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diff --git a/old/50512-0.txt b/old/50512-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 0249060..0000000 --- a/old/50512-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8338 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Mr. Wayt's Wife's Sister, by Marion Harland - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Mr. Wayt's Wife's Sister - -Author: Marion Harland - -Release Date: November 20, 2015 [EBook #50512] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MR. WAYT'S WIFE'S SISTER *** - - - - -Produced by Emmy, MWS and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive) - - - - - - - - - - -MR. WAYT’S WIFE’S SISTER - - - - -MR. WAYT’S WIFE’S SISTER - - BY - MARION HARLAND - (_Mary Virginia Terhune_) - AUTHOR OF “JUDITH,” “WITH THE BEST INTENTIONS,” “HANDICAPPED,” - “LOITERINGS IN PLEASANT PATHS,” “COMMON SENSE IN - THE HOUSEHOLD,” ETC., ETC. - - - NEW YORK - THE CASSELL PUBLISHING CO. - 31 EAST 17TH ST. (UNION SQUARE) - - - - - COPYRIGHT, 1894, BY - THE CASSELL PUBLISHING CO. - - _All rights reserved._ - - THE MERSHON COMPANY PRESS, - RAHWAY, N. J. - - - - -CONTENTS - - - PAGE - - MR. WAYT’S WIFE’S SISTER, 1 - - A SOCIAL SUCCESS, 203 - - THE ARTICLES OF SEPARATION, 251 - - - - -MR. WAYT’S WIFE’S SISTER. - - - - -CHAPTER I. - - -ONE breezy May day, such a little while ago that it is hardly safe to -name the year, a New Jersey ferry “car-boat” was so far behind her time -that the 12.30 train for Fairhill left without waiting for her. - -Ignorant, or incredulous of the untoward happening, the passengers -rushed for and through the station to find egress discouraged by -the impassive official whose stentorian tones were roaring through -the building the name and stopping places of the next train. Among -the foremost in the pell-mell run was a hazel-eyed young man with a -gripsack in his hand, and the olive bronze of a sea voyage upon a very -good-looking face. He was always persuaded that he could have eluded -the great-voiced doorkeeper and boarded the last platform of the -moving cars, had he not run afoul of a wheeled chair midway between -the seats and inconveniently set radiators in the waiting room, and -narrowly escaped a “header.” He did not actually fall; neither did he -overset the vehicle. Avoiding both calamities by vaulting the dashboard -and front wheels, he yet dropped his hat and valise in different -directions, and brought up at an obtuse angle by catching at one of the -marble-topped radiators. The first use he made of his hat, which was -picked up by a smiling bystander, was to lift it to a woman who was -propelling what he had mistaken for a baby’s perambulator. - -“I beg your pardon, I am sure!” he said, in manly fashion. “I hope -the”—he was about to say “baby,” but changed the phraseology just in -time—“that nobody was hurt!” - -A glimpse of the occupant of the chair had showed him a wan face too -old for a child’s, too small for that of a grown person. Before the -woman addressed could reply, elfish accents, husky and precise, said, -“Not at all—thank you!” and there was a cackle of shrill, feeble -laughter. - -The young fellow had lost the train that should have returned him in -forty minutes to the family he had not seen in six months; he was just -off shipboard, and felt the need of a bath and toilet upon steady -ground, with plenty of elbow room. He had come near having a bad fall, -and had not missed making a ludicrous spectacle of himself for the -entertainment of a gaping crowd. But he laughed in a jolly, gentlemanly -way, and again raising his hat passed on without a second glance at -the mute personage who had pushed the wagon directly across his track. - -Like the rest of the disappointed wayfarers he walked quite up to the -outlet of the station, and peered anxiously through at the empty rails, -still vibrating from the wheels of the vanishing train, yet he neither -frowned nor swore. He did not even ask: “When does the next train go -to Fairhill?” The time-table in his pocket and that upon the wall, -set at “2 P. M.,” told him all and more than he wanted to know. The -excitement and suspense over, his inner man became importunate. He had -had an early breakfast on the _City of Rome_, and was far hungrier now -than then. Doubling upon his tracks, he repaired to the restaurant in -the same building with the vast waiting room and offices. The place was -clean, and full of odors that, for a wonder, were fresh and savory, -instead of hanging on the air and clinging to the walls like a viewless -“In Memoriam” of an innumerable caravan of dead-and-gone feasts. The -_menu_ was promising to an unsated appetite, and having given his -order to a waiter the even-tempered customer sat back in his chair and -surveyed the scene with the air of one whose mind was, as the hymnist -aptly puts it, “at leisure from itself.” - -This lack of self-consciousness underlay much that made March -Gilchrist popular in his set. He was a clever artist, and wrought -hard and well at his profession, although he had a rich father. His -position in society was assured, his physique fine, and education -excellent—advantages fully appreciated by most of the men, and -all the women he knew. If he recognized their value he was an -adroit dissembler. Simple and frank in manner, he met his world -with outstretched hand. When the hand was not taken he laughed in -good-humored astonishment, went about his business, and forgot the -churl. His schoolmates used to say that it did not pay to quarrel with -him; his parents, that he and his sister May should exchange names. -That his amiability was not the result of a phlegmatic temperament -was apparent in the quick brightness of the eyes that roved about -the dining room, leaving out nothing—from the lunch counter in the -adjoining room, set with long ranks of salvers with globular glass -covers that gave the array the expression of a chemist’s laboratory, to -the whirligig fans that revolved just below the ceiling with the dual -mission of cooling the atmosphere and chasing away flies. Our returned -traveler seemed to find these harbingers of summer weather and summer -pests amusing. He was watching them when a voice behind him accosted a -hurrying waiter. - -“There is a young girl over there who cannot walk. Will you lift her -out of her chair and bring her in? It is just at the door, and she is -very light.” - -“Busy now, miss! Better ask somebody else!” pushing past. - -The baffled applicant stood in the middle of the floor, irresolute, -seeming the more solitary and helpless because young and a woman. Thus -much, and not that she was comely and a lady, March saw before he -sprang to his feet and faced her respectfully. - -“I beg pardon! but can I be of use? It will give me pleasure if you -will allow me.” Catching sight in the doorway of the one in whose -behalf she had spoken, an arch smile—respectful still—lighted up his -honest countenance. “If you will let me make amends for my awkwardness -of a while ago!” - -He was a society man, and might have been aware how unconventional was -the offer. He palliated the solecism, in describing the incident at -home, by saying that he saw in every elderly woman his mother, in a -young one, his only sister. - -“Thank you! if you will be so kind”—accepting the proposal as simply as -it had been made. “I could bring her in myself, but she does not like -to have me do it here.” - -“I should think not, indeed! One of the best uses to which a man’s -muscles can be put is to help the weak,” rejoined March heartily. - -A gleam crossed the unchildish visage of the cripple when he stooped -to lift her. She recognized him, but offered no verbal remark then, or -when he deposited the light burden in the chair set for her by a waiter -more humane, or less driven than his testy comrade. - -“You are very good, and we are much obliged to you,” the guardian said, -with a little bow of acknowledgment which he took as dismissal also, -withdrawing to his own place. - -“Set the table for seven, please,” he heard her continue to the -waiter, businesslike and quiet, “and reserve another seat at that -table”—designating one remote from the larger—“for a gentleman who -will come in by and by. There is a man, too, for whom I wish to order -luncheon at the counter in that room. He can get a good meal and be -comfortable there, I suppose?” - -“A traveling party of nine!” thought March, apparently intent upon -the depths of his soup tureen. “With this girl as courier. Yet she -mentioned two men!” - -The family filed in while he speculated. Twin boys of twelve or -thirteen, dressed exactly alike in gray jackets and knickerbockers, -except that the red-haired one wore a blue necktie and the brown-haired -a scarlet; a pretty, blue-eyed girl of eight, and a toddler of two, led -by a sweet-faced mother, with fair hair and faintly tinted complexion, -of the china shepherdess school. The “courier,” assisted by the -waiter, seated them all without bustle, before addressing an individual -who had followed at a respectful distance and now hung aloof, chewing -the brim of a brand-new straw hat. - -“Homer!” said the young lady gently and distinctly, as she might direct -a child, “you will get your dinner in the next room. Come!” - -By shifting his position slightly, March could see her point the man -to a stool and give orders for his refreshment. He was undersized, -lean, and sandy haired, small of feature and loutish in carriage. His -eyes had red rims, and blinked incessantly, as if excessively weak -or purblind. When he began operations upon coffee and sandwiches, -he gobbled voraciously, gnawing off mouthfuls like a greedy dog. -His clothes were so distressingly ready-made, and accentuated his -uncouthness so unmercifully, as to leave no doubt that the wearing of -coat and vest was a novelty and an equivocal boon. - -“An odd fish!” commented March mentally. “Why should a civilized family -haul him after them like a badly made kite tail? And they are not -vulgarians, either!” - -His eyes strayed discreetly back to the table set for seven. The -mistress of ceremonies sat at the head, and was studying the printed -_menu_. It lay flat on the cloth that the crippled girl at her right -might read it with her. Their heads were close together, and the -gravity upon the countenance of the elder was reflected by the shrewd -elfin face. Presently they began to whisper, the bare, thin finger -of the younger of the two tracing the lines to the extreme right of -the _carte_. It was plainly a question of comparative expense, March -perceived with a pang of his kind heart. For he had been a boy himself, -and the children were hungry. - -“Hurry up—won’t you, Hetty,” called the redheaded twin impatiently. -“Give us the first thing you come to so long as it isn’t corned beef, -pork and beans, or rice pudding. I’m _starved!_” - -“Me, too!” echoed his fellow. - -“You needn’t make mincemeat of your English on that account!” piped the -crippled sister tartly. “It is no little matter to order just the right -things for such a host. Mamma, you must have a cup of tea, I suppose?” - -The young lady interposed, writing while she talked: - -“Of course! And all of us will be the better for some good, hot soup. -This is luncheon, not dinner, recollect. We only need something to stay -our appetites until six o’clock,” she added, putting the paper in the -waiter’s hand. - -She did not look like one who did things for effect, yet there was -meaning in her manner of saying it. If she was obliged to cut her coat -according to her cloth, she would just now make the scantiness of the -pattern seem a matter of choice and carry out the seaming gallantly. - -“How much further have we to go?” queried eight-year-old, somewhat -ruefully. - -Six o’clock was to her apprehension a long time ahead. - -“We are within half an hour of home. We might have been there by now, -but we thought it better to wait over a train to rest and get rid of -the dust we brought off the cars.” - -“And to let _him_ get shaved and barbered and prinked up generally!” -shrilled the cripple malevolently. - -“Hester!” The mother’s voice was heard for the first time. - -“Well, mamma?” - -“That is not respectful, my love. You are tired, I am afraid.” - -The shrewd face jerked fretfully, and the lips were opened for a -retort, checked by a gloved hand laid upon the forward child’s. There -was only a murmur, accompanied by a pettish shrug. - -March was ashamed of the impulse that made him steal a look at the tray -bearing the result of the whispered consultation. Three tureens, each -containing two generous portions of excellent English gravy soup with -barley in it, a pot of tea, bread and milk for the baby and plenty of -bread and butter were duly deposited upon the board. - -“I’ll take the rest of your order now,” said the waiter, civilly -suggestive. - -“This is all. Thank you!” in a matter-of-course tone that was not -resentfully positive. - -The “courier” understood herself, and having taken ground, how to hold -it. This was luncheon. March caught himself speculating as to the -dinner bill of fare. - -The spokeswoman may have been two-and-twenty. She was slightly above -the middle height of healthy womanhood, had gray, serious eyes, with -brown shadows in them when the lids drooped; well-formed lips that -curled roguishly at the corners in smiling; a straight nose with mobile -nostrils, and a firm chin. There was character in plenty in the face. -Such free air and sunshine as falls into most girls’ lives might have -made it beautiful. The pose of her head, the habitual gravity of eyes -and mouth, the very carriage of the shoulders and her gait testified -to the untimely sense of responsibility borne by this one. She was -slight and straight; her gown of fawn-colored cloth fitted well, and a -toque of the same material with no trimming, except a knot of velvet -ribbon, was becoming; yet March, who designed his sister’s costumes, -was quite certain that gown and hat were homemade and the product of -the wearer’s skill. Both women were unmistakably gentle in breeding, -and the children’s chatter, although sometimes pert, was not rude or -boisterous. - -A man entered by the side door while the chatter was stilling under -the supreme attraction of the savory luncheon, and, after a word to a -waiter, took the chair which had been tilted, face downward, against -the far table at the “courier’s” order. He was tall, and had an -aquiline, intellectual cast of countenance. His hands—the artist had -an appreciative eye for hands and fingers—were a student’s; his linen -was irreproachable; his chin and cheeks were blue-shaven, and his black -hair was cut straight across at the back, just clearing the collar of -his coat, instead of being shingled. - -“A clergyman!” deduced Gilchrist, from the latter peculiarity. -“That—not the white choker—is the trade-mark of the profession. Did -barber or preacher establish the fashion?” - -After inspection of the _menu_, the newcomer ordered a repast which was -sumptuous when compared with the frugal one course of the seven seated -at the table in the middle of the room. He took no notice of them nor -they of him. His mien was studiously abstracted. While waiting for -his food he drew a small blotting pad from his pocket and wrote upon -it with a stylographic pen, his profile keener as his work went on. -In pausing to collect thoughts or choose words the inclination of his -eyes was upward. After his entrance profound silence settled upon the -central table. Not even the baby prattled. This singular taciturnity -took on significance to the alert wits of the unsuspected observer -when he saw a swift interchange of looks between the cripple and her -left-hand neighbor, attended by a grimace of such bitter disdain -directed by the junior of the pair at the student as fairly startled -the artist. - -The unconscious object of the shaft put up paper and pen, and -addressed himself with deliberate dignity, upon the arrival of his -raw oysters, to the lower task of filling the material part of him. -He was discussing a juicy square of porterhouse steak, as March bowed -respectfully on his way out to the girl at the head of the board, a -smile in his pleasant eyes being especially intended for the dwarfed -cripple beside her. - -Homer had bolted the last fragment of a huge segment of custard pie, -washed down the crust with a second jorum of coffee, and sat, satiate -and sheepish, upon the tall stool, awaiting orders. - -“The most extraordinary combinery, taken in all its parts, it was ever -my luck to behold,” declared March Gilchrist at his father’s dinner -table that evening. “Intensely American throughout, though. I wish I -knew whether or not the man who appropriated the reserved seat was a -usurper. If he were, that spirited little economist of a courier was -quite capable of dispossessing him, or, at least, of calling the waiter -to account for neglect of duty. And what relation did blind Homer bear -to the party?” - -“Dear old March!” said his sister affectionately. “Story weaving in the -old fashion! How natural it sounds! What jolly times you and I have -had over our amateur romances and make believes! Which reminds me of -a remarkable sermon preached Sunday before last by our new pastor. (I -told you we had one, didn’t I?) The text was: ‘Six waterpots of stone, -containing two or three firkins apiece!’” - -“Absurd!” - -“True; but listen! The text was only a hook from which he hung an -eloquent discourse upon the power of faith to make wine—‘old and mellow -and flavorous,’ _he_ called it—out of what to grosser souls seems -insipid water. It was a plea for the pleasures of imagination—_alias_ -faith—and elevated our favorite amusement into a fine art, and the fine -art into religion. I came home feeling like a spiritual chameleon, -fully convinced that rarefied air is the rightful sustenance of an -immortal being. According to our Mr. Wayt, what you haven’t got is the -only thing you ought to be sure of. Life is a sort of ‘Now you see it -and now you don’t see it’ business throughout. Only, when you don’t see -it you are richer and happier than when you do. Did you ever think to -hear me babble metaphysics? Now, where are those portfolios?” - -“Make believe that you have overhauled them, and be blest,” retorted -her brother. “There’s a chance to practice your metaphysical cant—with -a new, deep meaning in it, too, which you will detect when you inspect -my daubs. I did some fairish things in Norway, however, which may prove -that your rule has an exception.” - -The Gilchrists freely acknowledged themselves to be what the son and -daughter styled “a mutual admiration square.” March’s portfolios were -not the only engrossing subject that drew them together in the library, -where coffee and cigars were served. - -May and her father turned over sketches and examined finished pictures -at the table, passing them afterward to the mother, who was a fixture -in her easy-chair by reason of a head, covered with crisp chestnut -curls, lying upon her lap. May was her companion and co-laborer, -dutiful and beloved, despite the impetuosity of mood and temper which -seemed inharmonious with the calmer nature of the matron. The mother’s -idol was the long-limbed fellow who, stretched upon the tiger-skin -rug, one arm cast about her waist, submitted to her mute fondling with -grace as cheerful as that with which she endured the scent of the cigar -she would not let him resign when he threw himself into his accustomed -place. She was a good wife, but she never pretended to like the odor -of the judge’s best weed. March’s cigars, she confessed, were “really -delightful.” Perhaps she recognized in his affluent, joyous nature -something hers lacked and had craved all her life; the golden side of -the iron shield. Assuredly, her children drew the ideality in which -they reveled from the father. - -The tall, dignified woman who queened it in the best circles of -Fairhill society, and was the chiefest pillar in the parish which had -just called Mr. Wayt to become its spiritual head, was the embodiment -of what is known as hard sense. Mind and character were laid out and -down in straight lines. Right was right; duty was duty, and not to be -shirked. Wrong was wrong, and the shading off of sin into foible was of -the devil. She believed in a personal devil, comprehended the doctrines -of the Trinity, of election and reprobation, and the resurrection -of the physical body. Twice each Sabbath, once during the week, she -repaired to the courts of the Lord with joys unknown to worldly souls. -The ministry she held in the old-fashioned veneration we have cast -behind us with many worse and a few better things. Others might and did -criticise the men who wore white neckties upon weekdays and had their -hair cut straight behind. The hands of the presbytery had been laid -in ordination upon them. That was a sacred shield to her. In spirit -she approached the awful circle of the church with bared feet and bent -brow. Within it was her home. To her church her toils were literally -given. For it her prayers continually ascended. - -She had looked grave during May’s flippant abstract of the new -preacher’s discourse anent the six stone waterpots. Her family might -suspect that she could not easily assimilate spiritual bread so unlike -that broken to his flock by a good man who had been gathered to his -fathers six months before, after a pastorate of thirty years in -Fairhill. Nobody could elicit a hint to this effect from her lips. Mr. -Wayt was the choice of a respectable majority of church and parish. The -presbytery had accepted his credentials and solemnly installed him in -his new place. Henceforward he was her pastor, and as such above the -touch of censure. He had been the guest of the Gilchrists for a week -prior to the removal of his family to the flourishing suburban town, -and received such entertainment for body and spirit as strengthened his -belief in the Divine authority of the call he had answered. - -He left Fairhill four days before March landed in New York, to meet -his wife and children in Syracuse and escort them to their new abiding -place. During these days the mothers and daughters of the household of -faith had worked diligently to prepare the parsonage for the reception -of the travelers, Mrs. Gilchrist being the guiding spirit. And while -she drew the shining silk of her boy’s curls through fingers that -looked strong, yet touched tenderly, the Rev. Percy Wayt, A. M. and M. -A., with feet directed by gratitude and heart swollen with pastoral -affection, was nearing the domicile of his best “member.” - -A long French window upon the piazza framed the tableau he halted to -survey, his foot upon the upper step of the broad flight leading from -the lawn. It was a noble room, planned by March and built with his -proud father’s money. Breast-high shelves filled with choice books -lined the wall; above them were a few fine pictures. Oriental rugs were -strewed upon the polished floor; lounging and upright chairs stood -about in social attitudes. The light of the shaded reading lamp shone -silvery upon Judge Gilchrist’s head and heightened the brightness of -May’s face. March’s happy gaze, upturned to meet his mother’s look of -full content, might have meant as much in a cottage as here, but they -seemed to the spectator accessories of the luxurious well-being which -stamped the environment. - -He sighed deeply—perhaps at the contrast the scene offered to the half -furnished abode he had just left—perhaps under the weight of memories -aroused by the family group. He was as capable of appreciating beauty -and enjoying ease as were those who took these as an installment of the -debt the world owed them. The will of the holy man who preaches the -great gain of godliness when wedded to contentment, ought to be one -with that of the Judge of all the earth. Sometimes it is. Sometimes—— - -“Ah, Mr. Wayt!” Judge Gilchrist’s proverbially gracious manner was -never more urbane than as he offered a welcoming hand to his wife’s -spiritual director. “You find us in the full flood of rejoicing over -our returned prodigal,” he continued, when the visitor had saluted the -ladies. “Let me introduce my son.” - -Mr. Wayt was “honored and happy at being allowed to participate in -the reunion,” yet apologetic for his “intrusion upon that with which -strangers should not intermeddle.” - -While saying it he squeezed March’s hand in a grasp more nervous than -firm, and looked admiringly into the sunny eyes. - -“Your mother’s son will forgive the interruption when he learns why I -am here,” he went on, tightening and relaxing his hold at alternate -periods. “I brought my wife and babies _home_ to-day. I use the word -advisedly. I left a desolate, empty house. Merely walls, ceilings, -doors, windows, and floors. A shell without sentiment. A chrysalis -without the germ of life. This was on last Monday morning.” - -By now the brief sentences had come to imply depth of emotion with -which March was unable to sympathize, and he felt convicted of -inhumanity that this was so. - -“I advised Mrs. Wayt of what she would find. Hers is a brave spirit -encased in a fragile frame, and she was not daunted. You, madam,” -letting go the son’s hand and facing the mother, “know, and we can -never forget what we found when, weary and faint and travel-stained, we -alighted this afternoon at the parsonage gate.” - -With all her native aplomb and half-century of world knowledge Mrs. -Gilchrist blushed, much to the covert amusement of husband and son. If -the judge had manner Mr. Wayt had deportment, and with it fluency. His -weighty words pressed her hard for breath. - -“Please don’t speak of it!” she hastened to implore. “We did very -little—and I no more than others.” - -“Allow me!” Gesture and tone were rhetorical. “You—or others under your -command—laid carpets and set our humble plenishing in order. There is -not much of it, but such as it is, it has followed our varied fortunes -so long that it is endeared by association. You arranged it to the best -advantage. You stocked larders and made up beds, and kindled the fire -upon the household altar, typified by the kitchen range, and spread -a toothsome feast for our refreshment. You and your sister angels. -If this be not true, then benevolent pixies have been at work, for, -although we found the premises swept and garnished, not a creature -was to be seen. Generosity and tact had met together; beneficence and -modesty had kissed each other. I assure you, Mr. Gilchrist”—wheeling -back in good order upon March—“that in seventeen years of the -vicissitudes of a pastoral life that has had its high lights and -depressing shades, such delicacy of kindness is without a parallel.” - -“Let me express my sympathy in the shape of a cigar,” said March, -taking one from the table. “I brought over a lot, which my father, who -is a connoisseur in tobacco, pronounces fit to smoke. Should you agree -with him, I shall esteem it a compliment if you will let me send a box -to the parsonage to-morrow.” - -Mr. Wayt’s was an opaque and not a healthy complexion. It was mottled -now with a curious, dull glow; the muscles of his mouth twitched. He -waved aside the offering with more energy than courtesy. - -“You are good, sir—very good! But I never smoke! My nervous -system is idiosyncratic. Common prudence inhibits the use on my -part of all narcotics and stimulants, if principle did not. To be -frank”—inclusively to all present—“I am what is known as ‘a temperance -crank.’ You may think the less of me for the confession; in point of -fact, I lost one charge in direct consequence of my peculiar views -upon this subject; but if I speak at all, I must be candid. Believe me -nevertheless, Mr. Gilchrist, your grateful debtor for the proffered -gift. If you will now and then let a kindly thought of me mingle with -the smoke of your burnt offering, the favor will be still greater.” - -“May I trouble you to say to Mrs. Wayt that the cook you asked me -to engage for her cannot come until next Monday morning?” said the -practical hostess. Mr. Wayt’s sonorous periods always impelled her to -monosyllabic commonplaces. “Perhaps she cannot wait so long?” - -“I take the responsibility of promising for her, madam, that she -_will_. Apart from the fact that her desire to secure a servant -recommended by yourself would reconcile her to a still longer delay, -her household, as at present composed, has in itself the elements of -independence. We have a faithful, if eccentric, servitor, who has an -abnormal passion for work in all its varieties. He is gardener, house -servant, cook, groom, mason and builder, as need requires. He mends his -own clothes, cobbles his shoes—and I am not without a suspicion of his -proficiency as a laundryman.” - -He rendered the catalogue with relish for the humor of the situation. -The exigencies of parsonage life which had developed the talents of his -trusty retainer seemed to have no pathos for the master. - -“Where did you find this treasure? And is he a Unique?” asked May -laughingly. - -“I believe the credit of raking the protoplasmic germ out of the slums -of Chicago, where we were then sojourning, belongs to my wife’s sister, -Miss Alling. The atmosphere of our home has warmed into growth latent -possibilities, I fancy. It was a white day for poor Tony when the -gutter-wash landed him at our door. Even now he has physical weaknesses -and mental deficiencies that make him a striking object-lesson as to -the terrible truths of heredity.” - -“How many children have you, Mr. Wayt?” questioned March, with -irrelevance verging upon abruptness. - -“George W. Cable’s number—five. You may recall the witty puzzle he set -for a Massachusetts Sunday School. ‘I have five children,’ he said, -‘and half of them are girls. What is the half of five?’ ‘Two and a -half,’ came from the perplexed listeners. It transpired, eventually, -that the other half were girls also.” - -He was an entertaining man, or would have been had he been colloquial -instead of hortatory. Yet what he said was telling rather from the -degree of importance he evidently attached to it than from the worth -of the matter. In a smaller speaker, his style would have been -airy. Standing, as he did, six feet in his slippers, he was always -nearly—occasionally, quite—imposing. Men of his profession seldom -converse well. The habit of hebdomadal speech-making runs over and -saturates the six working days. Pastoral visitation is undoubtedly -measurably responsible for the trick of talking as for duty’s sake, and -to a roomful. The essential need of the public speaker is audience, and -to this, actual or visionary, he is prone to address himself. Mr. Wayt -could not bid an acquaintance “Good-morning,” in a chance encounter -upon boat or car, without embracing every passenger within the scope -of his orotund tones, in the salutation. A _poseur_ during his waking -hours, he probably continued to cater to the ubiquitous audience in his -dreams. - -“Come out for a turn on the piazza, May!” proposed March, after the -guest had taken his leave. - -The night was filled with divine calm. The Gilchrist house surmounted -a knoll from which the beautiful town rolled away on all sides. In the -distance a glistening line showed where the bay divided Jersey meadows -from the ramparts of the Highlands. The turf of the lawn was ringed -and crossed by beds of hyacinths and tulips. The buds of the great -horse-chestnut trees were big with promise; the finer tracery of the -elms against the moonlit sky showed tufts of tender foliage. Faint, -delicious breaths of sweetness met brother and sister at the upper end -of their walk, telling that the fruit trees were ablow. - - “East or West, Hame is Best!” - -quoted March, taking in a mighty draught of satisfaction. “Not that -I brought you out here to listen to stale Scotch rhymes. Don’t annoy -the precious mother by letting her into the secret, May, but Mr. Wayt -is the man I saw in the restaurant to-day, and I believe that was his -family!” - - - - -CHAPTER II. - - -THE almost unearthly stillness of the fragrant May night was, as often -happens at that lovely, uncertain season, the precursor of a rainy day. - -Hetty Alling, awakening at four o’clock to plan for the work that lay -before the transplanted household, heard the first drops fall upon -the tin roof of the piazza under her window like the patter of tiny, -stealthy feet scaling the eaves and combing, then advancing boldly in -rank and rush until the beat was the reverberant roar of a spring flood. - -It awoke nobody else under the parsonage roof-tree. Hester slept -soundly beside her. She never slept quietly. In addition to the spinal -disease which warped the poor girl’s figure she suffered from an -affection of the throat that made her respiration in slumber a rattling -snore, interrupted at regular intervals by a gurgle that sounded like -strangulation. So audibly distressing was it that her father could -not sleep within two rooms of her, and the healthy occupants of the -intervening nursery complained that “nothing was done to break Hester -of making such a racket. If she wanted to stop it she could.” - -Her young aunt and roommate knew better. Hester had shared her bed for -almost nine years. Mrs. Wayt’s orphaned sister was but fourteen when -she came to live in the parsonage, then situated in Cincinnati. It -had been a hard winter with the pastor’s wife. While her mother lay -dying in Ithaca, N. Y., her then only daughter, the first born of her -flock, a beautiful, vivacious child of eight, met with the accident -which crippled and dwarfed her for life. The telegram announcing Mrs. -Alling’s illness was answered by one saying that Hester was at the -point of death. She had just passed the first doubtful stage upon the -return journey lifeward, when Hetty, in her new black frock, insisted -upon relieving the grief-worn watcher over the wreck that could never -be put together again. - -Lying in strange quarters in a strange town at the dreariest hour of -the twenty-four, Hetty recalled that as the date when the load of -care, now an integral part of herself, was first fastened upon her. -She had before this likened it to a needle she had once, in childish -wantonness, run under the bark of a young willow, and seen disappear -gradually from view as the riven bark grew over it, until, at the end -of a year, no vestige of the steel remained, except a ridge which was -never smoothed away. She was not exactly penniless. The portion left -her by her mother was judiciously invested by her guardian, and yielded -her exactly four hundred dollars a year. It was transmitted promptly, -quarterly, until she was of age, by which time she was so rooted and -grounded in prudence that she continued to draw the like amount at -equal periods. - -“It is enough to dress her,” Mrs. Wayt had said to her husband, in -seeking his sanction to her offer of a home to one who stood alone in -the world save for her sister, and an uncle who had lived in Japan for -twenty years. “And she is welcome to her board—is she not, Percy, dear?” - -“Welcome, dear love? Can you ask the question with regard to your only -sister—poor motherless lamb! While we have a roof between us and the -sky and a crust of bread between us and starvation, she shall share -both. Let _me_ write the letter!” - -The epistle was almost tattered with many readings when Hetty became -an inmate of her brother-in-law’s home. She had not kept it until -now. That was not strange, Fairhill being the latest in a succession -of “settlements” to which the brilliant gospeler had accepted calls, -generally unanimous and almost invariably enthusiastic. There were -three children at Hetty’s coming—her own and her mother’s namesake, -Hester, and Percy and Perry, the twin boys. Four had been born since, -but two had not outlived early infancy. Mr. Wayt would not have been a -preacher of the period had he not enriched some of his most effective -discourses with illustrations drawn from these personal bereavements. - -His celebrated apostrophe to a six-months old daughter, beginning—“Dear -little Susie! She had numbered but a brief half year of mortal life, -but she was loving and beloved! I seem to feel the soft strain of her -arms about my neck this moment”—is too familiar to my readers, through -newspaper reports, to need repetition here. The sermon embodying this -gem of poetic and rhetorical emotion is known to have won him calls to -three churches. - -It was still dark when Hetty’s ear caught the muffled thud of feet upon -the garret stairs. Wherever providence and parish preferences cast the -lot of the Wayts, Homer’s bedroom was nearest the heavens that were hot -by summer and cold by winter. - -“I don’t set no store by ceilin’s,” he told Hetty when she “wished they -could lodge him better.” “Seems if ’twas naturaler fur to see the beams -purty nigh onto my nose when I fus’ wake in the mornin’. I’m kind o’ -lonesome fur ’em when I caan’t butt me head agin the top o’ me room -when I’m a mind ter.” - -At another time he confided to her that it was “reel sociabul-like to -hear the rain onto the ruff, clus’ to a feller’s ears o’ nights.” - -He was on his way down to the kitchen now to light the fire. Unless -she should interfere, he would cook breakfast, and serve it upon -the table she had set overnight, and sweep down the stairs and scrub -the front doorsteps while the family ate the morning meal. He called -himself “Tony,” as did all the family except Hetty and Mrs. Wayt. The -former had found “Homer Smith, Jr.,” written in a sprawling hand upon -the flyleaf of a songbook which formed the waif’s entire library. -Hetty had notions native to her own small head. One was that the—but -for her—friendless lad would respect himself the more if he were not -addressed by what she called “a circus monkey’s name.” For this reason -he was “Homer” to her, and her sister followed her example because she -considered the factotum and whatever related to him Hetty’s affair, and -that she had a right to designate her chattel by whatever title she -pleased. - -Tony had come to the basement door one snowy, blowy day of a -particularly cruel winter, when Hetty was maid of all work. He stood -knee-deep in a drift when she opened the grated door and asked, -hoarsely but without a touch of the beggar’s whine, for “a job to keep -him from starvin’.” He was, as he “guessed,” twenty years of age, -emaciated from a spell of “new-money,” and so nearly blind that the -suggestion of a “job” was pitiably preposterous. Hetty took him into -her neat kitchen, made him a cup of tea, and cut and plied him with -bread and butter until he asserted that he was “right-up-an’-down -chirpy, jes’ as strong’s enny man. Couldn’t he rake out the furnace, or -saw wood, or clear off the snow, or clean shoes, or scrub the stairs, -or mend broken things, or wash windows, or peel pertaters, or black -stoves, or sif’ ashes, or red-up the cellar—or—or—somethin’, to pay for -his dinner? I aint no beggar, ma’am—nor never will be!” - -Hetty hired him as a “general utility man,” at ten cents a forenoon -and his breakfast, for a week—then, for a month. He lodged wherever he -could—in stable lofts, at the police station, under porches on mild -nights, and when other resorts were closed, in a midnight refuge, and -never touched liquor or tobacco in any form. At the month’s end, his -girlish patroness cleared a corner of the attic between the sharp angle -and the chimney, set up a cot, and allowed him to sleep there. Mr. -Wayt had no suspicion of the disreputable incumbent of the habitation -honored by his name and residence, until one memorable and terrible -March midnight when a doctor must be had without the delay of an -instant revealed the secret, but under circumstances that strengthened -the retainer’s hold upon his employers. Since then, he had been part -and parcel of the establishment, proving himself as proficient in -removals and settlings-down as in other branches of his business. - -Mr. Wayt liked to allude to him as “Hetty’s Freak.” At other times he -nicknamed him “Kasper Hauser.” Once, and once only, in reference to -Hetty’s influence over the being he chose to regard as half-witted, -he spoke of him as “a masculine Undine,” whereupon his sister-in-law -turned upon him a look that surprised him and horrified his wife, and -marched out of the room. - -Mrs. Wayt followed her presently and found her gazing out of the window -of the closet to which she had fled, with livid face and dry eyes that -were dangerously bright. - -“Percy hopes you were not hurt by his harmless little jest,” said the -gentle wife. “You know, Hetty, it would kill me if you and he were to -quarrel. He has the kindest heart in the world, and respects you too -sincerely to offend you knowingly. You must not mind what sounds like -extravagant speech. We cannot judge men of genius as we would ordinary -people. And, dear, for my sake be patient!” - -The girl yielded to the weeping embrace of the woman whose face was -hidden upon her shoulder. - -“Mr. Wayt”—she never gave him a more familiar title—“cannot hurt me -except through you, Fanny. You and he must know that by now. I will try -to keep my temper better in hand in future.” - -Hetty was young and energetic, and used to hard work. She had put the -children to bed early on the evening of their arrival in Fairhill; -sent her sister, who had a sick headache, to her chamber before Mr. -Wayt returned from the Gilchrists’; given Hester’s aching limbs a hot -bath and a good rubbing, and only allowed Homer to help her unpack -boxes until half-past ten, not retiring herself until midnight. The -carload of furniture, which had preceded the family and been put in -place by the neighborly parishioners, looked scantily forlorn in the -roomy manse. The Ladies’ Aid Association had asked the privilege of -carpeting the parlors, dining room, stairs, and halls, and Judge -Gilchrist, instigated by his wife, headed a subscription that fitted up -the pastor’s study handsomely. The sight of this apartment had more to -do with Hetty’s short speech last night and her down-heartedness this -morning than the newness of quarters and the knowledge of the nearly -spent “housekeeping purse.” - -“The people will expect us to live up to that study!” she divined -shrewdly, staring into the blackness that began to show two gray lights -where windows would shape themselves by and by. “And we cannot do -it—strain and save and turn and twist as we may. We are always cut out -on a scant pattern, and not a button meets without starting a seam. How -sick and tired I am of it all! How tired I am of _everything_! What if -I were to lie still as other girls—as _real_ young ladies do—and sleep -until I’m rested out—rested all through! I should enjoy nestling down -among the pillows and pulling the covers about my head, and listening -to the rain, as much as the laziest butterfly of them all. What’s the -use of trying to keep things on their feet any longer when they must go -down with a crash sooner or later? - -“I’m _awfully_ sorry for Hetty Alling!” This was the summing up of the -gloomy reverie. In saying it inwardly, she raised herself to pinch -the pillow savagely and double it into a higher prop for her restless -head. “She is lonely and homesick and hasn’t a friend in the world. She -never can have an intimate friend for reasons she knows so well she is -sometimes ready to curse God and die. - -“There! Hester, dear! I only moved you a little to make you lie easier. -No! it is not time to get up. Don’t talk, dear, or you’ll wake yourself -up.” - -She was never cross with the afflicted child, but in her present -mood, the moan and gurgle of her obstructed respiration went through -her brain like the scraping of a saw. The change of position did not -make the breathing more quiet, and Hetty got up with the general -out-of-tune-ativeness best expressed by saying that “one’s teeth are -all on edge.” She dressed by candlelight, to save gas, and groped her -way down the unfamiliar backstairs to the kitchen. - -It was commodious and well-appointed, with a pleasant outlook by -daylight. In the dawn that struggled in a low-spirited way through the -rifts in the rain and refused to blend with the yellow blink of her -candle and Homer’s lantern, no chamber could be less than dismal. - -Homer was on his knees in front of the flickering fire, at which he -stared as if doggedly determined to put it out of countenance. - -“Now”—his way of beginning nine out of every ten sentences—“this ere’s -a new pattern of a range to me, an’ it’s tuk me some time fur ter git -holt on it. Most new things comes awk’ard to most folks.” - -Hetty blew out her candle, and, dropping into a chair in physical and -mental languor, sat watching the grotesque figure clearing away ashes -and cinders. His wrestle with the new pattern had begrimed his pale -face and reddened his weak eyes. His matutinal costume of a dim blue -flannel shirt, gray trousers, and a black silk skull cap cast off by -Mr. Wayt, pushed well back upon the nape of the neck and revealing -a scanty uneven fringe of whitey-brown hair, did not provoke the -spectator to a smile. - -“There is no bringing _him_ up to the tone of that study!” she -meditated grimly. “He and I are hopeless drudges, but he is the happier -of the two. Homer! I believe you really _love_ to work!” she broke -forth finally. - -Homer snickered—a sudden spurt that left him very sober. His laugh -always went out like a damp match. - -“Yes’m, cert’nly, ma’am! Ef ’twant fur work, there wouldn’t be nuthin’ -to live fur!” - -He shambled off to the cellar with the ashpan, and in a few minutes, -she could distinguish in the sounds rumbling and smothering in the -depths beneath her feet the melancholy tune of his favorite ditty: - - “On the banks of the Omaha—maha! - ’Twas there we settled many a night. - As happy as the little bird that sparkled on our block - On the banks of the Omaha!” - -Hetty raised the window and leaned out, gasping for breath. A garden -lay behind the house and on one side of it. It was laid out in walks -and borders, and was rather broad than deep. Beyond this were undefined -clumps of trees that looked like an orchard. Roofs and chimneys and -spires and lines of other trees, marking the course of streets, were -emerging from the soaking mists. Five o’clock struck from a tower not -far away, and then a church bell began to ring gently—a persuasive call -to early prayers. - -The warm, sweet, wet air that aroused her to look over the sill at a -row of hyacinths in full bloom, the slow peal of the bell, the hush -of the early morning, did not comfort her—but the soft moisture that -filled her eyes drew heat and bitterness out of her heart. When -she went up to awaken Hester she carried a spray of hyacinth bells, -weighted with fragrant drops. Fine gems of rain sprinkled her hair, her -cheeks were cool and damp, the scent of fresh earth and growing things -clung to her skirts. She laid the flowers playfully against the heavy -lids lifted peevishly at her call. - -“‘There’s richness for you,’” she quoted. “A whole bed of them is -awaiting your inspection in the garden. And such lovely pansies—some -as big as the palm of your hand. You and I and Homer, who is wild with -delight over them, will claim the flowers as our especial charge and -property.” - -“Thank you for the classification!” snapped Hester. “Yet we do belong -to backyards as naturally as cats and tomato cans. At least Homer and I -do. You’d climb the fence if you could.” - -“With the other cats?” said Hetty lightly. “See! I am putting the -hyacinths in your own little vase. I unpacked your china and books -last night. Not a thing was even nicked. You shall arrange them in -this jolly corner cupboard after breakfast. It looks as if it were -made a-puppose, as Homer says. He has bumped his head against strange -doors and skinned his poor nose against unexpected corners twenty times -this morning. He says: ‘_Now_—I s’pose it’s the bran-new house what -_ox_cites me so. I allers gits _ox_cited in a strange place.’” - -The well-meant diversion was ineffectual. - -“His oxcitement ought to be chronic, then! Ugh! that water is scalding -hot!” shrinking from the sponge in Hetty’s hand. “For we’ve done -nothing but ‘move on’ ever since I can recollect. I overheard mother -say once, with a sort of reminiscent sigh, that our ‘longest pastorate -was in Cincinnati.’ We were there just four years. We were six months -in Chillicothe, and seven in Ypsilanti. Then there was a year in -Memphis, and eighteen months in Natchez, and thirteen in Davenport. The -Little Rock church had a strong constitution. We stayed there two years -and one week. It’s _my_ opinion that _he_ is the Wandering Jew, and we -are one of the Lost Tribes.” - -She smiled sour approbation of her sarcastic sally, jerking her head -backward to bring Hetty’s face within range of her vision. The deft -fingers were fastening strings and straps over the misshapen shoulders. -The visage was grave, but always kind to her difficult charge. - -“You think that is irreverent,” Hester fretted, wrinkling her forehead -and beetling her eyebrows. “It isn’t a circumstance to what I am -thinking all the time. Some day I shall be left to myself and my bosom -devil long enough to spit it all out. It’s just bottling up, like the -venom in Macbeth’s witches’ toad that had sweltered so long under a -stone. But for you, crosspatch, all would have been said and done long -ago.” - -“You wouldn’t make your mother unhappy if you could help it,” Hetty -said cheerily. “And it isn’t flattering to her to compare her daughter -to a toad.” - -Hester was silent. As she sat in Hetty’s lap, it could be seen that she -was not larger than a puny child of seven or eight. The curved spine -bowed and heightened the thin shoulders; she had never walked a step -since the casualty that nearly cost her her life. Only the face and -hands were uninjured. The latter were exquisitely formed, the features -were fine and clearly cut, and susceptible to every change of emotion. -That the gentle reproof had not wrought peaceable fruits was apparent -from her expression. The misfit in her organization was more painfully -perceptible to herself early in the day than afterward. She seemed to -have lost consciousness of her unlikeness to other people while asleep, -and to be compelled to readjust mental and physical conditions every -morning. Hetty dreaded the process, yet was hardly aware of the full -effect upon her own spirits, or why she so often went down to breakfast -jaded and appetiteless. - -“I often ask myself,” resumed Hester, with slow malignity, repulsive -in one of her age and relation to those she condemned—“if children -ever really honor their parents. We won’t waste ammunition upon -_him_—but there is my mother. She is a pattern of all angelic virtues, -and a woman of remarkable mental endowments. You have told me again -and again that she is the best person you ever knew—patient, heroic, -loving, loyal, and so on to the end of the string! You tell over her -perfections as a Papist tells her beads. The law of kindness is in her -mouth; and her children shall arise and call her blessed, and she ought -not to be afraid of the snow for her household while her sister and her -slave Tony are to the fore. Don’t try to stop me, or the toad will spit -at you! I say that this, one would think, impossible She, the modern -rival of Solomon’s pious and prudish wise woman—is weak and unjust -and——” - -Hetty interrupted the tirade by rising and laying the warped frame, all -a-quiver with excitement, upon the bed. - -“You would better get your sleep out”—covering her up. “When you awake -again you will behave more like a reasonable creature. I cannot stay -here and listen to vulgar abuse of your mother and my best friend.” - -She said it in firm composure, drew down the shades, and without -another glance at the convulsed heap sobbing under the bedclothes, -left the chamber. Outside the door she paused as if expecting to be -recalled, but no summons came. She shook her head with a sad little -smile and passed down to the breakfast room. - -Father, mother, and four children were at the table. Mr. Wayt, in -dressing jacket, slippers, and silk skull cap, a cup of steaming -chocolate at his right hand, was engrossed in the morning paper. A pair -of scissors was beside his plate, that he might clip out incident or -statistics which might be useful in the preparation of his wide-awake -sermons. He made no sign of recognition at the entrance of his wife’s -sister; Mrs. Wayt smiled affectionately and lifted her face for a -good-morning salute, indicating by an expressive gesture her surprise -and pleasure at having found room and meal in such attractive order. -Long practice had made her an adept in pantomime. The boys nodded over -satisfactory mouthfuls; pretty Fanny pulled her aunt down for a hug as -she passed; even the baby made a mute rosebud of her mouth and beckoned -Hetty not to overlook her. - -Mr. Wayt’s digestion was as idiosyncratic as his nervous system. While -the important unseen apparatus carried on the business of assimilation, -the rest of the physical man was held in quiescent subjugation. -Agitation of molecular centers might entail ruinous consequences. He -reasoned ably upon this point, citing learned authorities in defense of -the dogma that simultaneous functionation—such as animated speech or -auricular attention and digestion—is an impossibility, and referring -to the examples of dumb creatures to prove that rest during and after -eating is a natural law. - -He raised his eyes above the margin of his newspaper at the clink of -the chocolate pot against the cup in Hetty’s hand. The questioning gaze -met a goodly sight. His wife’s sister wore a buff gingham, finished -at throat and wrists with white cambric ruffles, hemmed and gathered -by herself. Her dark brown hair was in perfect order; her sleeves -were pushed back from strong, shapely wrists. She always gave one the -impression of clean-limbedness, elasticity, and neatness. She was firm -of flesh and of will. The prettier woman at the head of the table was -flaccid beside her. The eyes of the younger were fearless in meeting -the master’s scrutiny, those of his wife were wistful, and clouded -anxiously in passing from one to the other. - -“For Hester,” said Hetty, in a low voice, looking away from Mr. Wayt to -her sister. “She is tired, and will take her breakfast in bed.” - -“I remonstrate”—Mr. Wayt’s best audience tones also addressed his -wife—“as I have repeatedly had occasion to do, against the practice of -pampering an invalid until her whims dominate the household. Not that I -have the least hope that my protest will be heeded. But as the child’s -father, I cannot, in conscience, withhold it.” - -Light scarlet flame, in which her features seemed to waver, was blown -across Hetty’s face. She set down the pot, poured back what she had -taken from it, and with a reassuring glance at her sister’s pleading -eyes, went off to the kitchen. There she hastened to find milk, -chocolate, and saucepan, and to prepare a foaming cup of Hester’s -favorite beverage; Homer, meanwhile, toasting a slice of bread, -delicately and quickly. - -Hester’s great eyes were raised to her aunt from lids sodden with -tears; her lips trembled unmanageably in trying to frame her plea. - -“Forgive me! please forgive me!” she sobbed. “You know what my morning -fiend is. And I am not brave like you, or patient like mother!” - -Hetty fondled the hot little hands. - -“Let it pass, love. I was not angry, but some subjects are best left -untouched between us. Here is your breakfast. Homer says that I ‘make -chawkerlette jes’ the same’s they did for him in the horspittle when he -had the new-money.’ They must have had a French _chef_ and a marvelous -_menu_ in that famous ‘horspittle.’ It reminds me of Little Dorritt’s -Maggie and her ‘’evenly chicken,’ and ‘so lovely an’ ’ospittally!’” - -She had the knack of picking up and making the most of little things -for the entertainment of her hapless charge. Mrs. Wayt was much -occupied with the other children, to whom she devoted all the time she -could spare from her husband. It happened occasionally that he would -eat no bread she had not made, and oftener that his craving was for -certain _entrées_ she alone could prepare to his liking. She brushed -his coat and hat, kept the run of missing papers and handkerchiefs, -tied his cravats, sat by him in a darkened room when he took his -afternoon siesta, wrote letters from his dictation, and, when he was -weary, copied in a clear, clerkly hand or upon his typewriter, sermons -and addresses from the notes he was wont to pencil in minute characters -upon a pocket pad. At least four nights out of seven she arose in the -dead of darkness to read aloud to him for one, three, and four hours, -when the baleful curse, insomnia, claimed him as her prey. His fad, -at this date, was what Homer tickled Hester into hysterics by calling -“them horsephates.” Horsford’s acid phosphate, if the oracle were to be -believed, ought to be the _vade mecum_ of ailing humanity. He carried -a silver flask containing it in his pocket everywhere; dropped the -liquid furtively upon a lump of sugar, and ate it in the pulpit, during -anthem, or voluntary, or offertory; mixed it with water and drank it -on the cars, in drugstores, in private houses, and at his meals, and -Mrs. Wayt kept spirit lamp and kettle in her bedroom with which to -heat water for the tranquilizing and peptic draught at cock-crowing or -at midnight. If she had ever complained of his exactions, or uttered -an ungentle word to him, neither sister nor child had heard her. She -would have become his advocate against himself had need arisen—which it -never did. - -“My ministering angel,” he named her to the Gilchrists, his keen eyes -softened by ready dew. “John Randolph said, in his old age, of his -mother: ‘She was the only being who ever understood me.’ I can say the -same of my other and dearer self. She interprets my spirit intuitions -when they are but partially known to myself. She meets my nature at -every turn.” - -She met it to-day by mounting guard—sometimes literally—before the door -of his study—the one room which was entirely in order—while he prepared -his discourses for the ensuing Sabbath. The rest found enough and more -than enough to do without the defended portal. Fanny was shut up in the -dining room with the baby Annie, and warned not to be noisy. The twins -carried bundles and boxes up and downstairs in their stocking-feet; -Homer pried off covers with a muffled hammer, and shouldered trunks, -empty and full, leaving his shoes at the foot of the stairs. Hester -said nothing of a blinding headache and a “jumping pain” in her back -while she dusted books and china. Hetty was everywhere and ever busy, -and nobody spoke a loud word all day. - -“You might think there was a corpse in the study instead of a sermon -being born!” Hester had once sneered to her confidante. “I never -hear him preach, but I know I should be reminded of the mountain that -brought forth a mouse.” - -One of her father’s many protests, addressed _at_ Hetty and _to_ his -wife, was that their eldest born was “virtually a heathen.” - -“Home education in religion, even when administered by the wisest and -tenderest of mothers—like yourself, my love—must still fall short of -such godly nurture and admonition as are contemplated in the command: -‘Forsake not the assembling of yourselves together.’ There is didactic -theology in David’s holy breathing: ‘A day in thy courts is better than -a thousand.’” - -“Better than a thousand in the same place? I should think so,” -interposed Hester’s tuneless pipe. “He needn’t have been inspired to -tell us that! Family worship suffices for my spiritual needs. That must -be the porch to the ‘courts,’ at least.” - -In speaking she, too, looked at her mother, although every word was -aimed at her father. - -“It is a cruel trick that we have!” Hetty had said of the habit. “Every -ball strikes that much-tried and innocent woman, no matter who throws -it.” - -“Of course!” retorted the sarcastic daughter. “And must while the angle -of incidence is equal to that of reflection.” - -In the discussion upon family _versus_ church religion she carried her -point by a _coup d’état_. - -“Pews and staring pewholders are all well enough for straight-backed -Christians!” she snarled. “I won’t be made a holy show of to gratify -all the preachers and presbyteries in America!” - -Anything like physical deformity was especially obnoxious to Mr. Wayt. -The most onerous duties pertaining to his holy office were visitation -of the sick and burial of the dead. Hester’s beautiful golden hair, -falling far below her waist, veiled her humped shoulders, and her -refined face looking out from this aureole, as she lay in her wheeled -chair, would be picturesquely interesting in the chancel, if not -seen too often there. The coarse realism of her refusal routed him -completely. With an artistic shudder and a look of eloquent misery, -likewise directed at his wife, he withdrew his forces from the field. -That night she read “Sartor Resartus” to him from three o’clock until 6 -A. M., so intolerable was his agony of sleeplessness. - -It happened so often that Hetty was the only responsible member of the -family who could remain at home with the crippled girl, that neither -Mr. nor Mrs. Wayt seemed to remark that her churchgoing was less than -nominal. Hester called Sunday her “white-letter day,” and was usually -then in her best and most tolerant temper, while her fellow-sinner -looked forward to the comparative rest and liberty it afforded as the -wader in marshlands eyes a projecting shoulder of firm ground and dry -turf. - -It was never more welcome than on the fair May day when the Fairhill -“people” crowded the First Church to hear the new pulpit star. - -“The prayer which preceded the sermon was a sacred lyric,” said -the Monday issue of the _Fairhill Pointer_. “In this respect Rev. -Mr. Wayt is as remarkably gifted as in the oratory which moved his -auditors alternately to tears, and smiles, and glows of religious -fervor. We regret the impossibility of reporting the burning stream -of supplication and ascription that flowed from his heart through -his lips, but a fragment of the introduction, uttered slowly and -impressively, is herewith given verbatim, as a sample of incomparable -felicity of diction: - -“‘THOU art mighty, merciful, masterful, and majestic. _We_ are feeble, -fickle, finite, and fading.’”[A] - -March Gilchrist had his say anent the sample sentence on the way home -from church. He was not connected with the press, and his criticism -went no further than the ears of his somewhat scandalized and decidedly -diverted sister. - -In intuitive anticipation of the reportorial eulogy, he affirmed that -the diction was _not_ incomparable. - -“I heard a Georgia negro preacher beat it all hollow,” he said. -“He began with: ‘THOU art all-sufficient, self-sufficient, and -_in_-sufficient!’” - -“March Gilchrist! How dreadful!” - -They were passing the side windows of the parsonage, which opened upon -a quiet cross street. May’s laugh rippled through the bowed shutters -of the dining room behind which sat a girl in a blue flannel gown, -holding upon her knee and against her shoulder a hunchbacked child with -a weirdly wise face. They were watching the people coming home from -church. - -“A religious mountebank is the most despicable of humbugs,” said -March’s breezy voice, as he whirled a pebble from the walk with his -cane, and watched it leap to the middle of the street. - -Hester twisted her neck to look into Hetty’s eyes. - -“They are discussing their beloved and eloquent pastor! My heart goes -out to those two people!” - - - - -CHAPTER III. - - -“HETTY! do you ever think what it would be like to be engaged?” - -“Engaged to do what?” said Hetty lazily. - -She lay as in a cradle, in a grassy hollow under an apple tree—the -Anak of his tribe. The branches, freighted with pink and white blooms, -dipped earthward until the extreme twigs almost brushed the grass, and -shut in the two girls arbor-wise. The May sun warmed the flowers into -fragrance that hinted subtly of continual fruitiness. Hester said she -tasted, rather than smelled it. Bees hummed in the boughs; through the -still blandness of the air a light shower of petals fell silently over -Hetty’s blue gown, settled upon her hair, and drifted in the folds of -the afghan covering Hester’s lower limbs. - -Homer had discovered in the garden fence a gate opening into this -orchard, and confidentially revealed the circumstance to Hetty who, -in time, imparted it to Hester, and conspired with her to explore the -paradise as soon as the boys and Fanny were safely off to Sunday School. - -“Engaged to do what?” Hetty had said in such good faith that she opened -dreamy eyes wide at the accent of the reply. - -“To be married, of course, Miss Ingenuous! What else could I mean?” - -“Oh-h-h!” still more indolently. “I don’t know that I ever thought far -in that direction. Why should I?” - -“Why shouldn’t you, or any other healthy and passably good-looking -girl, expect to be engaged—and be married—and be happy? It is time you -began to take the matter into consideration, if you never did before.” - -“There is usually another party to such an arrangement.” - -“And why not in your case?” - -“Where should he come from? Is he to drop from the moon? Or out of the -apple tree”—stirred to the simile by the flick of a tinted petal upon -her nose. “Or am I to stamp him out of the earth, _à la_ Pompey? And -what could I do with him if he were to pop up like a fairy prince, at -this or any other instant?” - -“Fall in love with him, and marry him out-of-hand! I _wish_ you would, -Hetty, and take me to live with you! That is one of my dearest dreams. -I have thought it all out when the backache keeps me awake at night, -and when I get quiet dreamy hours by day, when _he_ is off pastoraling, -and the boys and Fan are at school, and baby Annie is asleep, and I -can hear Tony crooning ‘Sweet Julia’ so far away I can’t distinguish -the frightful words, and you are going about the house singing to -yourself, and blessing every room you enter like a shifting sunbeam.” - -“Why, my pet, you are talking poetry!” - -Hetty raised her head from the arms crossed beneath it, and stared -at the child. The light, filtered through the mass of scented color, -freshened her complexion and rounded the outlines of her face; her -solemn eyes looked upward; her hands lay together, like two lily -petals, upon the coverlet. Unwittingly she was a living illustration of -her father’s theory of the Reality of the Unseen. - -“No!” she answered quietly. “Not poetry, for it may easily come to pass -that you should have a husband and home of your own. I do dream poems -sometimes, if poetry is clouds and sunsets and music nobody else hears, -and voices—and love words—and bosh!” - -Hetty could not help laughing. - -“Tell me some of the glory and the bosh! This is a beautiful -confessional, Hester; I wish we had nothing to do for a week but to lie -on the grass, and look at the blue sky through apple blossoms.” - -“Amen!” breathed her companion softly, and for a while they were so -quiet that the robins, nesting upon the other side of the tree, began -to whisper together. - -“Bosh and my poetry dreams are synonyms,” resumed Hester, her voice -curiously mellowed from its accustomed sharpness. “Other people may -say as much of theirs. I _know_ it of mine. There’s the difference. -All the same they are as sweet as the poisoned honey we were reading -about the other day, which the bees make from poppy fields. And while I -suck it, I forget. My romance has no more foundation than the story of -the Prince and the Little White Cat. Mine is a broken-backed cat, but -she comes straight in my dreams after her head is cut off. You don’t -suppose she minded _that_! She must have been so impatient when the -Prince hesitated that she was tempted to grab his sword and saw through -her own neck. You see she recollected what she had been. The woman’s -soul was cooped up in the cat’s skin. And I was eight years old when -the evil spell was laid upon _me_!” - -The tears in Hetty’s throat hindered response. Never until this -instant, with all her love for her dependent charge, her knowledge -of her sufferings, and the infinite pity these engendered, had the -deprivations Hester’s affliction involved seemed so horribly, so -atrociously cruel. The listener’s nails dug furrows in her palms, -she set her teeth, and looking up to the unfeeling smile of the deaf -and dumb heavens, she said something in her heart that would have -left faint hope of her eternal weal in the orthodox mind of her -brother-in-law. - -Hester was speaking again. - -“Every painter has his models. I have had mine. I dress each one up and -work the wires to make him or her go through the motions—my motions, -mind you! not theirs, poor puppets! When the dress gets shabby, or the -limbs rickety, I throw them upon the rubbish heap, and look out for -another. - -“I got a new one last Thursday. The man who jumped over me in the -station, and afterward carried me into the restaurant (such _strong_, -steady arms as he had!) is a real hero! Oh, I am building a noble -castle to put him in! He lives near here, for he passes the house three -times a day. His eyes have a smile in them, and his mustache droops -just like Charles I.’s, and he walks with a spring as if he were so -full of life he longed to leap or fly, and his voice has a ring and -resonance like an organ. The pretty girl that called him ‘Mark’ to-day, -is his sister.” - -“Why not his wife?” - -“Wife! Don’t you suppose I know the cut of a married man, even on the -street? He hasn’t the first symptom of the craft. He doesn’t swagger, -and he doesn’t slink. A husband does one or the other.” - -Hetty laughed out merrily. There was a sense of relief in Hester’s -return to the sarcastic raillery habitual to her, which made her mirth -the heartier. - -A man crossing the lower slope of the orchard heard the bubbling peal, -and looked in the direction of the big tree. So did his attendant, a -huge St. Bernard dog. He tore up the acclivity, bellowing ferociously. -Before his master’s shout arose above his baying he was almost upon the -girls. At the instant of alarm, Hetty had thrown herself before the -wheeled chair and the helpless occupant, and faced the foe. Crouching -slightly, as for a spring, her face blenched, eyes wide and steady, she -stood in the rosy shadow of the branches, both hands outthrown to ward -off the bounding assailant. - -“What a pose!” was March’s first thought, professional instinct -asserting itself, concerned though he was at the panic for which he was -responsible. In the same lightning flash came—“I’ll paint that girl -some day!” - -“Don’t be frightened!” he was calling, as he ran. “He will not hurt -you!” - -Hester had shrieked feebly, and lay almost swooning among her cushions. -Hetty had not uttered a sound, but, as the master laid his hand on the -dog’s collar her knees gave way under her, and she sank down by the -cripple’s chair, her head resting upon the edge of the wicker side. She -was fighting desperately for composure, or the semblance of it, and did -not look up when March began to apologize. - -“I am awfully sorry,” he panted, ruefully penitent. “And so will -Thor—my dog, you know—be when he understands how badly he has behaved. -He is seldom so inhospitable.” - -The words brought up Hetty’s head and wits. - -“Are we trespassing?” she queried anxiously. “We thought that this -orchard was a part of the parsonage grounds, or we would not have come. -It is we who should beg your pardon.” - -“By no means!” He had taken off his hat, and in his regretful sincerity -looked handsomer than when his eyes had smiled, concluded Hester, whose -senses were rapidly returning. “My name is Gilchrist, and my father’s -grounds adjoin those of the parsonage. He had the gate cut between your -garden and the orchard, that the clergyman’s family might be as much at -home here as ourselves. I hope you will forgive my dog’s misdemeanor, -and my heedlessness in not seeing you before he had a chance to -frighten you.” - -Summoning something of his father’s gracious stateliness, he continued, -more formally: - -“Have I the pleasure of addressing Miss Wayt?” - -Bow and question were for Hetty. Hester’s voice, thin and dissonant, -replied with old-fashioned decorum of manner, but in unconventional -phrase: - -“_I_ have the misfortune to be Miss Wayt. This is Mr. Wayt’s wife’s -sister, Miss Alling.” - -It was a queer speech, made queerer by the prim articulation the -author deemed proper in the situation. March tried not to see that -the subject of the second clause of the introduction flushed deeply, -while her mute return of his bow had a serious natural grace he thought -charming. When he begged that she would resume her seat, the little -roguish curl at the corner of her lips, which he recollected as archly -demure, came into play. - -“We have no chairs to offer, but if you do not object to the best we -have to give”—finishing the half invitation by seating herself upon a -grass-grown root, jutting out near the trunk of the tree. - -“The nicest carpet and lounge in the world,” affirmed March, sitting -down upon the sward. “Odd, isn’t it, that American men don’t know -how to loll on the turf as English do? Our climate is ever so much -drier and we have three times as many fair days in the year, and some -of us seem to be as loosely put together. But we don’t understand -how to fling ourselves down all in a heap that doesn’t look awkward -either, and be altogether at ease in genuine Anglican fashion. Even if -there are ladies present, an Englishman lies on the grass, and it is -considered ‘quite the thing, don’t you know?’ They say the imported -American never gets the hang of it, try as he will. A man must be born -on the other side or he can’t learn it.” - -“There may be something in your countryman’s born reverence for women -that prevents him from mastering the accomplishment,” said Hetty, a -little dryly. - -March bowed gayly. - -“Thank you for the implied compliment in the name of American men! I am -glad you are getting the benefit of this perfect May day. There, at any -rate, we have the advantage of the Mother Country, if she _has_ given -us the Maypole and ‘The Queen of the May.’ This is a sour and dubious -month in Merry England.” - -“You have been there, then?” - -Hester said it abruptly, as she said most things, but the eagerness -dashed with longing that gave plaintive cadence to the question, caught -March’s ear. - -“Several times. I sailed from Liverpool twelve days ago. I was just off -the steamer, and may be a little unsteady on my feet, when I collided -with your carriage last Thursday, and you generously forgave me.” - -The girl was regarding him with frank admiration that would have -annoyed an ultra-sensitive man, and amused, while it flattered, a vain -one. - -“It must be _heavenly_ to travel in the country of Scott and Dickens!” -she said, quaintly naïve. “How you must have enjoyed it!” - -“I did, exceedingly, but less on account of ‘David Copperfield’ and -‘Nicholas Nickleby’ than because, as a boy, I reveled in English -history, and that my mother’s father, for whom I was named, was -English. You should hear my sister talk of her first journey across -England. She would say every little while in an awed undertone: ‘This -is just _living_ Dickens!’ You have not met her yet, I think?” to Hetty. - -“No.” - -The tone was reserved, without being rude. He could have fancied -that sadness underlay civil regret. Perhaps May had been mistaken in -postponing her call until the parsonage was in perfect order. - -“She means to call very soon. She thought it would be unneighborly -to intrude before you had recovered from the fatigue of removal and -travel. Mr. Wayt was my father’s guest for a day or two, you know, -before your arrival, and I have since had the pleasure of meeting him -several times and of hearing him preach this morning.” - -In the pause that succeeded the speech the church bell began to ring -for afternoon service. Under the impression that he had lost caste in -not attending upon the second stated ordinance of the sanctuary he -offered a lame explanation. - -“I am afraid I am not an exemplary church-goer. But I find one -sermon as much as I can digest and practice from Sunday to Sunday. -My mother doesn’t like to hear me say it. She thinks such sentiments -revolutionary and uncanonical, and no doubt she is right.” - -“Anybody is excusable for preferring to worship ‘under green apple -boughs’ to-day,” observed Hester, with uncharacteristic tact. “You see -we have always lived in cities, great and small. We have been used to -brick walls and narrow, high houses, with paved backyards, with cats on -the fences”—disgustfully—“and wet clothes flapping in your eyes if you -tried to pretend to ruralize. Everybody hasn’t as much imagination as -Young John Chivery, who said the flapping of sheets and towels in his -face ‘made him feel like he was in groves.’” - -“Fairhill has preserved the rural element remarkably well, when one -considers her tens of thousands of inhabitants, her water supply and -electric lights,” said March; “and luckily one doesn’t need much -imagination to help out his enjoyment of the world on this Sunday -afternoon.” - -His tone was so respectfully familiar, his bearing so easy, the girls -forgot that he was a stranger. - -“It wasn’t your Dickens who said it, but you can, perhaps, tell me who -did write a verse that has been running in my unpoetical brain ever -since I entered your fairy bower,” he said by and by. - - “The orchard’s all a-flutter with pink; - Robins’ twitter, and wild bees’ humming - Break the song with a thrill to think - How sweet is life when summer is coming. - -“That is the way it goes, I believe. It is a miracle for me to -recollect so much rhyme. The robins and bees must have helped me out.” - -“I wish I knew who did that!” sighed Hester. “Oh! what it must be to -write poetry or paint pictures!” - -March’s glance of mirthful suspicion changed at sight of the knotted -brow and wistful eyes. - -“One ought to be thankful for either gift,” he said quietly. “I was -thinking just now how I should like to make a picture of what I saw as -I ran up the hill. May I try some day?” - -Hetty drew herself up and looked inquiry. Hester’s hands fluttered, -painful scarlet throbbed into her cheeks. - -“Can you draw? Do you paint? Are you an _artist_?” bringing out the -last word in an excited whisper. - -March was too much touched to trifle with her agitation. “I try to be,” -he answered simply, almost reverently. - -“And would you—may I—would it annoy you—Hetty! ask him. You know what I -want!” - -“My darling!” The cooing, comforting murmur was passing sweet. “Be -quiet for one moment, and you can put what you want to say into words.” -As the fragile form quivered under her hand, a light seemed to dawn -upon her. “You see, Mr. Gilchrist, my niece loves pictures better than -anything else and—she never has met a real, live artist before,” the -corners of her mouth yielding a little. “She has had a great longing to -know how the beautiful things that delight her are made—how they grow -into being. Is that it, dear?” - -Hester nodded, her eyes luminous with tears she strove to drive back. - -March struck his hands together with boyish glee. - -“I have it! I will make a study of ‘orchards all a-flutter with pink,’ -and you shall see me put in every stroke. May I begin to-morrow? -Blossom-time is short. How unspeakably jolly! May we, Miss Alling?” - -The proposition was so ingenuous, and Hester’s imploring eyes were so -eloquent, that the referee turned pale under the heart-wrench demur -cost her. - -“Dear!” she said soothingly, to the invalid, “it would not be right -to promise until we have consulted your mother. Mr. Gilchrist is -very kind. Indeed”—raising an earnest face whose pallor set him to -wondering—“you must believe that we do appreciate your goodness in -offering her this great happiness. But—Hester, love, we _must_ ask -mamma.” - -March had seen Mrs. Wayt in church that forenoon, and been struck anew -with her delicate loveliness. Could she, with that Madonna face, be -a stern task-mistress? With the rise of difficulties, his desire to -paint the picture increased. That this unfortunate child, with the -artist soul shining piteous through her big eyes, should see the fair -creation grow under his hand had become a matter of moment. As poor -Hester’s effort to express acquiescence or dissent died in a hysterical -gurgle, and a shamed attempt to hide her hot face with her hands, the -tender-hearted fellow arose to take leave. - -“I won’t urge my petition until you have had time to think it over. -But I don’t withdraw it. May I bring my sister over to see you both? -She is fond of pictures, too, and dabbles in watercolors on her own -account. Excuse me—and Thor—for our unintentionally unceremonious -introduction to your notice, and thank you for a delightful half-hour. -Good-afternoon!” - -Hetty looked after him, as his elastic stride measured off the orchard -slope—a contradiction of strange mortification and strange delight -warring within her. It was as if a young sun-god had paused in the -entrance of a gruesome cave, and talked familiarly with the prisoners -chained to the walls. With all her resolute purpose to oppose the -intimacy which she foresaw must arise from the proposed scheme of -picture-making, she could not ignore the straining of her spirit upon -her bonds. - -“Oh!” wailed Hester, lowering her hands, “I didn’t mean to be so -foolish! I will be brave and sensible, but you know, Hetty, I have -never had anything like this offered to me before. It is like dying -with thirst with water before one’s eyes, to give it up. And when he -said: ‘Blossom-time is short,’ it rushed over me that I never had any—I -can never have any. I am just a withered, useless, ugly bud that will -never be a flower.” - -An agony of sobs followed. - -“My precious one!” Hetty’s tears flowed with hers. “Do I ever forget -your sorrows? Are you listening, dear? If possible, you shall have this -one poor little pleasure. You must trust your mother’s love and mine, -to deny you nothing we can safely give. If we must refuse, it is only -bearing a little more!” - -The going out of the May day was calm as with remembered happiness, -but the chill that lurks in the imperfectly tempered air of the -newborn season, awaiting the departure of the sun, was so pronounced -by seven o’clock that Hetty called upon Homer to build a fire in the -sitting room, where she and Hester were sitting. The children were -sent to bed at eight o’clock. Mrs. Wayt was lying down in her chamber -with one of her frequent headaches, rallying her forces against her -husband’s return from the long walk he found necessary “to work off the -cumulative electricity unexpended by the day’s services.” - -“I belong to the peripatetic school of philosophy,” he said to a -parishioner whom he met two miles from home. - -“He was forging ahead like a trained prize-fighter,” reported the -admiring pewholder to a friend. “Nothing of the sentimental weakling -about _him_!” - -March and May Gilchrist, pausing upon the parsonage porch, at sound of -a voice singing softly and clearly within, saw, past a half-drawn sash -curtain, Hetty rocking back and forth in the firelight, with Hester in -her arms. The cripple’s head was thrown back slightly, bringing into -relief the small, fine-featured face and lustrous eyes. Her wealth -of hair waved and glittered with the motion of the chair like spun -gold. It might have been a young mother crooning to her baby in a sort -of chant, the words of which were distinctly audible to brother and -sister, the nearest window being lowered a few inches from the top. -Hester loved heat and light as well as a salamander, but could not -breathe freely in a closed room. To-night was one of her “bad times,” -and nothing but Hetty’s singing could win her a moderate degree of ease. - - “Blow winds!” [sang Hetty] - “And waft through all the rooms - The snowflakes of the cherry blooms! - Blow winds! and bend within my reach - The fiery blossoms of the peach! - - “O Life and Love! O happy throng - Of thoughts whose only speech is song! - O heart of man! canst thou not be - Blithe as the air is, and as free?” - -March moved forward hastily to ring the bell. He felt like an -eavesdropping spy upon the unconscious girls. Without any knowledge of -the isolation and mutual dependence of the two, the visitors perceived -pathos in the scene—in the clinging helplessness of one and the -brooding tenderness expressed in the close clasp and bent head of the -other. - -The singing ceased instantly at the sound of the gong. “By George! what -an alarm!” muttered March, discomfited by the clang succeeding his -touch. “And I gave it such a genteel pull!” - -His attitude was apologetic still, when Mr. Wayt’s wife’s sister opened -the door. - -“I seem fated to be heralded noisily!” he said regretfully. “I had as -little idea of the tone of your doorbell as you had of the power of -Thor’s lungs. Miss Alling, let me introduce my sister! She gave me no -peace until I brought her to see you.” - -May extended her hand with unmistakable intention of good fellowship. - -“I scolded him for stealing a march upon me this afternoon while I, -like a dutiful Christian, was in church,” she said. Her smile was her -brother’s, her blithe, refined tones her own. “But I mean to improve -my advantages the more diligently on that account.” - -The genial persiflage had bridged over the always awkward transit from -front door to drawing room when the host is the conductor. It was the -more embarrassing in this case because the two meagerly furnished -parlors were unlighted except as a glimmer from the hall gas added to -the sense of space and emptiness. - -“Allow me!” March took from Hetty’s fingers the match she had lighted, -and reached up to the chandelier. The white illumination flashed upon -a pleasing study of an up-looking manly face, with honest, hazel eyes, -drooping mustache, and teeth that gleamed in the smile attending the -question: “I hope your niece is none the worse for her fright?” - -“Thank you! I think not. She is rather nervous than timid, and not -usually afraid of dogs.” - -“I hope we can see her to-night?” May took up the word. “My brother -says she is such a dainty, bright little creature that I am impatient -to meet her.” - -Hetty’s eyes glowed with gratitude and surprise. No other visitor -had ever named the afflicted daughter of the house in this tone. The -frank, cordial praise kept back no implication of pitying patronage. -Mr. Wayt’s wife’s sister had knocked about the world of churches and -parishes long enough to know that the perfect breeding which ignores -deformity without overlooking the deformed is the rarest of social -gifts. In any other circumstances, she would have refused steadfastly -to subject Hester to the scrutiny of a stranger. As it was, she -hesitated visibly. - -“She is seldom able to receive company in the evening. But I will see -how she is feeling to-night.” - -She had remarkable self-possession, as March had noted already. She got -herself out of the room without mumble or halt. She walked well, and -with a single eye to her destination, with no diffident conjectures as -to how she moved or looked. March had keen perceptions and critical -notions upon such points. - -“What an interesting looking girl,” observed May, in an undertone. - -And March, as cautiously—“I hope she will let us see the little one! -She is the jolliest grig you can conceive of.” - -Both tried not to look about them while waiting for the hostess’ -return. The place was forlornly clean, and the new carpets gave forth -the ungoodly smell of oily wool that nothing but time and use can -dissipate. Plaintive efforts to abolish stiffness were evident in -chairs grouped in conversational attitudes near the summer-fronted -fireplace, and a table pulled well away from the wall, with books and -photographs lying about on it. March could fancy Hetty doing these -things, then standing disheartened, in the waste of moquette, under the -consciousness that there was not one-fifth enough furniture for the -vast rooms. At this point, he spoke again subduedly: - -“What possessed the church to build these desolate barns and call them -family parlors?” - -May was a parish worker, and looked her surprise. - -“A parsonage must have plenty of parlor room for church sociables.” - -“Then those who use them ought to furnish them. Or, say! it wouldn’t be -amiss to keep them up as show places are abroad—by charging a shilling -admission fee.” - -Hetty’s return saved him from deserved rebuke. - -“My niece will be very happy to see you,” she reported, rather -formally, her eyes darkling into vague trouble or doubt as she said -it. On the way across the hall she added hurriedly to May: “We never -overpersuade her to meet strangers. In this case there was no need.” - -May’s gloved hand sought hers with a swift, involuntary gesture. It was -the merest touch that emphasized the low “Thank you!” but both struck -straight home to Hetty’s heart. The Gilchrist tact was inimitable. - -Hester lay upon a lounge, propped into a sitting posture with pillows. -Her hair and drapings were cunningly disposed. A casual eye would not -have penetrated the secret of the withered limbs and curved spine. A -red spot like a rose-leaf rested upon each cheek, her eyes shone, and -her silent smile revealed small, perfect teeth like a two-year-old -baby’s. She was so winsome that May stooped impulsively to kiss her as -she would a pretty child. - -“I came to tell you how angry we all are—my father, mother, and I—with -my brother and his dog for scaring you to-day,” she said, seating -herself on an ottoman by the lounge, and retaining hold of the wee hand -until it ceased to twitch and burn in hers. “I did think Thor knew -better! His tail committed innumerable apologies to me when I told him -I hoped to see you this evening.” - -March and Hetty, chatting together near the crackling wood fire, caught -presently sentences relative to colors and pencils and portfolios, -and slackened their talk to listen. May had elicited the confession -that Hester’s brush was a solace and the only pastime she had “except -reading and Hetty’s music.” - -“But it’s only trying with me,” said the tuneless voice. “I have had no -teacher except Hetty.” - -“My dear Hester!” cried the person named. “Be candid, and say ‘worse -than none!’” - -Hester colored vividly at this evidence that her confidences to her -new friend were shared by others, but rallied gallantly to support her -assertion. - -“She doesn’t think she has any talent for drawing, but she took -lessons for three months that she might teach me how to shade and -manage perspective, and use water colors. She and I amuse ourselves -with caricatures and all that, and I make drawings—very poor ones—to -illustrate poems and stories, while she reads to me, and I do a -little—you can’t imagine _how_ little and how badly!