feel that my - opinion of them would not be considered as interesting as my - opinion of a work depicting life within the limits of - practical life. The names of many works answering to this - description occur to me, but in spirit and form they are too - closely and intimately allied to my own work to allow me to - select any one of them as my favorite novel. Looking away from - them my thought fixes itself at once on Miss Austen. It - therefore only remains for me to choose that one which appears - to me to be the most characteristic of that lady's novels. - Unhesitatingly I say "Emma." - - The first words of praise I have for this matchless book is - the oneness of the result desired and the result attained. - Nature in producing a rose does not seem to work more - perfectly and securely than Miss Austen did. This merit, and - this merit I do not think any one will question, eternalizes - the book. "L'Education Sentimentale," "The Mill on the Floss," - "Vanity Fair," "Bleak House," I admire as much as any one; but - I can tell how the work is done; I can trace every trick of - workmanship. But analyse "Emma" as I will, I cannot tell how - the perfect, the incomparable result is achieved. There is no - story, there are no characters, there is no philosophy, there - is nothing: and yet it is a _chef-d'oeuvre_. I have said there - are no characters; this demands a word of explanation. Miss - Austen attempts only--and thereby she holds her unique - position--the conventionalities of life. She presents to us - man in his drawing-room skin: of the serpent that gnaws his - vitals she cares nothing, and apparently knows nothing. The - drawing-room skin is her sole aim. She never wavers. The - slightest hesitation would be fatal; her system is built on a - needle's point. We know that no such mild, virtuous people as - her's ever existed or could exist; the picture is incomplete, - but there lies the charm. The veil is wonderfully woven, - figures move beneath it never fully revealed, and we derive - pleasure from contemplating it because we recognize that it is - the sham hypocritical veil that we see but feel not--the sham - hypocritical world that we see is presented to us in all its - gloss without a scratch on its admirable veneer. No writer - except Jane Austen ever had the courage to so limit himself or - herself. The strength and the weakness of art lies in its - incompleteness, and no art was ever at once so complete and - incomplete as Miss Austen's. - - Every great writer invents a pattern, and the Jane Austen - pattern is as perfect as it is inimitable. It stands alone. - The pattern is a very slight one, but so is that of the rarest - and most beautiful lace. And in all sincerity I say that I - would sooner sign myself the author of "Emma" than of any - novel in the English language--the novel I am now writing of - course excepted. - - GEORGE MOORE. - - - _From Mr. Justin McCarthy._ - - DEAR SIR: I have so many favorites--even in English-written - fiction alone: I am very fond of good novels. I couldn't - select _one_. Let me give you a few, only a few! The moment I - have sent off this letter I shall be sure to repent some - omissions. Fielding's "Joseph Andrews;" Scott's "Antiquary," - "Guy Mannering," "Heart of Midlothian," and "St. Ronan's - Well;" Dickens's "Pickwick," "Barnaby Rudge," and "Tale of Two - Cities;" Thackeray's "Vanity Fair," "Pendennis," and "Esmond;" - Charlotte Brontë's "Jane Eyre;" George Eliot's "Mill on the - Floss;" Hawthorne's "Blithedale Romance;" and George - Meredith's "Beauchamp's Career." - - And I had nearly forgotten in my haste two great favorites of - mine--Miss Austen's "Pride and Prejudice," and Gerald - Griffin's "Collegians;" and, again, surely Hope's - "Anastasius." - - I had better stop. - - JUSTIN MCCARTHY. - - - _From Miss F. Mabel Robinson._ - - SIR: Your question is an extremely difficult one to answer. - One likes some novels for one kind of excellence, others for - another, and the favorite--the absolute favorite--is apt to - depend a little upon the good novel one has read most - recently, and a great deal more upon one's mood. - - I do not think that I could name any one novel, either English - or foreign, as my first favorite; there are at least four of - Turgeneff's, the bare memory of which moves me almost to - tears; but I could not choose between "Liza," "Virgin Girl," - "Fathers and Sons," and "Smoke;" and, of course, Tolstoï's - "War and Peace" is a masterpiece which every one will name as - a favorite (I give the titles in English, as I have read all - these in translations only, French or English), and indeed I - think I ought almost to name it as _the_ favorite among - foreign novels. - - To turn to English masterpieces, there are parts of Fielding's - "Amelia," which for tenderness, sweetness, and rendering of - character and of home life I think finer than anything more - modern; but other parts of the book are so unpleasant that I - cannot place it first. I think I must plead guilty to four - equal favorites: "Amelia," "Esmond," "The Mill on the Floss," - and "Villette;" but perhaps I might tell you to-morrow that I - place "Vanity Fair" above "Esmond," and prefer "Middlemarch" - to "The Mill on the Floss." Still I think to-day's choice is - best, so I will stick to it. - - It is impossible to know all one's reasons for preferring some - books to others--the style, the diction, the subtle way in - which the writer makes you feel many things he has left unsaid - elude description; and one's own frame of mind when the book - first became known may have a great deal to do with it. - Unconsciously association has much to do with one's - preferences. It is for the character of Amelia, and the charm - of her relations with her husband, that I like this novel. - Some of the scenes and dialogues between these two are to my - mind perfect, absolutely true and beautiful and satisfying. - "Esmond" is certainly very inferior to "Amelia" in point of - illusion; one always is conscious that one is _reading_, and - the characters are like people we have heard of, or who are at - least absent from us; but Harry Esmond is, to my mind, the - finest gentleman in English fiction, none the less noble for - his little self-conscious air. I have always wondered why he - is less popular than Col. Newcome. Except perhaps Warrington - he is Thackeray's noblest male character; and "Esmond" is, I - take it, the best constructed of Thackeray's novels, and - exquisitely written. It is only because there is no woman - worthy of the name of heroine that I cannot like this novel - best of all. For the reverse reason, that there is no hero, I - cannot place "The Mill on the Floss" quite first. Maggie is a - beautiful creation, and the picture of English country-life - inimitable; the Dodsen family in all its branches is truly - masterly. But for deep insight into the heart and soul and - mind of a woman where will you find Charlotte Brontë's equal? - Her descriptive power and her style are unsurpassable, and - Lucy Snowe can teach you more about the thoughts and griefs - and unaccountable nervous miseries and heart-aches of the - average young woman than any other heroine in fiction that I - know of. There is no episode that I am aware of, of such - heartfelt truth as that wretched summer holiday she passed - alone at Madame Beck's. And every character in the book is - excellent; and as for the manner of it, it seems wrung from - the very heart of the writer. - - F. MABEL ROBINSON. - - - _From Mr. W. Clark Russell._ - - DEAR SIR: I hardly know what to say in response to your - question as to my favorite work of fiction. I am afraid I must - go so far back as Defoe, of whose "Colonel Jack" and "Moll - Flanders" I never weary. Amongst modern writers I greatly - admire Blackmore, Hardy, and Besant. There is great genius and - originality, too, in Christie Murray. But with Thackeray, - Dickens, George Eliot, Nathaniel Hawthorne, Mrs. Gaskell, and - the Brontë's on my shelves, the indication of any one work of - fiction as my favorite since the days of "Roxana," "Pamela," - "Joseph Andrews," and "Humphrey Clinker," would prove an - undertaking which I fear I have not the courage to adventure. - - W. CLARK RUSSELL. - - - _From Mr. J. Henry Shorthouse._ - - SIR: Your question seems to me to be a difficult, or I might - almost say, an impossible one to answer. I do not see how a - man of any carefulness of thought or decision can have one - favorite work of fiction. To answer your question as simply as - possible, I should say that of foreign books my favorites are - "Don Quixote" and the novels of Goethe and Jean Paul Richter. - - As regards English fiction, I should, I think, place George - Eliot's "Silas Marner" first, both as a work of art and as - fulfilling, to me, all the needs and requirements of a work of - fiction; but I could not say this unless I may be allowed to - bracket with this book Nathaniel Hawthorne's "House of the - Seven Gables," Mrs. Gaskell's "Cranford," Jane Austen's - "Persuasion," Mrs. Ritchie's "Story of Elizabeth," and William - Black's "Daughter of Heth"--all of which books seem to me to - stand in the very first rank, and not only to fulfil the - requirements of the human spirit, but to stand the much more - difficult test of being, each of them, perfect as a whole. - - J. HENRY SHORTHOUSE. - - - _From Mr. W. Westall._ - - DEAR SIR: You ask for the title of my favorite work of - fiction. I answer that I have no one favorite work of fiction. - Among the myriad novels which I have read there is none of - excellence so supreme that I prefer it before all others. On - the other hand, I have favorite novels--a dozen or so; I have - never reckoned them up. These I will enumerate as they occur - to me: "Don Quixote," "Tom Jones," "Ivanhoe," "The Heart of - Midlothian," "Jane Eyre," "David Copperfield," "Tale of Two - Cities," "Esmond," "Vanity Fair," "Adam Bede," "Lorna Doone," - "Crime and Punishment" (Dostoieffsky), "Monte Cristo," and - "Froment Jeune et Risler Ainé." - - I do not suggest that these novels are of equal literary - merit. I merely say that they are my favorites, that I have - read them all with equal pleasure more than once, and that, as - time goes on, I hope to read them again. - - W. WESTALL. - - J. A. STEWART. - - - - -_A QUEEN'S EPITAPH._ - -[IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY.] - -"And her chief charm was bashfulness of face." - - - There lay the others: some whose names were writ - In dust--and, lo! the worm hath scattered it. - - There lay the others: some whose names were cut - Deep in the stone below which Death is shut. - - The plumèd courtier, with his wit and grace, - So flattered one that scarce she knew her face! - - And the sad after-poet (dreaming through - The shadow of the world, as poets do) - - Stops, like an angel that has lost his wings, - And leans against the tomb of one and sings - - The old, old song (we hear it with a smile) - From towers of Ilium and from vales of Nile. - - But she, the loveliest of them all, lies deep, - With just a rude rhyme over her fair sleep. - - (Why is the abbey dark about her prest? - Her grave should wear a daisy on its breast. - - Nor could an age of minster music be - Worth half a skylark's hymn for such as she.) - - With one rude rhyme, I said; but that can hold - The sweetest story that was ever told. - - For, though, if my Lord Christ account it meet - For us to wash, sometimes, a pilgrim's feet, - - Or slip from purple raiment and sit low - In sackcloth for a while, I do not know; - - Yet this I know: when sweet Queen Maud lay down, - With her bright head shorn of its charm of crown - - (A hollow charm at best, aye, and a brief-- - The rust can waste it, as the frost the leaf), - - She left a charm that shall outwear, indeed, - All years and tears--in this one rhyme I read. - - SARAH M. B. PIATT. - - - - -_THE COST OF THINGS._ - - -"Papa, why does bread cost so much money?" asks a child, of its -father. Perhaps if the father is indifferent, indolent, or ignorant, -he may dodge the question and reply, "Because flour is so scarce." But -if he is a thinking and observant man, willing to instruct an ignorant -child asking a very natural question, he will not content himself with -such a reply, for he must have observed that bread is sometimes high -when wheat and flour are very plentiful. - -By drawing on his experience he will not fail to recall the fact that, -in a season when any particular article is in much demand, the price -of that article will rise and will continue to rise until the demand -for the article induces a supply of it from outside sources. - -Let him recall Christmas and Thanksgiving times, when, for instance, -turkeys are in demand. If the supply is light, up goes the price of -turkeys; and, if the demand increases, the price will continue to rise -unless some means are found of supplying the demand. If turkeys flow -into the market of a city from the surrounding country, the rise in -price is first checked, and then, as the supply increases, the price -falls, and the demand being less than the supply, the price goes to -its lowest figure. This is in accordance with the recognized law of -supply and demand, the relation between the two always establishing -the price. - -If the demand is greater than the supply, the price will go up; if the -supply is greater than the demand, the price will go down. But this -state of things can exist only where the inflow of supply and the -outflow of demand are _free_ and _unrestricted_; for if, from any -cause, restriction is placed on the inflow, the outflow will be -restricted just in the same way. We may liken the operation of the law -to what happens when a bent tube with the ends up is filled with -water. If, now, more water is poured in at one end, that same amount -will flow out at the other. If the whole capacity of the tube at one -end is used to supply water, just that amount will run out at the -other; but if one-half the tube at the supply end is plugged up, then -only one-half the capacity of the tube will run out at the other. - -Reverting to the question of the supply of turkeys in a market, let -us suppose that a despot, ungoverned by anything but his own will, is -in charge of the city when the turkey market is held, and of the -surrounding country, and, wishing to have a plentiful supply of -turkeys, he issues his ukase that every turkey within ten miles of the -town shall, under severe penalties, be sent into market for sale. Is -it not plain that the price of turkeys will at once fall, since the -supply will at once become greater than the demand? But suppose this -despot has turkeys of his own to sell, and hence desires to make his -poor people pay the highest price for their turkeys, so that his -coffers may be filled with gold. Now, instead of requiring all turkeys -to come in under severe penalties, he does everything he can to keep -them out, and issues his ukase that none shall come in, under penalty -of death to the importer of turkeys. Is it not as plain as it was in -the other case, that the price of turkeys will go up, up, up, until -the vast majority of men cannot buy at all? - -Suppose that, instead of placing an absolute prohibition upon the -importation of turkeys, the despot, convinced that people must have -turkeys, and having already arranged to buy all he wants himself, -makes a law that every turkey coming into the market shall be taxed -one dollar for the privilege of bringing it to market. Now, turkeys -will come in if there is still a demand for them, but every one that -comes in must pay a tax of a dollar; and, if there are any turkeys -already in market, a dollar will be added to their price, as well as -to the price of those coming in. For no importer proposes to lose the -amount of the tax himself, and is bound to make the consumer pay that -much additional for his turkey; and a resident turkey-dealer, seeing -that imported turkeys are selling for a dollar above the market price, -will at once add that to the price of his turkeys, since it is -expecting too much of human nature to suppose any man is going to sell -his property for less than he can get for it. The result of the -despot's tax, therefore, is to raise the local price of turkeys by -just the amount of that tax; and, the higher the tax, the higher the -price of turkeys will be to the consumer. - -In this way the price of any article in a market is established by the -relation between the supply and the demand; and this law is -inexorable. If the supply is restricted by taxing imports, the price, -whilst higher, will still be fixed by the demand made for the article; -and this applies to all articles which are salable--flesh and blood, -muscle, labor, as well as to bread, meat, etc. In slavery times, when -a great demand existed in the cotton-States for slave labor, slaves -were imported from the more northern States, where labor was not so -valuable, to the more southern ones, where it was more so; and this -gave the border States the name of being the "slave-breeding States" -of the Union. The increased demand for slaves threatened at one time -to reopen the slave trade with Africa; and it is said that some -negroes were, in fact, brought into the country. Under these -circumstances, had the States (Mississippi, Louisiana, and others) -where a demand for slaves existed possessed the power to lay a tax on -slaves imported into them, the price of slaves in those States would -have been very considerably increased. - -The work of hands--labor--is a salable article, just as much as bread -or meat, and its price is determined in the same way; not only as -regards common labor, but also special kinds of labor. Reverting to -the question at the head of this paper,--the price of bread,--let us -suppose a community where all the elements of bread-making (flour, -yeast, potatoes, etc.) exist in abundance, but where there is but one -baker. If the demand for bread is so great that one baker will have to -run his bakery night and day to supply the demand, and he can fix his -own price, limited only by the number of his customers and their -ability to pay (the "demand"), although he can buy his flour and other -ingredients cheap, he must pay high wages to his assistants and work -hard himself. As the demand for bread increases, its prices will rise -until the attention of other bakers is attracted, other bakeries will -be established, the supply will more nearly equal the demand, and the -price of bread will fall, in accordance with the same law as governed -in the case of turkeys; whilst bakers' wages, from the very fact of -there being more bakers on the ground, will fall. If, notwithstanding -the establishment of more bakeries, the demand still remains greater -than the supply, the price of bread will still remain up, and an -attempt may be made to import bread from without. If the bakers have -influence enough with the law-making power, or with our supposed -despot, they will have an import tax placed upon bread to keep up -their prices, under the plea of "sustaining domestic industry;" but -the amount of this import tax will go into the pockets of the owners -of the bakeries, although the wages of their workmen will not be -increased, for their wages depend, as has been shown, not on the price -of bread, but upon the number of bread-making laborers available. If -such laborers increase in number, the wages of the bread-makers may -even go very low, though the price of bread (thanks to the import tax) -may remain very high. These points are dwelt upon at length for the -purpose of exposing the fallacy of a popular delusion--that.... - -It is a remarkable fact that, whilst many laboring-men are deluded -with the idea that taxing articles which they consume or aid in -producing tends to keep up their wages or to increase them, they -entirely ignore the real reason for low wages, which is nothing more -or less than the presence of plenty of labor. Once convinced of the -fact that the price of everything, labor included, depends on the -inexorable law of supply and demand, they will not be able to resist -the conclusion that _no importation tax can, by any possibility, -affect the price of labor, except an importation tax on labor itself_. - -This fact seems almost to demonstrate itself; and yet there is no -greater delusion in this country, where its falsity is demonstrated -every day to anyone observant of the settlement of our vast Western -territories. Let anyone go into a Western settlement and note the high -price of labor of all kinds, and that it is almost impossible to get a -man to do a day's work for love or money; and let him visit the same -place a few years later, when perhaps a railroad is running through -the place, which in the meantime has grown immensely in population. He -will now note the decrease in wages of all kinds. And, if he will go -to the same place still later, he will not fail to note a still -further decline; for, if the demand continues, labor will, by means of -the railroad, flow in to supply it, and the price of labor will -fall--for no other reason than that there is plenty of labor to supply -the demand. And this lesson is demonstrated over and over again -wherever a new settlement is observed. If there is only one bricklayer -in the place he can demand his own price, which cannot be affected by -the presence of fifty or a hundred carpenters or blacksmiths, nor by a -tax on bricks, mortar, or sand. - - X. - - - - -_ASLEEP._ - - - She is not dead, but sleepeth. As the fair, - Sweet queen, dear Summer, laid her sceptre down - And lifted from her tirèd brows her crown, - And now lies lapped in slumber otherwhere-- - As she will rise again, when smiling May, - Saying, "Thy day dawns," wakes her with a kiss, - And butterflies break from the chrysalis - And throng to welcome her upon her way, - And roses laugh out into bloom for glee - That Summer is awake again--so she - Who sleeps, snow-still and white, will waken when - The Day dawns--and will live for us again. - - CHARLES PRESCOTT SHERMON. - - - - -_A COUPLE OF VAGABONDS._ - - -Vagabonds, vagrants, tramps,--the class has never been entirely -confined to humanity,--those careless, happy-go-easy, dishonest, -unterrified beings to whom the world is an oyster, and often such a -one as is not worth the opening, sometimes possess an interest to the -observer, entirely disconnected with pity. They always lead -reprehensible lives, and usually die disgracefully. They are amusing -because of the exaggerated obliquity of their careers, and are, beasts -and men alike, droll with a drollery that is three-quarters original -sin. Among animals, at least, there are few cases of actual -misfortune, though sometimes there is that most pitiable and forlorn -creature, a dog that has lost his master, or that bit of cruelty and -crime which has its exemplification in an old horse that has been -turned out to die. Ordinarily the cases of animal depravity one -encounters are so by race and ineradicable family habit, and are -beyond the pale of charity and outside the legitimate field of -brotherly love. One does not care what becomes of them, and least of -all thinks of trying to reform them. But they usually take care of -themselves, after a fashion that excludes all thought of pity. Even -among the higher animals there are, as with humanity, occasional cases -of extraordinary depravity. I know at this moment of a beautiful -horse, with a white hind foot, and the blood of a long line of -aristocrats in his veins, who wears an iron muzzle and two -halter-chains, whose stall is the cell of a demon, who has made his -teeth meet in the flesh of two or three of his keepers, and who is yet -sufficiently sane to try to beat all his competitors on the track, and -to often succeed. I know a little gray family dog, terrier from the -end of his nose to the tip of his tail, kind to all whom he knows, who -is yet the veriest crank of his kind. He hates everything that wears -trousers, will not come when called with the kindest intentions, -attacks all other dogs, big and little, who intrude within his line of -vision, and confines his friendships exclusively to people who wear -skirts and bonnets. He wears his heavy coat all summer because he has -said to the family collectively that he will not be clipped; and, when -an attempt of that kind is made, shows his teeth, even to the little -girl who owns him. He reminds one of the incorrigible youth of an -otherwise God-fearing family, and has been let go in his ways because -he is too ugly and plucky to spend the time upon. I know a cat, now -not more than half-grown, with a handsome ash-colored coat and a -little white neck-tie, who is already as much a tiger as though born -in the wilds of Africa. His playful bites draw blood, and his -unsheathed claws are a terror, even when one is stroking his back. His -tail quivers and his eyes have a tigerish expression, even when he is -but catching a ball of yarn. He was after mice, and caught them, in -his early infancy, and he was crouching and skulking after things when -he should have been lapping milk. It is plainly foreseen that he will -never be a family cat, and will take to the alleys and back fences -before he is grown. He has in him, more than other cats have, the -vagabond and depraved instinct--not amenable to Christian influences. - -But the two persons of whom I shall doubtless seem to have as full -recollection here as their characters justify belong to the extensive -family of natural vagabonds, and first dawned upon me in the days when -there was a frontier. I was in those days perfectly hardened to a bed -on the ground, and was amused with the companionship of pack-mules. I -was dependent for mental stimulus upon the stories of the camp-fire, -and for recreation upon the wild realm in which the only changes that -could come were sunrise and evening, clouds, wind, storms. There was a -lonely vastness so wide that it became second nature to live in it and -almost to love it, and a silence so dense that it became -companionship. There was then no dream of anything that was to come. -The march of empire had not touched the uttermost boundary. We -wondered why we were there. And the blindest of all the people about -this wonderful empire were those who knew it best. I really expected -then to watch and chase Indians for the remainder of my natural life; -looked upon them and their congeners as permanent institutions; made -it a part of business to know them as well as possible; and wondered -all the while at the uselessness of the government policy in -occupying, even with a few soldiers, so hopeless a territory. Very -often there was nothing else to do. All the books had been committed -to memory previous to being absolutely worn out. It was a world where -newspapers never came. When the friendship of certain animals becomes -obtrusive,--when they take the place to you of those outsiders whom -you do not really wish to know, but who are there nevertheless,--you -are likely to come to understand them very well indeed, and to find in -after years that they seem to come under the head of persons rather -than creatures--the casual wild creatures of whom one ordinarily -catches a glimpse or two in the course of a lifetime. - -There was a bushy and exalted tail often seen moving leisurely along -above the taller grasses that lined the prairie trail. One might -encounter it at any hour, or might not see it for many days. I finally -came to look upon this plume with something more than the interest -attaching to a mere vagrant polecat, and even ceased to regard the end -that bore it as the one specially to be avoided, however common the -impression that it is so. In civilization and in the books nobody had -ever accused the parti-colored creature of other than a very odorous -reputation; and the tricks of his sly life--such as rearing an -interesting and deceptively pretty family under the farmer's -corn-crib, and refusing to be ejected thence; visiting, with fowl -intent, the hen-house; sucking eggs; catching young ducks; and forcing -the pedestrian to go far around him upon the occasion of a chance -meeting, were condoned as matters that could not be helped in the then -condition of human ingenuity and invention. With us, on the plains, he -had acquired another and more terrible reputation. Nobody knows how -information becomes disseminated in the wilderness, but it seemed to -be spread with a rapidity usually only known in a village of some -three hundred inhabitants, with a Dorcas Society; and we came to know, -from authentic instances, that his bite, and not his perfume, was -dangerous. In 1873, the _Medical Herald_, printed at the metropolis of -Leavenworth, stated that a young man sleeping in a plains camp was -bitten on the nose by one of the beasts. Awaking, he flung his -midnight visitor off, and it immediately bit his companion, upon whom -it unfortunately alighted. Both of these unfortunates died of -hydrophobia. - -The same year a citizen came to the U. S. Army surgeon at Fort Harker, -Kansas, having been bitten through the nose by a mephitis while -asleep. He had symptoms of hydrophobia, and shortly afterwards died of -that disease. The next case of which printed record was made was that -of a young man who, while sleeping on the ground, was bitten through -the thumb. The writer states that the "animal had to be killed before -the thumb could be extracted." This man also died of hydrophobia in -the town of Russell, in western Kansas. Other cases are recorded about -this time, with less detail. - -I mention these instances, substantiated in cold print in a medical -journal, merely to show that what we thought we knew was not a mere -frontier superstition. With a righteous hatred did we hate the whole -mephitis family. The little prairie rattlesnake often crept into the -blankets at night for the sake of warmth; and it is a noticeable fact -that he did not "rattle" and did not bite anybody while enjoying their -unintended hospitality, and that such things were not much thought of. -But the sneaking presence of a skunk, usually considered merely a -ridiculous and disagreeable creature, would always call out the force -for his extermination, promptly, and by some means. - -Yet mephitis has the air of seeming rather to like, than to seek to -avoid, mankind. It is one of his curious traits. You cannot certainly -tell whether he really does; but, if he does not, it is strange with -what frequency he is encountered, exhibiting on such occasions a -singular confidence, not in any case reciprocated. It is certain that -he has crossed a railroad bridge to visit the bustling metropolis of -the Missouri Valley, and been seen complacently ambling the streets -there at midnight. If, in crossing a "divide" or threading a reedy -creek-bottom, there is seen before you one of those imposing plumes -before referred to, standing erect above the long grass, without any -perceptible attachment, and moving slowly along, it will be prudent -not to permit any curiosity concerning the bearer of it to tempt you -to a nearer acquaintance. Indeed, should he discover you, in turn, it -will be rather out of the usual line of his conduct if he does not at -once come amiably ambling in your direction, intent upon making your -personal acquaintance, or, as is more likely, of finding out if there -is anything about you which he considers good to eat. There is -something both amusing and fearful in this desire to make -acquaintances regardless of all the forms of introduction and the -usages of society; and no other animal possesses the trait. No one, so -far as known, has ever waited to see what special line of conduct he -would pursue after he came. The chances are that he would stay as long -as he had leisure, and then go without offence; yet no one can -foretell his possible caprices. He might conclude to spend the -afternoon with one; and, as he is known to be a pivotal animal, -reversing himself, upon suspicion arising in his mind, with a celerity -perhaps not fully appreciated until afterwards, one might find it at -least irksome to remain so long idle and quite still. I knew a soldier -once who had such a visit while walking his guard-beat. He did not -dare to fire his gun in time, for fear of the serious accusation of -wishing to kill game while on duty. He could not scare away the cat, -and dared not leave his beat. He stood stock-still for an hour or two, -and then called the corporal of the guard in a subdued and whining -voice. When that non-commissioned autocrat at last appeared, he -considered twenty yards a convenient distance for communication, and -declined to come any nearer. Mephitis was at the moment engaged in -stroking his sides against the sentinel's trousers, while his host did -not dare to either move or speak in a voice the corporal could hear. -The latter went away and obtained permission from the officer of the -day to shoot something, and returned with four more armed men. The -visitor here saw an opportunity to make new acquaintances, and started -to meet the latest arrivals half way. They all ran, while the sentinel -took the opportunity to walk off in a direction not included in his -instructions. The animal was finally partially killed by a volley at -forty paces, leaving a pungent reminiscence that did not depart during -the remainder of the summer, and necessitated some new arrangements -for the lines of defence about the post. - -In more recent times an entire company of hunters, with a dog to every -man, have been driven from the field repeatedly by the persistency of -the innocent gaze, or the foolish confidence of the approach, of this -extraordinary bore; for one can't shoot him if he is looking--not -because one can't, but because, if one did, a souvenir would be left, -at least among the dogs, that would linger with them until the natural -time for the shedding of hair should come again, and deprive their -owners of the pleasure of their company for an indefinite period. And, -in addition, the people with whom one might wish to stop for the night -might make remarks accompanied by nasal contortions not usual in -ordinary conversation, and would be likely to suggest the barn, or -otherwheres out-of-doors, as being good and refreshing places to spend -the night in. Even the hunter's own family will prove inhospitable to -the verge of cruelty under such circumstances, and conduct unheard of -before will become perfectly proper on the part of one's best friends. -Such discomfitures have happened ere now to most sportsmen in Western -preserves, and for some reason a crowning misfortune of the kind is -apt to be considered a joke ever afterwards. - -But an uncontrollable desire for human intimacy is only one item of -the oddities of this little beast. As a vagabond of the wilderness he -was like other vagabonds there, and got on well enough without any -human association. Carnivorous entirely, he cannot be accused of -looking for the well-filled granary of later times; he invades no -cabbage-patch, and is entirely guiltless of succulent sweet potatoes -and milky roasting-ears. His presence in increased numbers among the -fields and farms of civilization is accounted for by the fact that he -has simply declined to move on. He will not retire to the wilds of -the pan-handle or the neutral strip, driven thither by the too copious -outpour of civilization. His conduct indicates the just conclusion -that he can endure all the vicissitudes of the school-house States if -they can, in turn, endure him. Doubly armed, this autocrat of the -prairies holds in unique dignity the quality of absolute fearlessness, -and, aside from any hydrophobic endowments, is now the chiefest terror -of the free and boundless West. - -A figure-head seems to be necessary in the conduct of all the larger -affairs of life. From this idea have come all the griffins, and the -sphinxes, and the St. Georges and Dragons, the hideous caryatids, -gnomes, gorgons, chimeras dire, the eyes of Chinese junks, and the -wooden cherubs that until later years looked over the waste of unknown -waters beneath the bows of every ship that sailed. On the seals of -one-half of all the Western States and territories mephitis might -figure as the chiefest animal of their natural fauna, and for him -might the buffalo and the bear be properly discarded. They are gone: -he remains and impresses himself upon the community unmistakably. But -mottoes and great seals and epitaphs are things not expected to be -governed in their making by anything like actual fact. - -It will be conceded that no other beast approaches this in the -particulars of his armament. So confident of his resources is he that -the idea that he can be worsted never enters his elongated cranium. -Though he never uses his phenomenal powers except upon what he -considers an emergency, these supposed emergencies arise quite too -frequently for the general comfort and piety of his neighborhood. It -is said that the little western church never thrives greatly in a -neighborhood that is for some reason peculiarly infested by him. Yet -it is a remarkable fact that when he visits the farmer's hen-roost, -which he often does, the owner, if he came from some timbered country, -nearly always lays the blame upon the much-maligned "coon;" meaning, -of course, that pad-footed and ring-tailed creature who is credited -with a slyness verging upon intellect, but who never visited a prairie -in his life. He does this because there is no penetrating and abiding -savor left behind--except in case of accident--in any of these -maraudings. It is a mere piece of cunning. He wishes to come again -some other time. The victims of his appetite, comprising everything -smaller than himself in that region, are never subjected to his caudal -essences, and a good reason for this would be that he wishes to eat -them himself. Those who know mephitis well, and also know this trait -of his character, are impressed anew by the mercifulness of some of -nature's instincts and freaks. - -And here arises the question of a certain occult power apparently -possessed by this creature alone. It seems to be established by -undisputed testimony that he is the most skilful packer of meats, with -the least trouble and expense, known in the annals of the art -preservative. His hollow logs have been repeatedly split in his -absence, and found full of dead fowls, killed in a neighboring -farm-yard, squeezed in closely side by side for future use, and all -untainted and fresh. How does he accomplish this? There are evidently -various things to learn from the field of natural history which might -be turned to the uses of man. To say nothing of the value of the -patent, this would be a very useful household recipe if known. The -inference is that there may be an occult quality in his strange and -characteristic endowment not heretofore suspected. - -Our western friend has an extensive family relationship. There are at -least six varieties of him in various latitudes. No one branch of the -family is believed to have any fellowship with any other branch, -probably for weighty and sufficient family reasons; though to the -ordinary human senses there is so little difference in the sachet that -one cannot see reason for being so particular among themselves. Two of -him are very common west of the Missouri--one as big as a poodle and -variously striped, and the other of a smaller and more concentrated -variety, more active also in his habits. It is the bigger of these two -who goes about waving his plume and seeking new acquaintances, as -though he contemplated going into the Bohemian oats business among the -farmers, and who courts admiration while he spreads consternation. It -is he who lies in ambush in the corn-shocks, in the early days of the -yellow autumn, apparently for the express purpose, through the media -of the farmer's boys and the district school, of informing the whole -neighborhood, and especially the little girls, that he is still about. -It is he who is borne oftenest, in spirit and essence, through the -open windows of the settler's house, causing the mistress thereof to -wish, and to often say that she wishes, that she had never come away -from Ohio, or wherever she used to reside, and where she declares -mephitis to have been a nuisance utterly unknown. It is he who lopes -innocently along the railroad track, declining to retire, meeting -death without a murmur, knowing, perhaps, that his dire revenge will -follow the fleeting train, whose wheels have murdered him, for many a -mile, even across the plains and into mountain passes, and perhaps -return with it and add a little something, a piquant mite, to the loud -odors of the Missouri River terminus. The passengers all know he has -been killed, and know it for the remainder of the journey, or else -they wonder at the pungency of the atmosphere apparently pervading a -stretch of country as big as all New England, and which they will talk -about as one of the western drawbacks after they have returned home. -It is he who rather rejoices than otherwise at the number and ferocity -of the farmer's dogs, and who is indirectly blessed if they have the -habit of going into the house and lying under the beds. Then indeed -may he fulfil his mission. When they at first, and through -inexperience, attack him, he routs them all without excitement or -anger on his part, causes an armed domestic investigation of them, and -their banishment without extradition, and through them impresses -himself upon the unappreciative western understanding. - -The little one, the other common variety, is perhaps more rarely seen, -but he is at least frequently suspected. Not much bigger than a -kitten, and almost or quite black, he lacks the look of innocence and -the appearance of docility so falsely worn by his relative. Once they -both hibernated: at least the books say so. Now, as one of the changes -wrought by the settlement of the country, this small one becomes a -frequent all-the-year tenant of the farmer's out-buildings. His -battery is quite as formidable as the other's is, and may, indeed, be -considered as an improvement in the way of rapidity and concentration, -like the Gatling gun. The barn is not always his residence; and -without inquiring if it is entirely convenient he frequently takes up -his domicile in or under the dwelling. A mephitis in the cellar is one -of the Kansas things. He does not, while there, produce any of the -mysterious noises that indicate ghosts. The house is known not to be -haunted, for everybody understands quite well who is there. But the -owner must not attempt ejectment. Peace and quiet he insists upon. You -must bar him out some time when he is absent on business, wait until -spring, or move to another house. It is the middle one of these -remedies that is usually adopted, if any. While he stays, there are no -joint occupants with him in the place he has pre-empted. He will catch -mice like a cat, and the joy of his life is the breaking of a rat's -back with one nip behind the head. He has a most formidable array of -teeth, and eschews vegetables entirely. He is the foe of all the -little animals who live in walls or basements, or in holes or under -stones. Even the weazel, that slim incarnation of predatory instinct, -declines to enter into competition with him, and goes when he comes, -or comes when the other goes. One of them is suspected, from this -fact, of eating the other, and mankind, with the only form of -disinterestedness of which we can justly boast, does not care which of -the two it is. - -The biggest one of the mephitis family lives in Texas, and that empire -is not disposed to boast itself withal on that account. He came there -from Mexico, possibly on account of his being preposterously -considered a table luxury in the latter country. But it is a land of -which such eccentricities may be expected. They eat the ground-lizard -there,--a variety of the celebrated "Gila monster,"--and some other -creatures to our pampered notions not less repulsive; though they seem -to avoid, by peculiar management, that quadrennial banquet of crow -which constitutes our great national dish. Mephitis is, however, -purely American wherever he comes from. Europe knows him not in -quadrupedal form. He is one of the things got by discovery, though he -may not take rank, perhaps, with the gigantic grass we call "corn," or -with tobacco, or even with ginseng or sassafras, or the host of -acquisitions which would distinguish us as a people even if we had him -not at all. And now that we have got him, we must apparently cherish -him; and with our usual thrift we have made many attempts to utilize -him. He often appears in polite society under the name of sable, or -some such thing, and no odor betrays him. Of the strange fluid, which -is one of the most wonderful natural defences ever bestowed upon an -animal, pharmacy has concocted a medicine, and the perfumers an odor -for the toilet. Yet it must be admitted that one of his chiefest uses, -so far, is to furnish the western editor with a synonym and -comparative, and a telling epithet in time of trouble. He often caps -the climax of a controversial sentence as long as one's arm, and if -you take the county paper you need not be long in discovering that -while we scientific may call him _mephitis_, he hath another name not -often heard by ears polite, or frequently mentioned in the society in -which the reader moves. - - -That other vagabond who may be considered as being vaguely referred to -at the head of this chapter has no possible kinship with him who has -been desultorily sketched. Yet the two stand together in my mind in a -kind of vague relationship of character. I was not surprised at my -first sight of a coyote, but he grew greatly upon me afterwards. It -was his voice. He is but a degenerate wolf,--the weakest of his -family save in the one respect referred to,--but he is an old and -persistent acquaintance of every frontiersman, ten times as numerous -and prominent in every recollection of that far time of loneliness and -silence as any other beast. - -If you visit Lincoln Park, at Chicago, you will find a special pen -devoted to the comfort and happiness of this little gray outcast of -the wilderness; and I may add that he does not appear there to any -advantage whatever. On the wide plains where there was nothing, -apparently, to eat, he was, for a coyote, usually in good condition. -His coat was tolerably smooth sometimes, and he was industrious and -alert. Here, where he is regularly fed at the public expense, he is so -shabby that one hesitates to be caught looking at him as one goes by. -There is that about an animal that expresses unhappiness as plainly as -it is expressed by men, and the Lincoln Park coyote is unquestionably -the most abject specimen of his entire disreputable family. - -The reader will understand that in all I may have to say about the -little reprobate I do not refer for any particulars to that -incarcerated and unhappy vagabond just mentioned. On the contrary, he -was the first sensation of my earliest border experiences. He came the -first night, and every night thereafter, for several years. I grew to -know him well, and have had many a brief and solitary interlude of -mingled amusement and vexation on his account, when there was nothing -else on earth to laugh at or be sorry about. I often have shot at him, -usually at very long range, but never to my knowledge killed, or even -scared him. It is well understood that he always knows whether or not -you have with you a gun, and will be distant or familiar accordingly. -But finally exasperated by a wariness so constant, I have sought -revenge by a form of murder that I do not now claim, upon reflection, -was entirely in self-defence or perfectly justifiable, and which to -this day remains a red stain upon an otherwise fair reputation. I -killed twenty odd of him in a single night with insidious strychnine -and a dead mule, and in the morning was astonished not so much at the -slaughter as at the fact that he had not suspected the somewhat worn -expedient, and avoided the banquet. - -The trouble with him is, that he does not avoid anything that may be -imagined to be good to eat. If there was ever an animal -preternaturally and continually hungry, it was the old-time coyote of -the plains of western Kansas and the mountains and plateaux of -southern New Mexico. Yet no one ever saw a starved coyote, or found a -dead one. The odor of the camp-fire frying-pan reached him a long way -off, and was irresistible. He crept nearer and nearer, as the evening -passed, and finally the camp was surrounded by a gray cordon who -crouched and licked their jaws, and kept still and waited. But when -the little fire was dead and the voices had ceased, and every man lay -wrapped in slumber and his blankets, the tuneful side of his nature -would get the better of him, and he began to faintly whine. He was -getting the key-note, and ascertaining the pitch. The first faint -yelp, imprudently uttered, affected his companions as yawning does -men, and now a still hungrier one gives utterance to a screech so -entirely coyotish that the example is irresistible. Then pandemonium -awakes. Each vagabond rises up, sits upon his tail, elevates his chin, -and gives utterance to a series of yelps that rise in crescendo, -regardless of time, or measure, or interval, or the lateness of the -hour. Then, when the camp was new, and the men were beginners in that -strange and lonely life that often kept its unexplained and -indescribable charm for them ever afterwards, there would be -responsive sleeplessness and profanity. The hardest ordeal was to -become finally accustomed to this nightly pandemonium, which no effort -could prevent, no vigilance avoid. The first effect was to be -slightly, though privately, frightened. The next was to intensify the -feeling of lonesomeness. One lay in torment, silent, sleepless, -wondering if it was a common thing, and if it were possible to yelp a -human creature to death in the course of time. Then one talked to his -companions, and perhaps expressed himself in a couple of languages. -The most futile of all toil would be an attempt to drive the singers -away. Silent only for a moment, they would all come back again and -make up for lost time. This is how the early wanderers in what is -destined to be the garden of the Union first made the acquaintance of -the most characteristic animal of the country, and this is why he -dwells in the memory of every man who ever slept beneath the sparkling -dome west of the Missouri the sweet sleep of toil and health--a sleep -that by-and-by was uninterrupted by all the night-sounds the -wilderness might invent except the stealthy footfall of some human -stranger. - -And when the gray vagabond had become an accustomed nuisance he began -to exercise his real calling; for all his other modes of obtaining a -livelihood are mere by-play to his actual business, which is stealing. -In this line he is something preternatural. He had in those days a -remarkable liking for harness, straps, raw-hide, saddles, boots. He -chewed the lariat from the pony's neck, and would steal a saddle and -gnaw it beyond use or recognition by the owner. He would walk backward -and draw anything that had a rancid smell a mile or so from where he -found it. He was accused of deliberately drawing the cork and spilling -the horse liniment, and of then lapping the fluid from the ground -regardless of consequences. He would chew a belt of cartridges for the -sake of the tallow with which they were coated, and spit them out -again in a dilapidated pile of sheet metal. Vagabond luck saved him -from having the top of his head blown off during this meal; and I have -known a Mexican youth to be killed in trying to straighten some of -them out again. Whips and thongs were dainties, chewed, swallowed, and -digested without danger or difficulty. The owner was under the -necessity of looking after his boots more carefully when they were off -than when they were on, and axle-grease was a precious commodity -stored for safe-keeping with the teamster's spare shirt, in some -arcanum of the equipage where the utmost diligence would not reveal -it. - -It was a most desolate country, whose silent leagues bore no -sustenance, and whose creatures, save him, were few. He was -everywhere, and the secret of his existence lay in his one -virtue--industry. He gathered a livelihood from the things despised of -all others, and he seasoned it with content and made it answer. Never -a beetle or a lizard crossed his path unchased. Plainsmen said that -when he encountered one of the little land-turtles or terrapins, then -common, he staid with it until it died and the shell came off. He -killed the virulent little prairie rattlesnake, also plentiful enough, -by seizing it in the middle and snapping its head off with a single -jerk, as one cracks a whip. But if he had been bitten he would always -have recovered. He chased jackass rabbits in pairs, and while one ran -straight after the rabbit the other would cut across the angle, and -thus the two would run down an animal that, when really on business, -is able to fling his heels derisively in the face of the best-bred -greyhound. And when they had caught him there was always a -controversy. No coyote ever divided honorably. That "honor among -thieves," so often mentioned, was not in his education. He sucked -eggs--all that he could find; and when anything died within ten miles -or so he knew it. He was contemporary with the bison, and was the -bison's assassin; for when age and decrepitude overtook the shaggy -bull, and three or four lame and grizzled companions went off -together, he and his companions literally nagged them to death one by -one. If the veteran lay down, they bit him. As long as he remained on -foot they followed and teased him. When he died, they fought over and -ate him, denying even a morsel to the buzzards and ravens. They -followed the Indian hunting-parties, thankful for the morsels that -fell to them, which were not many; for the noble red man was himself -no disdainer of viscera: he included the whole internal economy under -the possible head of tripe, and if in haste ate it raw; and all he -left of a dead buffalo was a hard-earned morsel even for a coyote, if -he had come far to get it. - -And when the white hunter came, then was the time of feasting for -_canis latrans_ in all his squalid days. He was the only creature -benefited by a ceaseless slaughter of about twenty years; a slaughter -which meant nothing but a passion for killing, and which, leaving -every carcass where it fell, in about that time exterminated the -biggest, most imposing, and most numerous of the wild beasts of -America. - -By-and-by the railroads began to stretch their lonesome lines across -the plains, and the settlers began to come. For a certain time the -coyote seemed to retire before them, and there seemed a prospect for -his final extermination. Not he. When the cattle-men and pioneers grew -too plentiful and meddlesome; when the new-comer began to lie in wait -at night for the protection of the pigs and chickens reared in hope -and toil; and when the unhesitating shot-gun was the companion of his -vigils, sir coyote began to come back east and reoccupy the region he -had left. But under changed conditions. He is an animal of mental -resource and acumen, and he changed his life. It is almost useless to -add that he became worse. Middle and eastern Kansas have him in -considerable numbers now, and it is noticeable that whereas he once -had the impudence to sit and bark at the intruder like a dog as he -passed by, he is now seldom seen or heard. Then he was merely a thief; -now he is a freebooter besides. He once burrowed in the hill-top, and -launched his family upon the world in a comparatively open and -respectable manner, equipped only with teeth, instinct, and -perseverance, confident of their future. He has now retired to the -woods that line the streams, and joined that disreputable brush -society which was never very respectable among either coyotes or men. -He is clannish. Generation after generation stick together in the same -retired locality, and sally forth at night among a population greatly -richer in eatables than any he was formerly accustomed to. He no -longer wanders to and fro through a vastness in which his personality -was in keeping, and his slanting eyes and three-cornered visage now -find furtive occupation beside fence-chinks and through cracks and -knot-holes. He knows a thousand devious ways which all in the end lead -to the barn-yard. It is a bleak time with him when he is forced to -resort to the catching of mice again; but when I see him loafing on -the sunny side of the stacks in a distant field I know what he is -there for, and wish him luck for old acquaintance' sake. - -Strangest of all, he has almost lost his voice, and the era of free -concerts is over. Down at the bottom of a ravine, perhaps immensely -tickled at some toothsome find, he sometimes so far forgets himself as -to give a yelp or two. This feeble demonstration usually attracts the -attention of others than those intended, and perhaps the farmer's boy, -the inevitable mongrel dog with cock ears and phenomenal activity, and -the frequent fowling-piece harass him greatly for the time being. But -it is not to be supposed that he has lost his ancient qualifications -for the performance of characteristic exploits. He merely suppresses -them for the present because it is his interest to do so. Versatile, -persistent, and patient, he almost deserves respect for his -uncomplaining acceptance of the conditions of a changed world, his -contempt for public opinion, and the common-sense which has led him to -decline to follow all his contemporaries into the limbo of -extermination. When I see him now, the leer in his eye and the grin on -his mouth almost seem those of recognition. As of old, he wags his way -along the top of the high divide, but now fenced and full of spotted -cattle, with the same pensive, quick-turning, alert head, the same -jog-trot, the same lolling red tongue, the same plume trailing along -behind, ever mindful of a coyote's affairs, ever thinking of his next -meal. Yet he is so much like his cousin, the dog, that know him never -so well you can hardly help whistling to him. And when you have passed -by, if you will look back you will see him sitting upon his tail and -looking after you with the same expression which in the olden time -made you know that he was wondering where you were going to camp, and -whether, when he had barked you into stupidity or death, there was -anything about you rancid, portable, dragable, tough, but perchance -coming within the wide range of a coyote's menu. - - JAMES W. STEELE. - - - - -_A MEMORY._ - - - On Narragansett's storm-beat sand - We walked with slow, reluctant feet; - I held enclasped her slender hand, - With loved possession, deep and sweet. - Out on the wave the wild foam swung, - The circling sea-gulls upward sprung; - While o'er the level sand the sea - Came rolling soft and dreamily. - - The sunset's glow was on her cheek, - Where love and heaven seemed to blend; - So full our hearts we could not speak, - As summer's glories found an end. - What tender lights sieved through the mist, - As waves and sunlight sparkling kissed, - While o'er the sea, to setting sun, - Swung thunder of the evening gun! - - Ah! gentle form, what gift was thine - To give the sky a deeper blue, - To make the barren sands divine, - And heaving sea a rosier hue? - 'Twas morn of life, and love's sweet glance - Gave dreary years their one romance, - When yielding form and tender eyes - Return to earth its paradise. - - On Narragansett's dreary sand, - Now bent and old, alone I stray, - Nor see the lights, nor waves, nor land, - But one lone grave so far away. - The storm-tossed foam and gulls distraught - Return like dreams, with haunted thought-- - "No more, no more, oh! never more!" - Moan the dark waves along the shore. - - PAUL DAVIS. - - - - -_THE NIGHT OF THE FRENCH BALL._ - - -A detective is well used to the unusual and to meeting as cold facts -what, when told, seems a tissue of the wildest improbabilities. During -my experience I had one case which for certain strange features I have -never had surpassed. It seemed to make itself into my hand as clear as -a first lesson in reading for a child, until almost the end, and then -came points which are hard enough to unravel. - -It occurred years ago, on the evening of the French Ball. I was free, -and attended it. It was the usual thing. The Academy of Music was -filled with gay women and young fellows about town. By twelve o'clock -the wanton hilarity was beginning to get well under way. The women -were leaning heavily on their partners' arms and indulging in loud -laughter, while the steps were more vigorous than decorous. The -high-kicking had begun. My attention had been particularly drawn to -one young woman. She was not very tall, but was beautifully made. She -was dressed like a Columbine. Her short, pointed skirt of yellow silk -and blue velvet came hardly to her knees, and the waist was quite -décolleté. On her blond hair was perched a conical cap with tiny -silver bells on it. Around her face was wound a piece of white lace to -serve as a mask. I noticed her because she was such an exquisitely -graceful dancer. Her small feet, cased in gold shoes with high heels, -twinkled as prettily as possible as they lightly touched the waxed -floor. The dancing was an intense pleasure to her evidently. She could -hardly keep her feet still during any pause in which she had not to -move. They would beat impatiently upon the floor, and she would toss -one in front of the other and sway her sinuous little figure, -impatiently waiting till her turn to dance came again. - -As I was standing near the door looking at her a party of several -young men came into the Academy. They stood and looked about and -passed remarks on the scene as if they had not yet become acquainted -with its features. They had been to a theatre, probably, and came to -the ball after it. The eyes and cheeks of two or three of them were -bright, as if they had been drinking. One young fellow seemed to be -the object of much attention from the others. He was a German, of -medium height, with blue eyes and exceedingly blond hair, while a rich -color mantled in his cheeks. The others would make some remark or -comment on the scene to him, and he would laugh or smile with the air -of a philosopher who had come to find a cynical enjoyment in the -insane folly of his kind. The others addressed him in German or -French, and called him "Graf." From his manner and appearance it did -not require much astuteness to conclude that he was a young German of -rank who was visiting the country. - -One of his companions turned to him with a broad smile and made some -remark, pointing out one of the dancers. I looked in the direction and -saw my pretty blond Columbine pirouetting gracefully around, with her -arms stretched out to her partner, a big fellow who was a little -fuddled with wine, and who had strayed out of the orbit of the girl in -a turn in the dance. She was not going to be balked of her share in -the measure, and tripped about by herself quite contentedly till he -should come back. It was an amusing touch to see the fairy-like -creature smiling good-naturedly, while the lumbering fellow who was -dancing with her, or who should have been dancing with her, was -gyrating beyond her reach. I glanced at the group of fellows to see if -it was she they were observing. - -A change had come over the German. His face was as white as death, and -his eyes were dilated and fixed. He had fallen a little back of the -others, as if he did not wish to be observed. This was interesting, -and I felt my professional instincts aroused. He answered their -remarks with a rather hard, forced smile. A moment after he made some -proposal or said something that seemed to be a surprise to them, and I -saw them shake hands with him. He left the hall in a hurried way. I -slipped after him. I wished to see what he did. He stood for a moment -in the foyer, and I saw his hands clinch fiercely. Then, in a -distraught sort of way, he walked around to one of the other entrances -to the dancing-floor and looked about among the dancers. He tried not -to get where he could be seen, and there was a fierce scowl on his -face. I lounged slowly in the neighborhood, and watched him. The -deathly paleness had not left his face. - -All at once he walked in upon the dancing-floor, with an attempt at -careless ease, and addressed a masker who wore the costume of a -Franciscan friar, a roomy brown suit, with a rope knotted at his waist -for a cincture, and a large hood to it which he had pulled up over his -head. He was standing near the entrance. He was masked, so he was -pretty thoroughly disguised. The monk was not dancing. - -The young German spoke to him, and then drew him out of the hall. In -the corridor he spoke more earnestly to him. The man seemed to be -declining some invitation or request. But after a few moments of -earnest speech from the German the two walked away, and, keeping them -in view, I saw the pair leave the Academy. - -I was at first tempted to follow them. But having no more definite -purpose than to see what would come of their movements, I concluded to -remain and witness the fun at the ball, which always grew fast and -furious at the small hours of the morning. - -So I resumed my old post and amused myself by watching the reckless -extravagance of the mob of revellers. The little Columbine, though she -had been taking her share of the champagne, for I had seen her in the -wine-room several times, was very firm on her feet. Her eyes twinkled -with a lazy sort of brightness. She had a better partner now, a little -young fellow dressed in black tights and a short velvet jacket. They -were coming down the middle of the room, his right arm around her -waist. Every few steps as they advanced, both facing forward, they -flung their legs in the air with a wild but graceful vigor. Then they -would whirl around to a sort of waltz-step, which the man in tights -would wind up by clasping the Columbine firmly around the waist and -gyrating so rapidly that her body was thrown out at right angles to -his own. - -They attracted a great deal of attention, because the grace of their -movements was very great, despite the wild abandon of it. I do not -know how I came to remark it, but while they were mid-way on their -course I saw the Franciscan monk come in at one of the entrances. He -leaned against a pillar, and I saw him watching the pair. - -They finished their bacchic course, and the youth in the black tights -escorted the panting, smiling girl to a seat, where he made a mock bow -of the deepest reverence and went off. I kept my eye still fixed on -the girl, who was smiling and fanning herself. Even then her little -feet beat the floor to the sound of the music. - -While she was sitting thus the monk came up and seated himself on a -chair by her side. He made some remarks to her. She coquettishly -answered them. Then to another she shook her head with playful -determination. The monk pressed the point, for he bent forward, though -I noticed that when she turned towards him he seemed to shrink back. - -Finally Columbine sprang to her feet, took his arm, and with a -half-regretful glance at the merry dancers left the room with him. - - * * * * * - -The next day the evening papers had a startling story. I have kept the -newspaper account. It was this: - - "A SEQUEL TO THE FRENCH BALL. - - "Those who were at the French Ball last night in the Academy - of Music may have remarked a young woman dressed as Columbine, - who excited a good deal of attention by her graceful dancing. - The giddy young thing will not dance at the next French Ball. - She was lying at the morgue this morning, stone dead, waiting - to be identified. It seems a cruel mockery, after her last - night's gayety, to behold her now, in her ball dress of black - and yellow velvet, lying till someone shall tell who she is. - Failing all identification, some doctor's scalpel will dissect - the corpse and study the muscles which worked so healthfully - in the dance. - - "The young girl was strangled to death last night in a - carriage. She left the ball with some one dressed like a - Franciscan monk, at two o'clock. The monk gave a card to the - driver, after printing on it 'No. -- 120th Street.' He also - gave the driver a twenty-dollar gold piece. All this without a - word. He was closely masked. The driver had only remarked that - his hand was very white and large, and that he wore a heavy - plain gold ring. - - "The two got in and he drove off. While he was driving along - the upper part of Madison Avenue he heard a sound which - attracted his attention. On looking round he saw that the door - of the carriage was open. He stopped, reached back with his - whip, and banged it to. He supposed the couple inside were - probably the worse for the wine they had taken at the ball, - and had either failed to shut the door, which had worked open, - or that the handle of the door had been fiddled with till it - opened, and they were too far gone to notice it. - - "At all events the twenty-dollar gold piece had made the - driver disposed to be obliging, and he had pushed it to for - them, and driven on. When he reached 120th Street, at the - designated number, he got off the box and opened the carriage - door. - - "A lamp-post in front of the house lit up the carriage. The - curtains of the carriage windows had been drawn. They were not - drawn when the couple got in. What he saw terrified him. - Columbine was lying, with her white wraps fallen about her, - between the seats, and a monk's frock and a girdle of rope, - together with a mask, were tossed on a seat. The monk had - disappeared! - - "The hackman shook the girl and tried to rouse her, but could - not. He pulled her forward, and then saw that her face was - frightfully red, and that the eyes were puffed out. On the - throat were the marks of fingers where a terrible grip had - been taken of her neck. - - "The story was clear enough. The monk, whoever he was, had - strangled the girl in the carriage, and had then thrown off - his disguise and let himself out at the door while the - carriage was still in motion. - - "This savage crime was evidently premeditated. The masker had - printed the address, had not spoken a word, and had paid the - fare before entering the carriage. So there was not the sound - of his voice, or his handwriting, to identify him, and his - form and face had been completely hidden. - - "The cabman drove at once to the nearest police-station and - told his story. The body was taken to the morgue. The - detectives are at work on the case, which promises to be a very - pretty one. _Known_: a man masked as a monk who was at the - French Ball, and who had a large white hand, on which he wears, - or wore, a plain gold ring. _Unknown_: the murderer. Who is the - detective that will run down the game?" - -"Here he is," I said to myself, as I finished reading the account. I -had more points than the paper gave. The scenes at the ball came back -to me very vividly now. The sudden deathly paleness of the German -stranger, and his departure with the Franciscan friar! There was a -connection here that was too evident to be passed over. - -I determined to find out who had murdered the pretty Columbine, who -had won me so by her graceful dancing and smiling good-humor. Early -the next morning I went to the morgue. There she lay, the dainty -figure stretched out so stiff and cold in the big gloomy room. What a -contrast to the scene in which I had seen her last! There was a damp -cloth over her face. When it was removed I saw a round, full face, the -features small and delicate. I gently pushed back the lids from her -eyes. They were a dark blue. Her blond hair was her own, and not a -wig. I pictured to myself the smoothly-rounded cheeks with the warm -color of life in them. I glanced regretfully at her feet, still in -their high-heeled golden shoes. They had tripped to their last dance, -the dance of Death, and were motionless forever. - -I found that a beautiful emerald which I noticed pinned in her corsage -on the night of the ball was gone. It had been rudely plucked away, -for the lace about the edge of her dress was torn and hanging. But a -large ring of rubies and diamonds had been left on her finger, and was -kept at the station-house. I had remarked the emerald because it had -an old-fashioned setting in gold, and impressed me as a family jewel. - -The people who lived at No. -- 120th Street were a most respectable -family, and a large one. They deprecated the publicity which the -number of their house in the story of the murdered girl had thrust -upon them. Inquiry into the character of this family satisfied me on -one point, that the monk had given that address simply because it was -a distant one, whether he had written it at random or had known the -people residing at the number. - -I went to all the transatlantic steamers which were in port and got -their passenger-lists of the voyage over. In one that had arrived -three days before I found a name which I will call in this story Count -Hermann Stolzberger of Vienna. He was the only German count who had -come over in any of them. - -I made a tour of the swell hotels in the city and examined their -registers. In one on Fifth Avenue I found the entry, "Hermann -Stolzberger and servant." He had arrived three days before. - -I engaged a room at the hotel. I wished to be in the neighborhood. I -had first inquired if Count Stolzberger had left town, and the clerk -had told me no. Where was he to go? The clerk had heard him say to a -friend that he expected to be in New York ten days or so. Was he in -now? No. He had gone out with friends and would not be back for -dinner. - -That evening I lounged around the office, sitting in the long corridor -into which the door from the street opened. I waited until twelve. No -Count! I prolonged my guard for an hour more, and he had not appeared. -I wished above all to get a look at Count Hermann Stolzberger. He -might, it was true, have gone in at the ladies' entrance, or he might -remain out all night. On the other hand, he possibly had delayed with -friends and would yet return. I waited. - -My patience was rewarded. At half-past one a cab rolled up to the -door, and a young man in a large overcoat, somewhat foreign in its -mode, sprang out and walked with a quick, nervous tread into the -corridor. He walked rapidly by, but my eye had taken him in from the -moment he opened the door. My memory of faces is excellent. I -recognized the blond fairness of the Count at once, though there was -not much color in his cheeks, and his face looked worn and thin. -Count Hermann Stolzberger was the young German who had entered the -French Ball and turned pale at the sight of the Columbine! - -I have said that this case almost seemed to unroll itself for me; but -there were two or three connections to be made to constitute proof, -and not leave me with a distinct suspicion only. - -I visited the morgue daily in hope of some clue, but none came. No one -identified the body, and after the allotted length of time it went to -the dissecting-table. There were hundreds of visitors to see it, and a -great deal of sympathy was expressed; but that was all. Nobody claimed -it or seemed to have known the poor girl. - -A costumer had claimed the Franciscan's robe. I fancy he did this more -through curiosity to find if it were the one he had let than on -account of the value of it, for it must have been very cheap. I got -the address of this man and called on him. I asked him if he -remembered the man who had hired it. He said he did. It was a -smooth-faced, dark-complexioned man of about forty. He remembered, -because he had made some joke with him about his being clean shaven -enough for a monk. - -The man had given no address, and he did not know who he was. This was -a slight hitch in the proceedings. I was convinced that the murderer -in the garb of the Franciscan friar was not the man who had engaged it -of the costumer, but the German. He was of much the same size and -build as the original monk, and so he had assumed the loose brown -habit without exciting my attention. But the fact of the German's -turning so pale and calling the monk out from the dance had made me -feel that he was the one who had strangled the gay Columbine in the -carriage that night. - -The Count seemed to grow visibly thinner. There was a drawn look to -his face, and during the time that the dead girl lay at the morgue he -seemed to be held by some terrible thought. I had shadowed him closely -to see if he ever went to see the remains, but he did not go near -them. His terrible secret was telling on him fearfully, however. The -color had become faint in his cheeks, and his eyes had a haggard look. -When he was with others he would affect a gayety that drove much of -this distressing expression from his face; but when he came home alone -it was very marked. - -Something had to be done if I was to secure the proof that would -convict the Count. It was the third day since I had come to the hotel -and busied myself in studying him. He had gone to the reading-room, -contrary to his usual habit, after finishing his breakfast. While he -was there two of his friends came in, and they began conversing -together. I slipped across the way and hastily wrote a message, sealed -it, and charged a messenger-boy to deliver it, saying that he was to -wait and see if any answer would be given. - -I hurried back to the reading-room of the hotel again. The Count and -his friends were still there. If they only remained till the messenger -arrived! I had seated myself in a corner behind some one, but with my -eyes commanding a full view of the three. The message did come before -they left. One of the hotel clerks brought it in. The Count tore open -the envelope and read the note. I could not but admire his -self-control. The nostrils expanded and hardened, and a stolid look -crept into his eyes for a moment; but that was all. What he read was -this: "You know and I know whose hands left those marks on the throat. -Why do you not wear your gold ring?" - -He remained in thought for a moment. Then he lightly excused himself -to his friends and went out, having asked something of the servant. He -had gone to see the messenger-boy. I did not fear the description he -would get being of much help to him. He was not gone very long. When -he returned he talked easily to his two friends, and after a little -while they went out together. - -When he came in that night a letter was waiting for him which had come -through the mail. "What good did it do to kill Columbine?" was all -there was in it. - -The next morning when he awoke he found a note under his door. Its -contents were these words: "Is it harder to be choked to death by ten -fingers or by a rope?" - -There was a far more guarded expression about his face after these -notes than before. He always wore a fixed, stolid calm now. He -evidently felt that some eye was on him, and he could not tell when or -where. - -The evening of the following day he received another message. It ran: -"Leave New York at once if you would save your neck." - -The Count was too sharp for me. He did not go. But he did not go out -so much in the daytime. He could not altogether cloak his feelings. -There was a disposition on his part to take quick, searching glances -about him. - -But the strain on him was telling. It cost him more effort to keep -from looking troubled. His face got thinner and paler. I was -"shadowing" him closely; but I had to be very careful, for he was -trying to discover who it was that was on his tracks. - -One morning he went out about the hour he generally left the hotel. It -was the fourth day after the note which advised him to leave New York. -He went directly to a railroad station and took the train for Chicago. -I was prepared for this emergency, and went on the same train. - -When it arrived in Chicago, he went to the Palmer House and registered -as Karl Schlechter. He had not been in his room half an hour when a -note was given him. It had been sent by a messenger-boy. "Karl -Schlechter is Count Herman Stolzberger, and the halter is as near him -in Chicago as in New York," ran the note. - -It seemed almost cruel to pursue him like a Nemesis; but I thought of -the gay Columbine whose young life had been mercilessly choked out of -her by his smooth white hands, and did not desist. - -He left Chicago that night after sending a telegram. Probably it was -to his man in New York. He went west as far as Kansas City. A note was -handed him in the same way as soon as he had got well settled at his -hotel: "The ghost of a strangled girl does not care for place." - -He remained here only a day, sending another telegram. When the train -had started which carried him away, he walked through the cars -deliberately looking at the passengers. - -At Denver the old story was repeated: "Eyes sharper than your own are -still on you. You cannot escape the hold of your murdered victim." - -The next step was to Salt Lake City. He went through the same tactics -on the cars, and his sharp eye took me in. - -A new note reached him at the Walker House. "It may not be long before -we meet again, and then my fingers will be at your throat." - -In the evening after dinner he was in the billiard-room of the hotel. -He saw me there and finally came and seated himself by my side. He -engaged me in conversation. He spoke English in a broken way which -there is no need to reproduce. - -"Was I from New York?" he began. - -"Yes." - -"Are you travelling for pleasure or business?" he asked next. - -"For pleasure," I answered. - -"A foreigner is a little surprised when he sees an American travelling -in his own country. It seems as if he must be familiar with it. Where -are you going from here?" - -"Oh, I am not settled. I drift where the humor takes me." - -I saw I had become the subject of his suspicions. But he did not yet -know me as the author of the notes. - -He did not remain long in Salt Lake City. I went from the place when -he did. He had noticed me once or twice and felt certain I was -following him. He went to San Francisco direct. When we arrived there, -he gave some order to a hackman, before stepping into the carriage. I -engaged another hackman. - -"Follow that carriage until the man gets out, but only keep close -enough to know where it goes." - -The hack in which the Count had got travelled around without any -definite termination apparently. He wished to know if anyone was -following him, and had told the hackman to see if another carriage was -after him. He soon found there was, and then he drove at once to the -hotel, and hurried into the office. - -I got there a few moments later. I went to the register. His name was -not there at all. I looked around the place and found him sitting not -far off. He had begun to watch me. I went down stairs and gave a note -to one of the boys to take out to the message office, and have it sent -to Count Stolzberger. I had prepared it beforehand, so I was only gone -a moment. He kept me well in view all he could. When he finally went -to register, he signed his right name, Count Stolzberger, and the -clerk gave him the message which had been brought in. - -He seemed puzzled. He had kept me in view ever since I arrived, and I -had had no time to write a note. So for a moment he did not know what -to think. The note had said: "The man who lent you the costume of the -friar has been found. There are not many more turns for you now. This -man will recognize you when he sees you. Other witnesses will prove -that you spoke to Columbine, drove off with her in the hack, and that -the poor girl was found dead after your disappearance. What lacks to -fit the rope to your neck?" - -He engaged his room, and soon after he had gone to it a boy came to me -and asked me to go to the Count's room for a few moments. - -Count Stolzberger was sitting in an easy-chair near a table, on which -there was writing-material. He rose, greeted me with dignity, and -motioned me to a chair, asking me to sit down. - -"You remember that we both came from Kansas City together, and that -part of the journey was made in a sleeping-car," he said, with slow -deliberation. - -"We may have done so," I answered. - -"In the night I went through the pockets of your coat and vest. The -result of that investigation, and especially as regards certain notes -made by you on a sheet of paper, has shown me that you are a -detective, and that you are engaged in working up the case of the girl -who was--who died after the French Ball in New York. I am right, am I -not?" he inquired, all in the same calm, measured way. - -"Yes," I replied. "I have been keeping you in sight, Count, until the -necessary proofs were obtained that would convict the murderer." - -"You fancy that I am the one who did the deed?" he asked, in the same -measured tones. - -"I know it," I answered quietly, but with an air of conviction. - -"Granting, for the moment, that you are right, what interest have you -in bringing home the crime to me? Who has engaged you to do this?" - -"The pretty girl who was strangled, and a professional desire to work -up the case." - -"The several notes I have received were from you, I suppose," he -continued, in his easy, careless tones. - -"Yes." - -"And you have the proof that I am the murderer?" he inquired, turning -his eyes unflinchingly on me. - -I smiled. "Count, I fear that everything is against you." - -"You would be sadly mortified to find that you were mistaken, I -presume." - -"I should be sadly surprised," I returned, again with a quiet smile. - -"What time did the hackman drive off with the monk and the girl?" he -asked me. - -"At ten minutes past two. The hackman noted the time to see what hour -he could hope to get back for another fare." - -"Well, let me tell you something that may modify your search in this -business. I had made arrangements to go with the girl. I did not wish -in any way to be connected with her departure. So just when we were -ready to go down to the carriage, I told her to wait for me at the -entrance for five minutes. She said she would, and went down. - -"I had put on the monk's garb over my evening dress. I threw it off -and left it in one of the dressing-rooms. I hurried back to the floor -and made it a point to show myself to several persons who knew me. I -feared that possibly some one had seen me talk to the monk, and would -connect the disappearance of Columbine afterward with a monk with -this. This was my reason for conspicuously showing myself after she -had gone out with me in the monk's dress. - -"I was not away more than six or seven minutes, when I went back to -the dressing-room to put on the habit again. It was gone! I searched -in the neighboring rooms, thinking some one might have moved it to -some other place. I could not find it. I then hastened down to the -entrance to go with the Columbine in my dress-suit, with a mask on, -for I had slipped that in my breast. - -"The girl was not there! I inquired of some of the bystanders, and -they told me that a monk had got into a carriage with her not five -minutes before. Who that monk was I am as ignorant as yourself. You -have followed a false trail. I did _not_ go with the girl, and can -prove an alibi for the next two hours after she drove off. Several of -my friends were with me from then till I went to my hotel, and my man -knows the hour when I came home with them. I was terribly shocked the -next day when I heard of her mur--her death." - -I felt considerably taken back and very foolish. The Count's accents -were those of truth, and afterwards his assertions were fully borne -out by witnesses. Who it was that murdered the unfortunate girl has -remained the closest mystery ever since. - -"Will you tell me your relation to the girl? Why did you turn pale -when you saw her? And why did you wish to go with her, as you admit -having wished to do?" - -"That," said the Count, with intense decision, "you will never know -from me." - -And I never did. There was a twofold mystery about what had seemed to -me as clear as the alphabet. Never could I learn what were Count -Stolzberger's relations with the girl, nor who had murdered her in the -carriage after the ball. - - PORTLAND WENTFORTH. - - - - -_DOES THE HIGH TARIFF AFFECT OUR EDUCATIONAL SYSTEM?_ - - -We had, before the war, the system of apprenticeship as practised to a -great extent in Europe to-day. Its almost total extinction is laid at -the door of concentrated, and still concentrating, capital, aided by -improved machinery. - -Some may argue that our improved machinery has the tendency to -combine capital. This may be true in some measure; but, upon second -thought, it will become clear to an impartial thinker that the -protective tariff is the chief cause, as is evidenced by its baneful -results--the trusts. - -Under this new order, the shoemaker has no need of apprentices. The -Northern shoe-factory, which employs cheap foreign labor at -labor-saving machines, takes away his trade. He has, of course, a few -customers for hand-made shoes, but his principal occupation consists -in mending the poorly made shoes of the factory. He needs no -apprentices for that, but, in order to make a comfortable living for -his family and give his children the benefits of an education, he must -charge big prices; and I venture to predict that the time is not far -off when it will be cheaper to the consumer to buy a new pair of shoes -from the factory than to have the old ones half-soled and otherwise -repaired by the shoemaker of his town. This holds good in regard to -other trades, and the question arises: What condition are we drifting -into? - -The indications are that we shall have in the near future a -manufacturing class, a farming class, and a floating class. This -floating class deserves our serious consideration. It consists of a -large body of men and women, shiftlessly changing from the merchant -class to the professions, and from the professions to the merchant -class. - -Our educational system helps to increase the confusion. Starting out -with the intention of making the schools of the country the foundation -of a substantial education in the elementary branches, our educators -have allowed themselves to be carried away--through sheer enthusiasm, -no doubt--from that simple and substantial basis of operation; and we -have to-day, as the necessary result, the most complicated, absurd, -and absolutely useless educational system in the world. - -There is no branch of human knowledge that is not taught in the public -schools of the country; and the most remarkable fact about it is that -one solitary teacher is supposed to understand and to be able to teach -this endless variety of branches. - -For whose benefit is such an education intended? For the large -floating population of the country; for the boys and girls whose -parents have no positive intentions as to their children's future -career. - -In conversation with a public-school teacher I asked why he taught -geometry and trigonometry in the school. "Well," he said, "it is of -not much use, and takes valuable time from the rest of the scholars; -but some of the patrons wish to have their children study it, because -_they might have future use for it_." - -When a few others wish Latin, German, or French taught, the teacher -immediately undertakes it, while the great mass of the pupils are -actually starving for the most elementary knowledge of the -common-school branches. - -We have, in consequence, a class, composed principally of young men, -who have no education especially suited to any definite trade or -profession. This class is constantly growing, to the detriment of the -country. The trades are driven to the wall by combined capital, and -there is literally nothing to do for many of our young men except to -stand in a store as clerk or bookkeeper. Farmers' sons starting out in -life with a shallow education received from a shallow system look with -aversion upon the occupation of tiller of the soil, and, deluded by -the education received at the country school-house into the belief -that the world lays at their feet, go from one profession or trade to -another, never satisfied, never of any account, and never successful. - -If a freer trade has a tendency to break up trusts and combinations of -capital, it will, in consequence, distribute the industries of the -country more evenly among the people, and, by giving employment to our -young men at home, will give them a definite aim in life and do away -with the silly demand for a university education in a common public -school. - - EMIL LUDWIG SCHARF. - - - - -_MARCH 4th, 1889._ - - - Hail to the new! unto the winner hail! - Hail to the rising, not the setting sun! - So runs the world: success, however won, - Dulleth, the while, his glory who doth fail. - Yet, as thou puttest off thy proven mail, - Strong soul that didst no issue ever shun, - Or at entrenched greed's resentment quail! - Hark to the swelling undertone--"Well done!" - - Unto the canker which thy country's life - Yearly doth make flow more and more impure, - Thou wouldst, where needed most, have put the knife, - And from its root the pest begun to cure. - O brave chirurgeon! who shall end the strife - It matters not--thy fame remaineth sure. - - ALFRED HENRY PETERS. - - - - -_EDITORIAL DEPARTMENT._ - - -THE SALE OF THE PRESIDENCY. - -No better illustration of the power wielded by the press has been -given, since the London _Times_ took up the Crimean War and remodelled -the allied armies, than that of the New York _World_ in its assault on -the corruptions of the ballot that robbed the people of the United -States of their voted will at the late presidential election. - -This monstrous crime against self-government would have faded from -public memory, and lost its place in the annals of iniquity, but for -the energy and enterprise of this journal, that sent an army of -correspondents over the country and gathered the proofs of the open -market in which was sold and bought the Presidency. - -This fearful exposé of a burning shame was followed by messages from -governors, and bills by legislatures, looking, not to the punishment -of the wrong-doers, but to the enactment of preventive laws tending to -the protection of the people in the future. - -It is to be observed, however, that this potent power failed to bring -on any investigations, any indictments, or a single effort to punish -the guilty. This the _World_ demanded, but this the _World_ failed to -obtain. - -The reason for the impotent result in this one direction is easy to -comprehend when we get at the facts underlying the corruption. Neither -party was, or is, in a condition to demand an investigation, for the -leaders of each are alike guilty. It is generally believed that money -was corruptly used by both organizations, and that the Republicans, -having the larger sum, won in the end. This is true, but it is only -true in part. Honest investigation would bring out the startling fact, -that the vast sums collected from millionaires, and the very -significant amount assessed on office-holders, were for the one -purpose of returning Benjamin Harrison to the Presidency and again -putting the moneyed power of the country in the keeping of the -Republican party. - -This manner of operating by corrupt means has long been well known to -the more observant. Corruption has no conscience, no patriotism, and -no politics. All rascality rests on a purely business basis. When a -merchant seeks a partner, he does not bother himself about that -partner's religious belief or party predilections. When rogues wish to -form a trust or ring, they in like manner consider only the capacity -of their brother-rogues, and when politics is at all considered, it is -because of the safety from investigation found in having all sides -implicated. Thus, when the great Aqueduct steal of New York was -organized, the managers were made up of both Democrats and -Republicans. When, therefore, an investigation went far enough to -develop two prominent Republicans added to the responsible -commission, and one of those Republicans was called to the stand and -asked how he came to accept such a position, he responded naïvely that -he sought to secure some of the patronage of the public work for his -own party. - -Now, when we remember that President Cleveland, in the last hours of -his illustrious administration, made a deadly assault on a system that -oppressed the many for the benefit of a few, we get a clue to a -mystery that has puzzled the masses. Vast sums were openly subscribed, -and almost as openly used, in the purchase of votes to perpetuate the -corruption. And we had developed two startling facts that go to show -that our experiment of self-government is well-nigh a failure. - -The first of these is that we have so cheapened the suffrage that we -have an element in between the two parties large enough to decide a -presidential election of what we call "floaters"--that is, men who -stand upon the street-corners, and crop out in the rural regions, with -their votes in hand, for sale to the highest bidders. The market price -varies from five dollars to a hundred, as the demand may rule. - -The second fact teaches that the election through States facilitates -this infamous abuse. We find that while President Cleveland won in the -popular vote by nearly a hundred thousand majority, he lost the -presidency. Through the electoral system we have developed two pivotal -States, and the market thus narrowed makes the corruption possible. - -It is quite evident that we cannot narrow the suffrage, but it is -possible to widen the vote; and if the patriotic people of the United -States care to sustain the great republic, and give to their children -the precious possession of a constitutional government, based on an -equality of rights before the law, no time should be lost in wiping -out an electoral system that has not only failed of its purpose, but -is a source of peril to the government. - -It is said of a distinguished politician of Pennsylvania that when -called on to contribute money for the purpose of carrying a State -election, he, refusing, said, "What's the use of wasting money on the -people in an election when you can purchase the legislature with -one-fourth the money?" Now, immense as are the sums gotten through -monopoly and unjust taxation, they are not sufficient to purchase -votes throughout the entire country, to say nothing of the danger -attending such an attempt. - -We learn this from Col. Dudley's famous, or rather infamous, letter of -instruction to his subordinates. He wanted the floaters classed in -blocks of five. This, not because the floaters were so numerous as to -require such organized handling, but because it was a hazardous -venture, and agents willing to transact the business were scarce. That -they were found in deacons, class-leaders, bankers, and Sunday-school -teachers only shows the desperate condition to which the moneyed power -was reduced in its effort to secure again the control of our -government. - -Had the Democracy planted itself firmly upon honest ground and fought -this corruption because it was corrupt and not from a fever of -excitement to win at all hazards, it might have been defeated--probably -would have been. But in that defeat it would have held a position that -would now enable it to investigate, indict, and punish. As it is, we -have a great outcry and no efficient work. Col. Dudley goes acquit of -all save public condemnation, not because of any difficulty attending a -legal condemnation, but because his accusers cannot enter court with -clean hands. - -This is an ugly statement to make; but for the sake of the political -association with which we sympathize, and in whose cause, as developed -in the late election, we are deeply interested, we feel it our duty to -assert the truth in the plainest terms. The Democracy should remember -that in this corrupt game they must of necessity be the losers. The -corruption fund is and must be with their opponents. The gist of the -contention lies in the fact that the Democracy seek to arrest a -robbery that has already made their opponents rich, and the swag thus -obtained affords the means through which it may be held. To enter such -an arena is to enter it unarmed. - -Senator Plumb, when he made the assertion, subsequently published by -authority, that the only class really benefited by our system of -extortion miscalled protection should have "the fat fried out of it" -to carry on the election, unintentionally uttered a truth we cannot -ignore. This again was supplemented by Senator Ingalls's instruction -to his State delegation at Chicago to nominate for the Vice-Presidency -"some fellow like Phelps who can tap Wall Street." And the evidence -closes with Col. Dudley's direction to organize "the floaters in -blocks of five." - -These are noted and recognized leaders of the Republican party. -Senators Plumb and Ingalls are not only prominent as such, but are men -of brain and culture. Col. Dudley is known to the country as a -prominent worker in the cause of the moneyed power. Now, while we -might hesitate to take the word of any one of these gentlemen when -advocating any measure of importance to their party, we are bound to -accept all they assert against themselves, in accordance with -well-recognized principles of evidence. - -Their admissions are fatal to their party, as their practice, if -continued, will prove fatal to the Republic. We have some twenty-two -State legislatures laboring to so amend the machinery of elections as -to make this purchase of votes difficult, if not impossible. In this -good work the Democracy should be the zealous leaders, not only -because it is reform, but because it is the salvation of the party. - -If this corruption found in the mere purchase of votes ended with that -foul practice we might hope for something; but back of that, hid in -the darkness, lies the ugly, snaky form of treachery. The money -subscribed by millionaires is not always used in the camp of the party -in whose behalf it was contributed. So long as rogues are countenanced -in one direction they will be found in others. The startling fact that -we cannot have investigations for fear of uncovering our own people is -supplemented by another no less startling--that such investigation -would expose not only bribe-takers but traitors. We are not asserting -this without due consideration, and we give to print only what is -known by the more shrewd and observant in our own midst. - -The proof of this is not necessary. The knowledge that corruption did -exist carries with it assurance that it extended in such directions as -the wrong-doers found most efficient. When that sturdy old -corruptionist, Oakes Ames, was called