—in color. Just -bits, you know—grass and mossy sticks, and brambles running over -stones, and frost-bitten leaves—and such things. Hetty is always on the -lookout for studies for me. I cannot sit up long enough to undertake -anything more important if I had the skill. And I shouldn’t dare -venture to copy anything really beautiful—such as apple blossoms,” with -a short-lived smile at March that left a plait between her eyes. - -Intercepting Hetty’s apprehensive glance, he smiled in return, but -forbore to introduce the petition left with them that afternoon. May -had been stringent on this point. - -“Don’t allude to it this evening!” she enjoined upon him. “Nothing -is in worse taste than to use a first call as a lever for selfish -ends. I’ll run in to-morrow morning, and try my powers of persuasion. -Meantime, get your canvas and palette ready.” - -Hetty’s spirits rose when she perceived that the exciting topic was -avoided. The four were in the swing of merry converse when the clock -struck nine, and, as if he had waited for the signal, Mr. Wayt walked -in. March, who sat by Hetty, saw her stiffen all over, and her eyes -sink to the floor. Hester began to cough irrepressibly—a hard, dry -hack, to quiet which Hetty went to get a glass of water. The pallor -of the pastor’s face had a bilious tinge; his eyes were sunken, his -whole appearance haggard and wild. Yet his greeting to the guests -was effusive, his flow of language unabated. Neither daughter nor -sister-in-law offered to second him. Hester’s roses faded, the ever -present fold between her eyebrows was almost a scowl. Hetty was coldly -imperturbable, and the Gilchrists soon made a movement to go. - -Mr. Wayt stepped forward airily to accompany them to the door, Hetty -falling into the rear and parting from them with a grave bow upon the -threshold of the sitting room. - -“My regards to your estimable parents,” said the host on the porch, -his pulpit tone carrying far through the night. “A clerical friend -of mine dubbed Judge Aaron Hollingshed of Chicago, an active elder -in his church, and his wife, who was a true mother in Israel—‘Aaron -and _her_!’ I already, in spirit, apply the like titles to Judge and -Mrs. Gilchrist. It is such spirited support as theirs that upholds the -hands of the modern Moses against the Amaleks of the day. Thank you for -calling, and good-night to you both.” - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - - -MAY GILCHRIST had not overestimated her persuasive powers. A call on -Mrs. Wayt, undertaken as soon as she had seen, from her watch window, -the tall, black figure of the clergyman issue from his gate, and -take his way down-town, won his wife’s sanction to the presence of -her sister and daughter in the orchard that afternoon to watch Miss -Gilchrist’s brother upon a sketch he proposed to begin before the apple -blossoms fell. - -“I shall be there, of course,” the young diplomatist mentioned -casually. “I am studying art in an amateurish way, under my brother’s -direction. I dearly enjoy seeing him paint. His hand is so firm and -rapid, and his eye so true! Your daughter tells me she is fond of -drawing. March and I would be only too happy to render any assistance -in our power to forward her studies in that line.” - -“My sister has spoken to me of your kindness and his,” Mrs. Wayt -answered thoughtfully. “She told me also that she had referred the -question of accepting Mr. Gilchrist’s generous proposition to me. -Hesitation seems ungracious, but my poor child is very excitable, and -in nerve so unfit to work long at anything that I have doubted the -expediency of allowing her to become interested in her favorite pursuit -to the extent necessary for the acquisition of any degree of skill.” - -Nevertheless May went home victorious, and Mrs. Wayt, disquiet in eye -and soul, sought her sister and detailed the steps of the siege and the -surrender. - -“Refusal was impossible without risking the displeasure of influential -parishioners, or exciting suspicions that might be more hurtful,” she -concluded. - -Hetty was cleaning silver in the dining room. Over her buff gingham -she wore a voluminous bib apron; housewifely solicitude informed her -whole personality. Her hair was turned back from her temples, and the -roughened roll showed rust-red lights in a bar of sunshine crossed by -her head as she moved. The lines of her face had what Hester called -“their forenoon _sag_,” a downward inclination that signified as -much care as she could bear. She rubbed a tablespoon until she could -see each loosened hair and drooping line in it, before unclosing her -thinned lips to reply. Even then her speech was reluctant. - -“The child is yours, Frances—not mine, dearly as I love her. I -understand as well as you how cruel it seems to deny her what is, in -itself, a harmless pleasure. Still, we have agreed up to this time -that it is inexpedient to give people the run of the house, and this -looks like a straight road to that.” - -She did not glance up in speaking, or afterward. Her accent was -unimpassioned, her thoughts apparently engrossed in the business of -bringing polish out of tarnish. - -“There are circumstances that may alter cases—and premises,” returned -Mrs. Wayt deprecatingly. “I cannot but feel that we may begin to argue -and determine from a different standpoint. I wish you could be a little -more sanguine, dear.” - -“You don’t wish it more than I do, sister! I wasn’t built upon the -‘Hope on, Hope ever’ plan. My utmost effort in that direction is to -make the best of what cannot be bettered. And since you have said ‘Yes’ -to this painting scheme we will think only of what a boon it will be -to Hester. The new cook is a more imminent difficulty. This house is -large, and the salary excellent, I admit, but it would have been wise -to wait until our arrival before engaging her.” - -She knew that her sister was as much surprised as herself at Mr. Wayt’s -commission to Mrs. Gilchrist, also that the wife would not plead this -ignorance in self-defense. - -“Homer, you, and I could have divided the housework, as we did in -other places,” continued Hetty, attacking a row of forks, now that the -spoons were done with, “and we could hire a woman by the day to wash -and iron. The cook may justify Mrs. Gilchrist’s recommendation. I dare -say she will. Only—but I’ll not utter another croak to-day! You are -an angelic optimist, and I am given over to pessimism of the opposite -type. We will accept Mary Ann and the rest of the goods the Fairhill -gods provide, including the open-air studio, eat, drink, and be merry, -and make up our minds that to-morrow we _won’t_ die! I’d seal the -covenant with a kiss if I were quite certain that I am not silicon-ed -up to the eyes.” - -Mrs. Wayt bore a pained and heavy heart to the nursery and her mending -basket. She loved Hetty fondly, and with what abundant reason no one -knew so well as the heroic wife of a selfishly eccentric man. She -trusted her sister’s sterling sense, and in most instances was willing -to abide by her judgment, but there were radical differences in their -views upon certain subjects. The very pains Hetty took to avert open -discussion of what lay like a carking blight upon the spirits of both -caused friction and rawness, and the feigned levity with which she -closed the door upon the topic would have been insult from anyone -else. She had no alternative but to submit, no help but in the Refuge -of all pure souls tempted almost out of measure by the sins and -perversities of those dearest to them. Upon the knees of her heart she -besought wisdom and comfort, and—sweet satire upon the pious duty of -self-examination!—forgiveness for her intolerance of others’ foibles! - -Baby Annie was building block houses upon the floor, and filling them -with dandelions. Homer had brought a small basketful up to her just -before Mrs. Wayt was summoned to her visitor, and had helped the -child erect a castle while the mother was below. Upon her entrance, -he shuffled out as sheepishly as if she had detected him rifling the -pockets of her husband’s Sunday clothes. These lay over a chair by -her work table. While she prayed, her fingers plied the needle upon a -ripped lining and two loose buttons. - -“See, mamma,” entreated the little one. “So many dandeyions! Annie make -house for dee papa!” The mother stooped to kiss her; a tear splashed -upon the mass of wilting golden disks packed into papa’s treasure -chamber. At the same age Hester had prattled of “dee papa,” and was his -faithful shadow wherever he would allow her to follow. He had been too -busy of late years and too distraught by various anxieties to take much -notice of the younger children, but he had made a pet of little Hester. -He used to call her “Lassie with glory crowned,” as he twined and -burnished her sunny curls around his fingers. Annie was a loving little -darling, but neither so sprightly nor so beautiful as her first-born -at the same age. She worshiped her father, and he was beginning to -recognize and be pleased by her preference. - -“Poor Percy!” - -“Papa sick?” asked the child, startled by the ejaculation. - -“No, my darling. Papa is very well. Mamma is only sorry! sorry! -_sorry!_” - -“Sorry! sorry! _sorry!_ Mamma sorry! sorry! _sorry!_” While she crammed -the yellow flowers into the castle, the baby made the words into a -song, catching intonation and emphasis as they had escaped her mother’s -lips. - -Dandelions dying were as fair to her as dandelions golden-crisp in the -meadow grass. A drop of blood, red from the heart, would mean no more -than a coral bead. - -At three o’clock, Hester’s chair was drawn by Homer into the orchard. -The painter, his sister, his dog, and his easel were already in place. -March had sketched in the arbor, and indicated the figures sufficiently -to reveal the purpose of the picture. - -Blossom-time is short, but fortunately the weather that week was -phenomenally equable for May. In eight days the painting was finished. -The reader may have noticed it at the Academy exhibition the next -winter, where it was catalogued as “The Defense.” Hetty’s portrait and -pose were admirably rendered, and the bound of the big St. Bernard was -fiercely spirited. But the wonder of the group was the occupant of the -low wicker carriage. - -“My baby daughter!” faltered Mrs. Wayt, on first seeing it, and no more -words would come. - -To herself and to March, later and confidentially, Hetty spoke of it as -“Hester glorified.” At times, she was almost afraid to look at it. It -was the face of an infant, but an infant whose soul had outleaped the -limitations of years. The filmy gold of her hair lay, cloudlike, about -her, her perfectly molded hands were clasped in the fearless delight of -ignorance as she leaned forward to welcome the enemy her custodian was -ready to beat off. It was Hester in every lineament. - -Even the baby knew it. But it was Hester as her brothers and sisters -would never see her unless among the fadeless blossoms of the world -where crooked things will be made straight. - -March Gilchrist was not poetical except with his brush. It was his -tongue, his song, his story. Through it Hetty Alling first learned to -know him, yet they were never strangers after that earliest meeting -in the orchard. She was a capital sitter, and he lingered over her -portrait as he dared not over Hester’s for fear of wearying her. While -Hetty posed, and he painted, May and Hester became warm friends. Miss -Gilchrist had her own sketchbook, and March improvised an easel for -it, which was attached to the wheeled chair, in desk fashion. Under -May’s tutelage Hester made a study of apple blossoms, and another of -plumy grasses which the overlooker praised with honest warmth, and -promised to keep forever as souvenirs of the “pink-and-white week.” -The robins were so used to the sight of the social group that they -exchanged tender confidences freely overhead, as to summer plans and -prospective birdlings. Thor’s massive bulk crushed, daily, the same -area of sunny turf, and he may have had canine views as to the folly of -working when the sun was warm and the sod softest. The orchard, where -every tree was a mighty bouquet, was an impervious screen between the -party and the streets and such windows as commanded the slope. - -“It is paradise, with rows upon rows of shining, fluffy angels to keep -out the rest of the world!” said Hester, on the afternoon of the last -sitting. “I’m glad it is we who are inside! And not another soul!” - -March was dabbling his brushes in a wide-mouthed bottle of turpentine, -preparatory to putting them up. - -“Nothing exclusive about her—is there?” he laughed to Hetty, in mock -admiration. - -She answered in the same vein: - -“She was always an incorrigible aristocrat!” - -“Say a beggarly aristocrat, and free your mind!” retorted Hester -good-humoredly. “I don’t care who knows it. Who doesn’t prefer a select -coterie to a promiscuous ‘crush’? I’d like to dig out this orchard -just as I would a square of turf, and set it down in the middle of the -South Seas (wherever they may be) where the trees wouldn’t shed their -blossoms the whole year round, and we four—with the robins and Thor -thrown in ornamentally—might paint and talk and live forever and a day. -I used to wonder what answer I would make to the fairy who offered -three wishes—but I am quite ready for her now. I’d fuse them all into -one!” - -“Are you sure? Going! Going! the last call! _Gone!_” cried March, -bringing down his biggest brush, _à la_ auctioneer’s hammer, upon -Thor’s head. - -“Gone it is!” responded Hester, folding her tiny hands upon her heart, -and closing her eyes in an ecstasy of satisfaction. “Let nobody speak -for five minutes. (Look at your watch, Mr. Gilchrist!) For five minutes -we will make believe that the deed is done, and we are translated. I -hear the surf on the shores of the - - “Dear little isle of our own, - Where the winds never sigh, and the skies never weep. - -“Hush!” - -They humored this one of her caprices, as they had others. She was full -of fancies, some odd, some ghastly, some graceful. Even practical May -yielded obedience to the mandate, and, laying her head against the -bole of the tree, met the bright eye of the mother robin peering over -the edge of her nest with what May chose to interpret as a wink of -intelligent amusement. - -“She asked me as plainly as dumb show could ask, who would provide -three meals a day for the happy exclusives, and, when I alluded to -breadfruit trees and beefsteak geraniums, wanted to know where ovens -and gridirons would come from,” said May afterward; “That formed the -basis of _my_ five-minute reverie.” - - My soul, to-day, - Is far away, - Sailing the Vesuvian bay; - My winged boat, - A bird afloat, - Swims ’round the purple peaks remote. - -So runs the poem, between the lines of which might be written the -exultant, “_Absent from the body!_” Hester’s soul had the poet’s power -of “drifting” into absolute idealization. She was used to building with -dream stuff. In the time she had allotted, she lived out a lifetime, to -tell of which would require hours and many pages. That she paid for the -wide sweep into the remote and the never-to-be, by reaction bitterer -than death, never dissuaded her from other voyages of the “winged -boat.” - -For perhaps sixty seconds Hetty, sitting upon the turf by the recumbent -Thor, and idly pulling his shaggy hair, reflected regretfully upon this -certain reflex action; then, as if uttered in her ear, recurred the -words: “Where we four might paint, and talk, and _live_ forever!” - -“We four!” Involuntarily, her eye sped from one to another of the -group; from May’s placid visage and smile upraised to the robin’s -nest, to the face framed about by pale blue cushions—colorless as wax, -the pain lines effaced by the sweet exaltation oftenest seen upon the -forehead and mouth of a dead child—consciousness, rising into majesty, -of having compassed all that is given to the human creature to know, -the full possession of a happy secret to be shared with none who still -bear the weight of mortality. Hetty’s heart slackened its beat while -she gazed upon the motionless features. Her “child” was, for the time, -rapt beyond her reach. Yet it was only “make believe” after all, that -snared her into temporary bliss! - -Before the pang of the thought got firm hold of her she met March -Gilchrist’s eyes, full, and fixed upon hers. - -He lay along the grass, supporting himself on his left elbow, his -cheek upon his hand, the other hand, still holding the big brush, had -fallen across Thor’s back. His eyes were startled, as by an unexpected -revelation, and as her glance touched them, sudden, glad light leaped -from depth to surface. He would not release her regard—not even when -the glow that succeeded the numbness of the thrill stole from limb -to limb, and suffused her face, and all the forceful maiden nature -battled with the magnetic compulsion. The sough of the spring breeze -in the flower-laden branches, likened by Hester to the whispering -surf upon island sands; the humming bees and twittering birds; the -sun-warmed scent of apple blooms and white clover and the sweetbrier -growing just without the canopy of the king apple tree; the faint flush -of light strained through locked masses of blossoms, were, for those -supreme moments, all the world—except that this man—God’s most glorious -creation—spoke to her, although his lips were moveless, and that the -stir of a new and divine life within her heart replied. - -“I am sure the time must be up!” said May yawningly. “Poor Hester is -fast asleep, and my tongue aches with holding it so long.” - -Hester unclosed her eyes slowly, smiled dreamily, and essayed no -denial. March was on his knees, collecting brushes and tubes into his -color box. Hetty was folding a rug so much too heavy for her wrists -that May sprang to seize the other end. - -“Why—are you chilly? Your fingers are like ice!” she exclaimed, as -their hands met. “And how you shiver! I am afraid we have been selfish -in keeping you out of doors so long!” - -The ague shook the mirth out of the nervous laugh with which Hetty -answered: - -“Now that the strain of the week’s suspense and sittings is over, and -the result of our joint labors is a pronounced success, I am a little -tired. The spring is a trifle crude as yet, too,” she subjoined, -speaking more glibly than usual. “By the time the sun reaches the tops -of the trees, we begin to feel the dew fall. Hester, we must go in!” - -March took the handle of the wheeled chair from her. “That is too heavy -for you on the thick grass. May, will you abide by the stuff until I -come back?” - -On every other afternoon, Homer had come down at five o’clock to roll -the carriage up the ascent. Hester lay among the pillows, her eyes -again shut, and the reflection of the happy secret upon her face. Hetty -walked mutely beside her. - -March liked the fine reserve that kept her silent and forbade her to -risk another encounter of glances. She was all womanly, refined in -every instinct. Crushing the young grasses with foot and wheel, and -bowing under the stooping branches, they made their way to the gate in -the parsonage fence. Homer shambled hurriedly down the walk to meet -them. - -“Now”—he stammered, laying hold of the propeller of the chair—“I’d ’a -bin yere sooner, but I had to go downtown on an arrant——” - -“That’s all right!” said March good-naturedly. “I was happy to bring -Miss Wayt up the hill. Good-by, Queen Mab! May I have the honor of -taking you to my home studio to see the picture when it is varnished -and framed?” - -She replied by a gentle inclination of the head, and the same joyous -ghost of a smile. She was like one lost in a dream, so deep and -delicious that he will not move or speak for fear of awakening. - -March raised his hat and stood aside to let the carriage pass. As Hetty -would have followed, his offered hand barred the way. - -“One moment, please!” he said, in grave simplicity. “I have to thank -you for some very happy hours. May I, also, thank you for the hope of -many more? I should be sorry if our acquaintanceship were to fall to -the level of social conventionality. We have always been intimate with -our pastor’s family, and mean, unless forbidden, to remain true to -time-honored precedent.” - -If he had alarmed her just now, he would prove that he was no -love-smitten boy, but a purposeful man, who understood himself and was -obedient to law and order. Hetty gathered herself together to emulate -his tranquillity. - -“I especially want to thank _you_, out of her hearing, for the great -kindness you and your sister have showed to my dear little invalid. -She will never forget it, nor shall I. It has been the happiest week -of her life. I think but for your offer to lend her books, and Miss -Gilchrist’s promise to keep on with her painting lessons, that the end -of our sittings would be a serious affliction to her. Please say this -from me to Miss Gilchrist, also. Good-evening!” - -He ran lightly back to May and “the stuff.” He had not obtained -permission to call, but neither was it refused. He liked dignity in a -woman. As he phrased it, “it furred the peach and dusted the plum.” He -was entirely willing to do all the wooing. - -May innocently applied the last touch to his unruffled spirit in their -family confabulation in the library that evening. - -“That Hetty Alling is one of the most delightful girls I ever met!” she -asseverated emphatically. - -“In what respect?” inquired her judicial parent. - -“She has individuality—and of the best sort. She is intelligent, frank, -spirited, and with these sterling qualities, as gentle as a saint -with poor little Hester, who must be a great care to one so young as -Hetty. I mean to do all I can to brighten the monotonous existence the -two girls must lead. From all I can gather without asking impertinent -questions, they are thrown almost entirely upon one another for -entertainment and happiness. It is an oddly assorted household, taken -as a whole.” - -“Talking of originality,” observed March after a meditative puff or -two, “you have it in the niece. It is fearfully sad that such a mind -should be crowded into the body of a dwarf. She dotes upon books. If -you will look up a dozen or so that you think she—or Miss Alling—would -enjoy, I will take them over to-morrow.” - -His mother’s attitude changed slightly, although her face was -unaltered. She seemed to hold her breath to listen, her whole inner -being to quicken into intensity of interest. March, stretched -luxuriously upon the rug, in his usual post-prandial attitude, felt her -sigh. - -“Do I tire you, mother, dear?” he asked. - -“Never, my boy!” - -Nor ever would, although within the hour and with a throe that tested -her reserves of fortitude, she had surrendered the first place in -his heart. The blow was unexpected. The orchard paintings and her -children’s interest in them had seemed entirely professional to her. -March had sketched dozens of girls, and fallen in love with none of -them. With all his warmth of heart and ready sensibilities, he was not -susceptible to feminine charms. As a boy, he became enamored of art too -early to have other flames. Perhaps, with fatuity common to mothers, -she reasoned that with such a home as his he was not likely to be -tempted by visions of domestic bliss under a vine and fig tree yet to -be planted. It is a grievous problem to the maternal intellect why men -who have the best mothers and sisters living and eager to spoil them -with much serving, should be the earliest to marry out of certainty -into hazardous uncertainty. - -When the judge had gone to a political meeting, and May to entertain -visitors in the drawing room, Mrs. Gilchrist divined the purport of -the impending communication. Her fair hand grew clammy in toying with -the short chestnut curls; in the silence through which she could hear -the tinkle of the fountain on the lawn, she wet her dry lips that -they might not be unready with loving rejoinder to what her idol was -preparing to say. She knew March too well to expect conventional -preamble. He was always direct and genuine. She did not start when he -spoke at length. - -“Mamma, darling.” - -“Yes, my son.” - -“It has come to me at last, and in earnest.” - -“I surmised as much.” It was plain to see where he got his dislike of -circuitous methods. “Is it Mrs. Wayt’s sister?” - -“It is Hetty Alling. She is a true, noble woman. I shall try to win her -love. Should I succeed, you will love her for my sake, will you not?” - -“You know that I will. But this is sudden. You have known her less -than a fortnight. And, dear, it is out of the fullness of my love that -I speak—I am afraid that the family is a peculiar one. Be prudent, my -son. You are young, and life is long. I cannot bear that you should -make a mistake here. Should this young girl be all that you think—even -all that I hope to find in her—it is best not to force her decision. -Give her time to study you. Take time, and make opportunities to study -_her_. I ask it because you bear the names of two honorable men—your -father and mine—and because it would break your mother’s heart to see -her only boy unhappy.” - -He drew her hand to his lips—the high-bred hand that would always be -beautiful—and held it there for a moment. She had his pledge. - -Hetty had followed Hester into the house. It was half-past five, and -there were strawberries to be capped for the half-past six dinner. -A parishioner had left a generous supply of Southern berries at the -door while the girls were out, and had taken Mrs. Wayt and her little -daughters to drive. Aunt and niece sat down at a table drawn before -the dining-room window and fell to work. Hester’s high chair brought -her tiny, dexterous fingers to a level with Hetty’s. The task went -forward with silent rapidity, and neither noted the direction of her -companion’s eyes. Hetty seemed to her dazed self to bear about with -her the charmed atmosphere of the nook under the king apple tree. - -The mingled hum of bees and sighing wind and bird-note sounded in her -ears like the confused song of a seashell. Now and then, a ray from -hazel eyes flashed athwart her sight. Brain and heart were in a tumult -that terrified her into questioning her identity. The “winged boat” -of fancy was a novel craft to our woman of affairs. As novel was the -self-absorption that made her unobservant of Hester’s brilliant eyes -and musing smile. As the dainty fingers, just reddened on the tips -by the fruit, picked off and cast aside the green “caps,” Hester’s -regards were fixed upon the Anak of the orchard, and Hetty’s strayed -continually to the same point. Both looked over and beyond a figure -creeping on all-fours down the central alley of the broad, shallow -garden, occasionally crouching low, as if to crop the grass of the -borders. - -Perry, studying his Latin grammar in his mother’s chamber above, awoke -the taciturn dreamers by a shout: - -“Hello, Tony! what _are_ you doing there?” - -He turned his head, not his body, to reply: - -“Now—jes’ lookin’ for somethin’ I dropped.” - -“You’ll drop yourself some day if you don’t watch out!” - -Hester’s unmusical cackle broke forth. - -“Does he look more like a praying mantis—or Nebuchadnezzar?” she said -to her co-worker. “He reminds me of a funny thing I heard a man say -when I was a child of a picture in my catechism of Nebuchadnezzar -feeding in the pasture with a herd of cows. He said it was ‘a fine -study of comparative anatomy.’ The advantage would be on the side of -the cows if Tony were to take the field.” - -Hetty could not but laugh with her in looking at the grotesque object. - -“A short sight is a real affliction—poor fellow! It is to be hoped that -he has ‘dropped’ nothing valuable. I will take the bowl and ‘caps’ into -the kitchen when I have laid you down upon the lounge. Your poor back -must ache by this time.” - -She lingered a few minutes in the kitchen to make sure that everything -was in train for dinner. Her practical knowledge of all departments of -housewifery had already gained for her Mary Ann’s profound respect. The -cook recommended by Mrs. Gilchrist was a tidy body, a capital worker, -and, as she vaunted herself, “one as took an _intrust_ in any family -she lived in.” - -“I ast that pore innocent feller if there was any parsley in the -gairdin,” she chuckled to Hetty, “an’ he said he’d fetch me a bunch to -gairnish me dishes. But I’ve niver laid eyes onto him since. I mistrust -he don’t know one yarb from another. Is he ‘all there,’ d’ye think, -mem?” - -“He is not quick, but he is not an idiot, by any means,” returned his -patroness. “He is a faithful, honest fellow, always thankful for a kind -word, very industrious, and perfectly truthful. We think a great deal -of Homer. I saw him in the garden just now, looking for the parsley. I -will find him and send him in with it. Don’t sugar the berries; we do -that on the table. Keep them in a cool place until they are wanted for -dessert.” - -She strolled down the garden walk, singing low to herself the catching -tune to which she had set the words the Gilchrists had overheard the -Sunday night of their first call: - - O Life and Love! O happy throng - Of thoughts whose only speech is song. - O heart of man! canst thou not be - Blithe as the air is, and as free? - -Homer had vanished from the main alley that led directly to the -orchard, yet she walked on down the whole length of it. Blazing tulips -had supplanted faded hyacinths; the faint green globes of snowball -bushes were bleaching hourly in May sunshine and breeze; the lilac -hedge, lining the post-and-board fence at the bottom of the parsonage -lot, was set thick with purple and mauve and white spikes. - -“Such a dear, old-fashioned garden!” Hetty said, half aloud. “It -reminds me of the one we had at home!” Leaning upon the orchard gate -she abandoned herself to reverie. The robins’ whistle in the apple tree -was low and tender; fleecy clouds, drifting toward the west, began to -blush on the sunward side, the blending odors of a thousand flowers -hung in the air. The word “home” took thought back—thoughts of the -only one she had ever had, and the mother whose death lost it to her. -Since then she had stood alone, and helped weaker people to stand. A -great longing for rest in a love she could claim as all hers drove -tears to her eyes. The longing was not new, but the hope that softened -it was. Hitherto, it had been linked with her mother’s image only. She -wanted her now, as much, and more than ever before, but that she might -sympathize with what she began to comprehend tremblingly. Her mother -would enter into her trembling and her joy. Especially if she had seen -what Hetty never could describe—a look the memory of which renewed the -shy, delicious shame expressed in the blush March had pitied, while -rejoicing in the sight of it. - -Such a boundless, beautiful world opened to her while she stood there, -looking down the blossoming vistas of the orchard—solitary, yet -comforted! She would give rein to imagination for that little while. It -could harm no one, even if it were all a chimera that would not outlast -blossom-time. And must it be _that_? What had glorified other desolate -women’s lives might bless hers. Spring comes to every year, however -long and cruel may have been the winter. Recalling March’s prophecy of -future association, she dared dwell upon visions of his visits, of the -pleasant familiar talks that would make them better acquainted; of the -books they would read and discuss; of the pictures he would paint, with -her looking on. - -“I am not beautiful or accomplished,” she said humbly. “But I would -make myself more worthy of him. I am young and apt. I would make no -mistakes that could mortify him. He should never be ashamed of me, and, -oh!” she stretched her arms involuntarily, as if to draw the unseen -nearer to her heart—“how faithfully I would serve him, forever and -forever.” - -The flight of fancy had indeed been fast and far! - -The tinkle of the dinner bell in Mary Ann’s vigorous hand ended the -fond foolishness abruptly. It was the careful housewife who asked -herself with a guilty start: “What has become of Homer and the parsley?” - -Her first step in returning was upon something hard. She picked it up. - - * * * * * - -Homer met his young mistress at the back door. His weak, furtive eyes -were uneasy before she accosted him. At her incisive tone the red rims -closed entirely over them, his hands, grimy with groping in gravel and -turf, fumbled with one another, and his loose jaw dangled. - -“Homer, you said this afternoon that you had been out to do an errand. -Do not leave the place again without letting me know where you are -going, and for what.” - -“Now,” he began wretchedly, “you wasn’t at home, ’n I thought——” - -“I forbid you to think! I will do the thinking for this family. You -knew where to find me. If you had not, you ought to have waited until I -got back. I mean what I say!” - -He shifted miserably from one foot to the other, and, as she passed -him, cleared his dry throat. - -“Now, ’spose Mrs. Wayt was to send me out in a hurry?” - -“Tell her that you have my orders.” - -“Now——” - -She looked over her shoulder at him, impatient and contemptuous. He had -never seen her so angry with him before. He plucked at the battered -brim of an old military cap clutched in one hand. He had found it in -the garret, and believed that it became him rarely. - -“I was ’bout to say as I hed los’ what I hed——” - -“I found it. Not another word! There is no excuse for you!” - - - - -CHAPTER V. - - -MR. WAYT availed himself of an early opportunity to make known his -intention to take no vacation that year. He “doubted the expediency -of midsummer absences on the part of suburban pastors.” While many -residents of Fairhill went abroad and to fashionable resorts in America -in July and August, a respectable minority was content to remain at -home, and some of the vacated cottages and villas were taken by city -people, to whom the breezy heights and shaded lawns were a blessed -relief from miles of scorching stone and brick. He “foresaw both -foreign and domestic missionary work in his own parish,” he said to his -session in explaining his plans for the summer campaign. - -The resolution was politic and strengthened his hold upon his new -charge. Not to be outdone in generosity, the people redoubled their -affectionate attentions to their spiritual leader. Fruits, flowers, and -all manner of table dainties poured into the parsonage; carriages came -daily to offer airings to Mrs. Wayt and the children, and on the Fourth -of July a pretty phaëton and gentle horse were sent as “a gift to the -mistress of the manse,” from a dozen prominent parishioners. - -“Verily, my cup runneth over.” - -A real tear dropped upon Mr. Wayt’s shirt front as he uttered it -falteringly on the afternoon of the holiday. Yet he had been repeating -the words at seasonable intervals, and more or less moistly, since the -hour of the presentation. - -The Gilchrists were upon the eastern veranda, the embowering vines of -which were beginning to rustle in the sea breeze. All had arisen at the -pastor’s appearance, and March set a chair for him. - -“I have thought, sometimes, that I had some command of language,” he -continued unctuously. “To-day I have no words save those laid to my -use by the Book of books—‘My cup runneth over.’ It is not one of my -foibles to expatiate upon the better ‘days that are no more.’ The trick -is common and cheap. But to you, my best friends, I may venture to -confide that my dear wife and I were brought up in what I have since -been disposed to characterize as ‘mistaken luxury.’ Since the unselfish -saint joined her blameless lot with mine she has never had a carriage -of her own until to-day. I can receive favors done to myself with a -manly show of gratitude. Appreciation of my wife makes a baby of me.” - -“By this time he should be in his second childhood, then, for -everybody likes mamma,” piped a familiar voice from within the French -window of the library. Glancing around with a start that was _not_ -theatrical, he espied his eldest born established at her ease in a -low chair. Her feet were on a stool; she wore a white gown, and May’s -white Chudda shawl covered her from the waist downward; her hair was -a mesh of gold thread that drew to it all the light of the dying day. -May sat on a cushion in the window and linked Hester in her comparative -retirement with the veranda group. - -“Ah, little one, are you there?” said the fond parent playfully. “I -missed you from the dinner table and might have guessed that you could -be nowhere but here.” - -Profound silence ensued, and lasted for a minute. Hester shrank into -herself with a blush visible even in the shadowy interior. - -March and May had gone through orchard and gardens to fetch her an hour -ago. Her father had eaten his evening meal at the same table with her. -In the circumstances there was nothing to say, a fact comprehended by -all except the unconscious offender. - -“I think Mrs. Wayt will find her horse gentle,” said Judge Gilchrist, -in formal civility too palpable to his wife. - -With intelligent apprehension of the truth, too often overlooked, that -confidence in the truth bearer must precede obedience to his message, -she desired that her husband and son should like Mr. Wayt. To March she -had confessed her fear that some of the family were “peculiar,” and he -might infer the inclusion of the nominal head in the category. Further -than this she would not go. With pious haste she picked the fly out of -the ointment, and with holy duplicity beguiled others into approval of -the article that bore the trade mark of “The Church.” - -Ah, the Church!—in every age and, despite lapses and shortcomings and -stains, the custodian of the Ark of God—her debt to such devout and -loyal souls as this woman’s will never be estimated until the Master -shall make acknowledgment of it in the great day of reckoning. - -When the judge’s turn of the subject and the “horsey” talk that -followed granted his wife leisure to reconsider the matter, she -discovered that there was no cause for discomfiture. Mr. Wayt was -absent-minded, as were all students of deep things. Only, her husband -was quick of sight and wit, and neither March nor May had much to say, -of late, of the new preacher who was doing such excellent work in -the congregation. March went regularly to church and sat beside his -mother through prayer and hymn and sermon, and afterward refrained -from adverse criticism. This may have been out of respect to the girl -he hoped to make his wife. Yet she had dared fancy that the graver -tenderness of his behavior to herself and the unusual periods of -thoughtfulness that occurred in their conversations had to do with the -dawning of spiritual life in his soul. However much certain of Mr. -Wayt’s mannerisms might offend her taste, there was no question of his -ability and eloquence. That these might be the divinely appointed nets -for the ingathering into the Church of her best beloved was a burden -that weighted every petition. - -March had not spoken openly of his love for Hetty Alling since the -evening on which he first avowed it to his mother, but, in her opinion, -there was nothing significant in this reserve. The Gilchrists were -delicate in their dealings with one another, never asking inconvenient -questions, or pushing communication beyond the voluntary stage. If May -divined the drift of her brother’s affections, she did not intimate -it by word or look. When the fruit of confidence was ripe it would be -dropped into her lap. She _did_ note what Mrs. Gilchrist had not the -opportunity of seeing—how seldom Hetty had leisure to receive March or -his sister. She was getting ready the wardrobe of the twin boys, who -were to go to boarding school the 1st of October. Through Hester’s talk -May had learned incidentally that the Wayts employed neither dressmaker -nor seamstress. - -“Hetty is miraculously skillful with her needle,” was Hester’s way of -putting it, “and so swift that it would drive her wild to see her work -done by the ‘young lady who goes out by the day.’ I work buttonholes -and hem ruffles and such like, and mamma gives her all the time she can -spare from baby—and other things. But our Hetty is the motor of the -household machine. I don’t believe there is another like her in the -world. The mold in which she was cast was broken.” - -She had said this in a chat held with her favorite this evening while -the others were engaged with other themes outside of the window. May -encouraged her to go on by remarking: - -“You love her as dearly as if she were really your sister, don’t you?” - -“‘As well!’ The love I have for mother, sisters, and brothers is a -drop in the ocean compared with what I feel for Hetty! See here, Miss -May!” showing her perfectly formed hands. “These were as helpless as -my feet. Hetty rubbed me, bathed me, flexed the muscles for an hour -every morning and an hour every night. She tempted me to eat; obliged -me to take exercise; carried me up and down stairs, and sat with me -in her arms out of doors until she had saved fifty dollars out of her -allowance to have my chair built. Hetty educated me—made me over! She -is my brain, the blood of my heart—I don’t believe I should have a soul -but for Hetty!” - -The warm water stood in May’s eyes. But the weak voice, thrilling with -excitement, reminded her of the danger of an excess of feeling upon the -disjointed system. She spoke lightly: - -“Oh, your father would have looked out for your soul!” - -“_Would_ he?” - -The accent of intensest acrimony shocked the listener, corroborated as -it was by the bitterness of scorn that wrung the small face. - -In a second Hester caught herself up. - -“They say that cobblers’ wives go barefoot. Ministers have so little -time to spare for the souls of their families that their children are -paganed. If it wasn’t for their wives and their wives’ sisters, the -forlorn creatures would not know who made them.” - -It was a plausible evasion, but it did not efface from May’s mind the -disdainful outburst and the black look that went with it. Both seemed -so unnatural, even revolting, to a girl whose father stood with her -as the synonym for nobility of manhood, that she could not get away -from the recollection for the rest of the evening. This was before Mr. -Wayt’s arrival, and sharpened May’s appreciation of the little by-play -between Hester and her parent. - -His departure at nine o’clock was succeeded by Hester’s at ten, and, as -was their habit, March and his sister took her home by the path across -the orchard. The night was sultry; the moon lay languid under swathes -of gray mist. She looked warm, and the stars near her faint and tired. -Low down upon the horizon were flashes of purple sheet lightning. The -town had kept the Fourth patriotically, and the odor of burned paper -and gunpowder tainted the stirless air. - -“The grass is perfectly dry,” said May, stopping to lay her hand upon -the mown sward. “That should be a sign of a shower.” - -“There is always rain on the night of the Fourth of July,” returned -March abstractedly. - -Hester said not a word. As she looked up at the sick moon her eyes -showed large and dark; her face was corpselike in the wan radiance. She -was weary, and she had been indiscreet. She could not sleep without -confessing to Hetty her lapse of temper and tongue, and Hetty had -enough to bear already. She had not been so strong and bright as was -her wont for a month past. It might be only excessive drudgery over -sewing machine and household duties, but she looked fagged and sad at -times. The phaëton and horse would benefit mamma and the children—when -the vacant place beside the mistress of the Manse was not occupied by -their lord and master. _He_ got the lion’s share of every luxury. Poor -Hester’s conscience and heart were raw, and the heat of the wounds -inflamed her imagination. The evening at the judge’s had not rested -her. That was strange, or would have been had not the long, black -shadow of her father lain across the memory of it. - -The back door of the parsonage stood wide open, and the house was so -still that, as March stooped to lift Hester from her carriage at the -foot of the steps, he caught the sound of what was scarcely louder -than an intermittent sigh in the upper story, but continuous as a -violent fit of weeping. The arm that lay over his shoulder twitched -convulsively; Hester shuddered sharply, then laughed aloud: - -“Oh, Mr. Gilchrist! I thought I was falling! It is too bad to put you -to all this trouble. I hope Tony hasn’t blown himself up. He ought to -have come for me.” - -“Didn’t I promise your mother to bring you home safely?” said March -reassuringly. And, as they reached the hall—“May I carry you upstairs?” - -The offer seemed to terrify her. - -“Oh, no, no! Just lay me on the settee there! Somebody will be down -directly. Don’t trouble yourself to bring the chair in. Tony will -attend to that. Thank you! Good-night, Mr. Gilchrist! Good-night, Miss -May!” - -While she hurried all this out, a stumble on the back stairs was the -precursor of Homer’s appearance in the dim recesses of the hall. He -alighted at the bottom of the flight on all-fours, picked himself up -and shambled forward, one hand on his head, the other on his elbow, an -imbecile grin spreading his jaws. - -“_Now_, I a’most broke me _nake_ on them stairs!” - -March had deposited Hester upon the hall lounge, and although -perceiving her anxiety to get rid of him, hesitated to commit her to -the keeping of a man who was, apparently, but half awake. - -“Let me carry you up!” he insisted to Hester. “He may fall again.” - -“Oh, Tony is all right!” in the same strained key as before. “He never -lets anything but himself drop.” - -A rustle and swift step sounded above stairs. Someone ran down. It was -Hetty. Her white wrapper was begirt with a ribbon loosely knotted; her -rust-brown hair was breaking from constraint and tumbling upon her -shoulders. - -March’s first pained thought was: “She knew I would be in, yet did not -mean to see me again to-night!” - -A second glance at the colorless face and wild eyes awakened unselfish -concern. - -“What is the matter? Who is hurt?” she queried anxiously. Hester’s -reply was a shriek of laughter. - -“Nothing! Nobody! Only Tony has broken his neck again, and Mr. -Gilchrist did not know that it is an hourly occurrence in our family -life, so he insisted upon taking me upstairs himself.” - -“Mr. Gilchrist is very kind!” Hetty’s tone was deadly mechanical; in -speaking she looked at nobody. “I sent Homer down when I heard you -coming. I am sorry he was not in time.” - -May had joined the group. - -“I hope,” she said in her cheery way, “that none of the rest of your -household have come to grief to-day?” - -Hetty turned to her with eyes that questioned silently—almost defiantly. - -“I mean, of course, did the boys bring home the proper quantum of eyes -and fingers?” - -“Yes! oh, yes! thank you! they went to bed tired, but whole, I believe.” - -“That is fortunate, but remarkable for a Fourth of July report,” said -March. “Come, May! Good-night!” - -He had seen, without comprehending, the intense relief that flooded -the girl’s visage at his sister’s second sentence, also that she was -feverishly anxious to have them go. And the sound above stairs, hushed -by Hester’s shrill tones—was it low, anguished weeping? The mourner was -not Hetty, yet her dry eyes were full of misery. His big, soft heart -ached with futile sympathy. By what undiscovered track could he fare -near enough to her to make her conscious of this and of a love the -greatness of which ought to help her bear her load of trouble? - -“Hetty looks _dreadfully_!” broke out May at the garden gate. “She -is worked and worried to death! I am amazed that Mrs. Wayt allows -it. To reduce a girl like that to the level of a household drudge is -barbarous. She has no time for society or recreation of any kind. It -is toil, toil, toil, from morning until night. Mary Ann—the cook mamma -got for them—says she ‘never saw such another young lady for sweetness -and kindness to servants as Miss Hetty,’ but that she ‘carries all the -house on them straight little shoulders of hern.’ Hester tells the same -story in better English.” - -She repeated what she had heard that evening. - -March stopped to listen under the king apple tree, where he had begun -to love the subject of the eulogy. While May declaimed he reached up -for a cluster of green apples and leaves and pulled it to pieces, his -face grave, his fingers lingering. - -“Heaven knows, May”—she was not prepared for the emotion with which -it was uttered—“that I would risk my life to make hers happy. I -hoped once—but you see for yourself how she avoids me. I could fancy -sometimes that she is afraid of me!” - -“Perhaps she is afraid of herself.” - -He looked up eagerly. - -“Is that a chance remark? You women understand one another. Have you -seen anything——” - -“Nothing I could or would repeat, my dear boy! But there is a mystery -somewhere, and I can’t believe it is the phenomenon of such a sensible -girl’s failure to appreciate my brother. May I say something, March, -dear?” - -“Whatever you like—after what has gone before!” - -“Maybe it ought not to have gone before—or after, either. For, brother, -this is not just the sort of connection that you should form. To -speak plainly, you might look higher. ‘Strike—but hear!’ Hetty is -all that I have said, and more. But there is a Bohemian flavor about -the household. We will whisper it—even at half-past ten o’clock at -night, in the orchard—and never hint it to ‘the people,’ or to mamma! -They are nomads from first to last—why, I cannot say. They have lived -everywhere, and nowhere long. Mrs. Wayt is a refined gentlewoman, but -her eyes are sad and anxious. You know how fond I am of Hester, poor -child! Still a nameless something clings to them as a whole—not quite -a taint, but a tang! Especially to Mr. Wayt. There! it is out! Let us -hope the apple trees are discreet! I distrust him, March! He doesn’t -ring true. He is always on pose. He is a sanctimonious (which doesn’t -mean sanctified) self-lover. Such men ought to remain celibate.” - -March tried to laugh, but not successfully. - -“I dissent from and agree to nothing you say. But——” He waited so long -that May finished the sentence for him. - -“But you love Hetty?” - -“Yes! She _suits_ me, May! As no other woman ever did. As no other -woman ever will. I have tried to reason myself out of the persuasion, -but get deeper in. She _suits_ me—every fiber and every impulse of my -nature. I seem to have known her forever and always to have missed her.” - -With all her pride in her family and ambition for her brother May had -a romantic side to her character. Had she liked Hetty less, she would -yet have pledged her support to the lover. She told him this while they -strolled homeward, and then around and around the graveled drive in -front of the Gilchrist portico, and had, in return, the full story of -his passion. - -“When I marry, my wife will have all there is of me,” he had said, long -ago, to his sister. - -He reminded her of it to-night. - -“She is not a brilliant society woman. Not beautiful, perhaps. I am not -a competent judge of that at this date. She has not the prestige of -wealth or station. But she is my counterpart.” - -He always returned to that. - -When his sister had gone into the house he tarried on the lawn with -his cigar. What freshness the fierce sun had left to the air was all -to be found out of doors. As the gray swathes continued to smother -the light out of the moon the heat became more oppressive. The gravel -walks were hot to his feet; the bricks of the house radiated caloric. -With a half-laugh at the whim, he entered the now silent and darkened -dwelling, sought and procured a carriage rug, and pulling the door shut -after him, whistled for Thor, and retraced his steps to the orchard. He -spread the rug upon the grass kept cool by the down-leaning branches of -the arbor and cast himself upon it. He meant to make a night of it. - -“I have camped out, many a July night, in far less luxurious quarters,” -he muttered. “And this place is sacred.” - -When the mosquitoes began to hum in his ears, he lighted another cigar. -He was the more glad to do it, as he fancied, once in a while, that -the young apples or the wilting leaves had a peculiar and not pleasant -odor, as of some gum or essence, that hung long in the atmosphere. -He had noticed it when he pulled down a branch to get the spray he -had torn apart, while May talked. The air was full of foreign scents -to-night, and this might be an olfactory imagination. - -As twelve o’clock struck from the nearest church spire, he was staring -into the formless shadows overhead and living over the apple-blossom -week, the symphony in pink and white. The young robins were full -fledged and had flitted from the parent nest. The young hope, born of -what stood with him for all the poetry of his six-and-twenty years of -life, spread strong wings toward a future he was not to enjoy alone. - -Thor was uneasy. He should have found his share of the rug laid upon -elastic turf as comfortable as the mat on the piazza floor, which was -his usual bed, yet he arose to his haunches, once and again, and, -although at his master’s touch or word, he lay down obediently, the -outline of his big head, as March could make it out in the gloom, was -alert. - -“What is it, old boy?” said he presently. “What is going on?” - -Thor whined and beat the ground with his tail, both tentatively, as -asking information in return. - -In raising his own head from the yielding and soft rustling grasses, -March became aware of a sound, iterative and teasing, that vexed the -languid night. It was like the ticking of a clock, or of an uncommonly -strenuous deathwatch. While he listened it seemed to gather force and -become rhythmic. - -“Click! click! clack! click! click! _clack!_ clicketty click! -clicketty, clicketty _clack!_ click! click! click! clicketty _clack!_ -ting!” - -Somebody was working a typewriter on this stifling night, presumably by -artificial light, in the most aristocratic quarter of Fairhill. - -Thor knew the incident to be unprecedented. The rhythmic iteration made -his master nervous; the sharp warning of the bell at the end of each -line pierced his ear like the touch of a fine wire. - -He sat up and looked about him. - -An aperture in the foliage let through a single ray of light. It came -from the direction of the parsonage. - -“Tony’s pet hallucination is of a wandering light in the garden and -orchard, a sort of ‘Will o’ the Wisp’ affair, which it is his duty to -look after,” Hester had said that evening. “He rushes downstairs at all -hours of the evening to see who is carrying it. I told him last night -that burglars were too clever to care to enter a clergyman’s house, -but he cannot be convinced that somebody, bent upon mischief, doesn’t -prowl about the premises. He is half blind, you know, and has but -three-fourths of his wits within call.” - -Recollecting this, March arose cautiously, whispered to Thor to -“trail,” and stole noiselessly up the easy grade. - -The light was in the wing of the parsonage and shone from the wide -window of the pastor’s study on the first floor. The shutters were -open; a wire screen excluded insects, and just within this sat a woman -at a typewriter—Hetty! - -Across the shallow garden he could see that her hair was combed to the -crown of her head for coolness, and coiled loosely there. Now that -he was nearer to the house, he distinguished another voice, also a -woman’s, dictating, or reading, as the flying fingers manipulated the -keys. Drawing out his repeater, he struck it. Half-past twelve! - -“I have been sorely interrupted in my pulpit preparation this week,” -Mr. Wayt had informed Mrs. Gilchrist, on taking leave that night. “I -fear the sunlight will extinguish my midnight argand burner. ‘The labor -we delight in physicks pain,’ and, with me, takes the place of slumber, -meat, and drink.” - -Impressed by an undefined sense of trouble, March stood, his hand upon -the gate, almost decided to go up to the house and inquire if aught -were amiss. While he cast about in his mind for some form of words -that might account for his intrusion, Mrs. Wayt’s figure came forward, -and offered, with one hand, a glass of water to her sister. In the -other she held a paper. Without taking her fingers from the typewriter -Hetty raised her head, Mrs. Wayt put the glass to her lips, and, while -she drank, dictated a sentence from the sheet in her hand. In the -breezeless hush of the July night a clause was audible to the spectator. - -“Who has not heard the story of the drummer boy of Gettysburg?” - -“Click-click-clack! Click-click-clack!” recommenced the noisy rattle. - -While Hetty’s fingers flew her sister fanned her gently, but the eyes -of one were riveted to the machine, those of the other never left the -paper in her hand. - -March went back to his orchard camp, Thor at his heels. - -It was close cloudy; the purple play of lightning was whitening and -concentrating in less frequent lines and lances. When these came, it -could be seen that thunderheads were lifting themselves in the west. -But the night remained windless, and the iterative click still teased -the ears of the watcher. It was an odd vigil, even for an anxious -lover, to lie there, gazing into the black abysses of shade, seeing -naught except by livid flashes that left deeper blackness, and knowing -whose vital forces were expended in the unseasonable toil. - -What could it mean? Did the overladen girl add copying for pay to the -list of her labors? And could the sister who seemed to love her, aid -and abet the suicidal work? Where was Mr. Wayt? The play of questions -took the measure and beat of the type keys, until he was wild with -speculation and hearkening. - -At half-past two the rattle ceased suddenly. Almost beside himself with -nervous restlessness, he sprang up and looked through the gap in the -boughs. The light went out, and, at the same instant, the delayed storm -burst in roar and rain. - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - - -SUNDAY, July 5, dawned gloriously, clear and fresh after the -thunder-storm, to which Fairhill people still refer pridefully, as the -most violent known in thirty years. The gunpowder and Chinese paper -taint was swept and washed out of the world. - -Mrs. Wayt, holding Fanny by the hand, and followed decorously by the -twin boys in their Sunday clothes and churchward-bound behavior, -emerged from her gate as the Gilchrists gained it. In the white light -of the forenoon, the eyes of the pastor’s wife showed faded; groups of -fine wrinkles were at the corners, and bistre shadows under them. Yet -she announced vivaciously that all were in their usual health at home, -except for Mr. Wayt’s headache, and nobody had been hurt yesterday. - -“For which we should return special thanks, public and private,” she -went on to say, walking, with her little girl, abreast with Judge and -Mrs. Gilchrist, the boys falling back with the young people. “At least, -those of us who are the mothers of American boys. I can breathe with -tolerable freedom now until the next Fourth of July. What a fearful -storm we had last night! My baby was awakened by it and wanted to know -if it was ‘torpetoes or firetrackers?’ Yet, since we owe our beautiful -Sabbath to the thunder and rain, we may be thankful for it; as for many -other things that seem grievous in the endurance.” - -“I hope Mr. Wayt’s headache is not in consequence of having sat up -until daybreak, as he threatened to do,” the judge said, in a genial -voice that reached his son’s ears. - -March listened breathlessly for the reply. - -“I think not. I did not ask him this morning at what time he left his -study. He is not inclined to be communicative with regard to his sins -of commission in that respect, but I suspect he is an incorrigible -offender. He attributes his headache—verbally—to the extraordinary heat -of yesterday. We all suffered from it, more or less, and it increased -rather than diminished, after sunset.” - -“Is Mr. Wayt well enough to take the service this morning?” - -“Oh, yes!” quickly emphatical. “It would be a severe indisposition -indeed that would keep him out of the pulpit. Both his parents suffered -intensely from nervous and sick headaches, so he could hardly hope to -escape. I have observed that people who are subject to constitutional -attacks of this kind, are seldom ill in any other way, particularly -if the headaches are hereditary. How do you account for this, Judge -Gilchrist? Or, perhaps, you doubt the statement itself.” - -March did not trouble his brains with his father’s reply. The -volubility of one whose discourse was generally distinctively refined -and moderate in tone and terms would of itself have challenged -attention. But what was her object in saying that she had not inquired -at what hour her husband left his study last night? Since she and her -sister were in occupation of the room from midnight—probably before -that hour—until two in the morning, she certainly knew that he was -not there and almost as surely where he was and how engaged during -those hours. Where was the need of duplicity in the circumstances? Was -she committed to uphold the professional fiction, which her husband -circulated vauntingly, that his best pulpit preparation must be done -when honest people are asleep in their beds—that the beaten oil of the -sanctuary must flow through lamp-wick or gas-burners? What end was -subserved by supererogatory diplomacy and subterfuge? - -“How are the two Hesters to-day, Mrs. Wayt?” asked May, from the side -of her puzzled brother. - -“Hester is rather languid. The heat again!” - -She looked over her shoulder to say it, and they could see how entirely -the freshness had gone from eyes and complexion. Her very hair looked -bleached and dry. “The weather will excuse every mishap and misdemeanor -until the dog days are over. Hetty stayed at home to watch over her. It -is a source of regret to Mr. Wayt and myself”—comprehensively to the -four Gilchrists—“that my sister is so often debarred the privileges of -the sanctuary in consequence of Hester’s dependence upon her.” - -“I have remarked that she is frequently absent from church,” Mrs. -Gilchrist answered. - -Her dry tone annoyed her son. Yet how could she, bred in luxury and -living in affluence, enter into the exigencies of a position which -combined the offices of nurse, companion, housewife, seamstress, -mother, and bread-winner? - -Mrs. Wayt took alarm. - -“Poor child! she hardly calls herself a church-goer at all. But it is -not her fault. She thinks, and with reason, that it is more important -for me to attend service regularly—for the sake of the example, you -understand—and we cannot leave our dear, helpless child with the -children or servants. She gets no Sabbath except as my sister gives -it to her. I am anxious that the true state of the case should be -understood by the church people. Hetty would grieve to think that her -enforced absences are a stumbling block.” - -Her solicitude was genuine and obvious. Judge Gilchrist offered an -assuasive: - -“We must have a telephone wire run from the pulpit to Miss Hester’s -room. I have known of such things.” - -“I don’t believe that Hester would care to keep her room Sunday -mornings then!” whispered Perry, _l’enfant terrible_ of the Wayt -family. “She says family prayers are all she can stand.” - -March, the recipient of the saucy “aside,” cast a warning look at the -telltale. Inwardly he was amused by the unlucky revelation. Spoiled -child as Hester was, she had marvelously keen perceptions and shrewd -judgment. She saw through the jugglery that deceived the mass of Mr. -Wayt’s followers, and rated correctly the worth of his capital. - -He juggled rarely to-day. Even his voice partook of the spread-eagle -element which interfused Divine services as conducted by the popular -preacher. The church was full to the doors, many of the audience being -strangers and sightseers. The number of “transients” increased weekly. - -“He is like fly-paper,” Hester had said, this very Sunday, as the -skirts of his well-fitting coat, clerically cut and closely buttoned, -cleared the front door. “Out of the many that swarm and buzz about -him, some are sure to stick—that is, take pews! That is the test of -spiritual husbandry, Hetty! I believe I’ll be an infidel!” - -“Don’t be utterly absurd!” answered her aunt in a spiritless way. “I -haven’t the energy to argue, or even scold. ‘Let God be true, and -every man a liar.’ God forgive me, but I am ready, sometimes, to say -that all men _are_! But I can’t let Him go, dear!” - -Mr. Wayt gave out the opening hymn in tones that would have been -clarion, but for an occasional break into falsetto that brought to -March’s irreverent mind the wheezing drone of a bagpipe. - - We are living, we are dwelling, - In a grand and awful time; - In an age on ages telling, - To be living is sublime. - Hark! the waking up of nations, - Gog and Magog to the fray! - Hark! what soundeth? ’Tis creation - Groaning for its latter day! - -His text was, as was his custom, startlingly peculiar: - -“_Only the stump of Dagon was left to him._” - -It was a political discourse, after the manner of a majority of -discourses which are miscalled “National.” Government jobbery, -nepotism, and chicanery; close corporations, railway monopolies, -municipal contracts—each had its castigation; at each was hurled the -prophecy of the day of doom when head and palms would be sundered from -the fishy trunk, and evil in every form be dominated by God’s truth -marching on. - -March listened for a while, then reverted to matters of more nearly -personal interest. Last night’s incident had left a most disagreeable -impression on his mind, which was confirmed by Mrs. Wayt’s demeanor. -May’s assertion of the Bohemian flavor recurred to him more than once. -No! the specious advocate of public reforms and private probity did not -“ring true.” And protest as Hester might, with all the passion of a -forceful nature, against her father’s double ways, he _was_ her father, -and the ruler of his household. His wife, it was plain, believed in and -imitated him. - -Gazing at the pale, large-featured face of the orator, now alive with -his theme, and glancing from this to the refined, faded lineaments -of her whose meek eyes were raised to it from the pastor’s pew, -he was distrustful of both. He wished Hetty were not Mr. Wayt’s -wife’s sister, or that he could marry her out of hand, and get his -brother-in-law, once removed, a call to—Alaska! Her, he never doubted. -Their acquaintance had been brief, and scanty opportunities of -improving it had been vouchsafed to him of late; yet she had fastened -herself too firmly upon affection and esteem to admit of the approach -of disparaging suspicion. She might be a slave to her sister and her -sister’s children. She could never be made a tool for the furtherance -of unworthy ends. _She_ would not have said: “I did not inquire at what -hour Mr. Wayt left his study last night!” If she spoke, it would be to -tell the truth. - -At this point an idea entered his brain, carrying a flood of light -with it. Mrs. Wayt was an author—one of the many ministers’ wives who -eke out insufficient salaries by writing for Sunday-school and church -papers! It was a matter of moment—perhaps of ten dollars—to get off a -MS. by a given time, and Hetty had taken it down in typewriting from -her dictation and the rough draught. Of a certainty, here was the -solution of the mysterious vigil, and of Mrs. Wayt’s equivocation! -She looked like a woman who would write over the signature of “Aunt -Huldah” in the Children’s Column, or “Theresa Trefoil” in the Woman’s -Work-table, and dread lest her identity with these worthies should be -suspected by her husband’s people, or by even “dear Percy” himself. - -March experienced a blessed letting-down of the whole system—a surcease -from worrying thought, so sudden that a deep sigh escaped him that -made his mother glance askance at him. Instead of admiring the brave -industry of the true wife he had suffered a whimsical prejudice to -poison his mind against her. He despised himself as a midnight spy and -gossip hunter, in the recollection of the orchard vigil. The patient, -unseasonable toil of the sisters became sublime. - -“_Who has not heard the story of the drummer boy of Gettysburg?_” -thundered the preacher, raising eagle eyes from the manuscript laid -between the Bible leaves. - -March jumped as if the fulmination were chain-shot. Mrs. Gilchrist, -looking full at him, saw his color flicker violently, his fingers -clinch hard upon the palms. Then he became so ghastly that she -whispered: - -“Are you ill?” - -“A sharp pain in my side! It will be gone in a moment,” he whispered -back, his lips contracting into a smile. Rather a sword in his heart. -The light within him was darkness. How foolish not to have solved the -mean riddle at a glance! Mr. Wayt’s sensational sermons were composed -by his clever wife, and transcribed by her as clever sister! Here was -the secret of the sense of unreality and distrust that had haunted him -in this man’s presence from the beginning of their acquaintanceship. -The specious divine was a fraud out and out, and through and through a -cheap cheat. No wonder now, at the swift itinerancy of his ministry! -His talk of midnight study was a lie, his pretense of scholarship a -trick so flimsy that a child should have seen through it. He had gone -to bed the evening before, and taken his rest in sleep, while his -accomplices got up to order the patriotic pyrotechnics for the next day. - -No wonder that Mrs. Wayt’s eyes were furtive and anxious, that there -were crow’s feet in the corners, and bistre rings about them after that -July night’s work! - -No wonder that the less hardened and less culpable sister-in-law -shunned church services! - -The sword was double-edged, and dug and turned in his heart. For the -girl who lent aid, willing or reluctant, to the deliberate deception -practiced in the Name which is above all other names, had a face as -clear as the sun, and eyes honest as Heaven, and he loved her! - -The main body of the audience could not withdraw their eyes from the -narrator of the telling anecdote of the drummer-boy of Gettysburg. The -story was new to all there, although he had assumed their familiarity -with it. It was graphic; it was pathetic to heart-break; it thrilled -and glowed and coruscated with self-devotion and patriotism; it was -an inimitable illustration of the point just made by the orator, who -was carried clear out of himself by the theme. And not one person -there—not even March Gilchrist, fiercely distrustful of the man and -all his works—suspected that it was an original incident, home-grown, -homespun, and home-woven. Write it not down as a sin against the -popular pastor of the Fairhill First Church that the Gettysburg hero -was a twenty-four-year-old child of the speaker’s brain. If the Mill of -the Press, and the Foundry of Tradition cannot turn out illustrations -numerous and pat enough to suit every subject and time, private -enterprise must supply personal demand. - -“I think young Gilchrist was ill in church to-day,” observed Mr. Wayt -to his wife that afternoon, as she fed him with the dainty repast he -could not go to the table to eat. - -He lay on the settee in the wide, cool hall, supported by linen-covered -cushions. She had brought him, as a persuasive first course, a cup of -delicious bouillon, ice-cold, and administered it to him, spoonful by -spoonful. - -“He changed color, and seemed to be in great pain for an instant,” -he continued, after another sip. “His mother looked very uneasy, and -apparently advised him to go out. I judged from his fluctuations of -color that it was vertigo—or a severe pain in the head. He would not -leave until the services were over. I have few more attentive hearers -than March.” Another sip. “If I should be the means of bringing him -into the Church, it would be a happy day for his pious mother. Should -my headache abate in the course of an hour or so, I will look in and -inquire how he is. It would only be courteous and neighborly.” - -In the adjoining dining room, the door of which the draught had opened -a few inches, the family circle of the solicitous pastor heard every -word of the communication, although his accents were subdued by pain. - -Sharp-eared-and-eyed Perry winked at Hetty. - -“He won’t find Mr. March Gilchrist,” he mouthed in a fashion invented -by himself, to convey pert speeches only to the person for whom they -were invented. “He went to New York on the five o’clock train. I saw -him. He said he was going to dine with a friend. I heard him. A man -asked him. Another slice of beef, please, Hetty! Rare, and a bit of -fat! Some gravy on my potatoes, too!” - -Hetty had shunned the orchard since the day of the last sitting. Seated -behind the shutters of her chamber-window, she had seen, almost every -day, Thor bound across the grass in pursuit of a figure partially -hidden by the lower branches. Since March frequented the spot, it was -no resort for her. She had no time for play, she told Hester, gently, -when she pleaded for a return to the pleasant lounging and talk -“under green-apple boughs.” Homer could draw the carriage down the -garden-walk and through the gate and leave the cripple there with books -and color box, whenever she wanted to go. Hester often brought back -stories of chats and readings and painting lessons with the brother or -sister—sometimes with both. Occasionally, March came to the parsonage -with a message from his sister to the effect that she had taken Hester -home with her for the day or evening, and would return her in good -order. He was apt to insist upon leaving the message with Hetty, if -Mary Ann or one of the children answered his ring. Mr. Wayt’s wife’s -sister would obey the summons in person, but she did not invite the -bearer in. - -She ran down in her simple morning gown, or almost as plain afternoon -dress, without waiting to remove her sewing apron, heard what he had -to say gravely, and replied civilly, as might a servant or governess. -And day by day, he marked the lessening round of cheek and chin, and -the deepening of the plait between the brows. She could not know that -he went away, each time pitying and loving her the more, and furious at -the cruelty of the demands upon her time and strength. She could not -have altered her behavior, unless to grow more formal, had she divined -all. - -But for the orchard outings Hester would have had but a dull summer of -it. As it was, it was the happiest of her life. She actually gained -flesh, and her cheeks had the delicate flush of a sweet-pea blossom. -She mellowed and mollified in the intercourse with the sound, bright -natures of her new friends. Prosperity was teaching her unselfishness. - -Hetty had a proof of this after the Sunday dinner was eaten, and there -still remained a long hour of sunful daylight. - -“I have a charming book which Miss May lent me yesterday,” she said, as -her custodian inquired what she should do for her entertainment. “And -now that mamma has set the children to studying their Sunday-school -lessons for next week, you ought to have a breathing spell, my poor -dear. You are bleaching too fast to please me. You can’t plead ‘work to -do’ for once.” - -Hetty yielded—the more, it would seem, because she had not the strength -to resist love pleadings than from any desire for the “outing” -recommended by Hester. Taking shawl and cushion with her, she passed -down the garden alley to the gate. There was a broad track through the -orchard, worn by the wheeled chair and Hester’s attendants. It led -straight to the king apple tree. From this bourne another track, not so -distinctly marked, diverged to the white picket fence shutting in the -Gilchrist garden. Hetty’s feet had never trodden this, she reflected -with a pang, after she had settled herself against the brown trunk. It -was most probable that she never would. - -Her one little dream was dead, and she was too practical a business -woman to resuscitate it. Her consistent plan of avoiding March -Gilchrist and abjuring the painful sweet of association with his sister -was adopted before she returned to the house from her ineffectual quest -for Homer and the parsley. She was filled with wonder, in looking back -to the time—was it three minutes, or thirty?—she had wasted, leaning -on the gate, enveloped in lilac perfume as in a viewless mantle, and -daring to feel as other and unexceptional girls feel—that she could -have forgotten herself so utterly. _She_ said—“so shamelessly.” - -“The worm on the earth may look up to the star,” if it fancies that -method of spending an ignoble life, but star-gazing and presumptuous -longing for a million centuries would bring planets and worms no nearer -together. Hetty was very humble in imagining the figure. Some people -must live on the shady side of the street, where rents are low, and -green mold gathers upon stones, and snails crawl in areas. If the -wretches who pune and pale in the malaria-breeding damps would not go -mad, they must not look too often across the way where flowers and -people bloom. If they do, they must support the consequences. - -This misguided girl had looked. She was now suffering. That she merited -what she had to bear did not make the pain less. - -Unwittingly she had spread her shawl where March had laid his rug last -night. The rough bark of the tree-bole hurt her presently. Her gown -was thin, and her flesh less firm than it had been six weeks ago. She -slid down upon the shawl, her head on the cushion, and reached out, in -idle misery, to pick up some withered leaves and small, unripe apples -scattered on the grass. March had dropped them while hearkening to -his sister’s criticism of the Bohemian household. She was as idly—and -as miserably—tearing apart the leaves toughened by the heat of the -day, when she heard a joyous rush behind her and felt the panting of -hot breath upon her neck, and Thor was kissing her face and licking -her hands. She sprang to her feet and cast a wild glance along the -path and under the trees. There was no one in sight. The grounds were -peremptorily posted, and no vagrant foot ever crossed them. She took in -the situation at once. March had gone to New York in the five o’clock -train; the dog, wandering aimlessly about and missing his master, -had espied her, and accepted her as a substitute. She knelt down and -clasped her arms about his head, laid her cheek to his burly muzzle. - -“O Thor! Thor! you would help me if you could.” Just as she had fondled -him in those far-away, blissful days. Her hand was tangled in his coat -when, looking across his huge bulk, she had met March Gilchrist’s eyes. -True eyes—and bonny and true, which must never read her soul again. - -“Thor! dear Thor!” She cried it out in a passion of tears. - -The faithful fellow moaned a little in sympathy. The more eloquent than -human longing to comfort the sorrowing, never seen except in a dog’s -eyes, filled and rounded his. - -“I wouldn’t cry if I could help it, dear,” said Hetty, her arch smile -striking through the rain. “And nobody else should see me shed a tear. -You are my only confidant; and I do believe you understand—a little.” - -He was not an indifferent consoler, it appeared, for in fifteen minutes -both of them were asleep, their heads upon the same pillow. - -The sunset sea breeze rustled the stooping boughs. Arrows of greenish -gold, tipped with fire, were shot at random between the leaves at the -sleeping pair. Hetty was very pale, but the grieving droop of the -facial lines, the slight fullness of the lower lip, and the slow curve -of the arm thrown above her head made her seem like a child. She looked -what she was, fairly tired out—weariness so intense that it would -have chased slumber from the eyelids of an older sufferer. She had -cried herself to sleep, Thor’s presence giving the sense of protecting -companionship the child feels in his mother’s nearness. The cool breath -of the approaching twilight, the grateful shade, and Sabbath stillness -did the rest. - -Now and then a long, broken sigh heaved her chest, and ran through her -body. There was the glisten of tiny crystals upon her eyelashes. Once -she sobbed aloud, and Thor moved uneasily and sighed sympathetically. -By and by he began to beat his tail gently against the turf, his -beautiful eyes gleamed glad and wistful, but he did not offer to lift -his head. Hetty patted it in her sleep, and left her hand there. - -She and Thor were walking over a wilderness prairie. The coarse grass -flaunted up to her chin, and she would have lost the dog had she not -wound her fingers in his hair. Such a long, tiresome, toilsome way it -was, and the grass so stiff and strong! Sometimes it knotted about -her ankles; sometimes the beards struck like whips across her face. A -bitter wind was blowing, and stung her eyes to watering. In passing it -lashed the grass into surges that boomed like the sea. - -Miles and miles away an orange sunset burned luridly upon the horizon, -and right between her and it was a floating figure, moving majestically -onward. A mantle blew back in the bitter wind until she could almost -touch the hem; a confusing flutter of drapery masked the head and -shoulders; the face was set steadfastly westward and kept away from -her. At long intervals a hand was tossed clear of the white foldings -and beckoned her to follow. - -“And follow I will!” she said, between her set teeth, to herself and to -Thor, “I will follow until I overtake him or die!” - -And all the while the blasting wind hissed in her hair and howled in -the pampas grasses, and her feet were sore and bleeding; her limbs -failed under her; her tongue clave to the roof of her mouth with -dryness; her heart beat faint—— - -Hark! At the upward fling of her leader’s arm music rained down from -heaven, and the earth made joyous response; strong, exultant strains, -like an organ peal, and such vibrant melodious chimes as Bunyan -heard when all the bells of the holy city rang together for joy. The -majestic, floating figure turned to lean toward her with outstretched -arms, and eyes that gazed into hers as she had vowed they should never -look again. - -“Oh! I knew it must be you!” She said it aloud, in her rapturous dream. -“It could be nobody else! Thank God! Thank God!” - -Thor bounded from under her hand.... - -March Gilchrist’s New York friend was a bachelor cousin, who was always -delighted to have “a good fellow” drop in upon him on Sunday evening. -March, in the uneasy wretchedness that beset him, honestly intended -to visit him when he took the five o’clock train. He wanted to get -away from the place for a few hours, he said; away from tormenting -associations and possible catechists, and think calmly of the next step -to be taken. By the time he reached Jersey City he had discovered that -he was trying to get away from himself and not from his home; moreover, -that he wanted neither dinner nor the society of the genial celibate. -He stepped from the train, turned into the station restaurant, sat down -at the table he had occupied on the day he landed from the _City of -Rome_ and missed the noon train, and ordered at random something to eat. - -The long table built in the middle of the room was surrounded by a -party of men and women. The men wore full black beards and a great -deal of waistcoat, crossed by gold ropes. The women had round, black -eyes, high-bridged noses and pronounced complexions. March tried not to -see them, and tried to eat what was set before him. It made him sick to -observe that Hetty’s place was filled by an overblown young lady whose -bang made a definite downward peak between her black brows, and who had -ten rings on the left hand and five on the right. - -He caught the 6.30 train back to Fairhill. He had made up his sensible -mind to talk over his family to a project marvelously well developed -when one remembers that the inception was not an hour old when he swung -himself off upon the platform of the Fairhill station. He would set -out next week for the Adirondacks, set up a forest studio, and begin -“serious work.” The phrase jumped with his mood. Nothing else would -draw the inflammation out of the wound. He meant to bear up like a man -under the blow he had received, to forget disappointment in labor for a -worthy end; love, in ambition. - -He took the orchard in his walk home from the station. It was quite out -of his way, and he was not guilty of the weakness of denying this. He -went there deliberately and with purpose, vaulting the fence from the -quiet street at the foot of the hill, as he had done on that memorable -Sunday when the orchards were “all a-flutter with pink.” One more -look at the nook under green apple-boughs would be a sad satisfaction, -and the contrast between what he had hoped and what he knew to be -rock-bottomed reality, would be a salutary tonic. One look he must -have—a look that should be farewell to folly and regret. - -While still twenty yards away from the arbor he espied something that -looked like a mass of white drapery lying upon the turf. He stood just -without the drooping boughs fencing the sleeper about, his face framed -in an opening of the foliage, as Hetty, aroused by Thor’s bound from -her side, raised her eyelids and closed them again with a smile of -dreamy delight upon eyes swimming in luminous tears. - -“I thought it was you!” she repeated in a thrilling whisper, and again, -and more drowsily—“Thank God!” - -The church bells, chiming the half-hour notice of evening service, went -on with the music of her dream. - -Thor, enacting a second time the role of _Deus ex machina_, thought -this an auspicious moment for thrusting his cold nose against her cheek. - -With a stifled scream she attempted to rise, and catching her foot in -the shawl, would have fallen had not March rushed forward to her help. -Having taken her hands to restore her to her balance, he continued to -hold them. - -She struggled to free them—but feebly. Surprise and confusion had -robbed her of strength and self-possession. - -“I thought—they said—that is, Perry saw you take the train for New -York,” she managed to articulate. - -“Hetty!”