upon to account for the stock of -the _Crédit Mobilier_ with which he had been intrusted, he replied -that he had placed it "where it would do the most good," and his keen, -incisive remark has passed into a popular proverb. The wretched, -degraded creature who sells his vote parts with an infinitesimal bit -of power, and he is a saint and a gentleman by the side of the man -who, trusted by his party, betrays that trust for a moneyed -consideration. However, this carries us beyond our subject. - -The truest and best reform that can be attained is the most radical, -and that is, as we have said, to elect the President by a direct vote -of the people, and do away with an electoral system that survived its -usefulness in the death of George Washington. The next best is to -secure the secrecy of the ballot. Anything short of this is vain. When -we have so arranged the machine that the bribe-taker cannot make open -delivery of the stolen goods, we have driven the bribe-giver to -accepting the word of a wretch whose oath would be worthless. - -In view of the peril in which we find ourselves, with the very -foundations taken from under the tottering political fabric known as -the Great Republic, the anxiety manifested by our law-makers lest some -citizen may be deprived of his vote in this effort to purify the polls -would be ludicrous were it not that the subject is of so serious a -nature. The very ground is sliding from under us, and these Solons are -concerned as to the shoes we may be deprived of in our effort at -escape. Indeed, if to perfect the reform it became necessary not only -to deprive a few citizens of the suffrage, but to hang Messrs. Plumb, -Ingalls, and Dudley, shocking as the sacrifice would be to us, we -should say, like a Roman father, let them hang. Indeed, undying fame -hereafter would proclaim that in their deaths they had done their -country some service. - - -VACANT PEWS AND WORRIED PULPITS. - -The homes, so called, of our larger cities are in a majority of cases -without comfort, and in nearly all instances without refinement. The -class upon which we once so prided ourselves, made up of families -possessed of a competence, and enabled through a reasonable income -from steady work to have about their homes some comfort and a few -luxuries, is rapidly disappearing. We have left us two classes only, -made up of the very rich and the poor. The merchant, the mechanic, and -even the common laborer, who once could boast of a humble home of his -own, and enough steady employment to make that home comfortable, is -rarely met with. We believe indeed that he exists only in the -imagination of Senator Edmunds. Well-authenticated statistics inform -us that we have a larger percentage of tenantry to our population than -any people on the face of the earth. This not only includes our great -commercial, mining, and manufacturing centres, but the rural regions -as well. We learn that, throughout the agricultural regions, while the -farms lessen in number, the farmers increase. - -We know what this means. We recognize at a glance that the growth of -our country in national wealth, which is claimed to be amazing, is not -a healthy growth. For that is not healthy which gives prosperity to a -few and poverty to the masses. - -This has been so long and so generally recognized that it has come to -be commonplace, and people weary of its reiteration. We indulge in -this weariness for the purpose of calling attention to a consequence -that is not so familiar. - -It is remarked by observant lookers-on from abroad that our laboring -classes are thoroughly ignorant of art, and take no pleasure in -contemplating works of art, as do the like classes in the towns of -Europe. The reason given for this is that we have no specimens in our -highways, and few in galleries. The latter are closed against the -laboring classes on the only day a laborer can have to visit them, and -that is Sunday. - -The wrong done our people by this can scarcely be overestimated. A -taste for art can generally be cultivated. It is quite impossible to -educate a people in science and literature, for this depends on -intellectual faculties that our heavenly Father, from a wise purpose -to us unknown, has been very sparing in distributing. But almost every -man is capable of being taught to admire, if not love, the beautiful -in art. What an element in the way of social improvement or progress -this cultivated taste is we all recognize, and what happens to a race -that neglects it we all know. - -Now, it is possible for a people to possess the highest appreciation -of, and admiration for, art and yet be semi-barbarous, for the -Christian element is necessary to bring about real civilization; but -it is quite impossible for a race to be without some cultivation in -the way of art and be civilized at all. - -It is not strange, to a thoughtful observer, to note that as a nation -we are on the down-grade. Such an observer from abroad cannot cross -Broadway, for example, without learning that life and limb are in -peril from a community that has more law and less order than any -people the world over. He is prepared to learn then that our galleries -of art--such as exist--are closed against the poor, and he is ready to -receive without wonder the further fact that our churches also are -closed against the poor. - -It is this last truth that is somewhat new in the way of being -recognized, although quite old as a matter of fact. - -At a convocation of Protestant ministers held at Chickering Hall last -November, on behalf of the Protestant community of New York, the -following was officially stated as to the religious condition of the -city: - -"The population of New York City has for years been steadily and -rapidly increasing, while at the same time the number of churches has -been relatively decreasing. In 1840 there was one Protestant church to -every 2,400 people; in 1880, one to 3,000; and in 1887, one to 4,000." - -Now, to this startling admission could have been added another, no -less deplorable, and that is that the attendance has decreased more -rapidly than the churches, and, in such as now remain open a seventh -part of the time, there is an exhibit of empty seats quite depressing -to the minister. If we consider the Protestant population only, not -one-tenth are church attendants--and not a tenth of these are true -believers. - -The reason for this deplorable condition was much discussed by the -good men making up the clerical convention, and the prevailing opinion -seemed to be, as gathered from the utterances, that this disheartening -result came from the active interference of the Catholic clergy--or -papists, as our friends termed them. - -There was much truth in this. These zealous "papists" are certainly -making great inroads upon our population; but, admitting that they -take large numbers from the Protestant churches, there yet remains a -vast population of non-going church people that the so-called papists -have not influenced, nor indeed as yet approached. What then is the -cause of this irreligious condition? - -We believe that we can help our clerical friends to a solution of this -religious mystery. It comes from a lack of consideration for the -masses they seek to instruct. There is a want of sympathy for the -poor, that not only shuts the galleries of art from the laboring -classes, but closes the Protestant churches also. - -These structures, while scarcely to be classed as works of art,--for -they are carefully divested of all that appeals to good taste,--are -yet luxurious affairs at which the rich and well-born, in purple and -fine linen, are expected to attend. They are more social than -religious affairs, and there is no place for the ragged, even if such -appeared from a public bath, duly cleansed of their offensive dirt. To -make this exclusiveness complete, the churches are filled with pews -that, like boxes at the opera, are the property of subscribers able to -pay for such luxuries. True, certain pews are reserved as free seats -for the poor; but the class sought thus to be accommodated are averse -to being put in their poverty on exhibition, as it were, even for the -luxury of hearing a solemn-toned clergyman whose theological -gymnastics are as much beyond the comprehension of the hearers as they -are beyond that of the reverend orator himself. - -To realize our condition in this respect, let our reader imagine, if -he can, our blessed Saviour and his apostles entering bodily, to-day, -one of these edifices built to His worship. Weary and travel-stained, -clad in the coarsest of garments, the procession would scarcely start -along the dim-lit aisle before that austere creation of Nature in one -of her most economical moods, the sexton, would hurry forward to repel -further invasion of that most respectable sanctuary of God. Our -Saviour would be informed that somewhere in the outlying spaces of -poverty-stricken regions there was a mission-house suitable for such -as He. - -We must not be understood as intimating, let alone asseverating, aught -against this form of Christianity. It is so much better than none that -we feel kindly toward it. The religious evolution that develops a -respectable sort of religious purity, that builds a marble pulpit and -velvet-cushioned pews, is all well enough if it quiets the conscience -and soothes with trust the death-bed of even a Dives. We regard a -Salvation Army, that makes a burlesque of religion as it goes shouting -with its toot-horns and stringed instruments, as to be tolerated, -because it is better than the Bob Ingersolls. We only seek to inform -the well-meaning teachers of the religion of to-day why it is they -preach to empty pews. - -Few of us are aware of what we are doing when we close our galleries -and churches, and open our saloons to the poor. This last, so far, has -proved impossible. But let our hot gospellers, whose creed is based on -"_Be-it-enacted_," visit any one of the poor abodes of the laborers -denied admission to innocent places of amusement on the only holiday -they have for such recreation. Such investigator will descend to a -subterranean excavation dug in the sewer-gas-filtered earth, where the -walls sweat disease and death. These are homes for humanity. Or he -will ascend rotten stairways to crowded rooms, heated to suffocation -by pestilent air poisoned by over-used breath from men, women, and -children, packed in regardless of health, comfort, and decency. These -are the so-called homes of thousands and thousands: and the wonder is, -not that they die, but that they live. We send millions of money with -missionaries to foreign shores: to our own flesh and blood we -send--the police. Loving care and patient help are bestowed on distant -pagans: poor-houses, prisons, and wrath are the fate awarded to our -brothers at home. - -A little way from these abodes of misery and crime the saloon is open, -with its gilded iniquity, warm, cheerful, and stimulated with liquid -insanity in bottles and beer-kegs. Do we wonder that the churches are -empty and the saloons crowded? - -The advent of our blessed Saviour was heralded by the anthem of the -heavenly hosts, that sang "Glory to God on high, and peace and -good-will to men on earth." The few sad years of our Redeemer's life -among men were passed with the poor, the sinful, and the sorrowing. We -have to-day much glory to God on high, and no good-will to men on -earth. - -Your churches decrease in numbers as the population swells, O -brethren, because of your lack of Christian sympathy! - - -THE TRUTH ABOUT SAMOA. - -It would be interesting to know at what precise period in Prince -Bismarck's masterful career he first conceived the scheme of colonial -empire which has grown to be an absorbing passion of his declining -years. Probably it was about the time when he began to proclaim, with -suspicious energy, that nothing was farther from his designs than to -rival the achievements of Great Britain in the field which that nation -had made almost exclusively its own. No modern statesman is better -versed in the arts of diverting public attention from the enterprises -he has resolved to prosecute with his utmost strength and skill. -Events which rapidly followed the exhausting war of 1870 were -calculated to admonish him that Germany's resources were insufficient -to maintain her in the position of supremacy to which he had led her. -The steady increase of emigration to America was one of the -discomposing consequences of his splendid triumph, and the hope of -retaining under German rule the tens of thousands of fighting men who -annually deserted the fatherland may have been a powerful incentive to -colonial development in various attractive parts of the world. -Whatever the original impelling motives were, there is now no doubt -that the plan of extending the German sway indefinitely by -establishing vast settlements in regions yet uncivilized, and making -them tributary to the glory and wealth of the empire he had created, -took possession of the Chancellor's mind, a dozen or more years ago, -with a tenacity which no discouragement or dissuasion has ever -weakened. It was about that date that the unusual activity of German -ships of war in the Oriental seas excited the watchfulness of European -governments and provoked inquiries which led to singular disclosures. -The methods of diplomatic investigation in the far East are in some -respects different from those which prevail nearer home--possibly -owing to a lack of facility in employing them where official scrutiny -is close and constant; and it might be injudicious to examine too -minutely the processes by which it became known that the guardian of -Germany's destinies was engaged in maturing a plot of territorial -aggrandizement the like of which has been devised by no other European -statesmen in recent days, and which has been paralleled only by the -vivid imagination of the first Napoleon. It was soon learned that of -the numerous islands which constitute what is known as Polynesia, not -one of value had escaped visitation by carefully selected explorers, -whose errand it was to report upon the feasibility of eventually -making the German flag supreme in the Southern Pacific, and delivering -over enormous tracts of land to the domination of the German race. - -A glance at a map of the world will show how immense the possibilities -of conquest in the East are to one who has fixed his resolve upon -unscrupulous annexation or absorption. The natives of these regions -are incapable of resistance, and nothing but the combined opposition -of European naval powers could ever stand in the way of the gigantic -enterprise. Such opposition Germany has--or believes she has--little -cause to fear. Some of the leading nations are bound to support her -interests by alliances which they dare not break. France can interpose -no obstacle that would be regarded with anxiety. Russia has no -immediate concern in the Asian archipelagos, and any claim put forward -by the United States would be rejected with derision. Great Britain -alone remains, and against her interference the German rulers are -confident that they have a sure safeguard in the traditional -apprehension of Russian encroachments in the north and west of Asia. -While England is straining her eyes to scan the slightest movement of -the Czar toward China and Korea, and speculating incessantly upon the -outcome of supposed intrigues which probably have no substantial -existence, Germany considers herself secure from molestation in other -quarters. It is quite as likely, however, that the rooted English -conviction of German incapacity to conduct colonial operations may -more reasonably account for the indifference to Bismarck's -proceedings. From some cause, not yet clearly divulged, the Germans -have certainly been permitted to pursue their audacious course with -singular freedom from remonstrance. It cannot be surmised that the -British authorities are ignorant of what is in progress. Even if they -were unprovided with direct sources of information, there is enough in -the avowed and unconcealed demonstrations of the past ten years to -awaken jealousy. Without anything approaching a sound commercial basis -for the undertaking, the far-seeing Chancellor has established a huge -national steamship line, exceeding in length of route the extremest -reach of the most important British maritime companies. From the -Baltic ports this line runs southward, one arm extending through the -Mediterranean and the Red Sea, and skirting the continent of Asia -until it comes to an end in Korean waters, while the other embraces -almost the entire coast of Africa, and, starting eastward, touches -Australia, penetrates the great Malay group, and finds a convenient -terminus in the Samoa Islands, concerning which so much futile -discussion has been wasted in the last few months. All along the -aforesaid African route the shores are dotted with German settlements, -often planted in direct defiance of England's claim to priority, and -maintained in spite of every form of protest. The British flag has -been affronted under circumstances far more flagrant than the world -suspects, yet the outrage has been passed over with careful avoidance -of public scandal. Unless it is believed by the English government -that Bismarck's mighty conception is destined to an ignominious -collapse,--like an ill-balanced arch whose span is too ponderous for -self-support,--it is difficult to conjecture the reasons for this -prolonged submission to an insolent and unprecedented dictation. - -But no apprehension of collapse disturbs the German statesman's -undaunted soul. In his cabinet lie the maps of the reconstructed -world, upon which the future dominions of his country equal in -magnitude, if they do not surpass, those of the most extensive -territorial powers. The course of operations with respect to each -accession is plainly marked out, and to the fulfilment of the -stupendous whole he and those who bear his name are unalterably -pledged. It may be generations, even in his ambitious view, before the -great result is attained, but no doubt of the final consummation is -allowed to take shape among those who know the bent of the iron -Chancellor's will. Meanwhile, effective measures are employed to try -the temper and test the enduring faculties of the native races to be -subdued. Cruelty and barbarity mark the German range of advancement, -wherever their footsteps are imprinted. In Africa and in most parts of -Asia their name is held in terror and abhorrence. They are uniformly -represented by men of Bismarck's own stamp, who shrink from nothing -that can accelerate the completion of their plans. The episode of -Samoa affords a fair example of their intentions and their methods of -execution. What is Samoa? Simply a strategic point of departure--a -station that must be owned and held as a rallying-spot, a depot, and -an arsenal. Having been once selected, it will never be surrendered, -except under a pressure greater than the civilized world is willing or -able, in Bismarck's belief, to concentrate upon such an object. The -notion that the Washington government can exert the minutest influence -is too groundless to be entertained by any person who has studied the -situation. It is true that most of the European powers courteously -abstain from offering opinions as to the result of American -intervention, but the Chinese, who are aware of no reasons for -reserve, openly laugh at it. The Japanese, more keenly alive to -ultimate consequences, do not laugh, but are grievously concerned at -the growing feebleness and irresolution of the only country that has -ever permitted considerations of humanity to enter into its foreign -policy. Russia--strangely or not, as the observer may choose to -decide--is the sole great power that appears to cherish expectations -of a future growth of American influence in the Eastern Hemisphere. -German agents, acting under well-defined and easily comprehended -instructions, omit no opportunity to belittle and degrade the -reputation of the United States in all the districts which are -included in the scope of Bismarck's magnificent projects. - -But the reputation of this Republic, for good or evil, is not the -question now under consideration. What we desire to point out is the -uselessness of attempting to controvert, by ordinary diplomatic means, -a scheme of wholesale aggrandizement to which the most resolute, -unshrinking, and pitiless mind of this age devotes all its energy and -all the instruments of material force now subject to its control. For -a considerable time a certain amount of reticence will be deemed -necessary, and the completest ignorance of the movement will be -professed, especially by those who have been most actively concerned -in the preparations. But the facts are known to so many who care -nothing for the realization of Bismarck's hopes that the secret cannot -long remain a close one. It is hardly to be supposed, however, that -the fullest possible revelation, much as it might irritate him, would -substantially modify his arrangements. It would perhaps retard them, -and doubtless cause him to noisily disavow the whole proceeding; but -the machinery would continue to move as surely and efficiently as ever -toward the required end. This being understood, and thoughtfully -considered as a firm and fixed purpose of the German rulers, to occupy -as much of the coming century as is necessary for its execution, a -sufficiently new light will be thrown upon the Samoan complication to -show that instead of being a petty incident of international debate, -it is in truth the opening scene of a great and portentous historical -drama. To imagine that the hand which has contrived this colossal -enterprise will falter at the first sound of adverse criticism is to -totally misapprehend the character of its owner and to blindly -disregard the lessons he has been teaching for a score of years. - - -THE INFANT MIND. - -Herbert Spencer holds that while the physical body is being developed, -after birth, until puberty, the real and only education is that which -comes from common experience through the senses. The mind, like the -limbs, is reaching eagerly out to take in the wonders of the new -existence, and the only parental care is that which protects the -infant being from the abuse found in over-exertion. Now the greatest -harm that can happen to the innocent creature is the attempt to hasten -information through mental stimulants. If left to itself, the mind, -like the body, will have a healthy growth. If, however, it is -interfered with through any forcing process, there will be an abnormal -growth of some faculties at the expense of others, and disease or -deformity will result. - -We note, with pleasure, how children race and play like kids or colts -the day through, and we fail to perceive that the mind keeps pace with -this active life. It is not only alive to its new existence, but -enjoys what it finds in its open-air life. To interfere with this -through the false system of training we are pleased to call education, -is injurious, and often fatal. - -All England--at least all the thinking part of the territory under -government of Her Gracious Majesty--is in a high state of alarm over -the stimulants administered through school examinations and the prizes -given in consequence. Authors, scientists, and statesmen have joined -in protesting against this abuse as a process that sickens the body -and weakens the mind. It is a practice that is filling the hospitals, -poor-houses, and asylums for the insane. We call this _cramming_. It -is a forced, hot-house system, productive of more evils than good. Man -is the only animal that loses his young to an extent that makes life -exceptional. A majority of infants die before reaching the age of five -years. If we consider the matter carefully, we find that while the -young of the brutes seldom have more than one enemy to contend with, -an infant has three--the mother who pets it, the father who neglects -it, and the pedagogue who makes an idiot of it. Death indorses them -all. How common it is to meet a slender, thin-limbed girl with sombre -cheeks and lustreless eyes wending her way to school fairly loaded -with books. She is being robbed of home, innocence, and health to -satisfy the Moloch of education. - -A most painful exhibit of--well, we will not say cruelty, -but--ignorance or indifference, our dramatic critic calls attention to -in the case of "Little Lord Fauntleroy." A child of tender years holds -an audience for nearly three hours night after night, nearly all the -time upon the stage, by the most extraordinary effort of memory and an -instinctive turn for acting. This is a torture that discounts a Roman -amphitheatre or the bull-fights of Spain. What is the Society for the -Prevention of Cruelty to Children about, that such an abuse should not -only continue, but spread?--for the success of the piece is such that -we shall have a hundred companies barn-storming over the land and -torturing the brains of as many unhappy children. It is on this -account that we rejoice with exceeding great joy over the death and -final burying of Uncle Tom. This impossible old negro lived on little -Eva, and that angelic child has at last been consigned to many asylums -for idiots. - -From this wanton cruelty it is a comfort to turn to the innocent and -natural budding of the infant mind, and several specimens have floated -in on us from various sources. Here is one from an indignant germ of a -citizen: - - "_Mr. Editor_ - - "DEER SIR--Last nite we had a hie old time at our house next - dore. Mr. ----, a alderman cam home and broke things and beet - his wife--the nabors called the police, and they come and - would not take him in the patrul waggon because he was a - alderman, is that rite - - "Yours to command - "ROBERT" - -When our little friend Robert grows to man's estate he will know -better the privileges and immunities granted the alderman. That -privilege found in his right to beat his wife is not so well -recognized and understood as his right to beat the public. When a -fellow pays from five to ten thousand dollars for the position of -city-father, it is expected that he will find a process through which -to reimburse the private coffers of the municipal corporation called -an alderman's pocket. There is nothing mean about the citizens of a -great commercial centre. All that is asked is that the father -aforesaid shall not be caught at it. As for the little luxury of -getting drunk and beating his wife, that comes under the head of -freedom to the private citizen and a constitutional opposition to -sumptuary laws. - -From this sunny side of aldermanic life we turn to some verse sent to -us by a loving grandpa from the pen of Miss Elsie Rae. Our first and -only regret at not being an illustrated magazine is that we cannot -reproduce the drawings that accompanied the poem: - - THE BROOK. - - As I sat by the brook yesterday, - I heard a voice by me say, - "What are you doing here, - My sweet little dear? - Look around and see your mother, - Also your sweet little brother: - I brought him here because the air is so soft; - - It is so hot up in the loft." - The child turned her head - And very softly said, - "Well, dear little brother, - I am glad you brought him, mother." - "Yes, dear, so am I; - But it is hard to carry him from so high." - - - - -_THE PASSING SHOW._ - - -The month has been made notable by a high moral monument in the -Actors' Club, headed by Augustin Daly. We said moral; we mean -theological, for that was the true aspect of the commotion. It seems -that some friend of Robert Ingersoll proposed the name of that noted -pagan for membership to the club that Edwin Booth has so handsomely -housed. This came to the ears of the pious Daly, and immediately his -theological soul animated his theatrical body to an indignant -opposition. Daly polled the pious body of actors. "What!" he said, -"shall we recognize and indorse this dreadful infidel, this -unbelieving son of Illinois--have him among us as an associate, to -distil his poison of unbelief in our midst? Perish the thought! Let us -rally round our altars and our fires [of the Actors' Club], and die, -if necessary, as martyrs." - -The grotesque part of this lies in the fact that while the pulpit -denounces the stage, the stage on the same ground assaults Bob -Ingersoll. It reminds one of a comic scene perpetrated in Sheridan's -"Rivals," where the master bangs the man, and the man, in turn, kicks -the many-buttoned page. - -Now, the Actors' Club is the same as any other social organization, -and has the comforts and pleasures found in the intercourse of its -members, its main purpose. In London and Washington, the only two -places on earth where clubs flourish in perfect health, another and -more important object is to get the good things of life at cost. These -are clubs of a social sort. There are others that have political -purposes for an end, but these combine such objects with the more -important features of the mere social organizations. To secure the -latter, wines, cigars, and viands at cost prices are what John Bull -aims at, and persists in carrying out to the letter. Without this your -club is a delusion and a snare. - -Now, if in the formation of these social centres it is necessary to -have a view to a man's respectability as well as his entertaining -qualities, the first requisite of an applicant is to be a gentleman. A -whole coat, a clean shirt, and gentlemanly views, if any, are -necessary. What the member's views may be on any abstract proposition -is of no import whatever. He may consider polygamy allowable; he may -even believe in that governmental extortion miscalled "protection," or -in mind-reading, and yet be acceptable as an associate. The most -fascinating club-man we ever knew was a little gone on _morus -multicaulus_. Another had a way of getting up the Nile, and it was -almost impossible for his friends to get him down again. When, in his -talk, he sailed up that classic river, his hearers, like the Arabs on -its banks, "stole silently away." - -We have never heard that our modern pagan was anything but -respectable, and we are told that socially--if he can be got away from -Moses--he is rather entertaining. If the rule applied to Robert the -heathen were the measure used by clubs generally, there would not be -one left with a quorum in the country. - -Nor will it do to apply to this noted person the rule recognized by -Mr. Booth's orphan asylum, that the heathen is not connected with the -stage. He has won fame and fortune from behind the footlights. We -never enjoyed a comedy so much as that given us by the heathen in his -lecture on "The Mistakes of Moses." We laughed an hour "by Shrewsbury -clock," not so much at what the heathen said, as at seeing a corpulent -gentleman in a dress suit prancing about the stage assailing Moses. -Now Moses has been dead some years. He has no lineal descendants that -we know of, unless Moses and Sons, dealers in antique raiment, can be -so considered; and of the two thousand people packed in that theatre -there probably were not six that had ever opened the Old Testament or -that cared a straw for the dead lawgiver. And yet the heathen seemed -animated by a personal feeling, as if Moses had, like Daly, on some -occasion blackballed him. - -He tore Moses all to pieces; he attacked his knowledge of astronomy; -he doubted his correct knowledge of ark-building. He said Moses was -defective as to ventilation. The fact is, that when this corpulent, -unbelieving son of man got through there was not much left of the -eminent Hebrew. But it was a stage performance all the same, and put -Robert at the head of low comedians. Hence he is qualified for an -association with brother-actors. - -No better instance of patient good-nature, backed by a woful lack of -culture, can be had than in the performances given at two New York -theatres by a couple of society women--we beg pardon: we should say -"ladies." Mrs. Potter kills Cleopatra in the first act of "Antony and -Cleopatra," by Shakespeare, Bacon, or somebody else; and Mrs. Langtry -does to Lady Macbeth what Don Cæsar de Bazan found so objectionable in -hanging. "Hanging," cried the immortal Bohemian of aristocratic -birth, "is horrible. It not only kills a man, it makes him -ridiculous." Mrs. Langtry's _Lady Macbeth_ should be relegated to -things which amuse. The audiences leave these burlesques with the -query put in the mouth of an English sailor at an exhibition of -pantomime and fireworks, who, being blown over the adjacent property, -got up and asked, "What'll the cussed fool do next?" - -These are the days when there is a dearth of real dramatic art; when a -tarnished reputation, superb costumes--or lack of costume--are -considered indispensable adjuncts to the star actress; when real -water, miniature conflagrations that choke the audience with smoke, or -startling electrical novelties, are relied upon as the chief -attractions of a new play; when the stage panders to the lowest -tastes; when the spectacular supplants art. The question no longer is, -"What is the play? What are the lessons it teaches, the ideal thoughts -it presents to us?"--but rather, "Who is the actress? What is the -latest scandal concerning her? How far does she outstrip her rivals in -exhibitions of nudity?" Hence we see such alterations of plan on the -part of theatrical managers as the withdrawal of that witty play, "The -Yeomen of the Guard," to make room at the Casino for the "leg-show" of -"Nadjy." - -Of course some of the blame for this state of things must rest on the -small and noisy portion of the public who manage to control access to -the ears of proprietors and playwrights, such as, in the instance -mentioned, the dudes and dudelets of the "Casino crowd," who had grown -weary of a play whose sparkling humor was above their comprehension. A -greater measure of blame rests upon the professional critics, who, -with a few very honorable exceptions, gauge praise or blame according -to the length of the paid advertisements in their respective journals, -or to the favors extended to them at the box-office. Not a score of -years ago an actor of very moderate attainments actually bought his -way into prominence by giving elaborate dinners to his critics, and -keeping open house, with free-lunch counter and bar attachments, for -the benefit of every reporter whom he could form acquaintance with. -Such methods in a short time placed him on a pedestal of notoriety, -and he no doubt hoped to stay there; but a new sensation came, and his -star declined. This is a fair statement of the condition of theatrical -art in America. We have lost the freshness of originality, and we have -not yet attained to the depth of culture and breadth of criticism of -the literary centres of England and the Continent. We are very much -inclined to pay homage to a name, no matter by what means such a name -has been acquired. - -Mrs. Langtry's performance of _Lady Macbeth_ is an instance of this -tendency to hero-worship. It is said in her favor that her -characterization of the part shows deep study and hard work. But these -are the very things that, were she possessed of real dramatic genius, -would never be allowed to show. The height of art is in imitating, -refining, and subliming nature. But if you allow all the secret wheels -and springs to appear, it becomes no art at all. Mrs. Langtry's -effort is a painstaking one, but the effort is too apparent. She -attains no high ideal. When she appeared as _Lady Macbeth_ at the -Fifth Avenue Theatre, after weeks of preparation and puffery, it was -expected that she would give us something new, but the result has been -only her usual mediocrity. - -The character is a combination of a great degree of unscrupulous -ambition and a share of wifely devotion. Lady Macbeth's crime is -partly due to a desire for her husband's advancement; but the chief -motive clearly is, that through his advancement she may attain power. -It is this determination to stop at nothing which may forward her -ambitious schemes that makes the character one of the most terrible of -Shakspere's creations. Charlotte Cushman probably came nearer to the -great poet's ideal than any actress before or since. Ellen Terry makes -the part ridiculous; Mrs. Langtry makes it commonplace. But there is -one scene for which she deserves great credit--the sleep-walk, where -she emerges from her room in a night-dress that looks like a shroud, -her hair entirely concealed by a nightcap that is bound around her -chin, her face pallid and expressionless. Then she begins her -soliloquy, no longer Mrs. Langtry, no longer _Lady Macbeth_, but a -remorseful somnambulist, her words all delivered in the same dull -monotone, without emphasis or expression, like the voice of a soulless -corpse. It makes one shiver to hear her. But that is the only -redeeming feature of her characterization. - -The support is by no means good, but the scenery and costumes are well -brought out and historically accurate. Mr. Charles Coghlan is a fair -reader of his lines, but falls far short of the ideal _Macbeth_. In -fact, by far the best acting is that of Mr. Joseph Wheelock as -_Macduff_. He plays the character with all the vim and enthusiasm that -it demands, and he deservedly receives the largest share of applause -from the audience. - -While Mrs. Langtry has been reaching out her long, voluptuous arms in -an utterly futile attempt to touch the hem of _Lady Macbeth's_ -garment, Mrs. Potter, arrayed like a queen of burlesque, and behaving -like a tipsy grisette at a mask-ball, has been insulting the -traditions of Egypt's queen. The performance of "Antony and Cleopatra" -at Palmer's Theatre was, indeed, little better than a farce. It would -be hard to say which was worse, Mrs. Potter's _Cleopatra_ or Mr. Kyrle -Bellew's _Antony_. As Brutus was the noblest, so it may be said that -Mr. Bellew's _Antony_ is the most insignificant, Roman of them all. It -would be a waste of time and space to attempt a serious criticism of -either of the two impersonations. In a mere spectacular sense the -production was pleasing to the eye; but, historically, the scenery and -accessories were absurdly inaccurate. To import the archaic -architecture of ancient Thebes in Upper Egypt into a city so purely -Greek in its buildings, population, language, and customs as -Alexandria was from its very foundation, is about as ignorant a -blunder as it is possible for a scenic artist to make. And what -business Hindoo nautch-girls had in the Alexandria of Cleopatra is a -conundrum which only a New York stage-manager can answer. We give it -up. Mrs. Potter, too, seems to be unaware that Cleopatra was Greek, -not Egyptian; otherwise she would hardly mispronounce the initial -consonantal sound of the name of her Greek attendant, _Charmian_, as -she invariably does mispronounce it. Possibly her attention is so -deeply absorbed by the fascinations of Worth's millinery that she has -no time to spare for such trivial matters as elocution and orthoepy. - -Outside of Mrs. Langtry's and Mrs. Potter's characterizations there -has been little of novelty. Nat Goodwin has dropped farce and -buffoonery, and essays a higher style of comedy, appearing as -_Gringoire_ in "A Royal Revenge," an adaptation of Theodore de -Banville's play. The character has recently been made familiar by -Coquelin. Mr. Goodwin becomes interesting as the starving poet, and -his personation gives promise of better things. The Grand Opera House -was filled with Nobles of the Mystic Shrine to welcome Mr. Goodwin's -reappearance. At the Fifth Avenue Theatre, in March, he will produce a -new three-act comedy called "A Gold Mine," by Brander Matthews and -George H. Jessop. The latter author, in collaboration with Horace -Townsend, has produced for W. J. Scanlan a new Irish play entitled -"Myles Aroon," brought out at the Fourteenth Street Theatre. Lady -Glover's head-gardener, _Myles Aroon_, is accused of stealing his -mistress' bracelet. He falls in love with her daughter, proves his -innocence, and exposes the thief, who happens to be his rival. This -threadbare plot is treated with Scanlan's inimitable Irish humor, and -the play receives the popular appreciation it deserves. Of a similar -character is the play "Running Wild," which was brought out at the -Star Theatre, and offers abundant opportunity to Mr. John Wild's -versatile comic talents. - -Farquhar's comedy, "The Inconstant," recently played at Daly's -Theatre, is an excellent revival of a good old English comedy. Ada -Rehan was at her best as _Oriana_. At Daly's one is always sure of -finding good plays, well acted. The company is a very even one, -consisting not of one or two stars and all the rest sticks, but of -fair actors well used to each other and to the plays they bring out. -"The Runaway Wife," produced at Niblo's, is a play that is not wanting -in dramatic merit, but it is somewhat spasmodic and jerky. Its -authors, McKee Rankin and Fred G. Maeder, have aimed at creating a -series of dramatic climaxes rather than a smoothly-running play. -Daniel Bandmann has made a success as the _Comte de Maurienne_ in -"Austerlitz," a revival of Tom Taylor's drama, "Dead or Alive." Marie -Wainwright presented us with a very girlish _Rosalind_ at the Star -Theatre, Mr. Louis James playing _Orlando_ very effectively. "Said -Pacha," a three-act comic opera, composed by Richard Stahl of San -Francisco, has met with success in the few cities where it has yet -been played. The music at times is suggestive of Strauss and -Offenbach. Herr August Junkermann, who has been delighting our German -fellow-citizens at the Amberg Theatre, proved himself a character -actor of quite a superior order, and has earned a reputation which -will insure him crowded houses whenever he appears in New York. - -The best all-round performance given at any theatre this season is -Pinero's comedy of "Sweet Lavender" at the Lyceum. The play is as -sweet and pure as a bunch of the fragrant old-fashioned flowers whose -name it bears. The dialogue sparkles with wit and repartee of the most -delightful sort, and the acting is as charming as the piece itself. -Miss Georgie Cayvan may have acted more important characters, but -never one in which she offered a more agreeable picture. There is a -ring of sweet womanliness through her performance, which, like the -delicate ferns and mosses that hide a violet, makes the fragrant -blossom more precious. Miss Louise Dillon is so sweet that she is a -little cloying. She clings about Mr. Henry Miller, who enacts her -lover, in a limp and boneless fashion that is somewhat irritating to -one who remembers that a spine and a few muscles go to make up the -human anatomy, as well as a heart. Mrs. Whiffen's performance is most -agreeable, being all the more admirable from the fact that in the -earlier scenes she is, by the exigencies of the piece, somewhat acid -and acrid. Now everybody knows that for Mrs. Whiffen to be either one -or the other of these things must be clever acting. Mrs. Walcot is far -less satisfactory; she does not dress to the level of her character, -and she is artificial, mincing, and sour. Lemoyne's work is simply -beyond praise. But little finer acting has ever been seen than his -portrayal of _Richard Phenyl_. Very good, too, is Mr. Kelcey's -performance of a breezy young American; and of almost equal merit is -the rendering of the manly young lover by Mr. Miller. A thoroughly -disappointing performance is that of Mr. Walcot. His get-up of a -prosperous, jovial English banker is admirable. But all cause for -admiration began and ended there; his acting never for one moment -reached his make-up. When the scene called for feeling, he had -none--he was merely feeble and flaccid; in short, Mr. and Mrs. Walcot -were the only blots upon an otherwise perfect performance. - -When the long and prosperous run of "Little Lord Fauntleroy" is -considered, the conclusion is inevitable that the theatre-going public -of this city will bear anything. The three scenes that go to make up -this fatiguing representation are utterly void of a single principle -of dramatic construction, and are entirely without dramatic incident, -if we except the appearance upon the scene of a very "scarlet woman." -And that is not exactly the sort of dramatic element which is expected -or desired. The feat of memory which the child Elsie Leslie performs -is remarkable. But it is a very painful exhibition, for it will -inevitably destroy the poor little creature, mentally and physically. -To point out all the manifold inconsistencies and absurdities of this -nondescript entertainment would take up too much space, and bestow -upon it much more advertising than it is worth. To instance a few of -them: An American, a middle-aged man, a prosperous grocer, himself -brings to the house of a customer a basket of groceries. He is -ushered into the sitting-room together with a bootblack, who also -calls at the same time; they are received as guests and friends, and -are entertained by the infant hero, aged seven years! Later, this same -grocer and the bootblack, both being in correspondence with the infant -hero, learn that he is threatened with the loss of his title, -whereupon they each offer him a partnership in their business. -Ultimately, these two go together to England, where they are received -as guests by the haughty Earl who is the grandfather of the infant -hero. And these things are offered to the public in a perfectly -serious manner without any attempt at or any idea of humor. The -mounting of the piece--to call it so, for want of a more fitting -title--is as tawdry and shallow as the piece itself. The library at -Dorincourt Castle is ornamented by cheap tin toys, fastened upon -plaques and hung on the walls. These things are supposed to be the -armor and trappings of the knights of old who were the ancestry of -this great house. This library, which opens out onto a sort of terrace -that overlooks a body of water of about the dimensions of Lake -Michigan, is lighted by numbers of cheap gas-jets--a manner of -illumination unknown in any English country-house, far less an old -feudal castle. A number of good actors and actresses are brought on -the stage from time to time, but they have nothing whatever to do, -consequently they do nothing. They whirl and maunder through three -hours of false sentiment and artificial virtue, ringing the changes on -the statement that they are "bland, passionate, and deeply religious." -They also paint in water-colors, and "of such is the kingdom of -heaven." Silly women sit whimpering at it, servile men sympathize with -them, newspapers earn their "ads" by their false and fulsome praise, -and the box-office flourishes. - -The season of opera at the Metropolitan Opera House has been one of -the most successful ever known. A concerted attack has been made on -German opera by those who prefer the ballet and the spectacular to the -pleasures of music. It was suggested that Italian opera be -substituted, and it was hinted that there was a company in Rome open -to an engagement. The Wagnerites grew furious, and protested. A -comparison of the box-office receipts in former seasons was -instituted, and the preponderance of popular favor was shown to be -always in favor of German opera, and especially of Wagner. That -settled it for a time, but a minor dispute arose. During the -production of Wagner's masterpieces, like "Rheingold" and "Die -Meistersinger," in the scenes which are supposed to take place at -night or in the dark, the stage-manager lowered the lights in the -house so that the glare should not mar the appropriateness of the -scene. This did not at all suit the young ladies who know nothing -about music, but simply come to talk about Mrs. Millionaire's ball or -to see each other's latest costumes. Their papas among the -stockholders were coaxed into ordering the lights to be turned on. -Again the Wagnerites protested, and after three nights the management -returned to the old way, much to the satisfaction of real lovers of -opera. - -The production of Halévy's opera "La Juive" for the first time this -season was coincident with the reappearance of Frau Lilli Lehmann, who -acted and sang the part of _Rachel_ with vigor and precision. Herr -Alvary, who consented to take the part of _Prince Leopold_, with Herr -Perotti as _Eleazar_, and the excellent support of the other singers, -made the production the best that has ever been given in New York, and -one long to be remembered. Frau Schroeder-Hanfstaengl has returned -after an absence of four years, making her reappearance in the modest -part of _Bertha_ in "Le Prophète." - -Manager Frohman promises us a number of new American plays for next -season, which, he says, will be as good as those now produced abroad. -Mr. Louis Aldrich, by the way, has been restrained from using the name -or the funds of the Actors' Order of Friendship in furtherance of his -ungenerous attempt to exclude foreign actors. A sad scene was that of -the sale of the late Lester Wallack's stage costumes. Scarcely a dozen -of the actor's old friends were present, and the various garments were -sold at ridiculously cheap prices, the greater part to dealers in old -clothes! _Sic transit gloria mundi._ - - - - -_REVIEWS._ - - -_The American Commonwealth_, by James Bryce (Macmillan & Co.).--The -thoughtful citizen of the United States who opens this book from any -other motive than mere curiosity will be apt to close it again greatly -disappointed. So far as information is concerned, one might as well -read a debate of the Senate. If it is from curiosity as to what an -Englishman of Professor Bryce's ability and culture may think and say -of us that the work is read, then the work will be found of interest. -It is so rare for one of Britain's citizens, cultured or uncultured, -to care for us, that the novelty alone commands attention. It was -surly old Sam Johnson who said to a feminine owner of a parrot, in -reply to her query as to whether the loquacious bird did not talk -well, "Madam, the wonder is, not that it talks well, but that it talks -at all." This great American nation is an object of utter indifference -to the people of Europe; and among the so-called upper classes we are -under contempt, when noticed, from the rising of the sun to the -setting thereof. - -Professor Bryce writes of us in a flattering way, but without -information. The maze of contradiction that besets him on all sides -seems not to have even embarrassed, let alone discouraged, him. Like a -locomotive threading its way along a network of rails into a depot, he -has his own track and runs smoothly along, as if there were but one, -and quite regardless of the many others crossing and recrossing at -every rod of progress. Fixing one eye on the central government at -Washington and the other on the State governments, he treats us as a -people from these two points, and would doubtless be amazed to learn -that these political structures not only do not make our government, -but are so widely separated from our associations and interests that -they might be annihilated to-day without people being aware of their -loss, save from the relief of taxation found in their destruction. - -One can comprehend the consternation of foreigners at this bold -assertion, when we recognize the fact that its avowal will bring forth -not only denial, but an expression of disgust from about sixty-five -millions of citizens born under and naturalized to this republic of -ours. Yet it is truth; and to comprehend it we must remember that a -constitution is an agreement or compact, entered into directly or -indirectly by the citizens governed, whereby all legislation, -executive control, and judicial decisions are to be under the control -of, and bound and limited by, certain rules of a general nature -clearly stated and set forth in said instrument. Now as the trouble -attending constitutional law, as that of every other sort, is not in -the law itself, but in its application, the constitution, to be at all -available, has to be as simple, general, and limited as possible. The -most perfect and practical is a mere declaration of principles that -leaves all legislation to the wants, habits, and intelligence of the -people. As statutory law is merely public opinion defined and -promulgated by a legislature, it follows that the mere declaration of -rights found in a charter is continually infringed upon by what may be -called the unwritten constitution that grows imperceptibly about us, -and is in the end the controlling constitution. Let us give a familiar -illustration. There is nothing, for example, in our Constitution that -prohibits the people from re-electing a President as often as the -people see right to indulge in that process. Yet when ex-President -Grant saw fit to demand a third term, he was treated as if he were -violating the sacred charter given us by the fathers. - -We believe in our Constitution--and go on violating its plainest -provisions with utter indifference. We resemble that Southern -gentleman who had the Lord's Prayer printed on the head-board of his -bed, and who every night and morning rapped on it with his cane to -call attention to the ceremony, and said solemnly, "O Lord, them's my -sentiments." - -We are a nation of phrase-eaters. As we have said before, all the -fruit of the tree of knowledge has been canned--duly labelled and -stowed away for winter use. There is no people on the face of the -earth so given to a reliance on an abiding faith in dogmas. Our safety -on earth and our salvation hereafter rest on a belief in dogmas. As a -man may be guilty of every crime known to the criminal code and yet -save his election through an avowal of belief in certain articles of -faith, so we may consider ourselves safe if we abide by certain -declarations of political principles. The theological and political -avowals of faith may be violated with impunity in practice, yet there -is a saving grace in words we fail to appreciate. - -The origin of this strange condition is not difficult to find. Our -continent was settled from Europe by two classes. One of these, the -Puritans, fled from England to escape religious persecution. This -persecution consisted in forbidding the theological rebels from -openly expressing in prayer, hymn, or pulpit certain dogmas. They -braved the perils of the seas and the privations of a howling -wilderness that they might open their pious mouths and expand their -pious lungs in a vociferous announcement of what they believed of -abstract theology. The other class was made up of pirates who sought -our continent, mainly south, in search of gold-mines and mythical -riches in the hands of barbarians. And so between the two we became a -race of phrase-eaters. As the theological dogma was considered good -for the soul, a like political dogma was, and is, enough for the body -politic. And how this is acted on we learn from the beginning. The -Puritans, whose peculiar civilization dominated our nation, fled from -persecution, not to establish toleration--for they went to hanging -Quakers and Dissenters as soon as they landed in New England. Under -this sort of government the lawless spirit of the pirates had full -sway, and to-day, if we have a national characteristic, it is that we -have more law and less order than any people on earth. - -This condition makes us capable of the most extraordinary -contradictions. We have, for example, a so-called republic at -Washington that is practically a despotism. It is not the despotism of -one man or of an oligarchy of men. It is a singularly contrived -despotism of office--a bureaucracy that is not only of an -irresponsible routine without brains, but enforced by fines, -penalties, and heavy taxation. It is so removed from popular control -that self-government terminates at the boundary-line of the District -of Columbia. The people living under the very shadow of the Capitol -are deprived of even the form of government; but practically they are -in no worse condition than the citizens of the States. The so-called -republic is a heavy, dull, cast-iron, unimpressive concern, slowly -moved by public opinion, but utterly insensible to popular political -control. We have a President elected every four years. After he is -inaugurated he cannot be disturbed for four years except by -office-seekers or assassination. We have a Senate representing States, -where Delaware or Rhode Island has as much power as New York or -Pennsylvania, and its members are returned every six years. The House -of Representatives is the one popular body, but its members, returned -every two years, are no match for the Senate and Executive, that hold -the political patronage which makes and unmakes members of the House. - -This, in brief, is our condition politically. There is another -significant feature that escapes both native and foreign attention. It -is the theory that underlies the foundation of all, and teaches that -the sovereignty from which there is no appeal rests in the people. -This is a very loose, uncertain, and really helpless affair. The old -adage tells us that what is every man's affair is no man's business. -We have so multiplied elections that they are almost continuous. This -forms party organization, to which the business is intrusted, and -again creates a class of professional politicians whose one business -in life is politics. It is human nature that they should seek to make -their vocation profitable. Here is where money enters; and we have -seen the government pass from a mere political structure to a -commercial machine dominated by money. The taxes for the support of -the government have become enormous, but they make but a trifle to the -indirect extortion, based on a pretence of encouraging home -industries, which selects such certain unprofitable investments, and -taxes the entire population for not only their support but their -enrichment. The amount thus collected for the benefit of the few is -enormous. It would support the standing armies of all Europe. - -One searches in vain through the Constitution to find in letter or -spirit any authority for such abuse. - -This absurd system of government might work in a small, compact -community where all the citizens were known to each other, their -offices few, and their interests identical. But with sixty-odd -millions scattered over a continent that reaches from the Atlantic to -the Pacific, and from the Lakes to the Gulf, and with these millions -isolated from each other in agricultural pursuits, the system is -impossible of practical operation. - -This is the philosophy of American politics that Professor Bryce fails -to grasp. He devotes his first volume to a consideration of the -political structure as given us by its framers, as if such were in -power and daily practice. He cannot see that it has gone out of -existence as a constitutional government. We have in its stead a -government of corporations, with the political machine as an annex and -aid. - -To understand this we must remember that a government is that active -organization which directly affects the citizens' rights to life, -liberty, and the uses and benefits of their labor, called property by -some, and "the pursuit of happiness" by the Declaration of -Independence. How the corporations have come to usurp this power a few -statistical facts teach us. We have, for example, a hundred-and-sixty -thousand miles of operating railroads. These network the entire land, -and have the almost exclusive distribution of all our products. This -vast instrument, possessed of sovereignty through the franchise, -enters every man's business and pleasure. It is under the control and -virtual ownership of less than sixty families. - -We have the telegraph, which science gave us as the poor man's -post-office, consisting as it does of a pole, a wire, a battery, and a -boy, made a luxury for the rich in the monopoly that gives it to one -man. - -All that one eats, wears, and finds shelter under are, through this -same process of corporation monopoly, enhanced in cost for the benefit -of the few privileged men who grow rapidly into millionaires, while -the masses suffer. - -This is our government. - -Our readers must not charge us with exaggeration. We have statistics, -not to be disputed, as to the existence of the power, and we have high -authority for the charge regarding the despotic use of the power. -Speaking of the railroad corporations, Messrs. Conkling, Sherman, and -Windom said, years since, in their celebrated report to the Senate: -"They [the railroad companies] can tax our products at will in a way -Congress never dare attempt." Now the fiscal agency found in the power -to tax is the highest attribute of sovereignty. Because of the -usurpation in a British parliament accomplished in the attempt to tax -colonies of Americans without their consent we had the War of -Independence. Our fathers marched shoeless, tentless, and in rags -under muskets for seven years to vindicate a principle that we -surrender to the corporations. "They rise above all control, and are a -law unto themselves," said President Garfield. "They rob the producers -on one side and the stockholders on the other," cried the late -Jeremiah S. Black, "and sit on our highways of commerce as did the -robber barons on the rivers of Europe. They make members of the House, -purchase seats in the Senate, select for us candidates for the -Presidency, and own our courts." - -Another attribute of sovereignty, found in furnishing a currency for -the people, has been seized on by something over two thousand -corporations, called banks, and they can contract or expand to further -their own selfish greed or that of their favorites and dependents. For -thus favoring themselves they are paid a sum that would have supported -the national government previous to the late war. - -How this condition affects us every citizen can realize if he will -reflect. The writer of this lives in a quiet valley of Ohio. He never -would know that a political government exists except for the assessor -and collector. His police consists of a revolver, a shot-gun, and four -dogs. Wrong-doers may threaten his life, restrain his liberty, enter -his stables at night, or his house at any hour, and, so far as -government goes, he is his own police. - -So much for our political structure. How is it with the corporations? -They are with him at all hours. He cannot sell a grain of wheat nor an -ounce of meat without their consent and toll. The fuel he burns has -its toll, that is an extortion. The clothes he wears, the food he -eats, the oil he burns by night, the glass that gives him light by -day, the walls that shelter him, the shingles or slate upon the -roof--in a word, all that he has to purchase or use, pays an -uncalled-for tribute to extortion and monopoly. - -The political structure could be annihilated, and the citizen would -not know of its disappearance but for the absence of assessor and -collector, and for the fact learned from the press. - -This is the condition of the dweller in a rural district. The denizen -of a town is not much better off. If he comes in contact with the -political structure at any point, it is to his injury. He is taxed -enormously to drain, pave, and light the streets. The draining is a -source of peril to health, the pavements are infamous, while the light -only makes darkness visible. So far as the police is concerned, it is -a political body, organized and used to further the ends of -professional politicians. The citizen is in more peril from the -club-inclined police than he is from thieves and ruffians. - -A most startling illustration of the subserviency of the political -power to the moneyed combinations incorporated to ride, booted and -spurred, over popular rights, as Jefferson expressed it, was given by -the late tramway strikes at New York. When the conductors and drivers -threw up their employment because of the starvation wages and overwork -decreed by the combine, thereby putting a stop to all transportation, -instead of arresting the presidents and directors, and fetching them -into court to show cause why their charter should not be taken from -them for a failure to fulfil their duty to the public, the entire -police force was taken from duty to the public and put under control -of these corporations. The rebellious laborers were clubbed into -submission, while for a week New-Yorkers were forced either to walk or -to trust their necks to those artfully constructed death-traps called -the elevated roads. - -We are not siding in this one way or the other. It may be that the -laborers were all in the wrong and the corporations right, or the case -may have been the reverse. To decide this is precisely what we want in -a legal tribunal commanding the respect of the public. This is not to -be had. The policeman's club is in the pay and under the control of -the corporations, and it decides. - -All these comments will be decried as unpatriotic. Patriotism with us -is something akin to the love a mother has for a sick or crippled -child. We are like beggars on the highways of the world, exhibiting -our sores to excite, not pity, but--heaven save the mark!--admiration. -Of course we cannot be expected to cure cancers that we boast of. - -In the space allotted us for a review it is impossible to do justice -to Professor Bryce's entertaining ignorance. His book is an amusing -one, not only because the author is clever in his way of expressing -himself, but because we take a strange delight in hearing opinions -about ourselves and our institutions. In his first introductory -sentences the author says: "'What do you think of our institutions?' -is the question addressed to the European traveller in the United -States by every chance acquaintance." The citizen who puts this -question little notes that he is making confession of the melancholy -fact that our so-called "institutions" are open to doubt. It is not -complimentary to our national character that we hang with breathless -interest upon the opinion and judgment of any chance foreigner -regarding what we are wont to assert, among ourselves, is simply -perfect. - - -_Kady_, by Patience Stapleton (Belford, Clarke & Co.).--The fetid -realism of recent American fiction--the realism which, fortunately for -the honor of human nature, is wholly unreal--has become fatally -tiresome from persistent reiteration of one theme. Even the most -morbid readers must in time weary of an endless sequence of -immoralities, all of the same family, and all whitened with the scales -of the same moral leprosy. When the Saxon mind descends to sensualism -it becomes merely gross and brutish; for it lacks the airy -sprightliness of Latin licentiousness which turns evil to gayety and -compels a smile at the corners of the mouth, even while the forehead -corrugates into the frown of reprobation. American blood is -essentially moral, and when overheated becomes clogged and thickened, -producing the antic vagaries of delirium in the oppressed brain. An -American cannot be _just a little_ wicked, as a Frenchman can. He must -be sound-hearted and clean-thoughted, or he must throw off all -pretence to decency and descend into the sheer obscene. This is why -American erotic fiction is hysterically immoral and not delicately -suggestive, and why, instead of the filmy _double entendre_, which you -can innocently laugh at for its wit, or, with more hardihood, enjoy -for its tingling spice, we have the bald, unclothed picture, whose -fiery coloring and sharp outline leave no chance for doubt as to its -meaning. - -When this order of fiction was flung, naked and ogling, into the midst -of an astonished public, there was a gasp of surprise and a general -halt of indecision; while, like the monkey burned with hot molasses -candy, the common countenance was petrified into a curious mixture of -horror and delight. Like a hanging, a dissection, or the details of a -murder, it has presented a fascination for a large number of minds; -but if there were to be a man hanged every day in each of the city -squares, it would not be long before people passing by would say to -each other, "Pooh! only a hanging! revolting business anyway!" and -walk on without so much as a second glance. And so it is, or is -getting to be, with that class of fiction which has only the erotic -for its cause of being. When volume after volume, issuing from the -press, offers as a central point and motive a microscopic analysis of -the animal side of human nature, taking for text that all men are -libidinous and all women unchaste in various degrees, the ordinary -reader, seeking merely for amusement, at length finds himself -suffocated in the steam of moral turpitude, and craves for a breath of -purer, cleaner air. Such an atmosphere, cold, fresh, and bracing as -the winds which blow over the mountain region where its scene is -chiefly laid, surrounds this sweetest and most delightful of recent -novels, "Kady." - -"Kady" is the work of a mind at once refined and vigorous. The author -labors at the exposition of no trite moral. There is not a line of -preaching in the book, and yet it would be a hardened nature which -could rise from reading it, with his heart full of the simple nobility -of Abner Clark, and commit a mean action. To recognize the reality of -such a character as that of the old pioneer, simple, uneducated, and -rude, yet, in the inborn impulses of his nature, nobly delicate, -loftily honorable, good in the best and manliest sense--to recognize -that such men have lived and do live, is to put aside into the limbo -of the vacuous all philosophies of negation and sophistries of -pessimism. Abner Clark is unquestionably one of the few grand -creations of American fiction. He is religious, but his religion is -such that an infidel might respect it. It is the broad and simple -creed of love--love, with its concomitants of charity, forgiveness, -and wide sympathy. The simple prayer which he offers up over the grave -of the artist Harrison's mother is a masterpiece. "An' we who must -keep on in the round of toil and trouble need not wish her back, who -was so weary with work and pain. The hand that reared these mount'ins, -that laid the lake, that colors the sunset sky, is reached down to -human creeturs, to the weakest or the strongest, and takes them into -His keepin'. There's a dreary life here and a happy life hereafter; -... and there's a home for us all beyond these mount'ins tall." - -It is the religion of nature, the simple faith of the patriarchs of -old, the belief that finds its strongest support in a noble pantheism, -in the love of the Creator's handiwork, in a perception of the -Omnipotent in the marvellous grandeur of material beauty. And yet this -old man is neither superstitious nor weak. In order to save his young -son from moral ruin and the clutches of card-sharpers, he can drink -and gamble--aye, and play a game of poker like a bunco-steerer, and -beat roguery before its very eyes. This game of poker, by the way, is -one of the gems of the book. How the author, whose refinement of mind -and heart is visible in every line of the whole story, has been able -to study such scenes and such personages as this poker-party and these -border roughs to such wonderful purpose, it is hard to understand. The -whole incident stands out with the stern light and shadow of Salvator. -It is almost brutal in its realism, but is touchingly relieved by the -simple remorse of the misguided son and the rugged nobility of his -father. - -"I come here ternight ter save my boy an' teach him a lesson.... Now -git in the boat," said Abner, "and I, a father of sixty, will row his -son, a drunkard and a gambler, home." - -"Oh, father," sobbed the miserable boy, "I--I never can forgive -myself! I will never touch cards again!" At the shore his father laid -his hand on Seeley's shoulder. "Seeley, I love ye too well to be mad -with ye, but try to take the decent road, an' foller it straight." - -The old man's death in the pursuit of his duty, the single word, -"Forgive," to his weak and repentant son, the wild grief of his -daughter Kady, touch the very centre of true pathos. Kady herself, -poor, loving, wild little Kady, half savage and true woman, is a -beautiful character. Greatly tempted, misunderstood, slandered, and -neglected, she never, by one weak or wilful act, loses the entire -sympathy of the reader. As truthful in her character of border heroine -as M'liss, Kady is a much more touching and lovable creation, without -the occasional repulsive traits of Bret Harte's portraiture. As her -father is a true and noble gentleman, despite the accidents of birth -and environment, so is his daughter, under her uncouth garb and rude -speech, a true and noble woman. - -Clopper, with his serene optimism, Leddy, his wife, Miss Pinkham and -the cap-border, Levi Bean, Tilford Harrison the egotistical and -self-persecuting artist with his miserable family, the Dennisons, -Louisy and Emmeline, Madam Ferris, and Aunt Mary--a whole gallery of -masterly portraits, are all instinct with life, all painted from -evident sittings of originals. - -If there be any marked defect in the book it is in the excess of -dialect and the thinness of the background of more cultivated life. It -is much to say that this book, whose style is chiefly dialect, rarely -ceases to charm and never tires. The author, whose pen has so long run -in the uncouth speech of this border district, occasionally forgets -her own English and drops a rude construction of sentence, or a -primitive term into her own lucid phrases. But these slips are rare, -and it is almost hypercriticism to notice them. - -On all accounts "Kady" is one of the most remarkable books of the -time. Purely American, without one taint of animalism though dealing -with the most primitive humanity, true, sweet, and yet masculine in -its power, it is a work which will take its place in the literature of -the country as a model which cannot be too closely studied or too much -admired. - - -_'Twixt Love and Law_: A novel, by Annie Jenness Miller (Belford, -Clarke & Co.).--Literature which neither refreshes, amuses, nor -instructs has no proper place in the world of letters; and assuredly -that class of literature which enervates the mind and beckons beyond -the noon-mark of propriety has no rights which the critic or the -moralist is bound to respect. It is a marked characteristic of that -order of recent fiction which takes for text the more or less unlawful -relations of the sexes, that the style should be punctuated with -shrieks, and the movement be a series of hysterical writhings. A woman -with keen feelings does not, at every small anticlimax of her -existence, perform a hand-spring and somersault as a means of giving -vent to her emotions. Neither does she go about with a nose reddened -with weeping, exploding in vociferous adjectives as a means of -expressing her grief. "To be always and everywhere starved! starved! -starved!" wails Mrs. Miller's heroine, as a sort of footnote to a -proposal of marriage which she has just declined. "Oh, how cruel it -is!" Thereupon "she shivered in the clutch of her despair, and, -moaning, threw herself face downward upon the bosom of Mother Earth," -very much to the amaze of the rejected suitor, who promptly picks her -up and "holds her against his breast." She is intense, superlatively -intense. "Her white bosom tossed and rose and fell; the burnished -masses of her hair escaped and rioted on the midnight air. 'Spare me! -spare me! Alex! Alex! Alex!' Out of the unyielding density of the -night a voice of ecstasy breathed her name." A meeting takes place in -this "unyielding density" with "Alex," a married man. The heroine -being in love with him and he with her, it follows as a necessary -element in this class of fiction that the wife should be all that is -mean, evil, shrewish, and generally detestable. In such a state of -affairs a wife is a difficult problem, a nuisance, and yet very -useful; for if there were no wife to interpose her uncomfortable -personality between the lovers, there would be no reason for all these -meetings in the "unyielding density," no exclamatory passages, no -daring escapades along the very verge of the questionable, and, hence, -no novel--which, all things considered, might not be so great a -misfortune after all. In the course of this story, which includes much -outcry, many combats with tempestuous passion, some sacrifices, a -trial for attempted murder, and a divorce, the unpleasant marital -impediment is comfortably put out of the way, and the lovers are -safely married. - -"'Twixt Love and Law" is one of those books, "not wicked, but unwise," -which, whatever their ostensible moral may be, add to the perplexity -and difficulty of social adjustment. Admitting that our marriage and -divorce laws are unjust and ineffectual, still, to bring contempt, -open or implied, upon the marriage relation, can only impede, not -advance, a rational solution of the question. In nine cases out of ten -vanity and loose morals are the primary causes of marital -unfaithfulness in desire or act. In writing such a book as "'Twixt -Love and Law," clever and often brilliant as it is, the author has not -used her graceful pen and clear head to the best interests of her sex. - - - - -_THE APPEAL._ - - - Cold, bitter cold beneath the wild March moon, - The winter snow lies on my frozen breast; - And o'er my head the cypress branches croon - A sad and ceaseless dirge, and break my rest. - - I hear the bell chime in the dark church tower, - The rising wind, a passer's hasty tread; - But no voice wakes the silence, hour by hour, - Among the uncompanionable dead. - - Perchance they lie in deep, unconscious calm, - Regretting nothing in the world above; - Alas! for me it has not lost its charm-- - There is no peace where thou art not, my love! - - Oh! bid me come to thee, and I will rise - From my unquiet couch and steal to thine, - And touch thy cheek, and kiss thy sleeping eyes, - And clasp thee, as of old, till morning shine! - - And I will murmur in thy drowsy ears - Sweet utterances of love and olden song, - Till thou shalt half awake in blissful tears, - And cry "My love, why hast thou staid so long?" - - CHARLES LOTIN HILDRETH. - - - - -A COVENANT WITH DEATH.[1] - -_A NARRATIVE._ - -BY THE AUTHOR OF "AN UNLAID GHOST." - - - To E. P. T. - "So little payment for so great a debt." - - -CHAPTER I. - - "O Death in Life! the days that are no more." - -It would have been no surprise to his friends had Loyd Morton speedily -followed his young wife to the grave. Their brief union had been a -very communion of souls--one of those rare experiences in wedlock for -jealousy of which Destiny may almost be pardoned. Small wonder, -therefore, that his grief was of that speechless description which -"whispers the o'er-fraught heart, and bids it break." For a time it -was thought he could not survive his dumb despair; or, if he did, that -melancholia would claim him an easy victim. It is needless to affirm -that he escaped the wreck of both life and reason, since the existence -of this chronicle attests so much. - -The manner of his escape does not appear; though it was astutely -surmised, and perhaps with some show of probability, that, being an -expert and practitioner in disorders of the nervous system, he healed -himself, albeit physicians of experience may entertain contrary views -concerning the feasibility of the feat. At all events, he came forth -to face his world again, a sad, pallid being indued with indomitable -perseverance and fortitude; more than ever zealous in the discharge of -his engagements; as never before devoted to his profession. But a -sympathetic eye could not fail to detect the feverish abandonment of -self, the positively voracious hungering for constant activity, which -were in themselves a pathetic commentary upon the frame of mind in -which his bereavement had left him. - -He had become the wraith-like semblance of the original young Doctor -Morton, once so buoyant, so pampered by favoring Fate--in a word, so -worthy of righteous envy. Alas! what eternities to him were those -hours of lonely seclusion when there were no visits to pay and no -clients to awaken the sepulchral echoes of his house with summons at -the bell--dark hours of nothingness, blank eras of forlorn distress! - -Yet, let there be no suspicion that Loyd Morton's was an unmanly -grief; it was no more a lachrymose distemper than it was a stubborn -setting of his face against his lot. His sorrow was far too genuine to -be self-conscious, and, if he brooded in his despair, it was simply -because something had gone out of his life infinitely more precious -than life itself; something that he would have given his life to -recover, since absolute annihilation seemed to him preferable to this -existing condition of death in life. - -His love had been a first, all-absorbing passion; it had introduced -into his hitherto prosaic existence a light and genial warmth that had -set the soft glow of the rose upon its humblest attributes; it had -afforded him an object to live for, a goal worthy his ambition, and -had filled the void of indefinable longing with that sense of -completeness which is ever the result of a perfect alliance between -sympathy and sincerity of purpose. - -He had met his affinity during his student-days; had wooed, and won, -and married her in the first flush of that youthful affection. -Possibly the old-time shades of Stuttgart lent a quaint and -fascinating glamour to the courtship; but, if glamour there were, it -became the permanent atmosphere that hallowed their marital relations -when the work of life began at home, stripped of all romantic -association. Indeed, their honeymoon never waned to setting; it simply -suffered total eclipse. - -It was fortunate that, at the period of his overwhelming bereavement, -the young physician chanced to be in vogue. American nervous systems -are notoriously more subject to disorder than any on the face of the -earth; and he who ministers successfully to, or rather deciphers -cleverly, these occult riddles of the human anatomy of the West, is -not only an exceedingly busy, but an eminently fortunate, man. Day and -night he is at the beck and call of those whose unstrung nerves -require tuning; while, if his patience is forced to pay the penalty of -his devotion, the shade of Midas, by way of recompense, seems -indefatigable in its superintendence of the filling of his coffers. - -To repute and popularity had Loyd Morton attained in an exceptional -degree; and, for the reason that a host of wayward nervous systems -could not be induced to respect the season of his grief, he was fairly -dragged out of his seclusion, and made to identify himself with the -real or imaginary woes of his patients. And it was fortunate that it -was so, since on this account, only in the solitude of those chambers, -about which clung the memory of his lost one like a benison, had he -opportunity to listen to the lament of his anguished heart. And the -monotonous cry of that heart was ever, "Paula, Paula, Paula! My wife!" - -Surely there could have been no rest for her soul if that wail of -affliction penetrated the celestial sphere to the enjoyment of which -her blameless life entitled her. Far from contributing to her repose, -such grieving emphasis must have fettered her spirit to earth. - -"I feel," he told himself at the close of his first year of widowhood, -"as though I was environed by a sere wilderness, over whose trackless -wastes I must trudge until I meet the ashy horizon and find the end. -No ray of light, no star to twinkle hope; always these weeping clouds -of grizzled pallor! Only one comfort is vouchsafed me--fatigue. -Fortunately, fatigue means sleep, and sleep oblivion!" - -Lost in dreary revery, he sat by the window of his study one April -evening, with the melancholy spring-tide gloaming about him. A -nesting-bird twittered, and the scent of the sodden earth filtered in -at the half-open casement. - -Two years ago that day he had watched a German mother raise the bridal -wreath from her daughter's brow, the happy ceremonial over, and had -listened, as in a rapturous dream, to the words: "She is thine. Take -her; but, oh! my son, guard, guide, and cherish her, for the sake of -her fond mother, when the boundless sea shall roll between us!" - -One year agone to an hour, and in the dismal after-glow of a rainy -sunset, he had stood beside the open grave, his agonized heart-throbs -echoing the wet clods as they fell upon the casket that contained the -last fragment of his shattered hopes--his broken idol screened from -his yearning gaze by hideous glint of plate and polished wood. - -Nuptial and burial rites celebrated with the self-same ghastly flowers -within a twelve-month! A wreath for a bride, a chaplet for a corpse, -fragrant tokens for the quick and the dead--and so the chapter ended! - -The monotonous drip of the eaves, the fitful sough of the miasmatic -wind, the odor of the humid garden-plot, the blood-red hem of the -leaden clouds whose skirts trailed languidly along the western -horizon--all, all so vividly recalled that grievous hour of sepulture, -so painfully accentuated its anniversary, that, in very desolation of -soul, he exclaimed, - -"My God! how unutterably lonely and wretched I am! What would I not -give for one word, one glimpse, for the slightest assurance that we -are not doomed to eternal separation; that the closing of the eyes in -death does not signify instant annihilation!" - -The sudden clang of the office-bell interrupted his utterance and -almost deprived him of breath, so significant seemed the punctuation -to his thought. He rose hastily and, contrary to his custom, preceded -the servant through the hall. - -Upon throwing open the outer door, he found himself confronted by a -woman, closely veiled and clothed in black, her tall and slender -figure standing forth in strong relief against the lurid gloom of the -evening. - -For an instant silence prevailed, save for the retreating footsteps of -the servant as he returned to his quarters. - -"You are Doctor Loyd Morton," the woman began in a tone low yet -perfectly distinct, a tone of assertion rather than inquiry. "Can you -give me a few moments' consultation?" - -"These are my office-hours, madam," he replied, a feeling of mingled -curiosity and repulsion taking possession of him. - -"I know; but I am told that you are in great request. Shall we be -undisturbed?" - -"Quite so. Will you come in?" - -He stepped aside and she entered, raising her veil as she did so, -though the darkness of the hall prevented his determining what manner -of countenance she wore. The twilight that penetrated the office -through uncurtained windows, however, discovered a delicate, pale face -framed in tendrils of soft chestnut hair and alight with eyes of the -same indescribable tint. It was not a strictly beautiful face, -according to the canons of beauty, yet it was one of those faces one -glance at which invites another, until the spell of fascination claims -the beholder. - -Loyd Morton had had impressionable days, but for obvious reasons they -were at an end. Still, he was interested; and the better to study his -visitor he was about to strike a match for the purpose of lighting a -lamp, when the woman, with swift divination of his intent, exclaimed: - -"I prefer the twilight," adding; "I shall not detain you long." - -Morton hesitatingly replaced the unignited match, and glanced at his -visitor in a manner eloquent of his desire to learn the object of her -call. - -She noted the silent interrogation in her keen way, and, after a swift -survey of the shadowy apartment, continued: - -"I believe you assured me that we should be undisturbed." - -"I did, madam." - -"We are not alone, however." - -"I beg your pardon; we are quite alone." - -"No, no! there is a presence here beside our own--a presence so real, -so powerful, as to be almost tangible. Oh, I understand that look of -quick intelligence in your eyes and that wan smile lurking about your -lips. You think me deranged; but I can easily prove to you that I am -not." - -She had spoken with unexpected fervor, and now paused, pressing her -slender hand upon her eyes, as if to compose herself. - -"I did not think to encounter one of my so-called crises here," she -resumed presently; "but it is just as well, since by this means you -can better form some diagnosis of my case. Do--do I afford you any -hint? Perhaps, though, I do not interest you?" - -His unresponsive silence seemed to dispirit her, for her eager eyes -fell dejectedly. - -"On the contrary, you interest me very much," he answered gently. -"Will you be seated, and give me some information regarding your -symptoms?" - -She sank into the depths of a reclining-chair that faced the western -window, while Morton seated himself directly before her. - -The blood-red ribbon below the rainy clouds had faded and shrunk to a -filament of pale olive that gave forth a weird, crepuscular glimmer. -Objects as white as the pallid face among the cushions seemed to -absorb the sensitive light and to grow yet more spectral through its -aid. - -"First of all," remarked the young doctor, "kindly give me your name -and such information as you please concerning your manner of life." - -The voice that replied was low to drowsiness. - -"My name is Revaleon--Margaret Revaleon. I am an Englishwoman by -birth, and have been for three years the wife of a Canadian. Until my -child was born I enjoyed, if not robust, at least excellent, health. -For the past year I have lost ground; while these crises, as I call -them, have debilitated and depressed me. Thinking a change would -benefit me, I have come to visit friends in this neighborhood. In the -hope of relief from my peculiar ailment, which I believe to be purely -nervous, I have sought you out, attracted by your fame as an expert in -disorders of the nervous system. Ah, doctor," she added, struggling -against the lethargy that oppressed her, "do not tell me that I am -incurable, since I have so much to live for!" - -She seemed as ingenuous as a child; her unaffected manner being such -as speedily wins its way to confidence. The sense of mingled repulsion -and curiosity, which in the first moment she had exerted upon Morton, -vanished, giving place to a feeling of genuine interest, perhaps -concern. - -"I see no reason for pronouncing the doom you dread, Mrs. Revaleon," -he said; "not, at least, until you explain the 'peculiar ailment' you -allude to." - -Her eyes rested upon him with singular intentness--singular, because -they appeared to lack speculation; that is to say, they were dilated, -and luminous with a strange yellow light. At the same time it was -evident that their regard was introspective, if speculative at all. -Yet her reply followed with a full consciousness of the situation. - -"I am unable to explain my malady," she said. "It consists in little -more than what you see at this moment. If _you_ cannot account for my -present condition, it must continue a mystery to me." - -He leaned forward and took her hands in his. They were icy cold, -although they responded to his touch with an indescribable, nervous -vibration. - -"I have no trouble of the heart," she murmured, divining his -suspicion; "I suffer this lowering of vitality only when in my present -condition." - -He released her hands and sat back in his chair, regarding her -fixedly. - -After a brief pause, he remarked, - -"I must ask you to explain what you mean by your 'present condition.'" - -"I mean, Dr. Morton, that, since you assure me that there is no -presence in this room other than our own, I must possess some species -of clairvoyance which my present condition induces. I assure you that -there _is a third presence here_, that completely overshadows you! The -consciousness of this fact freezes my very marrow and chills my being -with the chill of death. It is by no means the first time that I have -experienced these baleful sensations, or I should not have come to you -for advice and counsel. Heaven knows I have no wish to be cognizant of -these occult matters; but I am completely powerless to struggle -against them. Ah, me!" she sighed wearily, "had I lived in the days of -witchcraft, I suppose I should have been burned at the stake, despite -my innocence." - -Her voice sank to a whisper, and with its cadence her eye-lids drooped -and closed; her breathing became stertorous, while her teeth ground -each other with an appalling suggestion of physical agony, of which -her body gave no evidence, being quiescent. - -Startled though he was, Morton's first suspicion was that he was being -made the victim of some clever imposture. This fancy, however, soon -gave place to a belief that he was witnessing some sort of refined -hysteria. Were the latter supposition the case, he felt himself equal -to the emergency. - -He leaned forward and placed his hands firmly upon the shoulders of -the inanimate woman. "Enough of this, Mrs. Revaleon!" he exclaimed in -a firm voice; "if I am to assist you, you must assist me! I command -you to open your eyes!" - -Not so much as a nerve vibrated in the corpse-like figure. - -Aroused to a determination to thoroughly investigate the phenomenon, -Morton quickly ignited a candle, and, holding it in one hand, he -passed it close to the woman's eyes, the heavy lids of which he -alternately raised with the fingers of his disengaged hand. - -The eyes returned a dull, sightless glare to the test. - -As a last resort to arouse consciousness or discover imposture, he -produced a delicate lancet, and, raising the lace about the woman's -wrist, he lightly scarified the cold, white flesh. Blood sluggishly -tinged the slight abrasion, but, to his amazement, the immobility of -his subject failed to relax one jot; yet the experiment was not -entirely without result, since at the same moment a voice, muffled and -far away in sound, broke the expectant silence: - -"Loyd! Loyd!" - -The twilight had deepened to actual gloom, which the flickering of the -weird candle-light but served to accentuate. It seemed impossible to -establish evidence to prove that it was the lips of Margaret Revaleon -that had framed the thrilling utterance; indeed, the eerie tone could -be likened to nothing human. - -Spellbound the young doctor stood, doubting the evidence of his -senses, yet listening--listening, until it came again, with positive -enunciation and import, - -"Loyd!" - -"In Heaven's name, who calls?" he exclaimed. - -"Paula, your wife." - - -CHAPTER II. - - "We see but dimly through the mists and vapors; - Amid these earthly damps, - What seem to us but sad, funereal tapers - May be heaven's distant lamps." - -Though Loyd Morton had proved himself to be an ideal lover, he was at -heart an eminently practical man. It is true he had not yet quite -outlived that heyday of impressions that occurs somewhere in the first -two score years of all lives. His eager mind grasped, with avidity, -the various tenets of his day, and strove to fathom them; if he failed -in any instance, he chose that happy mean between scepticism and -positive unbelief, and waited for more light. He felt that he had been -born into an epoch of rare progress, and that it behooved him to -reject nothing worthy of intelligent consideration. There can be no -doubt that the abundant sentiment in his nature lent itself to the -higher phases of intellectual inquiry; yet, in justice, he could not -be called a visionary person--at least, prior to this particular April -evening. It was but natural that, in the wide circle of his -professional and social acquaintanceship he should have fallen in with -more than one disciple of the advanced theory of modern spiritualism. -To converse with all such, he lent a courteous, even interested, ear. -He found himself not infrequently listening in amazement to certain -thrilling experiences related by the initiated, and, as a result, he -promised himself the satisfaction of investigating the matter for -himself some day; but into his busy existence that day had not as yet -found its way. Consequently, he had formed no opinion whatever as -regarded the so-called communion between the living and the dead. As -has been said, his interest in the question had been excited--more, -possibly, than comported with the distinction of his professional -position; but it is doubtful if he would have rejected the -investigation simply on this account. - -Here, however, was an instance fairly thrust upon him, which startled, -amazed, and mystified him. That the woman, Margaret Revaleon, was in a -state of complete coma, he had satisfied himself beyond peradventure. -Accomplished physicians are not apt to be deceived regarding the -results of infallible tests; and yet here was a subject, absolutely -unconscious, speaking not only intelligently, but with a degree of -appositeness that, considering the circumstances, was appalling. - -Thoroughly alive to the situation, not to say excited, yet -sufficiently master of himself to keep well within the pale of -scepticism, Morton resumed his seat, which he had quitted in some -agitation when informed that he was face to face with the invisibility -of his wife, and disposed himself to probe the mystery. - -Mrs. Revaleon had ceased to breathe stertorously; a complacent, almost -smiling expression had taken possession of her features, and she had -leaned forward in her chair, with outstretched hands, though her eyes -remained closed. - -"Give me your hands, Loyd," she said in the same murmurous tone, that -retained not a vestige of her normal voice, "will you not welcome me -back?" - -Morton relinquished his hands into the keeping of that cold clasp, in -silence. - -"O Loyd, my husband," the voice resumed, "can you not believe that it -is I, Paula, your wife?" - -"What would be the consequence of my saying that I cannot believe?" he -responded with constraint. - -"It would make it all the more difficult for me to convince you that I -am indeed with you." - -"Then I will _say_ that I believe." - -"I am clairvoyant. You cannot mislead a spirit capable of reading your -mind as though it were an open book. Ah, what can I do to conquer your -incredulity? What can I say to convince you that I am as truly with -you at _this_ moment as I was at any moment while in the flesh? It is -your sacred love for me that has attracted my spirit to this -fortuitous reunion. Oh, do not doubt me!