—imploringly, while the eyes she had seen in her vision -overflowed hers with loving light—“why do you shun me so persistently? -Are you determined never to hear how dear you are to me?” - - - - -CHAPTER VII. - - -THIS, then, was the outcome of March Gilchrist’s iron-clad resolve to -forget in serious work one who could never make him or his family happy! - -Verily, the ways and variations of a man in love are past finding out -by ordinary means and everyday reasoning. Our sensible swain could only -plead with his sister in defense of his fast grown passion, that the -girl “suited him.” Having decided within eight hours that no alliance -could be more unsuitable than one with Mr. Wayt’s wife’s sister, he had -cast himself headforemost into the thick of impassioned declaration of -a devotion the many waters of doubt could not drown, or the fires of -opposition destroy. - -Dizzied and overwhelmed as she was by his vehemence, Hetty was the -first to regain the firm ground of reason. He had seated her, with -gentle respect, upon the cushion that had pillowed her head, and -dropping on one knee, the “true, bonny eyes” alight with eagerness, -poured out the story whose outlines we know. Earnestness took the -tinge of happiness as he was suffered to proceed; the deep tones shook -under the weight of emotion. Not until she made a resolute effort to -disengage her hands, and he saw the burning blushes fade into dusky -pallor and her eyes grow set and troubled, did his heart begin to sink. -Then the gallant, knightly soul forbore importunity that might be -persecution. If his suit distressed her for any cause whatsoever, he -would await her disposition to hearken to the rest. - -Releasing her, he arose and stood a little space away, respectfully -attending upon her pleasure. - -“I did not mean to impose all this upon reluctant ears,” he said, -when she did not speak. Her face was averted, her hands pressed hard -together. The rust-brown bandeaux, ruffled by the pressure of her head -upon the pillow, gleamed in the dying sunlight like a nimbus. The -slight, girlish figure was not a Madonna’s. It might be a Mary at the -tomb in Bethany before the “Come forth!” was spoken. - -“A word from you will send me away,” continued March, with manly -dignity, “if you wish to dismiss me and the subject forever. I cannot -stop loving you, but I can promise not to annoy you by telling you of a -love you cannot receive.” - -“Annoy me!” repeated the poor, stiff lips. “_Annoy_ me! You must surely -know, Mr. Gilchrist, that _that_ is not a word to be used by you to me!” - -“No?” coming a step nearer, eye kindling and voice softening. “You will -let me try to overcome _indifference_, then—will you not?” - -In the depth of her distress she appreciated the adroit twist he gave -her answer. The corners of the pale mouth stirred. Her strength was -slipping from her. She must be brief and decisive. - -“If that were all”—looking courageously into the glowing eyes—“I would -give a very different answer from the one you must accept without -questioning. I know that I can never give any other, unprepared though -I was for what you have said. There are reasons not immediately -connected with myself why I ought not to think for a moment of—the -matter you were speaking of. You have paid me the greatest compliment -a man can offer a woman. But while my sister and the children need me -as they do now I must not think of leaving them, and I see no prospect -of their needing me less for years and years to come. My sister opened -her house to me when I was orphaned and homeless. I owe her more than I -could make you understand. She is peculiarly dependent upon me. Hester -could not do without me. You have seen that. I cannot bear to think how -she would suffer if I were to go away.” - -In her desire to deal gently and fairly with him she had made a -concession fatal to the integrity of her cause. He laid hold of it at -once. - -“Mrs. Wayt has a husband; the children have a father. He is a man in -the prime of life, whose talents are approved by the Church. He is -popular, and in the receipt of a good salary. Fairhill will probably -remain Hester’s home for many years to come. If this is all that -separates us—why, my darling——” - -The strangest expression flashed over her face—a wild ecstasy of joy -that gave place, the next second, to anguish as wild. She put her hands -over the tell-tale face, and bent her forehead upon her knees. - -“Don’t! oh, don’t!” she moaned. “This is too hard! too cruel! If you -could only know all, you would not urge me! I did not think you could -be so unkind!” - -“Unkind? To _you_, Hetty?” - -“No! no!” moved to tears by the hurt tone, and hurrying over the words. -“You could never be _that_ to anybody—much less—I cannot say what I -would!” - -March knelt down by her, and raised her head with tender authority -she could not resist. He wiped the tears from her face with his own -handkerchief; smiled down into the wet eyes. Loving intimacy with his -mother and sister had taught him wondrously winsome ways. - -“Listen to me, dear!” as he would address a grieving child. “Sometime, -when you are quite willing to talk freely to me of this awful ‘all,’ I -will prove to you how chimerical it is. Until then, nothing you can say -or do can shake my purpose of making you my wife, in God’s own good -time. We were _made_ for one another, Hetty! I have known that this -great while. I am positive I could convince you of it, if you would -give me a chance.” - -She arose nervously, her hands chafing one another in an action that -was like wringing them in impatience or anguish. - -“I must go, Mr. Gilchrist! It is wrong to allow you to say all this. -Then, too, Hester will be uneasy and need me.” - -“Let me go with you and explain why you have outstayed your time,” -March suggested, demurely. “We could not have a more sympathetic -confidante than Hester. And I must tell somebody.” - -She looked frightened. - -“There is nothing to tell! There never can be. Cannot you see? haven’t -I convinced you of this?” - -“Not in the least. Until you can lay your hand upon your heart—the -heart you and I know to be so true to itself and to others—and say, -with the lips that cannot frame a lie—‘March Gilchrist, I can never -love you in _any_ circumstances!’ I shall not see this other ‘never’ -_you_ articulate so fiercely. If you want to get rid of me instantly, -and for all time, look at me and say it now—_Hetty!_” - -His lingering enunciation of the name she had never thought beautiful -before, would of itself have deprived her of the power to obey. She -stood dumb, with drooping head and cheeks burning red as the sunset, -her figure half turned away, a lovely study of maiden confusion, had -the spectator been cool enough to note artistic effects. - -Chivalric compassion restrained all indication of the triumph a lover -must feel in such a position. - -“I will not detain you, if you must go in,” he said, in a voice that -was gentlest music to her ear. “Forgive me for keeping you so long. I -know how conscientious you are, and how necessary you are to Hester. We -understand one another. I will be very patient, dear, and considerate -of those whose claims are older than mine. But there is one relation -that outranks all others in the sight of God and man. That relation -you hold to me. Don’t interrupt me, love! Nothing can alter the fact. -Give me those!” as she stooped blindly for shawl and cushion. “It is -my duty to relieve you of all burdens which you will permit me to -carry for you. You would rather not have me go to the house with you?” -interpreting her gesture and look. “Only to the gate, then? You see how -reasonable I can be when possibilities are demanded.” - -He made a remark upon the agreeable change in the weather within the -last twenty-four hours, and upon the sweet repose of the Sabbath after -the tumult of the National holiday, as they walked on, side by side. At -the gate he stayed her with his frank, pleasant laugh. - -“I have a confession I don’t mind making now. At half-past twelve -o’clock last night I stood on this spot watching you. Thor and I were -camping out in the orchard. It was too hot to go into the house. I -heard a queer clicking, and saw a light in this direction, and came to -look after Homer’s Jack-o’-lantern. Instead, I saw you at the study -window, busy—oh! how wickedly busy—with the typewriter!” - -He stopped abruptly, for the face into which he smiled was bloodless, -the eyes aghast. She made a movement as if to grasp the shawl and -pillow and rush away—then her forehead fell upon the hand that clutched -at the pickets for steadiness. - -“Are you angry?” pleaded March, amazed and humble. “If I had not loved -you, I should not have been here. Was it an impertinent intrusion?” - -“No! And I am not angry—only startled.” Her complexion was still ashy, -and her tongue formed the syllables carefully. “I can understand -that you must have thought strange of what you saw. But I am used to -typewriting. I earned fifty dollars”—with mingled pride and defiance -March thought engaging—“last winter by copying law papers. And I told -you—everybody must know how poor we are.” - -“I know more than that, dearest!” laying his hand over her cold -fingers. “I surmised when I saw Mrs. Wayt dictating to you, what it -meant.” - -She was all herself again. In defense of her sister’s secret, as he -imagined when she began to speak, she rallied her best forces. Her -speech was grave, dignified, and direct. - -“I do not know what you surmised. The truth is that Mr. Wayt was taken -suddenly ill last night. His sermon must be ready by this morning. -There was not time to get a substitute. So my sister found his notes. -They were very full. She read them aloud to me. Nobody else can make -them out. I copied the sermon with the machine from her dictation. -You will understand that we would not like to have this spoken of. -Good-evening!” - -She was beyond reach in a moment, in another beyond call. - -March went back to the sylvan retreat that may be regarded as the stage -set for the principal scenes of our story. Step and heart were light, -and the same might be said of a brain that whirled like a feather in a -gale. While he had been loath to admit the gravity of the misgivings -that had embittered the slow hours between 11:30 A. M. and 7 o’clock -P. M. of that eventful Sunday, he was keenly alive to the rapture of -their removal. What a boorish bat he had been to suffer a suspicion -of the lofty rectitude of the noblest woman upon earth to enter his -mind! How altogether simple and convincing was her explanation of what -should have been no mystery to any honorable man! Yet he could not be -ashamed, in the fullness of his happiness. He called himself all the -hard names in his vocabulary with cheerful volubility, and gloried in -the lesson he had thus learned of implicit trust in the girl he loved. -No accumulation of circumstantial evidence or even the witness of the -eye should ever call up another shadow of a shade of doubt. Among -other occasions for thankfulness was the recollection that he had not -let a lisp of what he had seen last night and suspected this morning, -escape him in conversation with his mother and sister. He found himself -tracing, with a fine sense of the drollery of the conceit, the analogy -between prostrate Dagon, _sans_ arms, legs, and head, and the suspicion -which had menaced the destruction of his happiness. Mutilated, prone, -and harmless, it lay on the threshold of the temple of love and truth, -ugly rubbish to be thrust forever out of sight. - -He had hardly noticed, in the ecstasy of relief, Hetty’s haste to be -gone after she had explained her nocturnal industry. He passed as -lightly over the incoherence that had replied to his question when he -could see her again. - -“Give me time to think! Not for a day or two! Not until you hear from -me!” she had said just before reaching the gate. - -He was shrewd enough to see how well taken was his vantage ground. She -had not demurred at his stipulation. He was positive, in the audacity -of youth and passion, that she would never utter the words he had -dictated. The turf under the tree was flattened by her reclining form. -He lay down upon it, his arms doubled under his head for a pillow, -Thor taking his place beside him. The golden green changed into dull -ruddy light, this into purple ash, and this into gray that was at first -warm, then cold. The second vesper bell had set the air to quivering -and sobbed musically into silence that embalmed the memory of the -music. Rapt in dreams, in summer fragrance, and in tender dusks, the -lover lay until the stars twinkled through rifts in the massed leaves. -Now and then, the far-off roll of an organ and the sweet hymning of -accompanying voices were borne across his reverie, as the wanderer -through the twilight of an August day meets waves of warm, perfumed -air, or currents of balsamic odors floating from evergreen heights. - -At nine o’clock the moon showed the edge of a coy cheek above the -horizon hills, and shortly thereafter March heard the click of the -garden gate. Instinctively he put out his hand to keep Thor quiet, an -unwarrantable idea that Hetty might revisit the spot darting through -his mind. The shuffling of feet over the sward quieted his leaping -heart. In another minute he distinguished the outlines of a figure -stealing across the moonlit spaces separating black blotches of shade. -As it neared the covert he spoke quietly, not to alarm the intruder. - -“Good-evening, Homer.” - -“O Lord!” The three-quarter-witted wight bounded a foot from the -ground, then collapsed into a shaking huddle. - -“It is I—Mr. Gilchrist,” March hastened to add. “I am sorry I -frightened you.” - -“Now—I was jes a-lookin’ fer a light I see from the back porch down -this ’ere way,” uttered Homer, in an agitated drawl. - -March could see the coarse fingers rubbing against the backs of his -hands, and a ray of light touched the pendulous jaw. - -“It was the match I struck to light a cigar I smoked a while ago,” he -said. “I dare say that may account for the light you have seen at other -times.” - -“Ye-es, sir”—dubiously. “I been saw the light lots o’ nights, when -I aint spoke of it. ’Tain’t like er sergar. It’s like a lantern -a-swinging this er way”—swaying one hand—“I clumb this tree one night, -an’ sot thar till nigh mornin’, a-waitin’ an’ a-watchin’ fer it ter -come again. There’s a man what tole me ’twas the devil a-watchin’ out -for _me_.” - -“I am surprised you try to catch him. From what I have heard, he is a -slippery chap.” - -“_No-ow_—I aint a-feerd on him fer myself. _Now_, I’d be loath fer him -to worry Miss Hetty.” - -“You are a good fellow, Homer! A brave fellow!” responded the listener, -with sudden energy. “When you do get on the track of the light, let me -know, and I’ll lend a hand to nab the devil.” - -“Ye-es, sir! _Now_, I’ve been a-turnin’ over in my mind what that -man say to me. He’s a man as ought to know what he’s talkin’ about. -He t’reatened me orful a couple o’ times, sence we come to Fairhill. -Sometimes I can’t sleep fer thinkin’ ’bout it. ‘You stay outen that -orchard!’ he say. ‘Ther’ war a man murdered thar onct,’ he tell me, -‘an’ the devil is a-lookin’ fer him. Ef he come acrost you he’ll ketch -you by a mistake,’ he say. But then, there’s Miss Hetty, you know, Mr. -Gilchris’!” - -“What under heaven has she to do with your man, or his devil, or the -light? Who is the man who threatened you? Does he live in Fairhill?” - -Homer plucked at his lower lip and glanced apprehensively around. - -“I dunno!” he answered, in sullen evasion. “I met him on the street one -day. Two times I come acrost him in the orchard. Onct he come to the -garding gate. That was the time he tell me ’bout the murder an’ the -devil.” - -“He is a cruel, rascally liar!” cried March indignantly. “And you don’t -know his name? What is he like? Did you ever speak of this to Miss -Hetty?” - -“No, sir. She got ’nough to fret her a’ready, Miss Hetty has. I’m -’fraid for her ’bout the man. _She_ aint ’fraid o’ nothin’. ‘You do -what I tell you, Homer,’ sez she, ‘an’ I’ll stan’ between you an’ -harm,’ she say. But she aint know ’bout the devil. Nor I aint heerd o’ -the murder when she tell me _that_. That mought make a dif’rence.” - -“She is all right, all the same. She is always right. Mind her, and -you’re sure to be safe. When did you last see this man who is so well -acquainted with the devil?” - -An uneasy pause, during which Homer cracked each one of the -knuckle-joints in his left hand. - -“I dunno! I don’ jis reklec’! You won’t mention him to Miss Hetty—nor -to nobody—will you please not, Mr. Gilchris’? He’s an orful man! He’d -get even with Miss Hetty, some way, sure’s you born, Mr. Gilchris’? -‘Nurver you let on a word to _her_!’ sez he to me—‘or ’twill be the -wustest day she ever see,’ he sez.” - -“Why, this is outrageous!” ejaculated the aroused listener. “Do you -suppose I will allow this sort of thing to go on? I insist upon knowing -who the wretch is! He’ll find himself behind bars before he is a day -older, if I get hold of him.” - -“_Now_”—resumed Homer, dazed and dull—“you’d better not meddle nor make -with him. Me’n’ Miss Hetty, we could manage ’bout him, but when he sot -’bout fetchin’ the devil in—that aint a fa’r shake—_that_ aint! I’ll -say that much, ef I die fer it—’taint by no means ‘fa’r nor squar’!” - -“Pshaw!” March laughed in vexed amusement. “Did you ever know the devil -to do the fair and square thing? Or any of the devil’s men? Why didn’t -you set Mr. Wayt after your friend? It’s his trade to fight Old Nick, -you know.” - -“Yes, sir. So I been heerd tell. What’s _that_?” - -It was the sound of the gate-latch falling into the socket, and firm -quick footsteps. - -“O Lord!” whispered Homer again. “Don’t let on as I’ve been here!” - -In a twinkling, he had gone up the tree like a cat. - -By the time March recognized the latest comer, the rustling boughs -were still. Thor growled fiercely. His master advanced a step into the -moonlight. - -“Be quiet!” to the dog. “Good-evening, Mr. Wayt! The beauty of the -night has tempted you out, as well as myself.” - -“Ah, Mr. Gilchrist!”—suave and stately as usual. “As you say, it -is a glorious night. I have been sitting for half an hour with your -respected parents. Seeing you change color suddenly during the morning -service, and missing you from church this afternoon, I feared lest you -had been taken ill, and so went over to inquire. - -“Mrs. Gilchrist appeased my anxiety by saying that yours was a passing -indisposition. I was the more solicitous because I have suffered all -day from the onslaught of my constitutional enemy, ‘the rash’ and -crucial headache which my mother gave me. It is more than malady. It -is _affliction_! requiring pagan fortitude and Christian resignation. -There is some occult connection between it and the course of the -natural sun in the heavens. It seized me this morning with the rising -of the god of day and left me at the going down of the same. Mrs. -Wayt will have it that it is the penalty for much study which, if not -weariness to the flesh, occasionally revenges itself in neuralgic -pangs. I know no fatigue while the oracular rage of composition is upon -me. Last night it _possessed_ me! I wrote the entire sermon to which -you listened this morning between the hours of half-past nine Saturday -night and four o’clock this morning. In all that time I did not leave -my desk. The thunder-storm wrought strange, glorious excitement in my -brain. It was as if seven thunders uttered their voices to the ears of -my spirit.” - -The Rev. Mr. Wayt prodded holes in the turf with his cane while -speaking, holding it in his right hand almost at arm’s length, in -a straight line from his body. His face showed chalky-white in the -moon rays, his brows and hair very black; his eyes glittered, the -smile upon his thin, wide-lipped mouth was apparent in the clearing -radiance. He was disposed to be affably loquacious to the heir of a -rich parishioner, and the pastor’s “influence with young men” was one -of his specialties. This important member of an important class did not -interrupt him, and the intent expression of his figure—his back was to -the moon—was pleasantly provocative to continued eloquence. - -“The Sabbath has been superb—truly superb!” resumed the orator, pulling -out the cane after an unusual artesian feat in jabbing it into the -earth. “I could think of nothing as I looked out at daybreak upon the -brightening face of nature but Mrs. Barbauld’s ‘rose that’s newly -washed by the shower.’ My spirit put on wings to meet the new morning. -I said, aloud, in a sort of divine transport: ‘This is the day the Lord -hath made. Let us rejoice and be glad in it!’” - -“Do you ever preach extemporaneously, Mr. Wayt?” asked March. - -The sentence passed his lips almost unawares. In his perplexity and -disdain, he spoke at random. He could not stand here all night, the -victim of the modern Coleridge. He recollected, while the flowing -periods went over him, that the Rev. Percy’s admirers likened him to -the long-winded poet. The girl of his heart _in esse_ and of his home -_in posse_ might be Mr. Wayt’s wife’s sister, but Mr. Wayt himself was -an imposing liar and hypocrite, who disgraced the coat on his back. The -sooner she was removed from his house the better. He credited poor Tony -with more sense than he was reputed to possess, in that he doubted, -inferentially, his employer’s powers as an exorcist. - -“Now and then, my dear sir, now and then! But I long ago arrived at -the conclusion that natural fluency is a lure to indolence. Whatever -is worth the hearing should be worth careful preparation. The _vice -versa_ occurs to you, of course. I would give my audience ripe matter, -the slow accretion of amber-clear thought, not the fervid exudation of -momentary excitement. Every line of this morning’s sermon was written -out in full. The reporter of a New York paper took it from my hand as I -descended from the pulpit. ‘Mr. Wayt!’ he said, ‘that discourse can be -printed without the alteration of a word. It is perfect!’” - -The man’s supreme egotism pushed March into indiscretion, which he -afterward considered dishonorable. - -“You never use the typewriter, then?” - -“Occasionally,” carelessly. “I might say, semi-occasionally. But not -when I am in the Spirit—as I reverently believe I was last night. Mrs. -Wayt is a deft operator on it. She learned expressly to copy my sermons -and lectures for the press. What will not a good wife do for her -husband?” - -“What, indeed?” assented March fervently. - -He was thinking of the wifely equivocations to which he had -hearkened on the way to church, and, with genuine satisfaction, how -straightforward was Hetty’s simple tale of the sermon-writing episode. -Again he resolved to tear her out of this web of needless deceits at -the earliest possible moment. - -He left the vicinity of the apple tree, partly to shake off his -companion, partly to allow Homer opportunity to escape. Once he had -his lips open to intimate his presence in the orchard at midnight, and -that he had seen the light in the study. The reverend humbug should be -warned of the danger of gratuitous and wholesale lying. He withheld the -caution. It was not his province to reprove a man so much his senior, -and—he added mentally—such an old offender. - -Mr. Wayt sauntered on with him to the gate opening into the Gilchrist -shrubbery, bade him “good-night,” and marched back. March leaned upon -the fence, seeming to stare at the moon, and enjoying a nightcap cigar, -until the long, black figure entered the parsonage garden. While the -young man lingered he saw Homer drop, monkeylike, to the earth and -skulk homeward, keeping in the shadow when he could. - -“I would sooner take the fool’s chances of evading the devil than his -pompous and pious master’s!” soliloquized Mrs. Gilchrist’s son. - -Hetty was dusting the big parlors next morning, and making ineffectual -attempts to evolve coziness out of carpeted space, when a cough at the -door attracted her notice. - -Homer stood there, military cap in hand, and wet up to the knees -with dew. His love for flowers was a passion, only surpassed by his -exquisite tenderness for dumb animals and children. Hetty had said of -her _protégé_ that he had the soul of a painter-poet, but that the -wires were cut between spirit and speech. He had been on his knees -since there was light enough to show the difference between weeds and -precious plants, cleaning out the garden borders. - -“_Now_” (fumbling with his shabby headgear), “I was wishful fer to -speak with ye before ennybody else came down. Leastways, Mary Ann, -she’s in the kitchen, but don’t count, bein’ busy an’ out of the way.” - -Hetty smiled languidly. Her eyes were heavy-lidded; her motions slow -for her. She had lain all night, staring into the blackness above her, -now crying to a deaf heaven to show her a plain path for her feet, now -trembling with ecstatic anguish in the recollection of the interview -that opened a vista of Eden she yet dared not enter. - -“Come what may, he has called me darling!” she was thinking for the -hundredth time, as the interruption came. - -“What is it, Homer? Are your flowers all right?” - -He ventured, after a glance at his feet, to step upon the unbroken -breadths of Brussels. - -“_Now_—I was up a tree in the orchard las’ night. An’ Mr. Gilchris’—the -_young_ one—and Mr. Wayt, they were a-talkin’ on the groun’ under the -tree——” - -Hetty wheeled upon him with blazing eyes and cheeks. - -“You were in the orchard! In what tree? When? But no!” Her excitement -subsided as quickly as it had arisen. “You were in the house when I -came in. Go on!” She drew a long breath. - -Homer twiddled his thumbs in the crown of his cap. His speech could -never be hurried. If urged to talk fast, he was dumb. - -“Now, I was up in that big tree where the picter was painted. Mr. -Gilchris’—the young Mr. Gilchris’—he war a-lyin’ onto the grass when I -came along. ’Twar after you had gone upstairs—nigh onto ten o’clock, I -guess, or may be nine—I aint certain. I’d saw the same light, an’, for -all them boys ken say, I’ve been saw it many a time——” - -“Never mind the light.” Hetty said it patiently. “Tell me how you -happened to climb the tree.” - -“Now, Mr. Gilchris’—the young gentleman—he spoke very civil an’ kind to -me, an’ we war talkin’ quite a spell, when I heerd Mr. Wayt a-comin’, -an’ I clumb the tree so’s he wouldn’t see me, an’ may be go fur me, you -know. An’ while I war in the tree I heerd him a-tellin’ Mr. Gilchris’—I -meantersay the young Mr. Gilchris’—how he’d sot up ’tell daybreak, four -o’clock Sat’day night, a figurin’ onto his sermon what he preached on -Sunday——” - -“Homer!” - -“Yes, ma’am! He war talkin’ very high Scotch, mos’ly like he does -all times, ’specially to comp’ny-folks, but I got the sense of that -much. He said as how he an’ the thunder-storm they figured up the -sermon together, near’s I could make out. An’ Mr. Gilchris’—the young -gentleman—he said precious little—an’ Mr. Wayt, he splurged out -considerable ’bout seein’ the sun rise an’ so forth, an’ ’bout his -headache comin’ on an’ a-goin off with the sun. An’ then the two of -’em walked off quite frien’ly, an’ soon’s as they was out o’ sight, I -lighted out and come home.” - -Hetty was sitting upon the sofa, too sick and weak to stand. - -“Are you sure that you heard all this? Did Mr. Gilchrist know you were -in the tree?” - -“Now—he see me go up. I ast him not to let on to _him_. But what I come -to say war, ’taint noways nor nurver safe to say what aint jes’ true, -jes’ for the sake of talkin’ big, an’ Mr. Wayt, bein’ a edicated man, -he’d ought to be tole that. T’ould ’a’ been better not to say nuthin’ -’bout Sat’day night ’thout somebody ast h’m.” - -“There!” His young mistress put out her hand imperatively. “That will -do. Don’t speak of this to anybody else. Go back to your work.” - -On their way to school, the twins left a thin envelope at Judge -Gilchrist’s door. It was addressed to March. - - “I have heard what was the substance of Mr. Wayt’s - conversation with you last night. Knowing you as I do, - I am sure, that in mercy to the innocent, you will not - let it go further. I recognize in the incident one more - added to the many reasons why I can never be more than - - “Your friend, - H. ALLING.” - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. - - -MARCH GILCHRIST’S name was brought up to the sewing room at eleven -o’clock Monday morning. Hetty was cutting out shirts for the twins at -a table of Homer’s contrivance and manufacture. Her face was flushed, -perhaps with stooping over the board, when she looked up. - -“Please say that I am particularly engaged this morning, Mary Ann, and -beg to be excused.” - -“My dear!” expostulated Mrs. Wayt. “He has probably called with a -message from his mother or sister.” - -“In that case ask him to leave it with you, Mary Ann, unless you care -to go down, Frances?” - -“He said ‘Miss Alling’ most particular,” ventured Mary Ann. - -“Then take my message just as I gave it, if you please.” - -“Did you know,” pursued Miss Alling, when the girl had gone, “that -Perry is an inch taller than his brother? His arms are longer, too. -They were exactly the same size until this summer.” - -Mrs. Wayt eyed her sister with a helpless, distraught air, while the -scissors flashed and slipped through the muslin, and the worker -appeared to have no interest in life beyond the manipulation of both. - -“Dear,” she said timidly