--rather assist me, if ever -you loved me, Lolo!" - -He started then, and his dark eyes shone like twin stars. "How came -_you_ by that name?" he demanded unsteadily--"a name never uttered in -the presence of any living being, save myself?" - -"How came I by that endearing epithet!" the voice answered. "Did not -my absorbing fondness for you suggest it? Was it not the coinage of my -affectionate fancy? I beseech you, separate this medium, through whom -I speak, from my personality. Understand that this woman is -practically dead, while it is I, Paula Morton, who actuate her brain, -her voice, her very being." - -"My God!" exclaimed Morton, "this is beyond my comprehension!" - -"Let perfect faith control you while this brief communion lasts; then -take refuge in scepticism--if you can. You are so unhappy, so -wretched, without me, that I should think you would be glad to meet me -more than half way." - -"I cannot see you, if it is you." - -"Another question of faith! But it matters not; you will believe in -time. So you miss me?" - -"My life is a void without my wife," he replied. - -"What divine love! Loyd, you and I constitute an affinity. I know -_now_ how rare are earthly affinities; that is, unions of souls that -are destined to endure through all eternity. Every soul born into -existence is allotted an affinity, which sooner or later it will meet, -in accordance with divine ordinance. These unions of kindred souls, -attuned, as they are, to surpassing harmony, are rare upon earth, -though they may occur, as in our case; but, generally, years--even -ages--may transpire ere these ineffable coalitions are consummated. -_Our_ souls are affined; we have no need to search. We are simply -undergoing a temporary separation. You are coming to me; I am waiting -for you. I rejoice in the thought, and the knowledge gives me strength -to control this medium, who brings me into such intimate communion -with you." - -At this juncture in the extraordinary interview, a bell rang -violently, and a moment later a light rap sounded upon the door, a -preconcerted signal between the doctor and his servant, announcing the -fact that another visitor demanded admittance. - -It is not surprising that Morton was too deeply absorbed to notice the -threatening intrusion. - -"If--if I thought," he said, his hesitation marking the intensity of -his emotion, "if I suspected that I was being made the dupe of some -plausible imposture, the butt of some sort of nameless sorcery, I--" - -"Loyd, Loyd," wailed the voice, "you wrong me, wrong me grievously! -Your incredulity dooms me to such unhappiness as I have never known." - -"You imply that you have known some degree of unhappiness! You were -never unhappy upon earth; are you so now--wherever you may be?" - -"Oh, no! I am supremely happy." - -"Supremely happy," he echoed, jealously; "supremely happy, though -separated from me! and yet you term your love for me divine!" - -"It is divine, divine as all things heavenly are. For the perfecting -of such love as mine the evidence of the senses is not requisite; -indeed, it would prove antagonistic. Your earthly eyes are blind; but -from my vision have fallen away the scales, which fact renders my -spiritual sight clairvoyant. I can see you at all times, and can be -with you with the celerity of the birth of thought. Where then, in -what resides the separation for me?" - -"For _you_!" he cried, passionately; "ay, but for _me_! I am blind; -these mortal scales are upon my eyes, I am not clairvoyant. The wings -of thought refuse to raise me above this present slough of despond -into which I have fallen; they flutter with me back among the memories -of the dead past, but that is all! I am still living in the flesh, and -heaven knows that this bitter separation is a reality to me!" - -Thereupon ensued a momentary silence, which was ere long ruptured by -the low, gentle voice. - -"Loyd," it whispered, "you bind me to earth; your love fetters my -spirit!" - -"If your love were unchanged," he murmured, disconsolately, "there -would be no bondage in such magnetism!" - -"My love, having been spiritualized, is far more absorbing than ever -it was." - -"Then why should you complain that the attraction of my love binds you -to earth? If it is the spirit of my wife that addresses me at this -moment, as you pretend, if your love for me is greater and purer than -it was upon earth--which, as God is my judge, I can scarcely -credit--why should you not be happier in this sphere, where I am, than -in the realm of heaven?" - -"Simply because it is not heaven here." - -"But _I_ am here!" - -"For a time only, for a little space; and there is no reckoning of -time in eternity. Soon you will be with me--forever." - -"Paula! Would I were with you now!" - -"Hush! That wish is impious." - -"Ah, but think! I have the means at my command to send my soul into -eternity, within the twinkling of an eye!" - -"Into eternity, but not to me. Oh, my husband, there is no sin -accounted so heinous as the taking of a God-given life. You must live -on until your appointed hour, then come into the courts of heaven with -hands unstained, with soul unsullied." - -Raised to a pinnacle of exaltation which, in his normal condition, he -would have deemed unattainable to one of his stanch rationality, -Morton exclaimed: - -"I _cannot_ live without you! After what I have just heard, which -renders my dreary existence tenfold more dreary, I will not hold -myself responsible for what I may do. Oh, Paula, my wife, my wife! if -you would not have me commit a crime against myself which may separate -us for all eternity, come back to me!" - -"I will come back to you," responded the voice. - -"Oh, I do not mean enveloped in this ghostly invisibility!" he cried. - -"No, Loyd, I will return to you in the flesh." - -Supreme as had been the moment of his supplication, he had retained -sufficient reason not to expect a concession; consequently he felt -that he was taking leave of his wits as he gasped, - -"You will return to me--_in the flesh_!" - -"In the flesh. Before the dawn of another day you shall take a living -body in your arms and know that it is animated by my soul." - -His clasp tightened upon the hands he held. - -"Am I mad? Do I hear aright?" he faltered, his utterance thick with -wonder; "in God's name, _how_ will you effect such reincarnation?" - -There was a momentary pause; and then the voice replied with some note -of omen in its firmness: - -"Mark the test I am about to give to you! You will be called to attend -a dying woman--you _are_ called; already is the messenger here; a -woman's soul is trembling upon the threshold of eternity. If you are -alone with her when that soul takes wing, my spirit will instantly -take its place, and your skill will do the rest, accomplish the -resurrection of that body and secure our further communion. But there -may be consequences over which _I_ shall have no control; those -consequences _you_ will have to confront. Are you willing to accept -the chances?" - -"Willing! All I ask is the opportunity to meet them!" - -"Very well. You have conjured me back to earth. With you rests the -responsibility!" - -The voice expired in a sigh, and the hitherto quiescent figure of -Margaret Revaleon shuddered, while her hands trembled convulsively. -Thereupon followed the stertorous breathing again, and the painful -gnashing of the teeth. An instant later her great hazel eyes flashed -open, and rested with a sightless stare upon the flickering candle. - -"Oh, where am I?" she moaned languidly, her voice having retaken its -normal tone; then came a flash of intelligence like the nascent tremor -of dawn; at last full consciousness of her surroundings. - -"Oh, is it you, Doctor Morton?" she faltered, smiling faintly; "really -I had forgotten you. Where have I been? What do you think of my case? -Is it hopeless? By your grave look I infer it must be." - -At this moment the signal at the door was repeated more peremptorily. - -Morton gathered his energies with an effort. - -"Excuse me for a moment, Mrs. Revaleon," he stammered, with difficulty -commanding himself, "I will return to you presently." - -With a nervous step, quite at variance with his wonted calm demeanor, -he hastened into the ante-chamber, closing the door behind him. - -The gas burned brightly, and its flare dazzled his sight accustomed to -the twilight that reigned within the study; but he was well able to -recognize the young gentleman who hastened forward at his approach. - -"Oh, Loyd!" exclaimed the visitor, with an accent of mingled agony and -reproach, "what an eternity you have kept me waiting! In heaven's -name, come to us at once! Romaine is dying!" - -"Romaine--dying!" echoed Morton. - -"We fear so; God grant that we may be mistaken! But will you come at -once?" - -"At once of course, Hubert." - -"Then follow me; the carriage is waiting." - -The young man had reached the door even as he spoke. - -Morton paused in the midst of the brilliantly lighted room, every -vestige of color fled even from his lips. - -"Merciful Powers!" he murmured, "am I waking from some hallowed dream -or from some infernal nightmare? No, no! this is the test _she_ bid me -mark! It is no fantasy! it is reality!" - -Even in his haste he was mindful of his waiting client, and flung open -the door of his study. A sharp draught of air from the open casement -extinguished the candle that burned within, leaving in its stead the -lance of a pale young moon. - -Bathed in the aqueous light stood Margaret Revaleon, regarding him -with wistful eyes. - -"Well, doctor," she began, "you have returned to pass sentence upon -me?" - -"By no means, Mrs. Revaleon," he answered, hastily; "I have only to -say that your case is a singular one. While I have no reason to -believe that any real danger will ever result from the 'condition' of -which you complain, I am forced to admit that I know of no treatment -for you at this time. I beg you to excuse me now, as I am called to -attend a critical case. My servant will wait upon you." - -And with these hasty words, Morton took his departure. - - -CHAPTER III. - - "Now help, ye charming spells and periapts!" - -Sir Francis Bacon maintained that every man is a debtor to his -profession, and that in seeking to receive countenance and profit -therefrom, he should of duty endeavor, by way of amends, to be a help -and ornament thereunto. Undoubtedly every genuine professor realizes -this obligation; while if he be of a truly appreciative nature, he -will not lose sight of a concomitant duty towards those whose favor -has lent encouragement to the practice of his art or profession, -especially at the period of its incipience. - -Such a debt of gratitude did young Doctor Loyd Morton owe the -Effingham family. - -Sidney Effingham had been a magnate in his day; a man who had freely -given his distinguished influence towards the refinement of our, in -some respects, too rapid Republican growth, and he had gone down to the -tomb of his ancestors, leaving behind him worthy exemplars in the -persons of his widow, his son and daughter. There had been an elder -son, Malcolm by name, whose unwavering friendship for Morton in boyhood -and early manhood had opened an avenue to the penniless student and -orphan into the bosom of the Effingham family; but Malcolm Effingham -had died of the Roman fever in Italy, and it had been Morton's -melancholy duty, as the young gentleman's travelling-companion and -guest, to close his friend's eyes in death and return to America with -his body. - -The untimely demise of his elder son had proved a grievous stroke to -Sidney Effingham; yet he bore up bravely, in a measure transferring -his thwarted interest to Malcolm's friend and class-mate. Thus it came -about that Loyd Morton owed the perfecting of his education to Mr. -Effingham, who insisted that the young man should return to Europe at -his expense and complete his studies. Moreover, such was his almost -morbid affection for all that pertained to his dead son, Sidney -Effingham bequeathed a comfortable living to Morton, thus -acknowledging him, as it were, an adopted son. - -The death of this beneficent gentleman occurred during Morton's -courtship in Germany, precipitating his marriage and immediate return -to his native land. Though the widow welcomed young Mrs. Morton with -maternal fervor, to Morton she frankly expressed her regret that he -had placed himself beyond the possibility of assuming Malcolm's vacant -place in her household. - -"But my interest in you remains unabated," she assured the young -physician, "and it shall be my pleasure to do all that lies in my -power to insure you success in your chosen profession. Otherwise, -leaving my personal affection for you out of the account, I should -fail in my duty as the wife and mother of those who held your welfare -and success so closely at heart." - -And Serena Effingham had acted in accordance with her noble -convictions and promise. Thanks to her unflagging interest in his -behalf, Morton seemed to spring with winged feet into the coveted -haven of fashionable patronage. There is no gainsaying the fact that -he maintained his position by consummate ability, and equally there is -no disputing the fact that he was fortunate in the possession of such -eminently influential backing. - -As has been stated, such were his engagements that but few hours of -the day or night could he call his own, even during the period of his -bereavement. His success had been phenomenal, two brief years having -assured his standing among the leading physicians of his day. - -This great burden of obligation weighed upon the young doctor's mind, -as he sat beside Malcolm Effingham's brother while the carriage-wheels -dashed through the murky streets of the town and out over the sodden -road that led to Belvoir,--weighed upon his mind to the partial -obliteration of his recent weird experience with Margaret Revaleon. - -Romaine Effingham--dying! - -Oh, it seemed incredible! How was it possible to couple that brilliant -spirit with the grim austerity of Death? - -"And yet," he thought, with a sickening pang at his heart, "should she -die now, in her nineteenth year, she will have enjoyed as many days as -were vouchsafed my poor Paula." - -Paula! Merciful heaven, how came it about that he should feel at that -moment as though he were summoned to Paula's bedside and not -Romaine's? - -With a start that was half-guilty, half-superstitious, he laid his -hand upon the arm of the mutely eloquent figure at his side. - -"Hubert!" he exclaimed in the tone of one who would fain drown the -voice of conscience, "Hubert, my dear boy, why do you not speak? Are -you so anxious?" - -"Anxious!" replied young Effingham, "I am almost distracted. What will -become of us should anything happen to Romaine! O Loyd, what was I to -mother compared with father and Malcolm? what am I to her compared -with Romaine?" - -"You are unjust to yourself, Hubert, you----" - -"Hush, hush! Such words from you, who know us so well, sound like lame -condolence! I cannot bear it while there is a glimmer of hope. By and -by, should there be no help for it, I may be glad to listen to you; -but not now--oh, not now!" - -"Hubert," Morton remarked after a momentary pause, "you must be calm. -In the few minutes that remain to us I must learn from you something -concerning Romaine's condition." - -"God knows I am willing to help you all I can." - -"What has happened to her? How is she affected?" - -"We were sitting at dinner, Romaine being in her usual health and -spirits. Indeed, I do not remember when she has been so gay. I suppose -her high spirits were caused by the receipt of a letter to-day from -Colley, stating that he should sail from Havre by the following -steamer, and might outstrip his letter." - -At mention of that name, which was simply the nickname of Colston -Drummond, the affianced lover of Romaine Effingham, Loyd Morton -shuddered involuntarily. - -"Well, well," he urged, "what then?" - -"Well, in the midst of a burst of laughter--you know her laugh, so -like a peal of bells--Romaine suddenly turned ashy pale, and, with a -gasp, sank back in her chair. My God, I shall never forget my -sensation at that moment! She looked as father looked when he died." - -"What did you do?" - -"Do! We did everything that should be done in such an emergency. -Mother was as firm as a rock; but I saw the look of despair in her -eyes as she turned to me, saying, 'Go for Loyd, with all speed; go -yourself, and bring him back!'--I have secured you; I have done all -that I can. The rest remains with you." - -"With _me_!" gasped Morton. "Do you mean to say that you have not -called in some other physician at such a crisis?" - -"We have perfect confidence in you, Loyd." - -"Good heavens! This is too great a responsibility! I am not--not--" He -was going to add, "I am not equal to such an emergency. You must send -at once for some other doctor," when he paused abruptly, turning -ghastly pale as the words recurred to him, unbidden as the mournful -rustling of the leaves of memory, - -"A woman's soul is trembling upon the threshold of eternity. If you -are alone with her when that soul takes wing, my spirit will instantly -take its place, and your skill will do the rest. Accomplish the -resurrection of that body, and secure our further communion." - -Consultation with another physician might be the means of saving -Romaine Effingham's life! After all, what mattered it if he were -destined to resurrect her body, though henceforth it was to become the -domicile of a soul for the recovery of which he would have sacrificed -twenty thousand Romaines? - -Consequently he bit his lips in silence. And at that moment the -massive gateway of Belvoir gave back a sepulchral echo of the grinding -carriage-wheels, while lights glimmered wanly beyond the fog-trailed -lawn. - -An exceedingly charming girl was Romaine Effingham. She possessed that -unconscious grace which resides in the joy of youth and ease of heart. -She was beautiful, accomplished, brilliant, and when, upon the eve of -his departure for Europe, her engagement to Colston Drummond was -announced, the fashionable world joined its plaudits and -congratulations to its acknowledgments for the favor of having been -permitted to witness at least one genuine example of the eternal -fitness of things. - -Not to have known Romaine Effingham personally, may be accounted a -positive deprivation; while, to have been ignorant of the existence of -"Colley" Drummond, that estimable corypheus of patrician youth, was -equivalent to confessing one's self quite unknown; and that without a -shade of irony, since Colston Drummond was, in the best sense, a man -of that world which has reason to consider itself well-born. So much -having been admitted, one may feel inclined to sympathize with the -legion who loved Romaine and admired her lover. - -It was a grievous sight indeed, to see the fair young girl low lying -in her dainty chamber, with the pallid sign of death on lip and cheek. -Equally pitiful was it to mark the mute anguish of that noble mother, -whose life had been one era of devotion to her children. They had been -her very idols--her treasures beyond price. She had passed whole days -and nights in attendance upon them during their slight juvenile -ailments--days and nights which to fashionable women of her ilk are -precious epochs of social dissipation. To have gone into society -leaving one of her children ill at home, it mattered not how trifling -the indisposition, would have been as utter an impossibility to Serena -Effingham as for her to have regarded with an indifferent eye the -present deathlike syncope of her beautiful daughter. As she had been -faithful in the minutiæ of maternal duty, so was she proportionally -constant in greater exigencies. With eyes haggard with suspense, she -watched the wan face upon the pillow, while her heart-beats told her -how the laggard moments dragged themselves away--away from the happy -past, on towards the menacing future. - -A sepulchral silence had settled upon the house, portentous in its -profundity; consequently the slightest sound seemed almost painfully -magnified. Naturally, then, the roll of the carriage-wheels upon the -flagging before the principal entrance sounded an alarm to the anxious -watcher's heart. - -"They have come at last!" she breathed. "God grant that they come not -in vain!" - -With the prayer trembling upon her lips, she met Loyd Morton at the -head of the staircase. She noted the deadly pallor upon the young -doctor's face and the unusual dilation of his eyes; but she thought -they argued his keen anxiety, as, in a certain sense, they did. She -gave him her hand, with a firm clasp, and dimly noted that his were as -cold as ice. She drew him to her and kissed him, heedless of the fact -that he failed to return the salute. - -"You must save her, Loyd," she murmured. "Our hope is built upon your -skill. If ever you loved us, have pity upon us now!" - -He made no reply to the solemn injunction; perhaps words failed him at -that supreme moment, perhaps he felt silence to be the wiser course. -She relinquished her hold upon him, and he crossed the hall. At the -door of the dimly lighted chamber he paused and turned abruptly. The -rustle of her dress betrayed the fact that she was close in his wake. - -"Permit me to make an examination," he faltered, with evident -constraint; "I--I will then report." The strained circumstances seemed -to invest his words with a defiant ring--at least, her woman's -instinct suggested the fancy; but she respected his request and joined -her son, where he stood, at the head of the staircase, leaning upon -his arm for support. From where they stood, mother and son could see -Morton bending above the inanimate form, could watch him as he lowered -his head close to the pillow, holding it in that position for what -seemed a very eternity. - -Was he listening for some token of fluttering vitality? Was he -applying some remedy? - -Once Serena Effingham started, as a single word, possibly a name, -reached her listening ear from the dim chamber. _Was_ it a name she -heard? If so, _whose_ name? For an instant she was half inclined to -fancy that her tense anxiety had produced some passing delusion. Yet, -had she been put upon her oath, she would have been forced to confess -that the name which had reached her was that of one dead--the name of -_Paula_! - -The fancy appeared preposterous; she had no intention of betraying -such a piece of sensationalism to her son, while Hubert Effingham had -no opportunity of inquiring into the cause of her sudden emotion, -since at the moment Morton quitted the bedside and came quickly forth -to join them. - -"Her swoon is yielding," he said, in answer to the eloquent appeal of -their eyes. - -"Thank God!" - -"Yes, she had passed beyond the portals of death, but she has -returned." He spoke according to his present conviction, not as the -scientist he prided himself upon being. "She will shortly be -conscious," he added, cutting short their eager queries; "her mind -will be in an acutely sensitive condition, and, absolute quiet -throughout the house is indispensable. I will watch till midnight -when, if her condition is favorable, I will relinquish my place to -you." He glanced at Serena Effingham. "I would advise you to secure -what rest you can during the intervening hours." - -He turned to re-enter the chamber, when the lady laid a detaining hand -upon his arm. - -"Loyd," she whispered, "tell me one thing. What do you consider the -cause of this awful trance?" - -"Her heart," he answered. - -"Then she may die as her father died?" - -"It does not follow. She may never have a recurrence of the trouble. -What I fear is--" - -"What do you fear?" - -The sensitive lines of his face seemed to petrify as with a desperate -resolution he replied: - -"I fear her mind may be affected by this attack." - -"Her _mind_! Oh, Loyd, tell me anything but that!" - -"Would you prefer her death?" he demanded, almost harshly. - -"Oh, no, no, no!" - -"Then let us hope for the best; or at least make the best of the -inevitable. You may take comfort in the fact that I promise you -Romaine's life." - -He turned abruptly as he spoke, and entering the chamber, silently but -securely closed the door. - -Then it was that the mother's fortitude gave way, and turning to her -son, she flung herself upon his breast and burst into tears. - -"Oh, Hubert," she sobbed, "what dreadful spell is upon us? After all -these years--though I have known Loyd from his infancy, have loved him -almost as one of my own children, to-night he seems a stranger to me! -What does it mean? what does it all portend?" - -He strove to soothe her with loving words, and almost bearing her -precious weight in his arms, he led her away to her own apartments. - -And then, in expressive silence, the night wore on to its mid-watch. -The pale crescent of the moon dropped behind the hills, while here and -there a lonesome star peered forth in the rifts of the scudding wrack. - -At last, and just upon the stroke of midnight, the vigil was disturbed -by the sound of wheels, of footsteps, of voices, and by the muffled -unclosing and closing of doors. Loyd Morton started from his chair at -the bedside of the sleeping girl. He was pallid to the lips, and with -difficulty commanded the desperate condition of his nerves. Contrary -to his commands, the door of the chamber had been opened to admit the -stalwart figure of a man. The pair had not met in many a year, but in -the dim radiance of the shaded lamp, their recognition was -instantaneous. - -For an instant Morton quailed. The intruder who had braved his -authority, to which even the anxiety of a mother deferred, was Colston -Drummond! - -The confrontation bristled with omen. - - -CHAPTER IV. - - "I do not know what witchcraft's in him." - -Had he been put upon the rack Loyd Morton would still have been unable -to give any coherent account of his vigil at the bedside of Romaine -Effingham. Four hours had elapsed from the moment that he closed the -chamber-door until, upon the stroke of midnight, it opened to admit -Colston Drummond. Reflection failed to assist him to any satisfactory -explanation regarding the flight of the time. He was morally certain -that he had not lost an instant in slumber, the tension upon his mind -would be almost proof positive that he could not have lapsed into -unconsciousness; and yet the span seemed a complete void as he looked -back upon it. - -Romaine still lived; indeed her hold upon vitality had visibly -strengthened since Morton's advent, yet, so far as his cognizance of -the phenomenon went, Nature unassisted had taken the resurrection into -her own hands. Resurrection was Morton's estimate of the miracle, -since every token of immediate dissolution was present in the -appearance of his patient when first he bent over her. The eyes were -glazed, the flesh clammy, and the pulsations imperceptible. The -extremities were cold with that peculiar chill which is so eloquent to -the practised touch. Death's conquest was imminent, perhaps assured, -and he had done nothing to avert the dread consummation--nothing save -to murmur the name of one which embodied, for him, the quintessence of -existence here and hereafter. - -"Paula!" he had murmured, half tentatively, half mechanically. - -It must have been the result of sorcery if simply at the utterance of -that name Death furled his pale flag and left the field to his -erstwhile routed opponent. Yet such was the case, as the physician's -keen senses promptly detected. The young man experienced a thrill -second to none that as yet he had encountered in his professional -career, as upon his finger-tips came the delicate flutter of the -pulse, while to his eager sight followed a gentle upheaval of the -breast that sent a quivering sigh to his listening ear. - -It was a supreme moment to Loyd Morton. - -Naturally his first impulse was to apply some restorative and thus -assist resuscitation. There was brandy at hand, a small quantity of -which he inserted, drop by drop, between the parted lips. The effect -produced seemed magical; the respiration became steady, a delicate -glow crept into the wan cheeks, while a genial warmth attended by that -most encouraging of symptoms, a dew-like moisture, relaxed the cold -rigidity of the hands that returned the faintest possible pressure as -they rested in the young doctor's clasp. Every token of convalescence -by degrees made itself manifest and progressed until the soft gray -eyes unclosed, instinct with crescent intelligence. - -The watcher bent eagerly so that his countenance should fill the field -of her vision, so that her awakening consciousness should grasp his -personality to the exclusion of all other objects. Apparently the -unpremeditated act met with flattering success, in that Romaine -Effingham's first utterance framed his name. - -"Loyd!" - -It was simply an articulate breath, but it was a conscious utterance -capable of interpretation, and Morton was satisfied; nay, he was -enraptured. - -"Paula!" he exclaimed, in his exaltation, "Paula, you have come back -to me!" - -"I have--come back," was the tremulous reply. - -"And we shall never, never again be parted," he urged with passionate -intensity. - -The dilated eyes watched him as if spell-bound. - -"You understand that you are no longer Romaine, but Paula, my own -dear, true love," he continued, giving each word its due import; -"Romaine has gone to her rest, but you have returned to make my life -once more worth the living! Oh, my dear one, tell me that you realize -the situation, that you comprehend my words! Let me hear you say that -you are Paula, my wife." - -"Paula, your wife," came the obedient echo. - -Had he been in his normal condition of self-control, Morton's -exuberant satisfaction might have been tempered by a consciousness of -the fact that he was forcing his own volition upon a cataleptic -subject; the strained circumstances under which he labored, however, -spared him this somewhat matter-of-fact view of the case. Indeed, he -had closed all avenues of approach to unwelcome spectres of the -scientific order, for the time being at least. Moreover, he had -permitted himself to lose sight of an attribute which upon more than -one occasion had been imputed to him. It had been whispered among his -hyper-sensitive patients that the young physician possessed that most -mysterious, yet positive, of gifts, mesmeric power, animal -magnetism,--what you will. Be that as it may, Loyd Morton undoubtedly -exerted a strong attraction for those in whom he was personally -interested. Babblers had informed him of his endowment much, be it -said, to his annoyance; but the fact remained that he held his fellow -man in thrall, whether he would or not. - -Either of the above considerations would have tinctured his -overflowing cup with bitterness; but as he had already drained that -cup of joy, it remained for digestion to prove whether the adverse -mixture had crept in in some ingustable form. - -A few more words of passionate admonition he addressed to his patient -ere the eye-lids drooped and the breathing became measured as in that -profound slumber which succeeds exhaustion. - -And thereupon began that extraordinary vigil, during which Morton was -conscious of naught save the assured resurrection and possible--he -dared not think probable--reincarnation. - -She had placed her hand in his ere she fell asleep, and he sat close -beside her scarcely venturing to relinquish it into the keeping of its -fellow where it rested upon her breast. By the light of the shaded -lamp he studied the calm beauty of the girl's features, the restful -slumber lending a heightening touch to their exquisite outline. - -Always a being set above and apart from his anxious existence, he had -seen even less than formerly of Romaine since his marriage, and in -that time she had matured into the perfection of womanhood. He had -loved her, as he had loved the other members of her family, with a -love born of gratitude. There had been no sentiment in this love -beyond that of grateful appreciation; he had loved Romaine exactly in -the vein that he had loved her brothers; had he been called upon, he -would have laid down his life for any of them with undiscriminating -loyalty. Having been his intimate friend, Malcolm might have stood -first in a test of self-sacrifice, but there had never been the -slightest shade of difference in his sense of allegiance to either -Hubert or Romaine. In a word, he had never loved Romaine otherwise -than as a friend; within the niche before which his soul bowed down in -all-absorbing idolatry he had set up the image of the woman who had -been his wife, and as it was a case of soul-worship with him, the -niche remained occupied to the eternal exclusion of rival effigies. - -He recalled with a flutter of timid pride how officious friends, -ambitious of his welfare, had ventured to couple his name with that of -Romaine. - -"You were her brother's 'Fidus Achates,'" they urged; "you have -received not only marks of affection from every member of her family, -but positive encouragement in every form. Take Malcolm's vacant place -and be a son and brother and husband all in one." - -To this friendly folly he smiled in answer, saying, "You admit that I -assumed the rôle of Achates to perfection, do you?" - -"Certainly!" was the reply. - -"Then let me rest upon my laurels. I am wise in my own generation. I -know the limit of my histrionic ability and have no wish to attempt an -impersonation of Phaethon." - -Hence his friends inferred that he was disinclined to court Romaine -Effingham through modesty or diffidence, little dreaming that he -refused to enter the lists through lack of inclination. Even upon this -night as he sat at her bed-side, keeping vigil while she slept, -satisfied that she was convalescent, he was simply grateful that -heaven in its mercy had spared her to her mother and brother, and-- - -A cold perspiration akin to the dews of death, pearled upon his brow, -grown suddenly pallid, as a problem of dire import flitted like a -grewsome spectre into the field of his speculation. - -"If," suggested the phantom, with appalling reason, "she is spared to -her mother and brother, is she not spared as well to her affianced -lover? Will he not shortly claim her as his own? And if, as you have -been persuaded to believe, her soul is at rest while the soul of one -you have loved and lost is renascent, incarnate in her body, how will -you bear this second separation, this alienation in life, which -promises to be infinitely more trying than that of death?" - -He sat as one spell-bound, listening in horror to the silent voice. - -He relaxed his hold upon the girl's hand and it fell limply at her -side. His eyes grew haggard with the speechless agony of uncertainty, -while his pallid lips strove to utter the cry of his anguished soul, -"My God, why did I not foresee this emergency? Thou art my judge that -I would not cause her one instant's misery, would not cast my shadow -in the path of her perfect happiness for my life, and yet"--"And yet," -resumed the voice of the phantom--alas, with no intonation of -mockery--"and yet you must secure her body in order to claim communion -with the soul that now animates it. Look upon her, strive to realize -that this is Paula your wife and no longer the daughter of your -benefactors." - -"Oh, grant me some proof!" he moaned; "Paula! Paula, speak to me! In -heaven's name, give me the satisfaction of _knowing_ that you are with -me once again, or this uncertainty will drive me mad!" He had dropped -upon his knees at the bedside and had almost roughly resumed -possession of her hand, passionately pressing it to his lips. -"Paula," he cried, "assure me that you are here, grant me some token -that you recognize me, Loyd, your husband, and help me to shape my -course of action, for now is the appointed time; one precious moment -lost and we may be estranged, hopelessly parted. I am groping in -darkness like unto the shadow of death. If ever I needed thy guiding -hand, I need it now, in this supreme, this awful moment. Oh, hear me, -Paula! I conjure you, speak to me!" - -As if in answer to his desperate exhortation, she stirred in her -sleep, and he felt the soft flutter of her hand as it lay crushed -between his. - -"No, no!" he panted, "you _must_ speak, or I shall not be satisfied -that it is indeed _you_! Call me Loyd, husband--anything you will, so -that I recognize your presence?" - -He arose and bent low above her, almost crying aloud in exultation as -her lips parted to exhale his name, simply his name. - -"Loyd!" - -Then the profound slumber resumed its sway. - -He raised the quiescent figure in his arms and imprinted a passionate -kiss upon the low brow. - -"Did you not promise me," he whispered, "that before the dawn of -another day I should take a living body in my arms and know that it is -animated by your soul? Your prophecy has come true and I thank God for -it!" - -Very gently he lowered the delicate form among the pillows and with a -reverent touch placed the hand that he had caressed, within the clasp -of its fellow; then he turned and began to pace the shadowy chamber in -a state of uncontrollable excitement. - -"She warned me," he murmured, "that consequences would arise over -which she should have no control; warned me that _I_ should have to -confront them. I assured her that I was not only ready, but eager to -accept the chances. What was my conviction at that moment compared -with the overwhelming conviction that commands me _now_? Then she was -intangible, invisible even,--a spirit; now she is in the flesh and has -addressed me with lips of flesh! Be the consequences what they may, -this body which has served her soul with the means of reincarnation -shall belong to me, as wholly and entirely as her soul, which is mine -to all eternity!" - -"You do not love that body," whispered the spectral Mentor; "beautiful -as in itself it is, it possesses no attraction for you." - -"By degrees I shall learn to cherish it," was the undaunted reply; -"shortly I shall love it as being _her_ abode." - -Argument was out of the question in his existing condition of mental -exultation; not that he had quite lost his grip upon himself, since -some semblance of common-sense had borne ecstatic fancy company in her -flight to the lofty pinnacle upon which she now poised, as his next -more material thought gives evidence. He had reached the fire-place in -his nervous perambulation and had paused upon the hearth, mechanically -setting his gaze upon the smouldering embers. - -"I would to heaven," he muttered, "that Paula's spirit had returned to -me in any other guise than this! I shudder before the complication -that looms upon the near horizon, and yet in what am I to be blamed -for what of necessity must transpire in the immediate future? How can -I be expected, in the very nature of things, to be able to explain to -Drummond the reason that he should cease to cherish his love and -relinquish all to me? Would he not consider me hopelessly insane were -I to lay before him the reason for my determined action, expose a -scheme which even in my eyes seems unparalleled in the history of -man? No, no! I am convinced that so occult a compact must remain an -inviolable secret between the Infinite and me. I feel myself to be but -a mere factor in some great covenant, an instrument, a simple means -tending towards an end of which I am in ignorance." - -The smouldering embers fell together upon the hearth, emitting one -expiring lance of flame, illumining his pallid features grown tense -and rigid with resolution. - -"I may be forced to dissimulation, even to deceit," he concluded, -turning away from the dazzling gleam, "in order to effect my purpose. -Already, as it were unconsciously, have I prepared Mrs. Effingham for -possible catastrophes. I have told her that her daughter will recover, -but in the same breath I warned her that I feared for her mental -condition. Why I so warned her, heaven only knows. So far as I know at -present that utterance was a lie, a base, ignoble fabrication; but it -came unbidden to my lips, and who shall say that it came not at the -instigation of some mysterious power beyond and above me? Who shall -deny that, since I have ceased to be the man I was, some species of -clairvoyant skill has descended upon me as the natural concomitant of -the atmosphere of unreality that henceforth I shall breathe?" - -He turned quickly and crept to the bedside, a desperate expression -kindling in his haggard eyes as they rested upon the sleeping girl. - -"Whether the issue proves me to be clairvoyant or brands me with -falsehood, I must establish mental aberration in my patient, or lose -my prize," he muttered; "I have burned my bridges and there is no -retreating now!" - -Scarcely had the incoherent words escaped his lips ere a clock tolled -midnight and simultaneously the sound of wheels upon the terrace -disturbed the peaceful course of night. - -Thereupon followed the confusion of the muffled unclosing and closing -of doors, excited voices and hurrying footsteps. - -The sleeper stirred and moaned. Morton drew himself up into an -attitude of unconscious defence, vaguely preparing himself for menace -or attack, and in the next instant the door was thrust open to admit -Colston Drummond. - -No need to glance twice at the handsome face in order to guess the -ungovernable anxiety and disarray that possessed the young lover. - -"Is she alive?" he gasped, advancing into the middle of the chamber. - -For answer, Morton imperiously waved him back in silence. - -"No, no!" he cried, "give me some satisfaction! Tell me at least that -I have not arrived too late! In God's name, why do you not speak?" - -Barring his impetuous passage to the bedside, even laying detaining -hands upon Drummond's shoulders, Morton was about to reply, when a low -cry disturbed the ominous pause. - -Snatched from her profound slumber and unobserved, Romaine Effingham -had struggled up to a sitting posture and straightway fallen back with -the cry which had startled the silence. - -"Oh, why will you torture me?" she moaned piteously, flinging her arms -across her face as if in desperate effort to shut out the sight of -some uncanny apparition; "take him--take him away and let me--rest! In -mercy, let me rest!" - -"Romaine! Great heaven! what does this mean?" - -"Silence!" commanded Morton, releasing his hold and retreating a step, -while a gleam of triumph flickered for one brief moment in his sunken -eyes; "Mr. Drummond, if you have any respect for the life of Miss -Effingham, you will instantly leave this room!" - -"Her life?" echoed Drummond in suspense, "it appears to me rather as -if her _reason_ were in jeopardy!" - -"You are right," came the firm response, "her reason is gone--she is -_mad_!" - - -CHAPTER V. - - "She is abused, stolen from me, and corrupted by spells and - medicines bought of mountebanks." - -"A day in April never came so sweet to show how costly summer was at -hand," may be quoted as applicable to the rare dawn that succeeded -that night of mystic import at Belvoir. The whole world seemed -instinct with the smile of jocund spring. The dreary night had wept -itself away, leaving its tears to jewel each new-born blade of grass. -High up upon the spacious lawn crocuses fluttered their imperial -raiment while snowdrops nodded and shook their bells as the bland wind -swept by. The brook, swollen to a ruffled sea that inundated the -low-land meadows, swirled through the willow-copse plumed to its crest -with golden down in token of its glad revival. The trees stretched -forth their yearning arms green with enamel of new buds; and over all -the sun, rejoicing in release, shot his bright lances into nook and -dell where lurked the mists of yesterday. - -Yet, despite the allurements of the outer world, the inmates of -Belvoir House remained invisible, and the stately white columns were -left to mount guard over their sharply defined shadows along the sunny -piazza. - -Within the mansion much of the silence and gloom of the preceding -night prevailed. Breakfast had been prepared as usual, but the -appointed hour had passed unheeded, a significant fact in a household -of such rigid regulation. By and by, however, a rustle upon the -staircase announced the appearance of Mrs. Effingham. - -Meeting a servant upon the way, the lady inquired where she should -find Mr. Drummond; the man replied that he was closeted in the library -with his young master, Hubert. - -Thither she went directly, entering suddenly, and surprising the young -gentlemen in the depths of earnest conversation. - -"You have seen Romaine?" they inquired simultaneously. - -"Yes, I have just left her." - -"How is she?" - -"Apparently safe." - -Thereupon a strained silence ensued, during which Drummond led Mrs. -Effingham to a divan and seated himself beside her, while Hubert -watched the pair with an intentness that reflected the motive of his -interrupted conversation with his future brother-in-law. - -Colston Drummond was the first to break the silence. - -"How do you find Romaine?" he asked. - -The lines of anxious care deepened upon the lady's face as she -replied. - -"I have said that I consider her perfectly safe." - -"_Mentally_ as well as physically?" - -"How can I tell? As yet I have seen no signs of derangement in her." - -"Ah!" exclaimed Drummond, eagerly, "then you refuse to credit _his_ -announcement that she is mad!" - -"If you mean Loyd, I believe that he has spoken in accordance with his -convictions." - -"He _may_ be mistaken," was the terse reply. - -Serena Effingham glanced in a startled way from one to the other of -the young men, and it was Hubert who came to her relief. - -"Colley has been urging the necessity of calling in another -physician," he explained. "But I tell him, mother, that we have reason -to have implicit faith in Loyd's ability; besides, it would seem like -insult to send for any one now that she is out of danger." - -Drummond passed his hand over his curling hair with a gesture eloquent -of impatient doubt. - -"Of course, I will not interfere if you are satisfied," he said. "But -I beg you to answer me one question, for I feel that I shall never -sleep, nor rest in peace until it is answered." - -"What is it, my dear boy?" inquired Mrs. Effingham. - -"You will grant me that Romaine is my affianced wife?" he demanded. - -"No one disputes that point." - -"And she loves me with her whole heart and soul? No, you need not -answer that question! Here upon my heart lies her last letter, written -within the month. I want no better evidence that she is mine, as truly -as woman was ever man's." - -"Well? What more do you ask?" - -"What more?" he cried excitedly. "I ask why she screamed at sight of -me last night, crying piteously, 'Why will you torture me? Take him -away and let me rest!' Can you explain such words upon _her_ lips, and -at sight of _me_?" - -"She was not herself, Colston. Her attitude towards you is proof that -her mind is indeed deranged." - -He shook his head dejectedly. - -"You have just told me that as yet you have seen no signs of -derangement in her," he said. "Tell me, if you can, why she should -seem insane to me, yet sane to you?" - -At this juncture Serena Effingham turned to Drummond and flung her -arms about his neck. - -"My darling boy," she murmured, gently; "for you are that, and ever -will be to me. You are worn out with fatigue and excitement. The shock -of finding Romaine so ill, after your long and hopeful journey, has -completely unhinged you. But I sympathize with you. Remember, that my -love for her is akin to yours, and remember, too, that God is good; -and I believe that, if we pray unceasingly, He in His mercy will give -her back to us, sane and whole again." - -He stooped and kissed her up-turned forehead, as he replied, - -"God bless you, dear mother. I would that my faith were such as -yours!" - -Then, releasing himself from the lady's embrace, he rose, adding, - -"I am going to breakfast with my mother at Drummond Lodge. Meanwhile, -_watch Romaine_! I shall return later in the day and shall depend upon -an interview with her." - -"Which I may almost promise shall be granted you." - -The voice that uttered these unexpected words was low of pitch yet -startlingly sonorous; indeed, so unprepared were the trio for the -sudden intrusion, that they were quite thrown off their guard, and -turned about in some disarray. - -Doctor Loyd Morton proved to be the intruder. He stood upon the -threshold of the apartment, parting the drapery with one outstretched -hand, while the extreme pallor of his countenance, the firmness of his -glance, as well as his pronounced dignity of mien, failed not to -impress his beholders. - -Divining that the situation threatened to become strained, Mrs. -Effingham remarked quickly, - -"We have been waiting for you to breakfast with us, Loyd." Then -turning to Drummond, she added, "We shall look for you at dinner, -Colston. Always bear in mind that you are at home at Belvoir." - -Drummond bowed in silence, and with one glance at Morton, who had -advanced a step, still holding the drapery, he passed into the hall, -accompanied by Hubert. - -The moment the drapery fell into place again, Serena Effingham -advanced impulsively and kissed Morton with the maternal fervor which -had ever been her wont with him. - -"What a debt we owe you, Loyd, dear," she murmured beneath her breath, -while her eyes lingered upon the swaying folds that hid Drummond from -her view. - -"Address your thanks to God," he replied, steadily, holding her in his -arms. - -"You have saved her life!" - -"Say rather that He has spared her." - -"She would have died had you not come to us." - -The firmness of his glance never wavered for an instant as he -answered, - -"That is true; but we must bear in mind that I am but an instrument in -the hands of the Almighty." - -And his words were uttered with as sincere a conviction as had ever -possessed him. However deeply he may have been impressed by the -questionable part he was enacting, he was satisfied that Romaine -Effingham would have been laid beside her father and brother in the -tomb but for his influence, at the moment of the crisis. Through his -interposition, he told himself, her body had been saved; with the fate -that had befallen her soul he was not concerned. In a series of -gyrations, never-ending in their recurrence, the words seemed to dance -through his brain, "A body is theirs, a soul is mine; a soul is mine, -a body is theirs," and so on, and on, and on, with incessant swirl and -swing until, dazed and confused, he was forced to seek the palliative -of fresh air under pretence of making a hasty round of visits upon his -patients. - -Meanwhile, above stairs in her dainty chamber, Romaine had been -clothed in a robe of delicate texture, snowy as the billowy rifts of -swan's-down that strayed about the neck and down the front, and had -been placed in the azure depths of silken cushions upon a lounge that -stood where the flood of genial sunshine streamed in. Beside her a -huge cluster of mingled Freesia and golden jonquils spent their rich -fragrance upon the air, conjuring, as it were, a hint of the exuberant -spring-tide within the house. A very festival of warmth and light -seemed to hold the chamber beneath its inspiring spell, calling forth -ethereal tones in the blues of the rugs and hangings, and investing -the silver upon the toilet-table with a quite magical glitter. - -A little maid, meek-eyed as any dove, went here and there with -noiseless step, putting the finishing touches to the final arrangement -of the room. Now and again she would cast a dutiful glance towards the -couch whereon lay her fair young mistress, with eye-lids drooping -until the dark lashes rested upon her pale cheeks, her slender fingers -interlaced upon her breast. - -There were sparrows chirping somewhere about the casements, while from -the distance the hum of pastoral life came drowsily to the ear. - -The little maid fluttered her plumed brush about a Dresden cavalier, -ruthlessly smothering a kiss that he had been vainly endeavoring for -years to blow from the tips of his effeminate fingers to a mincing -shepherdess, beyond the clock upon the mantle. In due time she -relieved the love-lorn knight and fell upon his inamorata, favoring -her with the same unceremonious treatment. The clock chimed twelve to -the accompaniment of a brief waltz, presumably executed upon the lute -of the china goat-herd that surmounted the time-piece, and at the same -moment Romaine Effingham stirred. In an instant the faithful watcher -was beside the couch. - -"Miss Romaine!" she breathed, "it is I, Joan. Can I do anything for -Miss Romaine?" - -One of the slender hands was raised and rested lightly upon the little -maid's head. - -"Yes," was the low reply. "You may find him and send him to me." - -"Who, Miss Romaine? Mr. Hubert?" - -"No." - -"Mr. Drummond?" - -"No, no," emphatically, but not impatiently. - -"Ah! I know--Doctor Morton?" - -"Oh, yes!" with a sigh. "Loyd; go and find him." - -"Yes, Miss Romaine." - -But instead of Loyd Morton it was Serena Effingham who had hastened -promptly to her daughter's side. - -"Here I am, dear," she said, stooping to caress the fair low brow. "I -have been besieged by callers to inquire for you, but from this moment -I will deny myself to everyone until you are quite strong and well -again." - -"But I sent for Loyd," persisted the girl, in the same calm tone. - -"Loyd has gone to visit his patients, my darling; but you may depend -upon it he will not be gone long." - -"I hope not. O, how devoted he is! Why, it is to him that I owe my -life, for he has brought me back to life; and yet--and yet how strange -it seems that I cannot recollect where I have been in all this time!" - -"Dearest child, do not distress yourself," urged the mother anxiously; -"you will recall everything in time and all will be well." - -"Ah, but it is not distress to me! It was like a dream of heaven when -I heard his voice calling me to come out of the shadow into the -radiance that his dear face shed about me! Oh, there can be no death -where he is, and no sorrow while he is by!" - -She smiled as one smiles in sleep, and let her eye-lids droop until -the lashes cast their shadow. - -Each of the strange words deepened the pallor upon Serena Effingham's -face, a sign of anxious care, perhaps not wholly due to her -consciousness of the fact that her daughter was actually under the -spell of a gentle hallucination; as a matter of fact it pained her -that that hallucination had taken a course somewhat at variance with -Drummond's interests. - -As she had determined, from that moment she devoted herself to -Romaine. The greater part of the time the girl slept soundly; during -the intervals of wakefulness she seemed happy and at perfect peace -within herself. Occasionally she would break her complacent silence by -inquiries for Morton; otherwise she appeared inclined to enter into no -sort of converse. - -Such nourishment as was offered her she accepted with relish, -remarking once, with a fleeting smile, "I have seen enough of death -for one lifetime; and I want to live, since I have so much to live -for." - -Plainly her volition materially assisted her convalescence, which was -rapid--visible almost from hour to hour. And thus the uneventful -afternoon waned to early evening. The goat-herd rehearsed his brief -waltz over and over again, and the sun went westward, withdrawing his -rays from the silken hangings and the silver upon the toilet-table. - -Lacking in incident as the day had proved at Belvoir, to Loyd Morton -it had been an epoch of emotions such as he had never dreamed of -realizing. - -Upon leaving Belvoir, he had gone directly to his house in town, into -which he admitted himself with a latch-key. The object of his haste -was to place himself before a portrait of his wife which hung in a -room held sacred to her memory. Here, amid a thousand mementos of the -happy past, it was his custom to sit during his leisure hours, -brooding upon the wreck that had overtaken him. - -To-day, however, he entered the mortuary apartment with buoyant step, -wafting a smiling kiss up at the fair-haired Gretchen that gazed upon -him from her frame above the mantel-piece. He flung wide the windows -and blinds, even sweeping back the draperies, that the April sun might -beam in and rob the place of shadow. - -Then he placed himself before the portrait, and thus addressed it, -giving vent to his pent-up exaltation, - -"I no longer beseech you to speak to me with those beloved lips," he -cried, "nor to smile upon me with those eyes that heaven has tinted -with its own blue! And yet I must adore your image, which, after all, -is lost to me. But what care I, since your immortal soul actuates -other lips to breathe your love for me, and kindles other eyes with -that same deathless love when silence falls between us? O, Paula, my -idol! tell me why I should be so infinitely blessed, when other men -languish in their bereavement? Thou knowest _now_ that I am as other -men are--as full of frailty and sin as any; then, why am I favored -with the lot of angels? O my God, it cannot be that I have died and -_this_ is heaven!--this being with you and yet not seeing you, this -exquisite aggravation which is mingled agony and bliss! By some -strange decree, you are with me again, yet I cannot see, I cannot -touch, you. Am I perhaps in purgatory? Or, worse, what if I should -wake to find myself in a Fool's Paradise! Heaven forbid; for that -would drive me mad, and then my unbalanced spirit would wander -gibbering through all eternity, and know you not! Oh, no, no, no! It -is the magic of our great love that has united us in this communion, -which ameliorates the misery of our transient separation, and I thank -God for it! Another day, and mayhap I shall be with you indeed--in the -spirit, in heaven! But, oh, my love, my life, my all in all, my -divinity, never desert me! In mercy and in love remain with me until -the hour of my release; then lead me back with thee!" - -Thus more or less coherently he rambled on before the gazing portrait, -in wild salutation and petition, until the sudden opening of the door -hurled him from the heights of exaltation to earth. - -Upon the threshold stood his man, amazed and at the same time abashed. - -"You will excuse me, sir," he began brokenly; "but I had no idea you -were in the house. I heard voices up here, and I thought thieves had -got in, or--or that the place was haunted!" - -"I suppose I have the right to come and go and speak in my own house -as I choose?" retorted Morton testily, conscious of his inexplicable -demeanor, and impotently furious accordingly. "Close the blinds and -windows, and shut the room up. Have there been any calls?" - -"No end of them, sir--and letters." - -Glad to make his escape from a predicament that bordered too closely -upon the ridiculous to be comfortable, Morton hastily descended to his -office. In the ante-chamber, in which he had received Hubert Effingham -on the preceding evening, he found ample affirmation of his man's -statement that he had been sought during his absence. The slate was -covered with names and requests, while upon a table lay a salver -heaped with letters. These he mechanically examined until, at the very -bottom of the heap, he came upon a missive which promptly arrested his -attention. It was addressed in pencil and unsealed. A moment later and -he had possessed himself of the startling information contained -within. - -He rang the bell in haste and excitedly anticipated the advent of his -man by throwing open the door into the hall. - -"When was this note left?" he demanded. - -"Last evening, sir." - -"At what hour?" - -"Just before you left the house, sir, with Mr. Effingham." - -"_Before_ I left the house!" exclaimed Morton; "in heaven's name, why -did you not bring it to me? It is a case of life and death! It should -have been attended to without the loss of a moment. As I could not -attend to it myself, I should have sent Chalmers in my place." - -The poor man looked panic-stricken. - -"You will excuse me, sir," he faltered, "but I knocked twice on the -study-door while the messenger waited, but I got no response. I -thought you couldn't come, so sent the messenger away." - -"But why did you not give me the note before I went away with Mr. -Effingham?" - -"Well, the truth is, sir," stammered the man, "I had no idea you were -going to leave during office-hours, so I just slipped down to finish a -cup o' tea, and when I came up you were off and away." - -"Fool! Do you know that your negligence may have cost Miss Casson her -life?" - -"Casson!" gasped the man, turning pale to the lips and staggering -against the wall for support, "the Lord save us, sir; she's dead!" - -"_Dead!_" echoed Morton, in horror. - -"Dead, sir! They sent round word early this morning to say that she -died at midnight sharp." - -Morton staggered into his study, slamming the door in the man's face. -He threw himself into the deep reclining-chair which Margaret Revaleon -had occupied, and pressed his head between his hands in a desperate -endeavor to collect his wits. - -Hark! was it a repeating voice, or some mad phantasy, the coinage of -his excited brain, that reproduced those thrilling words: - -"You will be called to attend a dying woman,--you _are_ called, -already is the messenger here. A woman's soul is trembling upon the -threshold of eternity. If you are alone with her when that soul takes -wing, my spirit will instantly take its place--and your skill will do -the rest. Accomplish the resurrection of that body and secure our -further communion." - -_Two_ women were approaching the threshold of death and _two_ -messengers were waiting to summon him while those portentous words -were being uttered! To _which_ of the two should he have gone? _Which_ -one was intended, destined for the promised reincarnation? - - -CHAPTER VI. - - "A sense sublime - Of something far more deeply interfused, - Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns, - And the round ocean, and the living air, - And the blue sky, and in the mind of men - A motion and a spirit, that impels - All thinking things, all objects of all thought, - And rolls through all things." - -Morton roused from his passing stupor to find himself in a highly -hysterical condition. He was inclined to laugh; in fact he did laugh -in a mirthless way, with sobbing accent that closely resembled the act -of weeping. He strove to assure himself that he had been the dupe of -his own over-taxed nerves; that his present condition was wholly due -to the excessive tension of his mental powers and want of sleep. He -even went so far as to smilingly pledge his presumptive happiness in a -copious dose of valerian. Thus armed with a species of Dutch courage, -he threw himself upon a lounge and sought composure. If his wife's -spirit, he reasoned, were omnipresent in all conditions and under all -circumstances that pertained to him, as had been represented, and if -that spirit were anxious to be reincarnate, as he had been given to -understand that it was, why in the name of all that was rational, -should it desert him, simply because he hastened to attend one dying -woman instead of another? What possible difference could it make which -corporeal attire it assumed? was it not reasonable to assume that a -spirit, presumably clairvoyant, would pursue its affinity as the -magnet seeks the pole, and appropriate any earthly guise, since the -power was granted it? Was not Romaine Effingham's body as well fitted -for its reinstatement in the flesh as another's? - -True, the late Miss Casson had possessed a certain fascination for -him, which had been commented upon before he went abroad to meet his -fate, and naturally enough his wife had divined the _ci-devant_ but -now defunct spell when she took her place in his circle, and, -woman-like, had rallied him upon it. - -"If I had come to you bare-footed," she often remarked jocosely, "I -should not be constantly haunted by the consciousness that the fair -Isabel is impatiently awaiting my shoes." - -To which quip he invariably replied with a laugh, "Such a suspicion -would never occur to you, my dear, if the shoes did not pinch." - -And upon this occasion he conjectured, with a drowsy smile, that -Isabel Casson's body would have failed to offer his wife's spirit the -inducements to reincarnation that Romaine's might, under the -circumstances, the beautiful Miss Effingham having been ever far -removed from any such lovers' banter. And so, thanks to the drug and -his own reasoning power, he lapsed involuntarily into sleep, the -result of excessive fatigue. When at last he awoke, he sprang to his -feet, startled at his own temerity. His hysteria had vanished, leaving -him depressed and apathetic. With a thrill he noticed that the sun, -obscured by the windy clouds of the early spring evening, had crept -round to the back of the house and was glimmering fitfully in at his -study windows. The day had waned, and heaven only knew how many -precious hours he had lost. - -He paused a moment, his blood halting in his veins as he strove to -surmise what might have transpired at Belvoir during his absence. -Fortunately for him, he had not overheard Drummond's half-implied -doubts of the morning, but in guilty consciousness of his attitude -towards Romaine's affianced lover, he instinctively felt the young -gentleman to be, in all righteousness, his deadly antagonist. - -Ten minutes later he had ordered his carriage and was being borne -swiftly over the road that led to Belvoir, the invigorating breath of -the April evening blowing in upon him and soothing his perturbation, -despite himself. Consequently, as he passed through the gateway of -Belvoir, that gave back that description of echo peculiar to -aristocratic portals and cemeteries, he drew a long breath, feeling -himself to be himself again. Even the apparition of a well-known, -stalwart figure crossing the lawn from the direction of Drummond -Lodge, failed to materially disturb his equilibrium, since he had -already alighted before the figure had reached the garden stair -leading up to the terrace. - -He let himself in at the unbarred door, as he had been wont to do in -the old time when he had been more an inmate of, than visitor at, the -house, and, finding no one to delay or question him in the shadowy -hall, he mounted the stairs, and laid his hand upon the door of his -patient's chamber. - -He entered noiselessly, even pausing and holding his breath in -amazement at the vision that met his gaze. - -Left alone for the moment, Romaine had arisen from her couch and had -gone to one of the windows that afforded an enchanting prospect of the -eastern hills, cloaked in the emerald film of bourgeoning spring, -vivified by the effulgence of the setting sun. She stood with the -silken drapery thrust back in her upraised hand, thus admitting the -evening glow that lent a touch etherial to her lovely face and flowing -attire. - -It seemed like the irony of Fate that Morton should have discovered -her thus, instead of Drummond; but, even with his normal faculty of -observation, Morton paused, spell-bound. He neither spoke, nor made -the slightest movement that might disturb her intent revery. He simply -put the passionate yearning of his heart into one brief and mute -appeal. - -"Oh, my darling, my Paula, my wife! Come to me of your own accord. -Come to me and let me feel the clasp of your dear arms about my neck!" - -Whether she experienced the strong mesmeric power of that dumb appeal, -or whether her woman's instinct only warned her of his silent -presence, is a question for the determination of graduates in the -science of psychology. Certain it is that she turned with a visible -thrill, and came to him, the loose drapery of her sleeves falling back -and exposing the exquisite symmetry of her outstretched arms. She laid -those arms about his neck, glancing up into his face with a smile, and -kissed him upon the lips. - -"How I have longed for you!" she murmured; "and what an eternity since -you left me!" - -"Paula--Paula, my own sweet love!" he ventured breathlessly. - -He stared hungrily into her upturned face, half-fearfully, -half-confidently noting the effect of his words; but the calm smile -remained unchanged, fixed upon her features as might have been the -smile of peaceful death, save that it wore the tint of life. He caught -her in his arms, passionately folding her to his breast, kissing her -hair, her brow, and lips. - -In the next moment his quick ear detected the sound of foot-falls upon -the neighboring staircase. - -"He is coming!" he whispered in involuntary alarm. "I promised him -that he should see you; but, oh, my love, remember that it is I, not -he, who claim you now--claim your every thought, your love wholly and -entirely!" - -"I shall not forget that which is a part of my own being," she -answered gently. "With you by my side, I should not fear to face Satan -himself!" - -He bore her in his arms to the lounge and tenderly placed her upon it. - -"I am your physician, as well as lover," he murmured; "and it is in my -power to prevent your being tortured by a lengthy interview." - -She smiled up at him reassuringly. - -"Have no fear for me," she said. "But--but do not leave me." - -And, upon the instant, Colston Drummond entered the chamber. - -Morton stood at the head of the couch, his body half-turned away, his -face studiously averted; yet, in spite of his attitude, he was -conscious that Romaine's lover had thrown himself upon his knees -beside her couch, and had possessed himself of one of her hands, which -he pressed passionately to his lips. - -"Romaine, Romaine," he faltered in evident suspense, "why do you turn -away your head? Why do you hide your face from me? Do you not know me? -It is I, Colston; I have come home to claim you for my wife, as we -agreed. Have you forgotten? In mercy, try to think, try to recall the -happy past! Oh, look at me, Romaine!" - -A brief silence succeeded the eager appeal, only to be broken by a -sharp gasp from Drummond. - -"Great God!" he exclaimed in an accent of horror, "can it be that she -does not know me? Dr. Morton, what does this mean?" - -He had regained his feet and stepped so close to Morton that his -breath fanned his cheek. Morton turned swiftly, and their glances met. -Some vague instinct seemed to warn each of them that in a way they -were rivals, and for an instant they appeared to be measuring each -other's strength, as for some mortal combat--Drummond suffused, as to -his handsome face, with suppressed excitement, Morton sternly calm and -pallid. - -"Pray do not forget, Mr. Drummond," the latter said steadily, "that -Miss Effingham is an invalid. As her physician, I insist upon her -being undisturbed." - -The words, far from recalling Drummond to his senses, seemed to -increase his agitation. - -"And do not forget, sir," he retorted, "that my attitude towards Miss -Effingham entitles me to some satisfaction, some explanation." - -Morton simply bowed his head, covertly watching the young gentleman as -he crossed the chamber. With his hand upon the door, Drummond paused -and turned, whether for the desperate comfort of one more glance, or -ultimate word of defiance is doubtful, since at that moment Romaine -half rose upon her couch and clasped one of Morton's hands in both her -own. The significant act so maddened its beholder that the last -vestige of his self-control vanished. Returning swiftly upon his -steps, he snatched a letter from his breast and held it quivering -before the eyes of the shrinking girl. - -"Romaine Effingham," he cried, "look at this letter! Look at it and -let the sight of it restore you to your wits, if you have lost them! -Do you recognize it? Do you remember how you wrote these lines to me -within a month, these lines instinct with your great love, with your -intense longing for me to return to you? I am willing to stake my -life that more impassioned words were never sent to absent lover. -There stands your signature! Do you deny it?" - -She covered her face with her hands and moaned. - -"You remember, then?" he added triumphantly. "Your mind is _not_ -deranged, but _bewitched_!" - -She only moaned, trembling like a broken twig vibrating in the wind. - -Then Morton spoke with the same stony calm of voice and feature: - -"You have had your say, sir," he said. "I have permitted you to speak -out of pity, but I am answerable to Mrs. Effingham for the welfare of -her daughter, which is being jeopardized by such a tirade as this -which you have seen fit to indulge in. I therefore request you--as her -physician, I request you to respect Miss Effingham's condition, and -leave the room." - -Drummond raised his head and dealt Loyd Morton a glance which smote -him to the heart. - -"I go," he answered. "I leave her in peace; but as God is judge of us -both, I fail to understand why you, who have enjoyed one all-absorbing -love, and ought to be faithful to it, can have the heart to force -yourself between my only love and me!" - -And, with these significant words, he left the chamber. - -Loyd Morton shivered as the door closed heavily upon his departing -form, and he crept to the window, raised the drapery, and stood -staring blindly out upon the darkening landscape. - -For the first time since the beginning of his weird experience, the -voice of conscience asserted itself, weakening his resolution to the -extent of making a partial coward of him. - -"God help me!" he mentally ejaculated; "would to heaven that I had -foreseen this disastrous complication before I entered into a covenant -with death! Far be it from me to interfere with the love and hope of -any man. But what can I do now, if, as I believe, it is Paula's soul -that has returned to comfort me in my loneliness? How can I give her -up to any other man to love and cherish? Were I to betray her thus, -outrage her confidence in me, and doom her to a spiritual hell on -earth, how could I face her when at last we meet in the life to come? -Heaven have mercy upon me and save me! rescue me from this awful doubt -that the soul I love is _not_ with me, is not incarnate here; that I -am the victim of some Satanic wile that grants me the power to exert -an infernal magnetism to the estrangement of fond and loyal hearts! O -my God, rather let me die here and now, before I have consummated -irreparable wrong!" - -The desperate thought ended in a sharp gasp that voiced the surprise -and almost superstitious awe which seized upon him as he felt a -slender arm coil itself softly about his neck with soothing contact of -cool flesh against his feverish cheek. - -The gloom had deepened to darkness within the chamber, but in the deep -embrasure of the window there lurked a faint after-glow of day, that -ultimate flickering of our northern twilight that seems fraught alike -with hinted promise and with lingering farewell. There is a witchery -about the "sober livery" of that brief hour that lends itself to the -imaginative soul and lays a magic spell upon the triteness of -existence. - -He knew that she had come to him, but for a moment he trembled in -uncertainty. - -"You are in doubt about me, Loyd?" she faltered, with a perspicacity -that was the more startling by reason of her hesitation. "You think it -best to relinquish all claim to me?" - -"What think you yourself?" he asked in an agony of suspense. - -"I am in doubt when you are." - -"But when I am firm?" - -"Then I feel that death itself cannot part us." - -He wound his arms about her, and in return felt her hold upon him -tighten with clinging trust; and thus for one supreme moment they -stood. - -"When you love, I love," she murmured; "when you waver, I waver. I am -the slave of a magnetism of which you are the master." - -"Hush, hush!" he gasped, assailed even with her arms about him, by the -grewsome conviction which but a minute before had impelled him to call -upon heaven to end his ill-starred career; "no, no! this is not -magnetism! Banish the thought, dear love, and henceforth believe that -it is by a special dispensation of Providence that we are once more -united, never again to part!" - -She nestled closer to him and laid her sweet head upon his breast in -eloquent reliance. - -"I believe, since you believe," she murmured. - -A moment later there sounded a cautious knocking upon the door. - -Morton loosened his embrace and crossed the chamber to answer the -summons. - -"Mr. Drummond begs Doctor Morton to join him immediately in the -library upon a matter of importance," announced the servant. - -Morton bowed his head in silence. - - -CHAPTER VII. - - "Love, lend me wings to make my purpose swift, - As thou hast lent me wit to plot this drift!" - -The portentous interview in the library was held within closed doors, -and at its conclusion the two gentlemen left the house by one of the -casement windows of the room that gave upon the terrace. Through the -gathered dusk they passed side by side, their blurred shadows tracking -them in the faint radiance of the young moon. Side by side they -crossed the lawn, bearing down towards the belt of woodland beyond -which lay Drummond Lodge--two apparitions, voiceless and black. At -last the blackness of the woods embraced them and they vanished. - -Not until the dense umbrage of the budding trees was reached was a -word exchanged between the ill-assorted pair. It was there, upon the -fragrant hem of the grove, that Morton paused, removed his hat and -mopped his brow, though the evening was damp and chill. - -"I see no occasion for me to go farther," he remarked, a note of -nervous irritation in his tone. - -"I did not intend to bring you so far," replied Drummond; "but I -wished to think of your proposition; to think before I gave an answer -to your--your unnatural demand." - -His companion listened to the words, his pallid face agleam in the wan -twilight. - -"Well," he muttered, "you have arrived at some conclusion?" - -"I admit that I am curious to know the limit of your powers," was the -reply, bitter with irony. - -"I boast no special powers. I will simply try to do that which I have -proposed." - -Drummond broke off a spray of dogwood blossom and tossed it away -unheeded. - -"You understand," he said sternly, "understand thoroughly, that I -insist upon complete satisfaction in the matter." - -"I understand." - -"That I must have the proof and testimony which I have named." - -"I understand." - -"You speak confidently." - -"I speak as I feel--as I have reason to speak." - -"As you _think_ you have reason to speak," echoed Drummond, an ominous -gloom shadowing his fierce eyes. "Well, sir, do your best--accomplish -what you can--then come to me at any hour of the night. You may suit -your own convenience. Between this hour and daybreak you will find a -light burning which will guide you straight to me. You will find me -alone and waiting--but, mark you! if you come to me with any trickery, -any fabrication, any counterfeit proof, I shall detect you in your -infamy, and shall be merciless; so beware! Likewise should you attempt -to evade me in the humiliation of failure, I warn you that I shall be -equally relentless." - -Morton replied in a tense tone which betrayed the struggle for -composure that he was undergoing. - -"I do not fear you," he said, "your approbation or displeasure is -alike a matter of indifference to me. In any case, though I admit but -_one_ to be possible, I shall come to you before daybreak." - -Drummond drew up his stalwart figure to its full height and folded his -arms. - -"Under the circumstances, then," he observed with a sneer, "I should -be unreasonable were I to encroach upon another instant of your -precious time." - -Perhaps his mockery was unheeded. Be that as it may, Morton had turned -abruptly while he was speaking, and had begun rapidly to retrace his -steps to the mansion beyond the lawn. - -Upon the fringe of the wood, Colston Drummond stood watching the -receding figure until, its lineaments mingling with the pervading -gloom, it was lost to sight. - -"Charlatan! fool!" he muttered. "I have given you the rope; go hang -yourself!" - -He turned upon his heel and pressed into the path that led across the -copse, through which twinkled the lights of Drummond Lodge. - -Suddenly he paused with clenched hands, and only the budding leaves -and fronds were auditors of the groan that came, wrung from his inmost -soul. - -"My God! _if_ she should fail me!" - -Meanwhile dinner had been announced at Belvoir. Plenty of candles had -been lighted to dispel the gloom. The butler stood at his post before -the side-board, but as yet the four chairs placed about the table -lacked occupants. The man glanced at the clock upon the mantel-piece -and heaved a decorous sigh, doubtless in memory of the well-ordered -days of his late master. At last, and just as the hands of the clock -marked the half-hour after seven, Hubert Effingham appeared and -requested the "faithful Adam" to serve the repast. - -"Doctor Morton will dine with us," he said, and turned to meet his -mother and Morton as they entered. - -Mother and son had indulged in no little surmise as to the sudden -disappearance of their two guests, and had delayed dinner until the -last moment on their account. Morton's return, unattended, did not -serve to elucidate matters, since he did not appear to be in a -communicative frame of mind. - -The pair had met him upon the terrace, where they had been strolling -to and fro in the pale moonlight, talking in lowered tones and -awaiting some development in the mystery. They had descried his dark -figure as he crossed the lawn, coming from the direction of "Drummond -Copse," as the belt of woodland separating the estates was familiarly -called, and, with no slight sense of curiosity, awaited his arrival at -the head of the steps. Their meeting might have seemed strained, but -for Hubert Effingham's remark, which relieved the situation. - -"If the dinner is spoiled, my dear Loyd," he said cheerily, "pray do -not blame the cook; when guests stray away at the dinner-hour, who is -responsible for the consequences? And, by the way, where is Colston? -Have we to wait until his constitutional is over?" - -"Mr. Drummond will not dine with us this evening," replied Morton, -with an indifference, the assumption of which was painfully apparent. -"And pardon me; I was in hopes that you would begin, and permit me to -catch up with you, as--as I have so frequently done." - -"The idea of obliging Loyd to apologize for his actions," interposed -Mrs. Effingham, laughing, "when his privileges here are the privileges -of his own house! Be off with you, you Hector, and tell Anton he may -serve dinner." - -Thereupon she linked her arm within that of the young doctor, and -glanced up into his face with an affection beyond question. - -"Why should I mention your privileges in my home, my dearest boy and -almost son?" she asked. "Do I need to remind you of my darling -Malcolm's love for you, or of the paternal fondness of that dear one -who so soon followed my boy to the grave?" - -She noted the nervous tremor of Morton's pallid lips, and hastened to -remove the painful impression she had produced. - -"Of course not!" she added; "more than ever, now, I account you a son. -You have saved Romaine, and it is the debt of a mother's gratitude -that I have to repay--if such requital be within human power. Oh, Loyd -dear, you are again alone in the world! Come to me and fill the vacant -place!" - -"Of son?" he demanded in a tone, the hoarseness of which concealed its -almost fierce eagerness. - -"Of nothing less than son, you know it." - -His dark eyes lighted with an inward fire that he was powerless to -mask. - -"God bless you!--mother," he answered, chokingly; "perhaps the hour is -not far distant when I may ask requital for the life I have given you -back, and put you to the test." - -They had entered the lighted hall and she glanced with a slightly -wondering start into his face, though the replied in the same fulness -of soul, - -"Bring me to the test." - -Their entrance into the dining-room and the presence of Hubert put an -end to the conversation, and dinner began, a single course of which -gave ample proof that the atmosphere had cleared. Romaine was out of -danger, indeed convalescent, and the awful suspense of the last -twenty-four hours was at an end. Mother and son presided in the very -best of spirits, and Morton must have been morose indeed had he been -able to withstand the contagion of their buoyant mood. Under the -influence of their constantly reiterated gratitude for the feat which -they ascribed to his skill, of the genial atmosphere, combined with -the excellent fare and wines, he warmed while some hint of hope and -peace crept back into his tortured heart. Only once did the clutch of -inexorable destiny seem laid upon him, causing his blood to halt in -its channels, as Hubert exuberantly exclaimed, - -"I see but one way, Loyd, and only one, in which you can be repaid for -saving Romaine!" - -"Relieve my mind by informing me, Hubert," remarked Mrs. Effingham -with a smile; "I confess that I have cudgelled my brains in vain." - -"By giving him what he has saved--by giving him Romaine!" - -"And how about Colston?" laughed the lady in high good humor. - -"I did not take him into the account," responded the young man; "at -all events he should not object, under the circumstances." - -"Which proves that you have never been in love, my boy." - -They glanced at Morton, and were slightly chilled at the sternness of -his face and the intensity with which he answered, - -"Were it her will, I would gladly be Romaine's servant in love as I -have been her servant in life and death." - -It was as if a frigid wind had crossed the genial atmosphere, chilling -their hearts as the mere passage of a current closes the sensitive -blossoms of the deep sea. But the constraint was transient; they were -used to Morton's moods, and ever were accustomed to make light of -them; and in the kindness of their hearts they readily imagined a -score of excuses for this particular one. The actual relief to the -situation, however, presented itself in the sudden and unexpected -apparition of Romaine herself upon the threshold of the dining-room. -She stood between the parted draperies, the soft folds of her robe -falling about her in the radiance of the candles. - -Romaine's welcome back to her accustomed place at table was full of -that exuberant congratulation natural to the situation. There was a -general uprising to receive and lead her to the vacant chair, which -had been set in place for Colston Drummond. Although Mrs. Effingham -and Hubert simultaneously saluted the girl's wan cheeks, Romaine had -eyes only for Morton as he bent before her to kiss the hand she -involuntarily outstretched to him. Those eyes, so dark and limpid, -seemed fairly to embrace the young doctor with their eloquent -scrutiny. A conscious flush suffused his face, while an eager, hungry -light flashed into his eyes, hitherto so dull and apathetic. - -Romaine sank into the vacant chair and glanced about her with a happy -sigh. - -"How good it seems to be well again!" she exclaimed. "I feel as though -I had been away from you all an age. Pray, how long is it since I sat -here?" - -"Just twenty-four hours, sister mine," replied Hubert. - -"One day, only one brief day," she remarked, as it were, -introspectively, "and yet in that short space of time I have lived -through an eternity--such an eternity!" - -Her voice fell almost to a whisper, and her eyes became fixed upon -space with an indescribably dreamy inspection in their depths. - -Although the dinner was practically at an end, Hubert seated himself -beside her, watching her with an affectionate interest not unmixed -with sadness. Mrs. Effingham and Morton, however, remained standing -side by side at the head of the table, and it was of the latter that -the lady inquired in a swift undertone, - -"Is it not a risk for her to have left her room so soon?" - -"I think not," replied Morton, without removing his eyes from Romaine, -upon whom they had rested intently since her appearance; "but I do not -approve of her remaining here. See for yourself! The associations of -the spot seem to be exerting some spell upon her already. Romaine," he -said suddenly, perhaps in answer to the mother's anxious glance, "if I -am to be your physician until you are out of all danger, you must obey -me. You were imprudent to leave your room without my permission." - -She raised her eyes quickly, smiling in happy submission, as she -inquired, - -"Must I go back again? Command! I am your dutiful patient." - -"We will go into the conservatory, if you wish," Morton answered. "It -is warmer there and less exposed to draughts; you shall inspect your -favorite flowers, and then, I think, we shall have you retire for the -night and rest." - -She rose with the ready acquiescence of a docile child, and going to -him, placed her arm within his. - -"Come!" she said. "Of all things, I would like to show you my plants; -I think you have not seen them for a long, long time." And with an -animated smile, that somehow seemed pathetic, she led Morton away -through the glass doors that opened from the dining-room into the -spacious conservatory lying fragrant and dim in the rays of the -crescent moon. - -Hubert had risen as Romaine left the room, and stood with his hand -resting upon the back of his chair, lost in troubled thought that -mirrored itself upon his expressive face; at last, with sudden -resolution, he conquered his painful indecision, and coming to Mrs. -Effingham's side, touched her arm. - -"Mother," he remarked, "Loyd is correct." - -"Loyd is always correct," replied the lady in a startled way, that -belied the confidence that her words implied. - -"Yes, but he is correct upon one point which you and I, in our great -love for Romaine, have been trying to evade during the whole of this -endless day." - -"What do you mean, Hubert?" - -"I mean that Romaine's mind _is_ affected." - -"Merciful heaven!" cried the mother, the ready tears glittering in her -anxious eyes, "how you utter my thoughts! My dear boy, what shall we -do if such be the case?" - -"I believe it to be but a temporary aberration, and Loyd thinks so, -too," replied the young man, soothingly. - -"But how can we tell? O Hubert, what suspense for us!" - -"Yes; but we must bear it bravely, mother, hoping and praying for the -best. All that we can do is to mind Loyd's commands, in regard to -Romaine, to the letter. It must be our duty to see that nothing -troubles or thwarts her." - -"Of course!" - -"Ah, that may mean more than you think." - -"How so?" - -"It may mean that we shall be forced to forbid Colston the house, or -at least the privilege of seeing Romaine until she recovers." - -"Colston!" exclaimed Mrs. Effingham, in pained amazement; "forbid -Colston Drummond to enter our house!" - -"Yes. An unfortunate scene has been enacted this afternoon in -Romaine's room between Colston and Loyd--of course in Romaine's -presence. Then, later, there has been something mysterious going on -between the two men, of what import I do not know." - -"What can it be?" - -"I say I do not know; but perhaps Loyd will confide in me. In the mean -time I have perfect confidence that he is conscientiously doing his -best for Romaine's welfare. You can see for yourself, that her -consideration even for us, her mother and brother, is second to her -sudden attachment for Loyd." - -The significance of the words failed not duly to impress Mrs. -Effingham. Her slight color faded, leaving her face ashy to the very -lips. - -"Can you mean," she said, with evident effort, "that some mysterious -mental distemper has interested her in Loyd to the prejudice of -Colston?" - -"That is my suspicion." - -"You think that her love has turned to Loyd?" - -"Can you doubt it?" - -"What would be the consequences of her return to reason?" - -"Mother dear," replied Hubert Effingham, manfully, "we had better not -torment ourselves with considerations for the future; we have our -hands full with the present." - -Meanwhile Romaine and Morton had wandered out of ear-shot of this -significant conversation, into the depths of the conservatory. They -had paused beneath a luxuriant _lapageria_, and the girl had raised -caressing hands, drawing downward a cluster of its frosty bells to her -lips. - -The startling likeness in tint between the wan face and the ghostly -blossoms, as they gleamed side by side in the moonlight, so painfully -suggested the sculptured pallor of death, that Morton caught her hands -in his and drew her quickly into his embrace, as he would snatch her -from the brink of the grave. She resigned herself to his clasp, almost -rough in its passion, without a tremor, while she glanced with a -wondering smile up into his face. - -"I associate those cold, scentless flowers with a certain funeral," he -said with a shudder that caused her to nestle involuntarily closer to -him; "I saw them near you once, and God knows I would never see them -so placed again!" - -"Yes, I have worn them in my hair," she said, "and they were thought -beautiful with my white lace gown." - -"They were laid upon your breast when I saw them last," he muttered, -"and they were cut from this very vine." - -"Indeed? I do not recollect." - -"No, and I would not have you recollect that time, since we are united -again." - -"United again!" she echoed dreamily. "O Loyd, teach me to understand -how we have ever been separated!" - -"Rather let me teach you how fondly I love you," he whispered; "let me -convince you that every heart-throb of ours distances the past--the -dead past and its shadows. Let your very soul be witness to my avowal -when I tell you that I love you! Paula, I love you!" - -"Paula!" - -She spoke the name after him in no surprise, with no intonation of -perplexity. It left her lips lingeringly, as though its sound was -pleasing to her ear. - -"Yes, Paula," he answered eagerly; "you are Paula, Paula to me, but -Romaine to the rest of the world." - -"How strange," she faltered with that dreamy smile, as if fascinated. - -"But you comprehend," he insisted--"you appreciate the distinction?" - -"Oh, yes." - -"Answer to every name in Christendom, if you will, save Paula; you are -Paula alone for _me_!" - -His impassioned emphasis seemed to charm her. Her rapt gaze enveloped -his head as she lay in his arms, and there was a smile of ineffable -serenity upon her lips. - -"How you love that name!" she murmured. - -"_You_ taught me to love it." - -"I must have, since you say so." - -"You are Paula." - -"Yes, I am Paula," she replied as one echoes a dictation; then, with a -half-regretful sigh, "What would I not give to be able to recall the -past!" - -"You will recall everything in due time," he said soothingly; "I will -help you." - -"After all," she said after a pause, "what is the past, compared with -the present? It seems like an earth-life which I have left behind; the -present is heaven." - -"Paula, my own true darling!" he parted in ecstasy, "you recognize me; -you love me!" - -"I love you, Loyd." - -He bent his head to kiss the calmly smiling lips, when she raised her -hand to stroke, with fond caress, his hair. - -A flash like miniature lightning dazed his sight as her hand passed -upward; it was simply the gleam of a diamond upon her finger; but -through its white sheen peered the face of Colston Drummond, distorted -with a grimace of mocking warning, and he reeled from his seventh -heaven to earth, felled by that tiny shaft. - -He loosened his hold upon her, and caught her hand, riveting his -burning eyes upon the gem, that returned the glare with flashes of -ruby fire. - -"You must not wear this ring!" he exclaimed; "I cannot bear to see it -upon your dear hand." - -Her startled glance left his face and rested upon the exquisite jewel. - -"You do not like the ring?" she inquired in a puzzled way. - -"It is not a question of my like or dislike," he replied with -increasing eagerness, almost with impatience. "_I_ did not place it -upon your finger; it does not belong to you, Paula." - -"Oh, then take it away!" she cried, hastily twisting off the circlet; -"I hate it now, although I thought it so beautiful." - -Perhaps it was the utter absence of regret in her tone that brought -that triumphant glitter to his eyes, as he accepted the ring and -slipped it upon the little finger of his left hand. - -"It shall return whence it came," he said unsteadily. "It shall -trouble you no more; but in its stead you shall wear this ring, these -pearls. Paula, do you not recognize them?" - -As he spoke, he produced a plain gold hoop, set with three perfect -pearls, and held it before her eyes. - -"Pearls!" she murmured sadly; "pearls are ill-fated; they mean tears." - -He cast his arm about her waist and drew her to him, still holding the -ring within range of her vision. - -"All portents, all auguries, all superstitions fail in our case!" he -cried exultantly. "We are exempt from all baleful influences now! -These pearls may _once_ have signified tears, but now there are no -more tears whence they came; they are petrified, and symbolize our -happy reunion. In this supreme moment of our love, try to -recollect--Paula, do you not recognize these pearls?" - -A spasm of actual pain crossed the beautiful face, the result of -intense mental exertion. - -"O Loyd, I cannot recollect!" she faltered piteously; "and yet--. Did -you not promise to help me to recall the past?" - -"Yes, my darling!" he exclaimed, his passion exceeding all bounds; -"and I will fulfil that promise when we have wearied of the blessed -present! A new promise I will make you here and now, and that is never -again to torture you with unavailing considerations; only tell me once -again that you love me with all your renewed strength, with all your -purified soul!" - -She raised her arms and wound them about his neck. - -"Loyd, I love you," she answered steadily; "I love you--love you as -the angels in heaven love!" - -"Of whom you are one!" - -He kissed her upon the lips--a long, rapturous kiss, thrilling with -the welcome of his yearning heart; with such rapture only could he -have kissed the one who had been his bride, returned to him from the -imminence of some awful danger or from the shadow of the grave. - -As such, and in all good faith, he kissed the woman lying in his arms, -in all reason believing her his loved and lost one sent back to him -from the vague realms of eternity. - -Suddenly he raised his head and looked into her face with something -akin to fright, actuated doubtless by the shadow of a last doubt upon -his certitude; as a fleeting remnant of cloud-rack after a night of -storm will sometimes fleck the serenity of a perfect dawn. - -Would there be a blush upon her cheek after that impassioned salute? -And, if there were, would not it portend an agitation born of maiden -modesty? His suspicious heart assured him that no such tell-tale hue -dyes the brow in holy wedlock. And he could have cried aloud in his -exceeding joy to find the sweet face as untinged as the ghostly -flower-bells that hung above it. - -He placed the ring of pearls upon her finger whence the flashing -diamond had been removed, and kissed it into place; and she, with fond -humility, received the kiss from the jewelled pledge, and returned it -to his lips. - -Then they passed, with their arms entwined about each other, through -the dimly lighted rooms and up the stairs to the chamber, where he -surrendered her into the care of her waiting-maid. - -"You will not leave the house to-night?" she murmured, as their hands -unclasped at the threshold. - -"Not to-night," he answered softly, "nor ever, till you go with me!" - -For the instant he forgot his obligation to Colston Drummond that -night; but, when her chamber-door had closed and the diamond upon his -hand flashed a defiant ray at the lamp upon the newel-post, he -bethought himself of his inevitable engagement. However, he did not -blench. - -"I am master of the ring!" he murmured in triumph. "One more effort, -and I go to Drummond Lodge within the hour, prepared to remove the -last impediment from my path!" - -At that moment he descried the figure of Mrs. Effingham crossing the -hall below in the direction of the library. With rapid steps he -descended the stairs and followed her. He was in search of her, since -from her hand must come the final weapon destined to silence his -rival. - - -CHAPTER VIII. - - "No, no, although - The air of Paradise did fan the house, - And angels offic'd all: I will be gone-- - ... Come, night; end, day! - For with the dark, poor thief, I'll steal away." - -Whether or not he entertained decided views regarding the power of his -personal magnetism over Romaine, it is certain that Morton felt no -perturbation, no uncertainty of touch, in his management of her. Loth, -as we have seen him, to admitting that he possessed any so-called -mesmerism, he was convinced that he held the key to her volition, and -that he need have no further anxiety on that score. Come what might, -no matter what contingency might arise, he was persuaded that she -would second his wishes, would obey him in any event. Why should it -not be so if, as he strove to believe--nay, as he was obliged to -believe or perish--she were actuated by the spirit of his wife? -Doubtless he would have been stronger in his belief if that belief had -not resorted to the make-shift of interrogation. He was vaguely -conscious of the weakness, of the masked doubt, that a question -implies--especially when it is a question of faith; and yet his very -inability to answer such question satisfactorily lent him a species of -Dutch courage that materially assisted him to tread his dubious way. -As the belated way-farer whistles in the night or affrightedly calls -upon his common-sense to assign suspicious sounds to the harmlessness -of natural causes, so he groped his way, fondly believing the darkness -light, satisfied if an unanswered query dispelled a doubt. - -If, then, he experienced no uneasiness as regarded his management of -Romaine, he was forced to admit great apprehension as to the -successful control of Mrs. Effingham at the decisive moment. Granting -his power of magnetism over the daughter, he had reason seriously to -doubt the virtue of his occult gifts if applied to the mother. - -Something of this moral hesitancy must have mirrored itself upon his -countenance as he thrust aside the drapery that concealed the library -door and found himself in the presence of the lady. - -Serena Effingham had seated herself at the writing-table, arranged -paper, and taken pen in hand; but, as the sound of Morton's footsteps -reached her, she hastily dropped the pen and removed a tiny rose -colored shade from the candle, the better to scan the intruder's face. - -"I disturb you," he said shortly, in a tone that promptly secured her -curious attention. - -"No," she answered; "as you see, I am not engaged, I have not begun to -write. What is it, Loyd? You have something of importance to say to -me?" - -She half rose as she spoke, but he motioned her back to her seat. - -"Yes, something of importance to say," he replied; "a request to ask, -which you can grant nowhere so well as here, since you must write." - -"Write--what? To whom?" - -"To Mr. Drummond." - -"To Colston! He may be here during the evening; I do not doubt he will -be." - -"Colston Drummond will not call this evening." - -Hubert's insinuations, together with the mysterious behavior of the -two men earlier in the evening, recurred to her mind with unpleasant -vividness; yet she hesitated to divulge alike her son's and her own -involuntary espionage upon their guests. Consequently she had recourse -to temporization for present safety. - -"Colston would be remiss in his duty if he failed to inquire for -Romaine before he slept," she remarked nervously. "Whatever may be his -faults--and he has as few as any man I know--indifference is not one -of them; at least, indifference as regards those he loves." - -It was like her valiantly to defend the absent, and she spoke from her -heart. - -Morton watched her with his soul in his eyes, though he turned a shade -more pallid, while the lines about his lips grew more tense as each -word of hers broke the silence. - -"Why should you defend him?" he asked almost harshly. - -"Why?" she faltered, at a loss for words. - -"Such defence as yours implies some suspicion." - -"Why so?" - -"Because it was wholly unprovoked." - -"Loyd," the lady exclaimed, "you dislike Colston!" - -"Why should I?" - -"Do you not?" - -"No! He is almost a stranger to me; I am not called upon either to -like or dislike him. I do not belong to his sphere in life; he has -simply crossed mine as a thousand and one persons meet me -professionally and part, never to meet again." - -"But you are likely to meet him frequently in the future." - -"I think not. I confess that I am not so completely indifferent to his -welfare as to hope he might some day have need of my services, which -would be the only opportunity we could have of meeting." - -Mrs. Effingham bit her lip to conceal some rising emotion, and toyed -absently with the pen. - -"Let us dismiss him from our thoughts for the present," she said with -a sigh, "and attend to your request." - -"I would willingly comply," Morton remarked, "but unfortunately we -cannot dismiss Mr. Drummond, since he is intimately connected with my -request." - -She turned a swift, startled glance upon the speaker. - -"Yes," he continued, coming close to the table and leaning above it; -"I wish you to write to Mr. Drummond, forbidding him to come here--for -the present; at least, forbid him to intrude upon Romaine until she is -stronger and better able to bear his importunity." - -"Loyd! what can you mean?" - -"Exactly what I say. Either Mr. Drummond vacates the field to me, or I -vacate the field to Mr. Drummond and such other physician as you may -choose to call in. I cannot, and will not, suffer my efforts to be -balked by his interference. You have placed Romaine in my charge to -cure, and I will do my utmost to secure the desired end so long as I -am undisturbed; any physician demands so much. If you consider me -unreasonable, I beg you to say so frankly. No candid opinion, honestly -uttered, ever gave offence or caused a breach in friendship. At all -events, it shall not in my case." - -The heroism of his words was belied by his tone, the expression of his -face, his very attitude. - -If Colston Drummond's rights at Belvoir were maintained in spite of -Morton's semi-truthful plea, the day would be lost to him, and he knew -it. If Drummond held his ground, he must retreat. He felt the solid -earth beneath him changing to a shifting quick-sand, from which only a -miracle could save him. If Drummond were restored to Romaine, he must -leave her, and, in leaving her, leave that chimerical love to which he -had become enslaved, abandon his spirit-wife--and go mad, for aught he -knew to the contrary. - -The suspense of that supreme moment aged him appreciably, while the -reaction that succeeded well-nigh deprived him of self-control. - -He could have cried aloud in the exuberance of his joy, could have -flung himself upon the earth, or indulged in any other fantastic mode -of relief when at last Mrs. Effingham tremulously replied, - -"Come what may, you shall remain in command here. O Loyd, do not -desert us in this the eleventh hour of our anxiety! In heaven's name, -stand by us until your good work is accomplished! You have dragged -Romaine back from the threshold of death; sustain her until the -threatening portals are closed and she is safe!" - -She rose as she spoke, with outstretched arms, and he hastened to her -to receive her embrace. - -She clung to him hysterically for a moment, then sank into her chair -and with an effort caught up the pen in her trembling fingers. - -"Dictate--I will write," she faltered sobbingly. - -It was Morton's very good fortune that Mrs. Effingham never so much as -dreamed of suspecting his perfect disinterestedness in her daughter's -cause. In intrusting Romaine's life to his care, she placed in his -keeping that which she considered infinitely more precious than the -salvation of her own immortal soul, since she unhesitatingly -considered her welfare here and hereafter as second to that of her -children, such was the perfection of her maternal self-denial. From -long association with her, Morton was well aware of this fact; -consequently it was from prudential motives that he stepped behind her -chair to conceal the guilty triumph that distorted his countenance. -Had she seen his face at that moment, the depth of his deceit would -have been instantly apparent to her, and this he was wise enough to -know. Her woman's instinct would have warned her that he did not love -Romaine for herself, that he was actuated in his devotion by some -ulterior motive in which Romaine held no share. At least, he knew such -to be the case, knew that his success in the future depended upon his -keeping that knowledge an inviolate secret. He was well aware that the -treason against Colston Drummond was vividly depicted upon his face, -and that in perfect concealment of it resided his only hope of further -communion with the spirit of his wife, that reincarnation in which he -now as devoutly believed, as he believed in his own existence. - -Be it said in his favor that he was not wholly selfish in his conduct, -notwithstanding the insatiable yearning of his soul for the affinity -from which he had been separated, since he felt himself to be -responsible for having summoned that spirit back to earth, for having -conjured it from the realms of bliss through the spell of his great -love, even overcoming its reluctance to return by his importunity; -but, having succeeded in his invocation, having secured the -reincarnation, how could he abandon the imprisoned spirit? What right -had he to leave it to pine among strangers? - -What was the spirit of his wife to Drummond, or Drummond to the spirit -of his wife? They had never met upon earth, and now, wrapped in a veil -of invisibility, how could that spirit hope for the sympathy and love -upon which it had fed, and for the renewal of which it had returned to -earth? - -Could he in duty, in honor, in love, desert the habitation which that -blessed spirit had chosen, and leave it enslaved to a doom beside -which total annihilation would seem paradise? - -A thousand times, no! As the bonds of wedlock had made him responsible -for the welfare of his wife, even so had this covenant with death -rendered him accountable for the peace of her spirit. - -Such was his self-acquittal for the high-handed deceit which he was -practising upon his best of friends. - -A portion at least of this defence sped involuntarily through his mind -as he stood behind Mrs. Effingham's chair; and, thanks to it, he was -able to regain some measure of composure, so that, when she faintly -repeated the request that he should dictate the letter to Drummond, he -replied with a reasonable degree of command, - -"Write as your heart dictates." - -"My heart fails me," she answered piteously. "I can find no words in -which to forbid the man, who was to have been my son-in-law within the -month, to enter my house." - -It seemed to Morton then as if the threatening quick-sands were -creeping about his feet again. If he failed to secure this dismissal, -all would be lost. - -He might go to Drummond with the ring, feeling himself well armed, but -a vulnerable point would still be exposed as long as Drummond could -freely seek Mrs. Effingham and demand an explanation. Perfect success -to his scheme was in view, and he must secure it at all hazards! - -He stepped from his concealment and boldly faced the lady, a horn of -the bull in either hand. - -"Believe me, Mrs. Effingham," he said sternly, "this is no -child's-play; we have arrived at a decisive moment, which is not to be -gainsaid. Permit me to present the question from another point of -view. Suppose that I had failed in my management of Romaine's case; -that you saw her steadily growing worse under my treatment instead of -better; that you were satisfied that I was mistaken and surely -courting death for her; would you not dismiss me ere it was too late, -and summon one whose skill could save your child? Answer me that!" - -"O Loyd!" she cried, "how can you ask me? How can you find it in your -heart to torture me so?" - -"And how can you place impediments in the way of my saving Romaine? I -am simply amazed that you will run any risk where Romaine is -concerned. As I said before, I now repeat--either Mr. Drummond assumes -direction here, or I do; it is for you to choose between us." - -"I beseech you, do not be unreasonable, Loyd; you are the physician. -Have I not given you every proof of my confidence? Pursue your way -undisturbed." - -"That is out of the question," he answered steadily, "out of the -question, while Mr. Drummond is permitted to come here. His influence -upon Romaine in her present sensitive condition is disastrous. If he -comes here, he will insist upon seeing her; and, if she sees him, I -will not answer for the consequences. I grant you that the gentleman -is not to blame for the baleful influence he exerts--indeed, I -entirely exonerate him; but the fact remains that, for some mysterious -reason, Romaine is reduced almost to frenzy at the very sight of him. -Had you been in her chamber this afternoon when he forced an entrance -there and defied my authority, you would have been satisfied that your -daughter's life is a matter of a few hours' duration if she is left to -his mercy!" - -It was a bold stroke, and it struck home. - -Hubert's hint of the "unfortunate scene" that had been enacted in -Romaine's presence that afternoon recurred to Mrs. Effingham's mind -most opportunely for Morton. Without further parley, she drew a sheet -of paper to her, caught up the pen, and wrote in breathless haste the -following entreaty: - - "MY DEAR COLSTON: I beg you to appreciate the depth of my - solicitude for Romaine, when I tell you that I am more than - willing to assume all the blame for the pain I am forced to - inflict upon you. You already know something of the critical - condition of my darling child; and yet I venture to say that - it is far more critical than you suspect. Complete rest and - total freedom from every description of excitement are - indispensable to her recovery. I shall keep her strictly - removed from all social intrusion, even of the most intimate - kind; and I must beg you, for the present, not to attempt to - see her. Indeed, I will so far hazard the endurance of your - friendship and love for me as to beseech you not even to come - to the house until she is out of all danger. You may deem me a - fanatic in my maternal anxiety--perhaps I am; but nevertheless - I ask you to respect a mother's wishes and second a mother's - prayers. I take this, possibly unwarrantable, step entirely - upon my own responsibility, persuaded that your dear, noble - heart will sympathize with and understand me. Hubert shall - bring you daily tidings of our dear one; and, in the hope that - this moral quarantine may be of brief duration, believe me, - - "Ever your fondly attached friend, - SERENA EFFINGHAM." - -The manner in which she reached her signature suggested the broken -gait of an exhausted animal that has been lashed almost beyond -endurance, yet accomplishes the behest of its master with its ultimate -gasp. The pen fell from her nerveless hand, and she sank back in her -chair with a quivering sigh. - -"Read what I have written," she gasped. "It may be utterly -unintelligible." - -For answer, Morton folded the sheet and placed it in an envelope. - -"Address this, if you please," he said. - -She obeyed his request, limply forcing herself to make the effort; -and, as the pen once more fell from her fingers, she glanced up at him -with a haggard piteousness in her eyes. - -"Will you not read what I have written?" she asked again. - -"I see no reason why I should," he answered. "I have no wish to -intrude. You are simply doing your duty towards your daughter; such a -proceeding is not open to criticism." - -"I only hope and pray that Colston will regard my attitude in the same -magnanimous light," she sighed, taking a little heart at his words. - -"He will if he is truly a lover and a gentleman," was the daring -reply. - -Mrs. Effingham rose and, crossing the room, opened one of the -casements to admit a breath of the cool night air; and at that moment -a clock somewhere about the house chimed ten. - -"It is so late," she remarked sadly, "that there is little danger of -poor Colston's intruding upon us to-night. We may as well defer -sending the note until to-morrow." - -She was looking absently forth upon the engloomed landscape, to where, -beyond the crest of the low-lying hills, the blood-red segment of the -moon was sinking to rest; consequently she failed to note the inward -fire that flashed up in Morton's haggard eyes as he hastened to reply, - -"I will take a short walk before I sleep, as is my custom, and leave -the note at Drummond Lodge." - -She turned with an apprehensive start towards the writing-table, as if -to claim the note, perhaps with a view to its destruction; but it had -disappeared. - -Divining her intention, Morton touched his breast. "It is here," he -said, "you may trust me to deliver it safely. Romaine has requested me -to remain here over night," he added, going towards the door that -opened upon the hall, "and I must respect her wish. Doubtless I shall -find Hubert up when I return." - -He was about to leave the room, when the lady extended her arms and he -was obliged to return and receive her embrace. - -"Good-night," she murmured; "I shall look in at Romaine and then -retire; for I am completely worn out with the events of this day. -Good-night, Loyd. Ah, my dear boy! you little know what comfort it is -to have you to depend upon. I have trusted you with Romaine's precious -life, and you have not failed me; now I intrust to your keeping her -future welfare and happiness. Be faithful. God bless you. Good-night!" - -Words of strong significance they seemed to Morton, in his exalted -mood. Could it be that they implied a suspicion of apostasy on his -part? - -Like many another constitutionally upright man, laboring in strained -circumstances, he felt his "conscience hanging about the neck of his -heart;" and, like many another good man, overwhelmed by the force of -circumstances, he left himself no time to listen to that conscience. -He grasped his hat and hurried out into the night. As he passed one of -the uncurtained windows of the drawing-room, whence a belt of light -fell out upon the terrace from the shaded lamps within, he paused and -half involuntarily drew Mrs. Effingham's letter to Drummond from his -pocket. He had not sealed it, and, as he drew the folded sheet from -its envelope, he experienced a twinge of shame-faced regret that he -had not read it in the lady's presence, as she had besought him to do. -The desire--nay, the imperative necessity--had been with him at the -time to satisfy himself to what extent her words had coincided with -his requirements; but somehow he could not have brought himself to -read the missive with her confiding eyes resting upon him. - -Now, however, with an assurance born of the encompassing darkness, his -eyes flew over the lines, gathering a gleam of hungry satisfaction in -their depths as they read. - -"'Indeed, I will so far hazard the endurance of your friendship and -love for me as to beseech you not even to come to the house until she -is out of all danger,'" he read, almost audibly. "Good! good! Nothing -could be better! We are safe from his intrusion, at least for the -precious present! Ah," he concluded, with savage, mirthless humor, "I -am greatly mistaken in his high-mettle if she has not made him his -quietus with a bare bodkin!" - -He returned the letter to his pocket and hurried away to the steps -that led down to the lawn, casting one backward, furtive glance at the -lighted windows. - -Fair-haired Achilles, armed cap-a-pie, could not have led his troops -against Troy with more perfect faith in his invulnerability, in more -profound assurance of his powers to vanquish, than did Morton hasten -through the dew-drenched woodland that separated Belvoir from Drummond -Lodge. He gave no heed to the clinging briers, no thought to the roots -and stubble that vainly essayed to bar his passage. It is even -doubtful if he kept to the slightly defined path; there was a single -light aglow beyond the trees, towards which he bore with feverish -haste. He had lost all sense of physical discomfort or opposition; it -was as if, discarnate, his spirit winged impetuous flight towards the -goal of its desires. - -As he approached the dim mansion lying low amidst dense shrubbery, he -descried a small star set low and somewhat in advance of the signal -light, like some strange winged glow-worm poised in air. Soon his -eager eyes were able to detach from the environing gloom the outlines -of a tall man, standing with folded arms, a lighted cigar between his -lips. Some instinct peculiar to his excited condition informed Morton -that the solitary figure was that of Colston Drummond--long before -recognition was possible. - -"So he, too, has suffered an anxious moment!" he thought, an -overpowering throb of triumph almost suffocating him. - -A minute later the two men stood confronting each other. - -The moon had set, and in the darkness a brisk, chill wind was busy -among the tree-tops. Near by an owl hooted dismally, and receiving -answer from the distance, hooted again in eerie ululation. - -"Well?" queried Drummond, with difficulty disguising a thrill of -surprise. - -"I have kept my appointment," answered Morton, "earlier than I -thought; earlier, probably, than you expected me." - -"Well?" - -"I am the bearer of a message--a note from Mrs. Effingham." - -"Follow me." - -Drummond threw away his cigar and led the way across the sodden grass -to the open casement window, within which burned the light. It was a -charming room, decorated with trophies of the chase. From floor to -ceiling the walls were draped with fish-seines festooned upon antlers. -Groups of arms from every quarter of the globe, glistened upon the -various panels, while ancient and modern panoplies scintillated in -every nook and corner. Beside a table shrouded in dull gray velvet, -and littered with books, papers, and smoking-materials, Drummond -paused and turned to face the shadow that followed him. - -No word was exchanged, while in breathless silence he accepted and -read to its close the letter which Morton had brought. Without comment -he laid it upon the table, then bent his keen, stern glance upon the -messenger. - -"This letter is but a part of our compact," he said, each distinctly -uttered word cutting the silence like a knife. - -"I agreed to bring you this letter from Mrs. Effingham," Morton -answered, defiantly, "and your engagement-ring from"-- - -"Well? You have brought it?" - -"I have." - -Drummond recoiled a step, casting out his hand behind him and grasping -the table for support. - -"Great God!" burst from his tensely drawn lips; "I--I"-- - -"You recognize the ring?" - -Morton had slipped the circlet from his finger and held it before -Drummond's eyes, twinkling in the lamp-light. - -"This is some jugglery!" gasped the wretched man; "some infernal -witchcraft! I--I refuse to"-- - -"This is your ring!" - -A pause of awful import ensued, broken only by the weird hubbubboo of -the owls. - -"Mr. Drummond," Morton continued at length, his voice fairly startling -the silence, "I have fulfilled my part of the compact. I have brought -you undeniable proof that for the present, at all events, your -attentions to Miss Effingham are"-- - -"Silence!" gasped Drummond, between his ghastly lips. - -"Are distasteful to her," proceeded Morton, steadily, but with no note -of triumph in his tone. "Your part of the compact involves your -relinquishing all claim upon Belvoir, even as a visitor. I have -accomplished my part; as a gentleman you"-- - -"Silence!" thundered Drummond, his whole being vibrant with an -overmastering fury. "Out of my sight! or by the living God I will not -be responsible for what I may do! Never fear that I shall not abide by -my part of the compact! But as there is justice in heaven, I will -never rest until I have probed this damnable mystery to the heart! -Now, go! before the sight of you reduces me to a ravening beast! Go, -before I tear your heart out, and by drawing your blood, deprive you -of the power of sorcery! Out of my sight!" - -Morton's return to Belvoir was effected at the height of his speed. -His interview with Drummond had unmanned him; while the conscience -that hung about the neck of his heart seemed to be strangling his life -out in its deadly clutch. The owls, winging breast to breast, pursued -him, and even the very wind caught up their vague denunciation and -hurled it about his ears. Only the twinkling lights of Belvoir -recalled him from the verge of madness, from the black Gehenna of his -accusing soul. - - -CHAPTER IX. - - "Have I caught thee, my heavenly jewel? Why, now let me die, - for I have liv'd long enough: this is the period of my - ambition." - -Romaine Effingham's convalescence was as rapid as the advent of summer -that year. As the brief April days glided into May, she grew strong -and well again; sound physically, at all events. Her mental condition -remained a matter of conjecture to those who watched her with anxious -hearts. Apparently she was perfectly herself, save for her infatuation -for Morton which, after all, was scarcely a flattering view of the -case to take. Naturally there was no reason why she should not fall in -love with the young physician, setting Drummond's undeniable claims -aside; but that Drummond should be set aside, for no apparent cause, -in favor of Morton, argued a distemper which perhaps might most easily -be placed to the account of mental aberration. It was evident that -something must be seriously wrong with her that she should wholly and -completely ignore the existence of her affianced lover. She never -mentioned him, while if, in the common course of conversation his name -chanced to be uttered, which was not often the case for obvious -reasons, she maintained as unaffected an indifference as if the name -of some stranger, in whom by no chance could she be interested, had -been called in question. - -As a matter of course Mrs. Effingham indulged in a purely sentimental -view of the singular situation. If she were not betrayed into saying -so, in so many words, she was convinced that as Romaine's health -strengthened, her mind would resume its sovereignty, her former -predilections and affections would duly re-assert themselves, and as a -consequence, her dormant love for Drummond would awake and claim its -idol, which had simply suffered temporary eclipse, not obliteration. -The good lady felt persuaded that Romaine's love for her betrothed was -dormant, not defunct. - -On the other hand, man-like, Hubert Effingham was of opinion--and, -true son of his father, he had the courage of his opinions--that -either his sister's mind was hopelessly deranged, her unwarrantable -neglect of Drummond giving ample proof of the incipience of the -baleful distemper, or else she was making herself a glaring example of -that frailty which is imputed to woman. Standing between the horns of -a dilemma which he had evolved from his independent consideration of -the question, he was satisfied that he had rather accept the former -position, painful as it must be to him, than force himself to believe -Romaine guilty of an inconstancy as reprehensible as it was -unjustifiable. Setting aside his strong fraternal regard for Morton, -Hubert esteemed Drummond one of God's noblemen, as out of doubt he -was. Had Morton been the favored one primarily, Hubert would have been -content; but such was his sense of justice he could not passively -stand by and see Morton, deeply as he loved and respected him, usurp -the rights and place of one whom he had no reason to regard with a -lighter love and respect. - -Such being the case, he felt himself called upon to probe the mystery -and right the wrong, if wrong there were, while his mother remained in -optimistic apathy. He kept his counsel and patiently awaited his -opportunity. - -One perfect spring morning, perhaps a week removed from that dark and -perplexing day that had befallen Belvoir, Hubert met Romaine as she -emerged from the house accompanied by a splendid mastiff in leash, -evidently prepared for a tour of the gardens and the surrounding park. -Loyd Morton had gone into the city for the purpose of making further -arrangements with his friend Chalmers to attend to his practice -indefinitely. For reasons best known to himself, he considered his -presence indispensable at Belvoir, and no incentive had been offered -him to think otherwise. - -The present was the first occasion upon which brother and sister had -met, since Romaine's illness, free of the surveillance of Morton. It -was surely an opportunity not to be neglected. - -"You are going for a walk?" inquired Hubert, engagingly. - -"Yes, for our first walk, as in the good old times! Eh, Molossus?" -Romaine replied, with a gay smile that embodied much of the vernal -buoyancy of the morning, stooping as she spoke to stroke the tawny -velvet of the dog's head. - -"May I bear you company?" - -She hesitated an instant, with that fascinating archness which was -hers to employ with telling effect. - -"Well," she remarked, "I have no objection to your company if Molossus -has not; but you see we have so long been deprived of each other's -companionship that--well, we are just a trifle averse to intruders. -You see it seems an age since we were free and alone together." - -As if to second her words the great animal pressed closely into the -folds of her gown, looking up into her face the while with eloquent -affection. - -"The old traitor!" laughed Hubert; "what would he have done but for -my devotion while you were ill? For the time being he transferred all -his love to me." - -"Ah, but, my dear boy, I always told you that Molossus is simply -human; he feels like all of us, that first love is always the best; we -return to it as if by instinct." - -"Do we?" inquired Hubert sharply, scarcely able to conceal the -thoughts that were uppermost in his mind; "do _you_ find it to be -true?" - -"Why should I not?" she answered, with the most innocent of smiles; -then, bending to the dog, she added, "Come, Molossus, we will permit -this young unbeliever to trespass upon our privacy, just this once, if -only to convince him how enduring a first love is." - -So, side by side, the three companions passed down the steps and -strolled away through the broad garden-paths, whence the crocuses and -snow-drops had retired to give place to hyacinths and tulips, standing -in serried lines, like small armies gorgeous in fresh uniforms. There -was a general bourgeoning of rose-trees in the sun, while the perfume -of shy violets was borne far and wide upon the pregnant air. It was a -day of days, a halcyon day, instinct with proud summer's boast, when -birds have cause to sing. - -They walked along in congenial silence, the mastiff sniffing at the -trim box-edging of the path, or ever and anon making abortive lunges -at some new-fledged butterfly that, disturbed at their approach, -winged its devious flight sunward. - -Presently, after much cautious preparation, Hubert broke the charmed -silence by remarking, "I have been at Drummond Lodge several times -since you were ill, Romaine." - -"Yes?" she replied, half unconsciously, "you found them well there?" - -"Mrs. Drummond is as well as any hopeless invalid can be. Colley has -gone away." - -He set his eyes keenly upon her face as he spoke. Romaine was looking -straight before her calmly, fancy-free. - -"Gone away?" she echoed; "where?" - -"No one at the Lodge seems to know." - -"Not even his mother?" - -"No." - -She started forward suddenly, stooping to pick a tiny sprig of -forget-me-not that gemmed the border. - -"The very first of the season!" she exclaimed in childish delight; -"you dear little blossoms! how dared you venture here before there is -even a rose-bud to bear you company? Here, Hubert," she cried, "you -shall wear them!" - -She was about to attach the spray to the lapel of his coat, when she -surprised a look of keen disappointment, almost of chagrin upon his -face. - -"You do not like them!" she murmured, turning sad in a moment, as an -April day is obscured. - -He took her hands in his gently, but there was a note of firmness in -his voice, as he said, - -"It is not to the flowers that I object, but to the way in which you -slight their meaning." - -"What can you mean?" she asked in a puzzled, nearly pained way. - -"You are forgetful, Romaine." - -"Of what?" - -"Of your duty." - -She turned pale and started back so suddenly that the mastiff, -startled likewise, uttered a deep-mouthed growl. - -"Of what do you accuse me?" she cried piteously. "O Hubert, my -brother! what have I done?" - -"What are you leaving undone?" he persisted rashly. "Ask your heart, -and let it answer me--your best friend--answer me honestly." - -She made a movement as though she were groping in the darkness, which -young Effingham was too eager and excited to notice. - -"I--I do not understand," she faltered. - -"What month is this, Romaine? Is it not the month of May?" - -"I think it is." - -"Then what event, what happy event, was to have happened in this -month, _shall_ happen if God wills?" - -"My marriage," she sighed. - -"Yes, yes," he cried earnestly; "your marriage, dear--your marriage -with whom?" - -She twisted the blue-starred sprig between her white fingers until it -wilted. - -"You say you are my best friend, Hubert?" she murmured. - -"You should know it, dear." - -"Then I will confide in you. If--if my marriage is to take place this -month--" - -"Yes, yes, this month! Whom are you to marry?" - -"Loyd." - -The name escaped her blanched lips almost inaudibly; but his eager ear -caught it, and he recoiled from her with a gasp, as though she had -stung him. - -She wavered for an instant, then flung out her hands blindly, as if -grasping for support. - -"Oh, take me into the house!" she moaned; "I am ill again." - -He sprang to her side just in time to feel her delicate weight in his -arms; but she did not quite lose consciousness, possibly because, in -swift contrition, he whispered, - -"Of course you shall marry Loyd, darling, if you will." While under -his breath he added, "God forgive me, never again will I hazard her -precious life, come what may! But, in Heaven's name, what does it all -mean? I am satisfied that her mind is _not_ deranged!" - -Upon his return to Belvoir, Doctor Morton was surprised and alarmed to -find his patient restless from sudden fever. And thereupon he -registered a solemn oath never again to leave her, it mattered not how -fared his clientage. - -The excitement caused by Romaine's ill turn fortunately proved a false -alarm. There could be no gainsaying the magic of Morton's presence. -The moment she saw him, every trace of the mysterious agitation left -her, the feverish symptoms vanished as suddenly as they had appeared, -and, after a few gentle words of welcome, which induced his promise -that he would remain within call, she lapsed into profound, healthful -slumber, from which she awoke sufficiently refreshed to appear at -dinner in her usual gay spirits. - -Poor Hubert found himself more hopelessly mystified than ever -regarding his sister's incomprehensible condition. If he could have -had speech with Colston Drummond, even for the briefest space, there -can be no doubt that the discarded lover's view of the situation would -have gone a long way towards clearing Hubert's vision. Though much too -intelligent a man of the world to sympathize in the slightest degree -with the fanciful "isms" of his day, Drummond was constrained to -accredit Morton with some sort of magnetic influence which had served -to effect the subversion of Romaine's reason, so far as he personally -was concerned. His view of her case was correct, his diagnosis -accurate so far as it went. Upon the recovery of his manliness and -power of cool reasoning, he was inclined to scout the fancy that any -serious consequences would result from Romaine's infatuation. He -argued that such caprices must be transitory, and persuaded himself, -that, without his interference, affairs must right themselves, and -ultimately right themselves in his favor. - -However, he smarted under the lash of Mrs. Effingham's dismissal; her -action wounded him far more than did the compulsory return of his -betrothal-ring. He acutely judged that Romaine, being under the -supremacy of Morton, was not responsible for what she might do, -whereas it must be otherwise with her mother. He felt convinced that -were he to go to Mrs. Effingham and masterfully demand an explanation -of her attitude towards him, he could easily win her back to his side. -But she had dismissed him from her house--the fact burned and rankled -inwardly. He was touched in his most vulnerable point--his high-strung -pride; and consequently he found himself unable to confront the -passive days of exile within sight of Belvoir. It was a foolish, -ill-advised step, his going away just at this important juncture; and -he came to a realizing sense of his mistake ere he had placed a -hundred miles between himself and the object of his heart's desire. -Pride is short-lived; and, when pride dies, obstinacy ceases to seem a -virtue. The truth came home to Drummond ere he had gone far from home, -and with results which we shall presently see. - -Hubert Effingham never favored Morton with Romaine's confidences of -that unlucky moment in the garden. Much as he cared for Morton, he -would have bitten his tongue off before he would have betrayed his -sister--before he would have placed one pebble of impediment in the -path of Drummond's cause. But, though he steered a middle course with -studious fealty--though he struggled hard to be impartial in his -estimate of both men--insensibly his sympathy fluttered away to the -absent suitor. - -Meanwhile no barrier was raised against the intimate intercourse of -Romaine and her medical adviser. While she was with him, she was in -abundant health and spirits; when separated, she pined; consequently, -he was permitted to be her constant companion. Unmolested, they walked -and drove together in the lengthening days of crescent summer. Upon -such blissful occasions he invariably addressed her by the name of -Paula, and she readily, happily answered to the name. Though he -studied her with lynx-like intensity, he never discovered the -slightest tremor of surprise that he should not address her as others -did. So far he was satisfied, and in so far he fancied himself to be -justified in laying the flattering unction to his soul that he was -indeed in communion with the reincarnated spirit of his wife. The -point which baffled him, before the non-committal front of which he -shrank chilled and discouraged, was the total oblivion of all past -events which that spirit evinced. - -Yet he was not wholly discouraged, since he never permitted his cult -of the veiled idol to overshadow his system of persistent -investigation. For the hundredth time, he would endeavor to recall to -her mind some sweet episode of his by-gone courtship, or briefly happy -wedded life, and for the hundredth time she would reply, with that -gentle smile, - -"How I wish I could remember a time that must have been so joyous! Ah, -my dear Loyd, I fear this poor head of mine is like the Chaldean -idols--more clay than gold!" - -Certainly her defective recollection of the leading events in the life -of Romaine Effingham, previous to her acute illness, lent color to the -supposition that Paula Morton might be equally deficient in this -regard, in that both personalities were forced to act through the -same disabled brain; that is, granting the doubt as to which spirit -might be in residence at the time. - -Naturally, the reasoning was not logical--not conclusive to a man of -Morton's intelligence; and yet with it he was fain to be content. - -Of one thing he was satisfied; Paula, reincarnated, could not have -loved him more fondly than the beautiful being who had voluntarily -abandoned every tie to bind herself to him. Sometimes he wondered, -with the chill of death at his heart, how it was all to end; and she, -seeming to divine the desperate query, as often as it presented -itself, when he was with her, would exclaim, - -"What matters it whether I recall the past or not, so long as we are -happy in the present, so long as you have my love for the future and -for all eternity?" - -Paula might have said that in just such words; and the glamor of his -fool's paradise encompassed him again. Thus the inexplicable -situation, in the natural course of events, grew to a climax. - -One afternoon they had been riding for miles through the park-like -woodland of the neighborhood, their horses keeping leisurely pace -through aisles white with the bloom of dogwood. For a while Morton had -entertained his companion with reminiscences of that happy by-gone -time which was a reality to him, a pleasing effort of the imagination -to her. Her responsiveness was an encouragement to him; and he began -at the beginning, closing with the untimely end. - -There were tears--tears of genuine sympathy and sorrow--in her limpid -eyes as he ceased speaking. So graphic had been his description of -that last scene in the cemetery--that end-all to his hope and -joy--that she seemed to see the lonely figure beside the open grave, -to hear his sobs mingling with the sough of the rainy wind, and to -feel the unutterable desolation of that grievous hour. - -"Loyd," she said, after a brief pause, her tone suggestive of unshed -tears, "you must take me to her grave some day." - -"Whose grave?" he demanded sharply, her sympathy for the first time -striking a discordant note in his soul. - -"Her grave," she answered, wonderingly, "your wife's." - -He slid from his saddle, allowing his horse to turn to the lush grass, -and came to her side. He took her hand in both of his and looked up -into her face with an intensity that startled her. - -"That grave was _your_ grave, Paula," he said. "Can you not -understand?" - -"It is hard to realize," she faltered. - -"And you are _my wife_!" - -She turned pale so suddenly that he would have been alarmed, had not -the fugitive dye instantly returned deeper than before upon cheek and -brow. - -"Your wife!" - -"My wife in the sight of God! Oh, have no doubt of it; for your -indecision would drive me mad! Paula was my wife, and you are Paula!" - -"Yes, but Paula in another form." - -"Exactly! But still my wife!" - -"Not in the sight of man." - -"Then the sooner we are made one again, the better!" he went on -impetuously. "See, you wear your own betrothal-ring. Can you, will you -submit to the absurdity of a second marriage ceremony, for the sake of -the blind world's opinion?" - -"I can and will," she answered. - -"Then let there be no delay!" - -He reached up, and, bending low, she kissed him upon the lips; and she -did it so frankly, trustingly, that henceforth he banished every -doubt, every vestige of uncertainty to that vague realm whither much -of his outraged common-sense had fled. - -Late that night a wailing cry startled the quiet of the house--a cry -low, but sufficient in carrying-power to rouse Mrs. Effingham from the -depths of her first sleep. Hurrying, breathless with apprehension, -through the dressing-room which separated her chamber from Romaine's, -speechless was her amazement and alarm to find the girl standing -before her mirror, the candelabra ablaze on either side, robed from -head to foot in white, the splendid masses of her hair sweeping about -her shoulders. Upon her exquisite neck and arms scintillated rivulets -of diamonds, heir-looms of the Effingham family, which descended to -each daughter of the house upon her eighteenth birthday; while in her -hand, held at arm's length, glittered an object which had the sheen of -blent gold and jewels--a tiny object that fitted softly into the snowy -palm. Upon this object were her eyes riveted, with a sort of wild -dismay in their inspection. She seemed entranced, and for a minute the -watcher dared give no sign of her intrusion. - - -CHAPTER X. - - "Wilt thou pluck my fair son from mine age, - And rob me of a happy mother's name?" - -The events which led up to the somewhat dramatic climax in Romaine's -chamber at midnight would scarcely seem to warrant so pronounced a -crisis. An agreeable evening had been passed in the music-room, Morton -and Hubert smoking, Mrs. Effingham busied with some bit of fancy-work, -while Romaine played the piano or sang, as her mood suggested. She was -an ardent musician, possessed of a fine mezzo-soprano voice, which had -been trained in the best schools. Her fancy was for the fantasticism -of the more modern composers; and upon this occasion, being in the -vein, she sang, with remarkable effect, the weird night-song of the -slave in Goldmark's "Queen of Sheba," the dreamy Berceuse from "Lakme" -and two or three of Meyer Helmund's idyllic creations. The vibrant -tenderness and surpassing melody of her voice filled her hearers with -wonder. Never had she sung with such depth of feeling; and they -marvelled at it, regarding the performance as a revelation. Naturally, -as the evening wore on, a reaction set in, a pallid exhaustion took -the place of the heightened color of cheek and lip, and finally -Romaine rose from the piano unnerved and hysterical. The party -promptly broke up, and Mrs. Effingham led the way to her daughter's -chamber. - -By eleven o'clock the good lady had left Romaine, apparently calm and -at peace with herself, in the hands of her maid, and had retired for -the night. - -The gown of India silk had been exchanged for a garment of soft white -wool, the peculiar flowing pattern of which suggested the graceful -robes of Watteau and Greuze, and in it the young mistress of Belvoir -reclined at ease upon her couch. So lost was she in revery, that she -took no heed of the maid, who, her preparations for the night -completed, glided to the back of the couch and stood waiting. The -Dresden clock's faint tick became audible, and presently the chime -rang out. The oppressive silence broken, the maid spoke: - -"Will Miss Romaine have her hair brushed now?" - -Romaine turned with a start, casting one exquisitely moulded arm up to -the back of the couch, so that she faced the speaker. - -"I must have been asleep or in a trance!" she exclaimed in a dazed -way. "No, no, Eunice; I will braid my hair to-night. Go to bed. It is -late. See, it is half-past eleven." - -"But, miss, I--" - -"Yes, I know you would work over me until you dropped from sheer -fatigue," the young lady went on, with a smile; "but I shall not -permit it--not to-night. I prefer to be left alone. Good-night." - -Reluctantly the maid vanished, closing the door behind her. - -The instant she disappeared, Romaine rose and stood in the faint glow -of the single candle, her white robe lying in ample folds about her. - -"At last I am alone!" She listened intently for some sound in the -silent house. "Alone--with my thoughts of _him_! How he loves me; -but," with a fluttering sigh, "how he loved that _other one_--that -Paula! Am I she? He says I am; and who should know as well as he? Oh, -it is all so strange, so mysterious, that--that I cannot tell. His -great love assures me that I must have lived before. When I am with -him, I am as sure as he; but, when he is not with me, I seem to doubt, -to be groping somewhere, as it were blindfold, among familiar scenes. -O Loyd, sustain me, be my guide, or I shall fall by the wayside, -fainting, helpless!" - -She crossed her chamber and stood before her mirror, gazing intently -at her reflection. Presently she withdrew the golden pin from her hair -and let its rich masses fall about her shoulders like a bronze-gold -veil. - -"His wife!" she murmured, smiling wanly at her image; "his wife -_again_ after some lapse of time! How long a time? Ah, does he detect -some change in me which he is too loyal to notice? With time, come -change and decay. How can I tell how changed I may be--in _his_ -sight?" She shuddered, and peered more keenly at the mirror. "If I -_am_ changed," she concluded, with a pretty assumption of desperate -resolution, "it is my duty to repair the ravages of time. I will be -dressed like any queen at her bridal. I will wear all my jewels, and -let their lustre conceal defects from even his generous eyes. He loves -me; but I must struggle to _hold_ that love. My jewels! Where are my -jewels? How shall I look in them?" - -With feverish haste she opened the compartments of the toilet-table -until her eager hands fell upon a casket of dull red leather, faded -and bruised. Within, however, the velvet cushions were as fresh and -white as though newly lined; there was no more hint that four -generations had gazed upon their sheeny lustre than there was hint of -age in the priceless gems that nestled, glittering like captured -stars, amid their depths. - -Romaine uttered a sigh of delight, and, with eager, trembling hands, -hung the chained brilliants upon her neck and arms. Then she lighted -the candelabra beside the mirror, and stood back, speechless before -her own surpassing beauty. - -"Would he could see me _now_!" she exclaimed naïvely, entranced, then -bent forward to insert still other jewels in her ears. - -At that moment an object set in gold and rimmed with diamonds caught -her eye. She had not noticed it before, but now it riveted the -inspection of her very soul. - -She snatched it from the case with a low, wailing cry, akin to the -smothered utterance of one laboring in nightmare, and held it at arm's -length, breathless, speechless. - -Simply a medallion set in gems, the medallion of a man's face--_the -face of Colston Drummond_! - -And it was at this moment, supreme enough to thrill poor Romaine's -reviving intellect, that Mrs. Effingham hastily entered the chamber. - -The lateness of the hour, coupled with her daughter's incongruous -toilet, startled the good lady into the passing fancy that some -unexpected crisis had arrived--that Romaine had indeed taken leave of -her senses. She uttered some stifled exclamation and stood -spell-bound. As quick as thought the girl dropped the miniature into -its case and turned to confront the intruder. - -"Mother!" she exclaimed, her voice trembling with repressed emotion, -"thank heaven, you have come! Otherwise I should have been forced to -wake you, for I cannot sleep, I cannot wait another hour, another -minute. I _must_ speak now, this instant!" - -She came to her mother and laid her jewelled arms about her neck, her -very attitude eloquent of the yearning of her soul. - -It was with the utmost effort that Mrs. Effingham commanded herself -sufficiently to conceal the dire apprehension that assailed her. - -"And so you shall speak, my darling," she answered soothingly, as one -would humor a perverted fancy; "unburden your whole heart to me." - -"Mother, I was to have been married this month." - -"Yes, my dear child." - -"How many days are we from the date proposed?" - -The anxious pallor of the lady's face overspread her lips and she -hesitated. - -"What does it matter, dear?" she faltered. - -"What does it matter!" echoed Romaine steadily; "it matters much--to -me. Events have become confused in my mind since my illness; so you -must tell me how soon I was to have been married. You _must_ tell me, -for I wish to know." - -"The twentieth of May was the day appointed," was the reluctant reply. - -"And it is now?" - -"The fifth." - -"More than a fortnight to wait! And delays are dangerous. Mother, I -have seen my wedding-dress in the east room. Is everything prepared?" - -"Everything, Romaine." - -"Then why delay, and so court danger? Let my marriage take place at -once, the sooner the better." - -"Romaine!" - -"Loyd has spoken to-day; he would second my petition were he here." - -"Loyd!" - -She recoiled out of the girl's embrace as she spoke, and stood staring -at her in blank amazement. - -"Loyd!" she added faintly; "it is _Loyd_ you wish to marry?" - -"Whom else?" answered Romaine, smiling calmly; "you would not doubt -it, mother dear, if you knew _all_. Oh, I am not demented, as perhaps -you think. I am myself again, thanks to the magnetism of his great -love. Mother, if I thought that he were never to have the right in the -sight of God and man to call me wife, I should pray for death--ay, -court it as the sweetest boon. Thwart me in my love, and you kill me; -grant my prayer, and you not only give me life, but heaven upon -earth!" - -It cannot be said that Mrs. Effingham was wholly unprepared for the -turn affairs had taken. Setting aside Hubert's expressed suspicions, -her woman's instinct had vaguely warned her how this inexplicable -course of love had raised Morton upon its bosom, leaving Drummond high -and dry, stranded upon the stale and unprofitable shore of Neglect. -And yet, out of sheer loyalty to Drummond and his interests, she had -refused to listen to that mysterious voice, stiller and smaller than -the voice of conscience. She had waited to be convinced by some -ulterior medium which, after all, she knew could but accord with her -own unacknowledged convictions. - -From her son next day she received but cold comfort, though it was -gently offered, according to his wont. - -"I told you so," he remarked. "For Colley's sake, I have done what I -could, only to be met by dismal failure. I will never venture to risk -so much again. We must accept the inevitable, dear mother, and make -the best of a situation which, if inexplicable, is far from desperate. -I can only say, God grant that Romaine's determined action may not -prove to be some insane caprice!" - -"Amen to that!" came the faltering reply. - -The lady's first interview with Morton after the revelation was -managed in more diplomatic fashion. - -She met the young physician in the garden before breakfast on the -following morning. She kissed him in silence, and held his hands while -the unbidden tears welled within her haggard eyes. - -"Romaine has spoken!" he exclaimed, interpreting the mute eloquence of -her attitude. - -She bowed her head in assent. - -"And you--you have given your consent?" he asked tremulously. - -"Did you not warn me that it might be fatal to thwart Romaine in any -way?" - -"That is not answering my question," he said with sudden sternness; -"do you give your consent to our marriage?" - -"Romaine's peace of mind is paramount to all other considerations," -she answered; "her will is my law." - -"But you are reluctant to give her to me." - -"I know no reluctance where her wishes are concerned. I have closed my -eyes to every other consideration save her happiness, Loyd; and with -all my heart I give her to you--for her sake." - -And with, such modicum of consolation he was obliged to be content. - -Considering the eminent social position of the persons concerned, it -is small wonder that the report of Romaine's change of heart swept -society like a whirlwind. The indignation that was expressed on the -score of the young lady's so-called frailty was not occasioned by the -fact that the fashionable world loved Morton less, but that it loved -Drummond more. Had the latter gentleman stood by his guns, he would -have been the hero of the hour and received a greater meed of sympathy -than is usually vouchsafed the banished lover; but, as he had played -the renegade when he should have formally opposed his rival, society -shrugged its shoulders, and saw to it that Morton's prowess did not -want praise and esteem. Thus ever does the myopic world deceive -itself. - -It was decided that the ceremony should be accomplished upon the -twelfth day of the month, that it should be conducted with the -strictest privacy, and that no invitations should be issued. Of course -there would be "after-cards," and in due course there would be -receptions upon the return of the pair from a sojourn in Europe. Such -were the hasty arrangements, to which all concerned agreed. - -The change from doubt to certainty operated most favorably upon -Morton--the galling irritability of the past few weeks vanished; the -natural buoyancy of his early youth returned; he seemed to find a zest -in living, which was a surprise and delight to no one more than to -himself. - -Romaine, on the other hand, though to all appearance happy and -content, endured nameless torture when left to herself--her nights -were hideous epochs of harassing suspense and misgiving; the -unattended hours of her days were rendered unbearable by some -invisible incubus which, she was neither able to explain nor banish. -Ever and anon she would seem to herself to be upon the verge of some -explanation, some solution of the enigma with which she wasted herself -in unavailing battle; but no sooner did she find herself approaching -this most desirable consummation, than she fell into the toils of -Morton's irresistible influence, and was content to find herself the -victim of his soothing wiles. In a word, her meditations upon the -subject simply resolved themselves into this formula: When I am with -him, I love him beyond question; when I am _not_ with him, my love is -crossed by doubt. - -As if by instinct Morton divined the threatening condition of her -mind, and consequently left no stone unturned to hasten the -preparations for his marriage. Circumstances forced him, in great -measure, to relax his sedulous care and espionage. To all appearance -he found his patient as hale, mentally and physically, as she had ever -been; and, though he was by no means free of apprehension on her -account, he did not scruple to absent himself as often as he found it -necessary for him to make some adjustment of his affairs in view of an -indefinite sojourn abroad. Then, too, he experienced the liveliest -satisfaction in setting his somewhat neglected house in town in order, -and in beautifying its every detail for the reception of his bride. -The wilful, methodical nature of the man manifested itself in just -such _minutiæ_ as the hanging of a drapery here, or the placing of an -ornament there, that he might satisfy himself as to the exact -appearance of the place when she should come home to it--it mattered -not when. He trusted no one; he placed no confidence in judgment other -than his own. It was a labor of love; and, like a labor of love, it -had long since become a work of faith, as was meet--especially under -the circumstances. - -Several hours of each day Morton passed in the city, and perhaps -nothing afforded such ample proof of his confidence in the -establishment of affairs as the composure and assurance with which he -returned each time to Belvoir. The truth was, he had made assurance -double sure, and taken a bond of Fate--or so he was constrained to -regard his successful course. - -It was during one of these occasions of non-attendance, a day or two -after the rumor of the engagement had spread its facile wing, that an -imposing family-carriage, decorated as to its panels with the ensign -armorial of the Drummonds, turned in at the gates of Belvoir, and -entered upon the gradual ascent of the avenue with the cumbrous roll -of stately equipages in general, and of the Drummond equipage in -particular. Upon the hammer-cloth were seated an ancient coachman and -footman, most punctilious of mien and attire; while within the coach, -bolstered into an upright position among the cushions, sat a lady well -into the decline of life and health, a spare, stern creature, with the -face of an aged queen. It was a face from which the effulgence of -halcyon days had died out, but despite the rigidity of its lines it -was still a countenance replete with an inborn dignity. Letitia -Drummond had been a beauty in her day, and it was some consolation to -her in her decline, to find something of her famed advantages revived -in her only and beloved son. - -This son was her idol, in her eyes a very paragon; her worship of him -was the one vital interest of her invalid existence. Secluded from the -world by reason of her malady, she drew vitality from her communion -with him as the frail, unearthly orchid subsists upon the air which -its hale neighbors reject. - -It had been years since the widow Drummond had entered her carriage, -and she had by no means dared exposure to the dampness of this May -morning for a trifle. As the horses leisurely took their way along the -avenue the lady glanced forth upon the luxurious verdure of lawn and -budding trees, with a critical scrutiny not unmixed with malevolence. - -Presently the glimpse of a girlish figure gathering lilacs in a -by-path, riveted her attention. Quickly she touched a bell, and in the -next instant the coach had stopped and the footman was at the open -door. - -"I see Miss Effingham," she remarked; "give me my cane and help me -out. There! Now drive on a short distance, remain there ten minutes, -then return for me here. You understand." - -The command was given in a grudging tone, as if each word, each breath -of the balmy air cost her a pang. - -From her lilac-bower Romaine had watched the proceeding in wonder; but -as the carriage departed, leaving the withered figure, wrapped in its -finery of a by-gone date, standing alone in the sunshine, she came -forward, her hands filled with snowy blossoms. - -They met beside a rustic garden-seat, beneath hawthorns full of rosy -bloom and the carolling of birds. - -As Romaine paused, irresolute, the lady spoke: - -"You recognize me?" - -"You are Mrs. Drummond." - -"I _am_ Mrs. Drummond, Colston's mother." - -She had drawn her weapon, and seemed figuratively to be examining the -keenness of point and edge. - -Romaine shuddered. - -"Where is he?" demanded the lady. - -"Where is--who?" - -"Who!--who but my son? Whose absence in all this wide world should I -give an instant's thought to but my son's? For whom else should I dare -misery and perhaps death to inquire for but my son! Answer me! where -is he?" - -Poor Romaine had grown as pallid as the flowers that trembled and -dropped one by one from her nerveless hands. - -"Answer me!" repeated Mrs. Drummond; "I am his mother, and I will not -be satisfied with any white-lipped silence. What have you done with my -son? Where is he?" - -"I--I do not know." - -Most hearts would have been touched by the pitiful innocence of those -words and look. - -"You do not know. I will believe you so far; but why has he left his -home--and me?" - -"How can I tell?" faltered the girl. - -"I can imagine you experience some difficulty," was the harsh reply, -"but I mean to remove all obstacles from your path so that you _can_ -tell, and also give me a coherent account. He had entrusted his -happiness to your keeping; he had divided his love for me with you. -What account have you to give of your stewardship?" - -The helpless attitude of the girl coupled with her wild-eyed silence, -seemed to infuriate the lady. - -"No wonder you do not dare to raise your voice to answer me," she -cried shrilly; "faithless, false-hearted girl! You have wrecked his -life! And when the news of your ill-assorted marriage reaches him, it -will kill him, and I shall not survive his death! Jezebel!" she -hissed, griping Romaine's arm in her gloved claw, "do you comprehend -that two lives, two God-given lives will be upon your soul when you -have consummated this unholy deed? I would die for my son. I would -even be branded with crime for the sake of his peace and happiness! I -_love_ him! And what has your vaunted love amounted to? Answer me, or -I will smite that mutely-mocking mouth of yours! Have you not told him -a thousand times, have you not assured him by word, by deed, by action -that you loved him? Answer me!" - -"Yes," came the gasping reply. - -"Then why have you played him false?" - -"Oh, I do not know, I--I cannot tell!" - -She cast the delicate arm from her as though the contact were -contamination. - -"I hope to heaven you _are_ insane, as it is whispered," she gasped, -weak from excess of anger and feebleness; "madness would be your only -salvation in _my_ eyes. But I have my doubts, I have my doubts. I -shall raise heaven and earth to find my son, I shall go in search of -him myself if messengers fail, and when he is found I shall send him -to you, and I only pray that the sight of him may strike you dead at -his feet if he comes too late!" - -The grinding of the returning carriage-wheels upon the gravel of the -avenue interrupted her further utterance, and in silence she hobbled -back to the footman, who obsequiously replaced her upon her cushions. - -Left alone amidst the whispering leaves, the sunshine and the birds, -Romaine slowly struggled back to semi-consciousness. She pressed her -hands upon her throbbing temples, while dry sobs rent her from head to -foot. - -"O what have I done?" she sobbed, "and what am I doing?" - -Like one stricken with sudden blindness she felt her way from tree to -tree, leaning against their trunks every now and then for support. In -this pitiful way she reached the terrace-steps, stumbled and fell -prostrate in the garish light, like a stricken flower discarded by the -reapers. - - -CHAPTER XI. - - "The Devil tempts thee here - In likeness of a new untrimmed bride." - - "Such a mad marriage never was before." - -If Serena Effingham derived any comfort from the contemplation of -Romaine's precipitate union with Morton, that comfort resided in the -fact that having secured the constant attendance and companionship of -the young physician, the girl would enjoy immunity from the mysterious -crises that were likely to assail her whenever he was not at hand. -There was no gainsaying the point that Romaine was perfectly herself -while under Morton's influence. No one could deny the potency of the -spell he exerted; consequently Mrs. Effingham was forced to accept the -lesser of the evils, if so strong a term may be applied to her gentle -estimate of the situation. - -It was the good lady herself who discovered her daughter lying -insensible at the foot of the terrace steps; and as Romaine, upon the -recovery of her consciousness, guarded the secret of her stormy -interview with Mrs. Drummond even from her mother, who was in -ignorance of the unwonted visit, Mrs. Effingham remained in an agony -of suspense and anxiety until Morton returned from town. At sight of -him the girl flung herself into his arms and clung to him -hysterically, to the perplexity of all concerned. - -When questioned regarding the cause of her illness, she returned -answers of adroit incoherency, simply maintaining that her existence -was a burden to her when separated from Morton; that she was wholly -wretched and unable to command herself when left to herself. Naturally -such extraordinary assertions lent color to the suspicion that her -mind was affected; yet, when in the presence of her heart's desire, -she appeared perfectly sane and as soundly reasonable as ever she had -been. Her condition seemed a hopeless mystery to all save Morton who -was persuaded beyond peradventure, that he detected the almost jealous -reliance of his departed wife through the mask of her reincarnation. - -From that time forth he no longer absented himself from Belvoir, and -the expectant hours crowded themselves into days that all too rapidly -took their departure. - -The eve of Romaine's wedding-day proved to be one of those rare epochs -of spring that are instinct with the genial presage of summer, one of -those intense days which May has in her gift, when one involuntarily -seeks the shady side of city streets, or wanders into the shadows of -the woods to escape the garish splendor of the open fields. Such -weather is always premature and ominous of impending inclemency; but -it is none the less exquisite while it lasts. - -All day long the lovers had luxuriated in the balmy air, and the -setting sun surprised them bending their reluctant steps homeward -through Drummond copse. One by one the swift hours had registered -their happiness, their constantly reiterated oaths of fealty and their -expressions of confidence in the future. They had uttered nothing -worthy of being chronicled, for they had talked simply as lovers talk, -with an intent significant only to themselves. They had laid their -plans for the future as the poets fancy the short-sighted birds scheme -at their nest building. Morton had proposed that, the ceremony over, -they should drive to his town-house and there, amidst its renovated -glories, forget the world until such time as they cared to claim its -diversions again. There was method in the plan since he entertained -some vague fancy that his reclaimed wife would be more at her ease, -more at home among scenes which had witnessed the happiest hours of -her past. And Romaine's joyous acquiescence increased his fancy until -it became positive conviction. He even went so far as to surmise that -the soul of Paula would evince a keen delight and interest in the new -beauties of the old abode. - -So the sun had set and the full moon had reared her colossal lamp to -light them home. Suddenly, as they emerged from the copse and found -themselves upon the rustic path that ran between Belvoir and Drummond -Lodge, Romaine laid her hand upon her lover's arm with a sharp gasp. - -"I have left my book up yonder upon the rocks where we sat!" she -exclaimed; "oh, Loyd, how careless of me! and _you_ gave it me!" - -Morton laughed light-heartedly. - -"We will send one of the men for it in the morning," he said; "there -will be no pilfering lovers in that place to-night, I warrant you." - -"But it will be ruined by the dews," she insisted; "we may forget to -send for it to-morrow; besides, I do not wish to leave it there. I -will go back and get it." - -"You!" he cried, with a laugh; "if you _must_ have the worthless -thing, I will go for it." - -"We will go together, Loyd." - -"No," he objected, in the gently authoritative tone which had become -habitual with him, "you are completely tired out and the climb would -prove the one straw too many. But how can I leave you here?" - -"What is there to fear? We are within gun-shot of home." - -Morton hesitated an instant; then he said with some reluctance, - -"Would you mind walking on alone? I will make haste, take a short cut -through the copse and meet you upon the lawn." - -"Very well! I will walk slowly." - -For some reason, which it would be vain to attempt to account for, he -stooped and kissed her where she stood in a mellow ray of the risen -moon. - -"Why are you so particular about that little book?" he asked -tremulously. - -"I have already told you, dear," she answered. - -"Because _I_ gave it you?" - -"Yes; for that reason it is precious, invaluable in my eyes." - -"My darling! God bless you for those sweet words! To hear them from -your dear lips again I would go to the ends of the earth!" - -It was simply lovers' parley, but for some reason each felt its vague -significance which in some way seemed portentous. He kissed her again, -and left her alone in the woodland path. - -At one period of her life, that happy time when a trip to Drummond -Lodge had been numbered among the chief joys of her innocent life, -Romaine had been familiar with every wild flower that bloomed, with -every bird that sang in the copse; but since her mysterious illness -all that had passed and the place seemed strange to her. Small wonder -then that, in the exaltation of parting with Loyd Morton and in the -dubious moon-beams, she turned, not towards Belvoir, but in the -direction of Drummond Lodge. The night was one of ideal loveliness and -as she leisurely threaded her way between the shadows cast by the -great tree-boles, she softly sang to herself and smiled as her quick -ear caught the twitter of the nesting birds. Suddenly the sharp snap -of a twig punctuated the chant and its invisible chorus, causing the -girl to pause abruptly and peer before her into the semi-gloom. - -Could it be that love had lent her lover the fleetness of Fortunio's -lackey, so that he had accomplished his quest and returned to surprise -her ere she had reached the verge of the wood? Impossible! And yet the -figure of a man loomed before her in the narrow, moon-lit path! Her -heart fluttered, then sank like a dead thing in her bosom, while the -words of glad welcome expired upon her blanched lips. - -For she had recognized the man, and, by some swift divination of -association, knew that he had a right to be where he stood--within his -own domain. - -The effect of the unexpected encounter was scarcely less patent in the -case of Colston Drummond. He uttered some inaudible exclamation of -surprise, halted, then advanced a step, staring at the apparition in -awed silence. - -"Romaine!" he murmured at last, as if fearful of breaking the spell -and dissolving the vision by the mere sound of his voice; "Romaine, -can it be you--here--at this hour? In heaven's name, where are you -going?" - -"Home," she faltered, her very utterance paralyzed by amazement and -vague fear. - -"Home!" he echoed more distinctly, emboldened by the vital voice of -the phantom; "you are going in the wrong direction. You are but a few -steps from the Lodge. My poor girl, why are you here and alone?" - -He spoke with the infinite tenderness which was part and parcel of his -manly nature; and, though he came close to her side, even taking her -hand in his, she did not cringe. Somehow she felt soothed and calmed -by his presence, notwithstanding that she trembled as the environing -leaves trembled in the rising breeze, and did not speak for lack of -self-command. - -"Do not shiver so," he said gently; "it is neither cold here, nor have -you any cause for alarm--with me. You have only lost your way. Come, I -will see you safely home." - -Then she roused from her passing stupor. - -"Oh no, no, no!" she cried piteously; "I must go alone. I--he is -waiting for me. He must not see you--with me. Only show me the way." - -"He!" Drummond asked calmly; "you mean Doctor Morton?" - -She bowed in silence, while an unfathomable expression flitted across -his face, to be lost in a pitiful smile. - -"Well," he said, still holding the hand that she weakly strove to -wrest from him, "_he_ can wait for a few short minutes." - -"No, no, I must go at once," she wailed; "have mercy upon me; let go -my hand." - -"Think, Romaine!" he commanded softly; "he will have you for all life, -while these few paltry moments with you are all that remain to me. -Think of it, Romaine, and be generous." - -She looked into his face and read the anguished pleading of his eyes. - -"First of all," he continued, "tell me how you came here? May I -venture to hope that in the eleventh hour you were coming to speak a -word of comfort to my mother?" - -"No, I had lost my way." - -"You did not know that I returned to-day?" he inquired, hope -struggling against hope in his eager tone. - -"I had forgotten that you had been away." - -"You had forgotten!" he cried sadly. "O Romaine, how you have blotted -me from your very existence! I can conceive of your love for me having -changed; but why have you so utterly forgotten and neglected me?" - -She closed her eyes and replied in sobbing accent, "I--I cannot tell. -I seem to have been dreaming, to be dreaming still." - -"Would it _were_ all a dream! My darling--there--there, do not start, -it is the last time that I shall ever call you so--darling, I only -pray the good God that you are happy." - -She did not answer, and he went on as though he did not notice her -silence. - -"Only to-day, within the last two hours, have I learned that to-morrow -will be your wedding-day. Is--is it so?" - -"Yes." - -"Can you fancy what that means to me? Oh, heaven is my judge, I do -not mean to reproach you. It is too late for that. I did not even -think to see you again; it is some inexplicable fate which has brought -us together. Believe me, I am resigned to my lot; but, since we have -met, since God in His mercy has vouchsafed me this one ray of comfort, -permit me to beg you, to beseech you ever to regard me as your loyal -friend. O Romaine, my heart's dearest love, if ever the shadow of -sorrow or trouble arises, command me, even unto my last breath, and I -will do my utmost to dispel it. I wish you joy, from my soul, I wish -you joy; I have forgiven, and I shall try to forget. If you doubt me, -try me; test my fidelity to you even unto death. Now, Romaine, have -you no word for me? no little grain of comfort to leaven the -bitterness of this last farewell upon earth? Be merciful!" - -With the steadiness of summer rain the tears had been coursing over -the girl's pallid cheeks, and there were tears in her voice as she -cried, - -"O my God! let me sleep and continue to dream, for, should I awake, I -should go mad!" - -He took her in his arms and pressed her to his breast for one brief -moment, while his kisses mingled with the tears that rained upon her -shining hair. "I understand, I understand," he murmured brokenly, -gently putting her from him; "God help us both! Yonder is your way. -Hark! he is calling you! I need not go with you. Dry your tears and -greet him with a smile; perhaps it is better so, for I am not worthy -of you. Some day we shall know--Good-by, my darling. Go, go quickly! -He must never know that we have met. May God bless and keep you!" - -He continued to speak until she had vanished among the clustering -shadows, the weird call of the distant voice punctuating his broken -utterances. When at last she had really gone, and he found himself -actually alone, he fell upon his face in an agony of desolation, -stifling his sobs in the depths of the lush grasses. - -And it was a crest-fallen, pallid being who came forth from the -dimness of the woods to relieve Morton's anxiety. - -"In mercy's name, where have you been?" he exclaimed, hastening to her -as she emerged into the lambent ways of the moon, and eagerly clasping -her hand in his. - -"I lost my way," she faltered, with downcast eyes, vainly striving to -conceal the tears that glistened upon her lashes. - -"But you have been weeping!" - -"I became confused and frightened," she explained. She was about to -add, "it seemed so lonesome without you;" but the words remained -unuttered. - -As they walked side by side across the dewy lawn, Morton was not so -much impressed by the incoherency of the explanation of her present -condition as by the subtle change which had come over her within those -few minutes. What could have caused it, he was completely at a loss to -surmise; what it might portend, he could not conjecture; but that some -mysterious change had taken place in her, he was as certain as though -she had said in so many words, - -"You should have been far-sighted enough not to have left me alone for -an instant until I am irrevocably yours!" - -He suffered the torture of a lifetime in those few brief moments; and -the torment was all the more poignant that it was too vague to impart, -even if he had dared so to do. - -Long ere they reached the house, the silence became so oppressive that -in sheer despair he was forced to break it. - -"I found the book," he remarked with effort, displaying the dainty -volume. - -She did not offer to take it from him, as he expected, as he fondly -hoped; she simply replied, with eyes intent upon the ground, - -"I am sorry to have given you so much trouble." - -As if by instinct he felt as if virtue had gone out of him. How, when, -or why, he could not determine, but in that hour an occult warning -came home to him--a presage that his empire over Romaine Effingham was -no longer supreme. - -Had he known, had he even suspected, that Romaine would weep herself -to sleep that night with Colston Drummond's jewelled miniature upon -her bosom, he would have pulled himself together, banished the spell -that held him in thrall, and thus averted the catastrophe that the -pregnant moments hastened to consummate. - - -CHAPTER XII. - - "But shapes that come not at an earthly call - Will not depart when mortal voices bid." - -The augury of the preceding day's perfection proved correct--Romaine's -nuptial morn came up, veiled in murky clouds that promised a period of -dismal rain. The very face of nature, of late so bright and jocund, -suffered an obscuration that left it gray and drear. By sun-rise the -mists crept swiftly up the hill-sides, revealed the verdant landscape -for a moment, and then, as their custom is, descended in a persistent, -chilling downpour. - -Morton and Hubert were the only members of the household to meet at -the breakfast-table, which the butler had striven to render -resplendent, in honor of the occasion, by masses of ghastly Freesia -and Narcissi. - -The conversation of the two men during the repast was desultory in the -extreme. There were dark rings around Morton's eyes, which betrayed a -sleepless night; he was nervous and constrained in manner, while the -wan pallor of his face contrasted sharply with the unrelieved -blackness of his garments. It was with evident relief that the -brothers-elect left the table and separated by tacit consent. - -It had been agreed that the ceremony should be solemnized in the -conservatory at noon, after which the wedded pair should at once be -driven to Morton's house in the city. The preparations were of the -simplest description, if the mere removal of the rustic seats from the -conservatory could be considered such. - -To be sure, as the appointed hour drew nigh, various wines were placed -upon the sideboard in the dining-room, where a bridal-cake occupied -the centre of the table, upon which lay bride-roses and -lilies-of-the-valley in richly fragrant garlands. Servants in holiday -attire went hither and thither with muffled step; otherwise the house -maintained the most sepulchral silence. No sound of approaching -equipage disturbed the rainy day without; even the birds restrained -their plaintive twitter beneath the dripping leaves. It was as if some -invisible dead lay in state during that ominous lull which precedes -the arrival of the mourners. - -Left to himself, Morton paced to and fro in the library. He grew -calmer, but by degrees more pallid, as the hours wore to noon, until, -when the clergyman was ushered into his presence, his stern composure -impressed the man of God as most extraordinary. It was only when the -slowly chiming clocks proclaimed the appointed hour, that Morton -evinced the least animation. He sprang from his chair, while a hectic -glow flashed into his face, and motioned the clergyman to follow him. -Scarcely had they entered the conservatory when Romaine appeared, -leaning heavily upon her brother's arm, and similarly supported upon -the other side by her mother. A very bride of death she looked, her -splendid attire rather heightening than relieving her pallor. She wore -no jewels, as she had once proposed to do; and she had no need for -them, since, if ever loveliness needed not the foreign aid of -ornament, but was, when unadorned, adorned the most, Romaine Effingham -in her bridal hour proved an exemplar. - -They guided her faltering steps forward and gave her into Morton's -keeping. He received her with feverish eagerness, and she seemed to -thrill beneath his touch as he murmured some word into her ear that -summoned the phantom of an answering smile. - -Thereupon ensued an ominous pause, broken only by the servants as they -grouped themselves at a respectful distance, and by the pitiless -patter of the rain upon the glazed roof overhead. - -Then the solemn words were pronounced which made the twain -one--pronounced to the last Amen, without let or hindrance, and -Romaine Morton turned to her husband to receive his kiss. She seemed -strong and relieved in spirit as she accepted the tearful embraces of -her mother and brother, betraying the while her haste to escape from -the thraldom of her nuptial robes, and to be gone to meet the new life -upon the threshold of which she stood. - -During the progress of her change of costume she seized her -opportunity, when unheeded by her mother, to slip a note, addressed to -Colston Drummond, into her maid's hand, with the whispered petition -that it be delivered as soon as she had left the house. And the loyal -little confederate was already upon her way to Drummond Lodge as the -carriage containing the wedded pair dashed into the sodden country -road that led citywards. - -It is needless to state that that day had proved the heaviest of -Colston Drummond's existence. It is true that he had brought himself -to that pitch of resignation which closely resembles apathy, but he -suffered none the less the dull misery that inevitably succeeds acute -anguish. - -Though he was in ignorance of the hour which should make the idol of -his life another's, it was enough that his doom was destined to be -sealed at some period of the fatal span between sunrise and sunset. In -accordance with his wishes, he had been left in undisturbed solitude -during the morning hours, and, as he took no heed of the flight of -time, the servant who intruded to announce the messenger from Belvoir -found him stretched upon a divan in his sanctum, where he had received -Morton that night, long weeks before. - -Promptly recognizing the maid, he sprang to his feet, breathlessly -demanding the object of her visit. - -"I am the bearer of a note from my mistress, sir," the girl replied. - -"From Mrs. Effingham?" - -"From Mrs. Morton, sir." - -He wavered for an instant, but, quickly recovering himself, he -groaned, - -"Then the marriage has taken place?" - -"It has, sir." - -"Then what can she want of me?" he muttered inaudibly, as he accepted -the missive and broke the seal. - -He read Romaine's letter to the close with no outward sign of emotion, -beyond a trembling of the hands, which he was powerless to repress. -Suddenly, however, he raised his eyes, and there was the fire of an -invincible resolution in their depths as he demanded, - -"Mrs. Morton has left Belvoir?" - -"Yes, sir, more than an hour ago." - -"Have you an idea where she has gone?" - -"To Doctor Morton's house in the city." - -"Thank you--stay; you will be faithful to your mistress and--and to -me," he added gently, "and you will keep your errand a secret?" - -"You may trust me, sir." - -"I shall not forget you." - -Once more alone, he hastened to a window and dashed aside the -draperies, the better to secure the sickly light that filtered in. - -"She has set my soul on fire!" he panted. "O Romaine, Romaine, it had -been wiser to let me live out my allotted time and die in my enforced -resignation!" - -Then his eyes fled over the lines which Romaine had penned, and which -ran as follows: - -"My dream is dispelled. I have awakened to the reality. God help me! -Was it His will that I should have met you in the eleventh hour? To -what purpose? Why could I not have slept on, even unto the end? I have -been roused too late. In one hour I shall be a wife; and, with God's -help I will prove myself worthy the name. But--O my friend, why should -_I_ have fallen the prey of such an inscrutable fate? You have said -that some day we shall know. Your words will comfort me and give me -strength to bear my burden without repining. I shall try to sleep and -dream again, for such is my only refuge. God be with you." - -He crushed the sheet within his palms, while the panoplies about the -apartment rang with his exultant cry: - -"She loves me! Thank God, it is not too late for righteous -interference so long as she remains a wife in name only! There are -hours between this and night, and all I ask is minutes in which to -accomplish her salvation! Come what may, I will go to her!" - -Meanwhile, Morton and his bride had sped over the intervening distance -and found themselves safely housed against the storm in his renovated -mansion in the city. Blinds and draperies had been raised to admit -such light as there was; rare exotics spent their fragrance upon the -genial air; and a repast of exceeding daintiness had been spread for -their refreshment. Everything had been done which a refined -forethought could suggest--in a word, the cage had been exquisitely -gilded, and was in all respects worthy of the bird. - -Beneath the mystic spell of his presence, Romaine had recovered her -composure, and appeared to all intents and purposes her happiest self. -Like a pair of joyous children they wandered from room to room, -admiring the new splendors; and thus, in due course, they entered the -apartment where, enthroned above the mantel and garlanded with pale -blush roses, hung the portrait of Paula. Morton led his wife to a -point of vantage, and bid her look upward, riveting his eyes upon her -face the while with a hungry longing. - -Before the blonde loveliness of the Saxon girl, Romaine paled, while a -shudder rent her from head to foot. She sighed heavily, and turned to -Morton with a piteous gesture. - -"My dear Loyd," she murmured sadly, "never again call me Paula." - -He recoiled from her as though each innocent word had stung him to the -quick. - -"My God!" he cried, "if I thought--" when he checked himself before -her look of abject terror, came to her, and took her in his arms. "My -darling," he faltered, "if you only knew what agony the mere suspicion -of your doubt causes me, you would have pity upon me!" - -He spoke with such suppressed passion, with such wild anguish in his -haggard eyes, that her alarm faded to helpless amazement. - -"I have expressed no doubt," she murmured; "what can you mean?" - -"Oh, I do not know," he moaned. "Perhaps I am not quite myself; all -the happiness of this day has unnerved me. But--but you bid me never -to call you Paula again; what do you mean?" - -"Why, simply that I am so inferior to her in loveliness," she answered -with a flurried smile. - -"Did I ask, did I expect, you to look like her?" he demanded fiercely. -"Can you not understand that the flesh is dust, and to dust returns; -but the soul is immortal? Paula's body is dust, but her immortal soul -lives--lives, not in the realms of bliss to which it fled, released, -but--_where_ does it live to-day, at this very instant? I want to hear -_you_ tell me!" - -He caught her delicate shoulders between his strong white hands and -glared like some ravenous animal into her startled face. - -"Answer me!" he commanded. - -"O Loyd," she wailed, "how wildly you speak! How can I tell where her -soul may be, since I can see no reason why it should not be in -heaven!" - -"If it _is_ in heaven," he cried, thrusting her violently from him, -"then am I in hell!" - -With a stifled cry, poor Romaine staggered to a chair and sank upon -it, overcome by the conviction that she had allied herself to a -madman. - -And in the ominous pause that ensued, a light rap sounded upon the -closed door. - -With a muttered ejaculation Morton pulled himself together and went to -inquire into the untimely intrusion. Upon opening the door, he found -his man upon the threshold, stammering some words of apology, which -were summarily cut short. - -"What do you want?" Morton demanded sternly. - -"There is a lady in the office, sir." - -"Where are your wits, that you have forgotten your orders? I am not at -home to patients." - -"But she has called repeatedly, sir." - -"Send her to Doctor Chalmers, my colleague." - -"She declares that she will not leave without seeing you. Here is her -card." - -The sight of that graven name seemed for an instant to petrify the -beholder, and several seconds elapsed ere he was able to command -himself sufficiently to speak. - -Going to his shrinking wife, he raised her hand and pressed it to his -lips in a way that was infinitely pathetic. - -"I must leave you for a moment, to attend to an urgent case," he -whispered; "and while I am gone, I beseech you to pardon a love which -transcends all bounds. Some day you will understand all I have -suffered. Be lenient with me, for I am an object for pity!" - -In the dimness of his office, which had undergone no renovation and no -decoration, he found himself confronted by the tall and slender figure -of a woman whom he knew full well. The veil had been raised from -before the appealing beauty of the face which bore but slight traces -of alteration since last he looked upon Margaret Revaleon! - -His greeting was of so cordial a nature as to preclude all attempt on -the part of his visitor to apologize for her intrusion. - -"I am more than glad to see you, Mrs. Revaleon," he exclaimed, -excitedly; "your visit is most opportune. For the past week you have -been omnipresent in my thoughts. Who shall say that I am not -developing something of your own peculiar clairvoyance?" - -"I trust not," she said, regarding the speaker with apparent -uneasiness. - -But he continued, with precipitate heedlessness, - -"And how do you find yourself since last we met?" - -"My condition remains unchanged," replied the woman. "Indeed, I am -satisfied that I have developed into what is popularly known as a -spiritualistic medium. But I am wretched at the thought of being the -unwilling possessor of this so-called odyllic power; and I have come -to you again to beseech you to treat me for a malady which I am -convinced you can cure if you will." - -Yielding to his adroit guidance, Margaret Revaleon found herself once -more seated in the luxurious patient's chair, while the young doctor -seated himself before her with his back to the light. - -Thus advantageously placed, he replied with a smile, - -"Indeed, my dear madam, you overestimate my ability. I do not profess -electro-biology. In order to do so, I should be obliged to enter upon -an exhaustive course of reading of Reichenbach and his disciples. In -point of fact, I have no sympathy with the believers in mesmerism and -its concomitant fancies." - -"No?" she answered dreamily, that singular absence of inspection -dulling her tawny eyes. "Do you know, doctor, that I am impressed to -tell you that you are possessed of the mesmeric power to an -extraordinary degree?" - -He winced consciously, but rejoined soothingly, doing his utmost to -increase the stupor which was fast gaining command of his visitor, - -"It may be as you say; it is certainly a power second only to your -own. What else have you to impart? Anything that you might say, I -should regard as oracular." - -He thrilled from head to foot with a sense akin to sickening -faintness, as he saw her eye-lids slowly droop while she extended her -slim, white hands to him. - -"Give me your hands," she murmured; "oh, dear, dear, dear! Stand back; -do not crowd so! How many there are here!--Ah!" - -The final word was simply an exhalation. She slumbered profoundly, -breathing stertorously at first, but swiftly relapsing into perfect -calm. The trance had begun. The portals of eternity seemed to be -widening. The solemnity of the moment was supreme. - -Morton's features became rigid as he watched; his haggard eyes started -from their sockets and the drops of an icy sweat pearled upon his -brow. He had longed for this moment, and yet, now that it was his, he -would have given his immortal soul to have been able to play the -coward and escape the consequences. - -In fact he did withdraw his hands from the slight grasp, but in the -next moment he was held spell-bound, for Margaret Revaleon was -speaking in that weirdly vaticinal tone. - -"Poor Romaine! Where is she?" - -"Who speaks? Who are you?" gasped Morton, once more grasping the -outstretched hands. - -"Her father. _You_ should know me. I am Sidney--Sidney--" - -"Sidney Effingham!" - -"Yes, and I am called back to earth in spite of myself. There is -trouble here among those I dearly love, and I am pained, disturbed in -my happiness." - -"Your widow and son are well," murmured Morton, profoundly awed by the -impressive tone of the presence. - -"Yes, yes; but Romaine! my daughter, where is she? She is no longer -with her mother." - -"Of course she is not!" exclaimed Morton; "is she not with _you_ in -heaven?" - -The violence of the query appeared to disturb the medium; her eyelids -fluttered and her breathing became labored, as though the conditions -of the trance had been deranged. Presently, however, the transient -agitation subsided and a name escaped her lips. - -"Loyd!" - -"Who speaks?" whispered Morton, vaguely conscious of a change of -personality. - -"How can you ask? Can you not guess?" - -"No!" he cried wildly; "O God! I do not dare to guess, even to think! -In heaven's name, do not tell me who you may be! and--and yet I _must_ -know! I am resolved to dare death itself to be satisfied! Who is it -that speaks?" - -"Paula, your wife--and I am waiting!" - -The listening air seemed to cringe before the maddened shriek that -filled the house. - -Morton struggled to his feet and for a moment hovered above the -quiescent figure beneath him with hands outstretched and hooked like -the talons of a bird of prey; then with a groan he sank back into his -chair; his arms fell like plummets at his sides and his head dropped -forward upon his breast. - - -Meanwhile, in the luxurious chamber over which presided the radiant -portrait of the dead, garlanded in roses, the unhappy bride paced to -and fro, now wringing her delicate hands, and again dashing the -terrified tears from her eyes. Each moment but served to increase her -helpless alarm; she knew her husband's return to be immediate, at -least inevitable, and yet she could not support the thought of his -advent. In a word, the last shackle which bound her soul in mystic -spell had fallen away, and she was herself again. It had required -weeks to right the disordered brain and give it the strength requisite -to battle with the mesmeric power of its master; but at last, late as -it was, her mind had fully regained its normal functions. - -In the midst of her pitiful quandary Romaine was startled by an -impetuous step outside the closed door. She recoiled to the furthest -corner of the room, and stood bracing her fainting body against the -wall. - -Contrary to her expectation it was Colston Drummond who flung wide the -door and stood before her. - -The revulsion of feeling well-nigh overpowered her, yet in some way -she was able to demand, in answer to his passionate utterance of her -name, - -"Why are _you_ here?" - -"To protect you, Romaine." - -"You forget that I can claim a husband's protection," she retorted -valiantly. - -"It is from him that I seek to protect you," Drummond exclaimed; "you -should not have written to me as you did, should not have laid bare -your tortured heart and revealed the secret which I have had every -reason to suspect, which my great love for you divined long, long ago, -if you did not wish me to fly to your rescue!" - -She held up beseeching hands, as though she would ward off that which -she would welcome, and cried piteously, - -"Too late! It is too late!" - -Whatever he might have said remained unuttered, since at the moment -that frenzied cry reached their ears, freezing their blood with its -baleful import. - -"Merciful heaven!" gasped Romaine; "it is Loyd's voice! Something -dreadful has occurred! Oh, prove yourself my protector, and come with -me! Come, quick, quick!" - -In the excitement of the moment, the brooding twilight, and their -unfamiliarity with the house they lost much precious time. Indeed they -were only guided at last to the grim little office by the sudden -opening of a door through which the figure of a woman escaped and -passed them in swift flight. - -And then they entered in awed silence, to find the bridegroom sitting -in the gloaming of his nuptial-day with pendent arms and sunken head, -lost-- - - "In that blessed mood, - In which the burden of the mystery, - In which the heavy and the weary weight - Of all this unintelligible world, - Is lightened!" - -FOOTNOTE: - -[Footnote 1: Copyrighted, 1889, BELFORD, CLARKE & CO.] - - -THE END. - - - * * * * * - -Transcriber's Notes: - -"The Cost of Things" (bottom of P. 513): the original appears to be -missing content after "the fallacy of a popular delusion--that" (an -apparent printer's error). Unable to locate alternate publication of -this article in order to identify and replace missing text. An ellipsis -has been added to indicate the incomplete statement. - -Obvious typographical errors have been repaired. - -Hyphenation inconsistencies present in the original have been retained. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Belford's Magazine, Vol II, No. 10, -March 1889, by Various - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BELFORD'S MAGAZINE, MARCH, 1889 *** - -***** This file should be named 41823-8.txt or 41823-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/1/8/2/41823/ - -Produced by Barbara Tozier, Bill Tozier, JoAnn Greenwood, -and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at -http://www.pgdp.net - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, -set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to -copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to -protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project -Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you -charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you -do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the -rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose -such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and -research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do -practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is -subject to the trademark license, especially commercial -redistribution. - - - -*** START: FULL LICENSE *** - -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project -Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at - www.gutenberg.org/license. - - -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works - -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy -all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. -If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the -terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or -entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. - -1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement -and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" -or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the -collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an -individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are -located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from -copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative -works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg -are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project -Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by -freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of -this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with -the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by -keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project -Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. - -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in -a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check -the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement -before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or -creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project -Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning -the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United -States. - -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate -access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently -whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the -phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project -Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, -copied or distributed: - -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 - -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived -from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is -posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied -and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees -or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work -with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the -work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 -through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the -Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or -1.E.9. - -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional -terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked -to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the -permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. - -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. - -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg-tm License. - -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any -word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or -distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than -"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version -posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), -you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a -copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon -request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other -form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided -that - -- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is - owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he - has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the - Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments - must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you - prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax - returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and - sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the - address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to - the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." - -- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm - License. You must require such a user to return or - destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium - and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of - Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any - money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days - of receipt of the work. - -- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set -forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from -both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael -Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the -Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. - -1.F. - -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm -collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain -"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or -corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual -property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a -computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by -your equipment. - -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right -of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. - -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with -your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with -the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a -refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity -providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to -receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy -is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further -opportunities to fix the problem. - -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO OTHER -WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO -WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. -If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the -law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be -interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by -the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any -provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. - -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance -with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, -promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, -harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, -that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do -or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm -work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any -Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. - - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm - -Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers -including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists -because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from -people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. -To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation -and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 -and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org - - -Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive -Foundation - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent -permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. - -The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. -Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered -throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at 809 -North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email -contact links and up to date contact information can be found at the -Foundation's web site and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact - -For additional contact information: - Dr. Gregory B. Newby - Chief Executive and Director - gbnewby@pglaf.org - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide -spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To -SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any -particular state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. -To donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate - - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works. - -Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm -concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared -with anyone. For forty years, he produced and distributed Project -Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. - -Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. -unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily -keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: - - www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. |