at length, without noticing the other’s query. -“I never blame you for any action, however singular it may seem to me. -I know you always have some excellent reason for what you do or say. -But the Gilchrists are our best neighbors, and are leading people in -the church. It would be unwise to offend them. Do you object to telling -me why you would not see Mr. March Gilchrist?” - -Hetty shifted the pattern to a corner of the stuff, turned it upside -down and regarded it solemnly, her head on one side. Then she pinned it -fast and fell again to cutting. - -“I do object—decidedly!” she said composedly. “But it is perhaps -best that you should know the truth. It may prevent unpleasant -complications. Mr. Gilchrist did me the honor last evening to offer to -marry me, and I refused him.” - -“Hetty Alling!” - -“That is likely to remain my name. I supposed that you would be -surprised. _I_ was!” as coolly as before. “I trust to your honor to -keep Mr. Gilchrist’s secret, even from Mr. Wayt. It is not a matter -that concerns anybody but ourselves. And we will not allude to it -again.” - -Struck by something unnatural in the girl’s perfect composure, the -tender-hearted matron leaned forward to stroke the head bowed over the -work. - -“There is something behind all this, Hetty, dear. I am sure of it. It -would make me very happy to see you married to such a man as March -Gilchrist. What objection can you have to him as a suitor?” - -“The very question which he asked and I answered. Excuse me for -reminding you that nobody else has the right to press it.” - -The rebuff did not end the discussion. The matter was, in Mrs. Wayt’s -mind, too grave to be lightly dismissed. - -“Don’t be angry with me!” staying the progress of the clicking shears, -that her sister might be compelled to hear what she said, “I love you -too dearly to let you make a blunder you may regret for a lifetime. -March is a noble young fellow, of unexceptionable family and character. -His disposition is excellent; his manners are charming; he has talent, -energy——” - -“Spare me the rest of the catalogue, please!” retorted Hetty curtly. -“It is not like you, Francis, to force a disagreeable subject upon me. -And this is one of the least agreeable you could select. Discussion of -it is indelicate and a breach of confidence on my part—and altogether -useless on yours.” - -Yet she was especially gentle and affectionate with her sister for -the rest of the day. On bidding her “good-night” she embraced her -fervently. - -“I love you dearly; better this minute than ever before, if I was so -savage this morning,” she said, with shining eyes, to March’s champion. - -Upstairs she read “Locksley Hall” through to Hester, who was sleepless, -until twelve o’clock. Not until the clock had struck the half-hour -after midnight was Hetty free to take from her pocket and look at a -letter the afternoon mail had brought. The superscription was in a hand -she had seen in notes to Hester and upon the fly-leaves of books, and -it was still sealed. She sat looking at it, as it lay within the open -palm of a lax hand for a good (or bad) quarter of an hour. - -Hester’s regurgitate breathing—worse to-night than usual—was the only -sound in the chamber. Now and then she raised her hands strugglingly, -as if dreaming, but she slept on. - -To open that letter and take the contents into her empty heart would -be to the lonely orphan Heaven on earth. It was long, for the envelope -held several sheets. It was eloquent, for she had heard him talk upon -the theme set forth in every line. She had will-force sufficient to -conceal from the sister, whose heart would be broken by the truth, her -reasons for refusing to link hers with the unsmirched name of the man -she loved. She was not strong enough to put her finger under the flap -of that envelope and read a single line, and then persist in doing -right. Perhaps, in spite of the repulse of the morning, he had again -called her “darling!” - -She durst not risk the seeing; she had strength given her to keep the -resolution, but she did no more that night. The answer must wait until -morning. The letter was hidden under the pillow, and her hand touched -it while she slept and while she lay awake. In the still, purple dawn, -she arose quietly, not to disturb Hester, dressed herself and knelt for -a brief prayer, such as the busiest member of the household had time -to offer. While she prayed she held the unopened letter to her heart. -Arising, she kissed it lingeringly. - -“God bless my love!” she whispered. - -With steady fingers she wrote upon the reverse of the envelope: “_I -cannot read this. Do not write again_,” slipped it into a larger cover, -addressed it, and, before the family was astir, sent Homer with it to -the nearest letter box. - -She had acted bravely, and, she believed, decisively, but she had -blundered withal. An unopened letter, unaccompanied by a word of -extenuation of the flagrant discourtesy, might damp the ardor of the -most adoring lover. Yet March’s eyes were lit by a ray of affectionate -amusement in receiving back this, the first love letter he had ever -penned. He kissed the one-line sentence before putting the envelope -away. - -“Perhaps she is afraid of herself!” May had suggested sagely, _à -propos_ of Hetty’s avoidance of his visits. - -The bright-natured suitor’s conclusion, after reading what was meant -as a quietus to his addresses, was not dissimilar. If the case were -hopeless she would have written nothing. Nevertheless, he bowed to the -laconic: “Do not write again.” He did more than she had commanded. -Without attempting to see Hetty again, he escorted his sister in the -second week of July to Long Branch, and stayed there a fortnight, then -went with her to Mt. Desert for ten days more. - -The malign influence of a dog-day drought was upon Fairhill when the -pair returned. The streets were deep in dust, the sun, a red and -rayless ball, had rolled from east to west, and taken his own time -in doing it, and was staining to a dingy crimson horizon-vapors that -looked as dry as the dust, as brother and sister paused upon the piazza -for a look over the familiar landscape. - -“It is stifling after the seashore!” breathed May. “But it is home! I -am _glad_ to be back!” - -“And I—always!” - -March said it, in stooping, hat in hand, to kiss his mother. There was -the ring of sincerity in his voice; his eyes were placid. He had come -home to her cured of an ill-starred fancy for an ineligible girl. There -was no sign of anything more than neighborly interest in his face when -May asked at dinner-time how the Wayts were. - -“Well, I believe,” replied Mrs. Gilchrist. “I have seen comparatively -little of them while you were away, except at church. It has been too -hot for visiting. Yesterday I took Hester out to drive. She misses you -sadly, May. She is thinner and has less color than when you went away.” - -“Dear little Queen Mab!” said Hester’s friend. “I must have her over -to-morrow to spend the day. I have some books and sketches for her. And -Hetty?” - -“Is as busy as usual, Hester tells me. She goes out very little, I -believe. The young people hereabouts call her a recluse.” - -The unconscious judge came to the relief of all parties. - -“Mr. Wayt’s congregation continues large,” he remarked. “He preached a -truly remarkable sermon last Sunday. At this rate we will have to pull -down our church and build a larger by next year.” - -The wife looked gratified. It was much to have her husband speak of -“our church.” - -May was content to wait for the morrow’s meeting with her pet. Hester -was wild with impatience to be again with her worshiped friend. Hetty -might remonstrate, and her mother entreat her not to intrude upon the -family on the evening of the travelers’ arrival. The spoiled child -was unmanageable. She could not sleep a wink, she protested, until she -had kissed Miss May, and exchanged reports of the weeks separating -them from the dear everyday intercourse. She would take with her the -portfolio she had almost worked herself ill to fill with what May must -think showed diligent endeavor to improve. - -“Then, there is the great news to tell!” - -“Wouldn’t it be well to wait a while before speaking of that?” -dissuaded the mother. - -“It is a week old, already!” Hester pouted, “and I said never a word to -Mrs. Gilchrist yesterday. ‘The Seasons’”—the _mot de famille_ at the -Gilchrists’ for brother and sister—“are our only _own_ friends, mamma. -You can trust them to hold their tongues!” - -“What seems a great event to us will be small to them,” cautioned Mrs. -Wayt—then gave Hester her way. - -Nine o’clock saw her in Homer’s charge on the orchard road, the -shortest, as it was the most secluded, to the Gilchrist place. - -“Where _are_ you taking me, Tony?” she aroused from a happy, expectant -reverie to ask, midway. - -The aftermath of the June mowing was tall by now, and the chair was -almost hidden in it. - -“Now—I don’ keer fur to take ye near that big tree. ’Taint wholesome -nor proper!” grunted the charioteer. He was slightly afraid of the -testy little damsel, and took on doughty airs at times to disprove the -fact. “We’ll soon git inter the path agi’n.” - -“But I won’t stand this!” cried Hester, irate. “Go back to the path! -Not wholesome! not proper! What do you mean!” - -“Now—I seen the light there oftener’n anywheres else”—Homer was -beginning, when they were hailed by a well-known voice. - -“What are you doing over there?” called March. - -“Swimming for our lives,” returned Hester. “Won’t you dive, and drag me -out by the hair of my head?” - -Her tone was tremulous with delight. As he took her hand, it quivered -like a poplar leaf in his large, cordial grasp. He was fond of Hester -on her own account, fonder of her because he linked her with Hetty. He -had strolled down the street with his cigar after giving his mother a -detailed account of the pleasure making of the last three weeks. He -felt the heat inland to be oppressive after the surf breeze. His mother -was glad that his saunter was not in the direction of the parsonage. -She knew nothing of the short cut from the back street, or with what -ease an athlete of six-and-twenty could vault a five-barred fence. -Besides, was not her boy a cured and discharged patient! - -The meeting with Hester, if not the best thing he had hoped for, was -so much better than a solitary ramble in dream-haunted grounds that he -greeted her joyously. It was not the first time the idea had come to -him of making a confidante of the keen-witted, deep-hearted child, but -it suddenly took the shape of determination. - -“Going to see May!” He echoed her reply to his next question. “She is -tired out, and has gone to her room by this. She means to claim you for -the whole of to-morrow. Give me a little chat in our arbor instead, -and I will take you home. I have not seen you for an age, and I have -something very interesting to me and important to you, to say to you.” - -She laughed up in his face in sheer pleasure. - -“And I have something particularly interesting to me, and not important -to you, to tell in return. We have an event in our family—an agreeable -happening as to results, although it comes by a dark and crooked -road—or so mamma persists in saying.” - -March had propelled her into the open track and stopped as she said -this to lean forward and peer into the saucy face. A disagreeable—an -absurd—thrill passed over him. Had he lost Hetty? - -“An event! Accomplished or prospective?” - -“Both!” chuckled Hester. - -“Is it an engagement?” bringing out the word courageously. - -The question was never answered. A vigorous onward push had brought -them into the moonlit area surrounding the king apple tree. Thor rushed -forward, bellowing ferociously at a long black body that lay half -under, half beyond the dipping outward branches, now weighted almost to -the ground with growing fruit. - -“Homer!” shouted March to the figure retreating toward the garden. -“Come back! hurry!” And, hastily, to Hester: “I will send you home with -him and go for the police. Don’t be frightened. It is only a drunken -tramp, or may be a sleeper. In either case he cannot stay here. These -are my father’s grounds.” - -Hester had not uttered a sound, but the slight figure, bent toward the -recumbent man, had a strained intensity of expression words could not -have conveyed. Her eyes were fixed, as by the fascination of horrified -dread—one small hand plucked oddly at her throat. - -“Take her home, Homer!” March ordered, “and say nothing to alarm the -ladies. I’ll attend to _him_!” - -“No! _no!_ NO!” shrilled Hester in an unearthly tone that made him -start. “You must go home! you! _you!_ and say nothing! tell nobody! O -God of mercy, it has come at last! Don’t touch him!” her voice rising -into a husky shriek. For, parting the boughs, March passed to the head -of the prostrate man, and stooped to raise him. His quick eye had -perceived that he was well dressed and no common tramp in figure, also -that he had lain, not fallen, where he was found. In bending to take -hold of him, he detected, even in the intensity of his excitement, the -peculiar, heavy, close odor of drugs that had hung in the air on the -Fourth of July night. In company with a policeman, our young artist had -once visited a Chinese “opium dive” in New York, and he recognized the -smell now. - -Homer was beside him, and lent intelligent aid. - -“_Now_,” he drawled, without the slightest evidence of alarm, “_I_ -mos’ly lif’s him up _so_-fashion!” - -The action brought the features into a rift of moonlight. - -“Great Heavens!” broke from March in a low tone of horror and dismay. -“It is Mr. Wayt!” - -Laying him on the turf he went back to Hester and seized the bar of her -chair. - -“You must go home! You must not see him, my poor child! It is your -father, and he is very ill—unconscious. Not a moment is to be lost. I -must go for a doctor immediately!” - -“_Let go!_” - -Beside herself with fury, she actually struck at the hand grasping the -propeller; her eyes flashed fire; her accents, hardly louder than a -wheezing whisper, were jerky gasps, painful to hear. - -“Let go, I say! and do you go to your safe, decent home, as I told -you! Tony and I are used to this sort of thing!” - -“Hester! you do not know what you are saying!” March came around and -faced her, trying to quiet her by cold, stern authority. - -It was thrown away. She raved on—still tearing away with her tiny -fierce hands at her heaving throat as if to give speech freer vent. - -“I do know—oh, we are graduates in these frolicsome escapades! It is -inconsiderate in him—” with a horrid laugh—“to give his wife, his -wife’s sister, and the family factotum such a job as carrying him -all this way. To do him justice, he seldom forgets the decencies so -entirely. If I had my way, he should lie here all night. Only his wife -would come out and stay with him. What are you staring at me for, Mr. -Gilchrist? Here is our family skeleton! Does it frighten you out of -your wits?” - -Her croaks of laughter threatened dissolution to the fragile frame. It -was an awful, a repulsive exhibition. - -“It is you who have lost yours!” rejoined March gravely. “Your father -may be dying, for aught you know. A hundred men fell in the streets -of New York to-day, overcome by the heat—and we are wasting precious -minutes in wild, nonsensical talk. If you will let Homer take you to -the house, and compose yourself sufficiently to prepare your mother for -the shock of seeing her husband brought in insensible, we may save him -yet. Go! and send Homer back at once.” - -The wild eyes surveyed him piercingly; with a low, meaning laugh, she -sank back among her cushions. - -“I think”—she said distinctly and deliberately—“that you are the best -man God ever made! Go on, Tony!” - -Left alone with the unconscious man, March stooped and rolled him -entirely over. He had been lying, face downward, his cheek to the -sward; one arm was by his side, the other was thrown in a natural -position above his head. His pulse was almost normal, although somewhat -sluggish; his respiration heavy, but not stertorous: his complexion was -not sanguine. His breath and, March fancied, his whole body reeked of -opium. March shook him gently. He slept on. With a disgustful shiver, -he forced himself to pass an arm under his head and lift it to his -knee. There was no change in the limp lethargy. The young man laid him -down, and, rising, stood off and looked at the pitiable wreck. Hester’s -frenzied tirade had disabused the listener’s mind of the suspicion -of suicide. He could no longer doubt that here was the unraveling of -the complex design that had vexed his heart and head. The popular -preacher was not the first of brilliant parts and high position who -had fallen a victim to a debasing and insidious habit, but his skill -and effrontery in concealing the truth were remarkable. Yet—might not -March have divined the nature of the mystery before this revelation? -The peculiar brilliancy of the deep-set eyes; his variable spirits; his -fluent and, at times, erratic speech; the very character of his pulpit -eloquence—might have betrayed him to an expert. His wife’s nervous -vigilance and eager assiduity of devotion—above all, the episode of -the midnight toilers, and the conflicting stories of the need of -that toil—finally—and he recalled it with a bursting heart—Hetty’s -declaration to her lover that there were insurmountable obstacles to -their union—were as clear as daylight now. The sudden illness of that -memorable Saturday night was stupor like that which now chained the -slave of appetite to the earth. - -How often and with what excess of anguish the revolting scene had -been enacted only the two unhappy sisters knew, unless the still more -hapless daughter were in the secret. Her wail, “Oh, God of mercy! it -has come at last!” was a key to depths of suspenseful endurance and -labyrinths of unavailing deception. - -Unavailing, for the instant of detection was the beginning of the end. -The man was ruined beyond redemption. A whisper of his infirmity would -be the loss of place, reputation, and livelihood, and his innocent -family would go down quick into the pit with him. This was the vision -of impending gloom that had disturbed what should be sunny deeps in the -sweetest eyes in the world to him. This was the almost certain prospect -that made her write, “I can never be more than your friend!” - -The Gilchrist was clean, honest blood. Hetty testified her appreciation -of this truth by refusing to marry him. He could think how his mother -would look when she had heard the story and how Fairhill gossip would -gloat over the “newest thing in clerical scandals!” - -Why should it be made public? Why should he not help to keep it quiet -instead of pulling down ruin upon the helpless and unoffending? Hetty -had written, “In mercy to the innocent.” He seemed to hear her say it -now, in his ear. - -A faint melodious chime just vibrated through the sultry air. The -fine bell of the “Old First” had struck the half hour. The church in -which he was baptized; the church of his mother’s love and prayers! -At thought of the pulpit desecrated by this fellow’s feet, a rush of -indignant contempt surged up to his lips. - -“Sacrilegious dog!” he muttered, touching the motionless heap with his -foot. - -Homer shambled back out of breath. He had brought a lantern. - -“_Now_—it’s powerful shady under the trees!” he replied to March’s -remark that the moon gave all the light they required. “An’ ther’s -somethin’ come ter me, as I want ter see!” - -He set down the lantern, hugged the tree bole, and went up a foot or -two. Then were heard a scratching and a rattling overhead. - -“_Now_—would ye a mind holdin’ this ’tell I git ’em all?” - -The “all” were four bottles and a tin box. Two phials were long and -empty. A name was blown in the glass. March held one down to the light. - -“_Elixir of Opium!_” - -The others were larger and of stout blue glass. A printed label said -“_Phosphate_.” March pulled out a cork and smelled the contents. Opium -again! - -The box held the same drug as a dark paste. - -“I mistrusted them horsephates a coople o’ times!” said Homer, -imperturbably sagacious. “He wor too everlastin’ fond of ’em. He -skeered me with the devil inter goin’ ter the drug store with a paper -ter tell ’em for ter give me that ar’ one,” designating an empty phial. -“Leastways, one like it. An’ Miss Hetty, she foun’ it in the garding, -where I drapped it. Then, ’twas she tole me nivver to go nowhar ’thout -’twas she sent me. An’ I aint sence! An’ he’s t’reatened me orful a -many a time ’cause what she said to me that time. I guess he bought ’em -in New York, mos’ likely. He’s a sharp un—Mr. Wayt is!” - -March eyed him suspiciously. - -“How did you know where these things were, if you had nothing to do -with hiding them!” - -“_Now_”—stolid under the implied doubt, or not noticing it—“you reklec’ -the Sunday night me ’n you was talkin’ here, ’n’ _he_ come along, an’ -I shinned up the tree? I bet”—with more animation than March had ever -seen him display before—“he was a-comin’ for a drink then! ’Twas the -very night before, when Miss Hetty, she come all the way up to my -room, an’ sez she, ‘Homer,’ sez she, ‘Mr. Wayt has done it agin,’ she -say. An’ so he had, an’ him a lyin’ on the study floor jes’ as you -see him now—an’ Mrs. Wayt a-cryin’ over him. You see she’d b’lieved, -sure an’ certain, he’d nuvver do so no more. But _I_ mistrusted them -horsephates. _Now_, that very night—Sunday night ’twas, ’n’ me an’ you -was a-talkin’ here—as I was a-slidin’ down the tree I kotched inter a -hole, an’ somethin’ sort o’ jingled, like glass. I nuvver t’ought no -more ’bout it tell jes’ ez I come up to-night an’ see him a-sprawlin’ -thar, an’ I smelled the stuff. I’ll jes’ hide ’em in the grass, -an’ to-morrow early I’ll bury ’em in the garding. But it’s a quare -cupboard, that is.” - -While talking, he was busy spreading upon the turf a heavy shawl, such -as were worn by men, forty years ago. “_Now_—ef you’ll lend a lift to -him!” to the wondering observer. - -The plan was ingenious, but Homer’s dexterity in carrying it out, -and the _sangfroid_ he maintained throughout, betokened an amount of -practice at which March’s soul recoiled. It was frightfully realistic. -Mr. Wayt was laid in the middle of the big plaid; the two ends were -knotted tightly upon his chest, inclosing his arms, the other two about -his ankles. - -“I’ll hitch on to the heavy eend,” quoth the bunch of muscle and bone -March had begun to admire. “Me bein’ useter to it nor what you be. You -take holt on his feet.” - -In such style the stately saint was borne up the back steps and laid -upon the settee in the parsonage hall. - -Mrs. Wayt was upon the porch. Her first words gave one of the bearers -his cue. - -“Oh, Mr. Gilchrist! This is dreadful! And he seemed so well at dinner -time! The heat often affects him seriously. He had a sunstroke some -years ago, and every summer he feels the effects of it. Lay him down -here and rest before taking him upstairs. There. Thank you.” - -While she undid and removed the clerical cravat and collar from his -throat, March straightened his spine and looked around for Hetty. The -house was as still as a grave. The front door was closed; the rooms on -both sides of the hall were dark and silent. It was Thursday night, -the universal “evening out” for Fairhill servants. March recollected -it in the mechanical way in which one thinks of trifles at important -junctures. He was glad—mechanically—that Mary Ann was not there to -carry the tale of Mr. Wayt’s fainting fit, or semi-sunstroke, or -whatever name his wife chose to put to it, to Mrs. Gilchrist. He was -beginning to ask himself what he should say at home of what he had done -with himself between nine and ten o’clock that evening. - -The transportation up to the second story was slow and difficult. Mrs. -Wayt supported her husband’s head, and, like a flash, recurred to March -Hester’s sneer of the task laid upon “his wife, his wife’s sister, and -the family factotum.” It must have been barely accomplished on the July -night when he and May brought Hester home, and Hetty ran down out of -breath, her hair disheveled and eyes scared! That _her_ hands should be -fouled by such a burden! - -His face was set whitely, as, having deposited the load upon the bed, -he accosted the wife: - -“Would you like to have a physician?” - -His tone was hard and constrained. She did not look up. - -“You are very good but it is not necessary—thank you! I have seen him -as ill before from the same cause and know what to do for him. And he -is morbidly sensitive with regard to these attacks. He thinks it would -injure him in his profession if the impression were to get abroad that -his health is unsound or his constitution breaking up. I shall not -even dare tell him that you have seen him to-night.” - -She was putting extraordinary force upon herself, but she could not -meet his eye. - -“I cannot thank you just now as I would, Mr. Gilchrist. I am all -unnerved, and although I know this seizure is not dangerous, it is -a terrible ordeal to me to witness it. May I ask that you will not -mention it, even to Judge and Mrs. Gilchrist? My husband would be -mortified and distressed beyond measure were his illness the subject of -even friendly remark.” - -March hesitated, and she turned upon him quickly. Her face was that of -an old woman—gray, withered, and scored with lines, each one of which -meant an agony. - -His resolution dissolved like the frost before fire. - -“You may depend upon my discretion and friendship,” he said impulsively. - -She burst into tears, the low, convulsive sobbing he had heard above -stairs on that other night. - -Unable to bear more he ran down the staircase, and recognized before he -reached the foot that he had committed himself to a lie. - -“Mr. Gilchrist!” - -His hand was upon the lock of the front door when he caught the low -call. - -Hetty stood upon the threshold of the library, a shadowy figure in -white that seemed to waver in the uncertain light. - -“I should like to speak to you, if you can spare a few minutes,” she -pursued, leading the way into the room. - -With a bow of acquiescence he sat down and waited for her to begin. His -mind was in a tumult; dumb pain devoured him. He felt as any honorable -man might feel who condones a felony. - - - - -CHAPTER IX - - -“MY sister has begged you to keep secret what you have seen -to-night—has she not?” was Hetty’s first inquiry, spoken without haste -and without excitement. - -A mute bow replied. - -“And you have promised to do it?” - -“I told Mrs. Wayt that she might depend upon my discretion.” - -“Which she construes into a pledge to connive at a wrong done to a -church and a community,” in precisely the same tone and manner as -before. - -March stared at her perplexedly. What did the girl mean? And was this -resolute, impassive woman of business the blushing trembler who, a -month ago, could not deny her love for him? She was very serious now, -but apparently very tranquil. - -“You would say, if you were not too kind-hearted, that this is what I -am doing—what I have been doing for nearly ten years—and you would be -right. It would not exculpate me in your opinion if I were to represent -that Mr. Wayt’s profession is all that stands between his family and -the poorhouse; that I do not habitually attend the church in which he -officiates, and that my name has never appeared upon the record of any -one of the parishes of which he has had charge since I became a member -of his family. Mr. Wayt and I have not exchanged a syllable directly -for over five years. I neither respect nor like him. He can never -forgive my knowledge of his character, and my interference with his -habits. These were confirmed before I came to my sister.” - -“Let me beg,” interposed March, “that you will not go on with what -cannot but be distressing to you. You need no justification in my -sight. If you will permit me to call to-morrow morning we can talk -matters over calmly and at leisure. It is late, and you have had a -severe nervous strain.” - -“Unless you insist upon the postponement I would rather speak now, -while my mind is steady in the purpose to make an end of subterfuge and -concealment. I _am_ weary, but it is of falsehoods, acted and spoken. -Hester has told me of your generous pretense of misunderstanding the -nature of Mr. Wayt’s attack. There it is again!”—relapsing into her -usual tone, and with whimsical vexation that made March smile. “I -am afraid I have forgotten how to be frank! My poor sister’s eager -talk of ‘attacks’ and ‘seizures’ and ‘turns’ and ‘sunstroke’ and -‘constitutional headaches’ has unbalanced my perceptions of right and -wrong.” - -“You cannot expect me to agree with you there?” the suppressed smile -becoming visible. - -She was not to be turned aside from the straight track. - -“Nothing so perverts conscience as a systematic course of concealment, -even when it is practiced for what seem to be noble ends. I have felt -this for a long time. Lately the sense of guilt has been insupportable. -It may be relief—if not expiation—to tell the truth in the plainest -terms I can use. It may leave me more wretched than I am now. But right -is right.” - -Her chin trembled and she raised her hand to cover it. Her admirable -composure was smoldering excitement, kept under by will and the -conscience whose rectitude she undervalued. With a sub-pang, March -perceived that this disclosure was not a confidence, but a duty. - -“Mr. Wayt was a confirmed opium eater and drinker, twelve years ago,” -she resumed in a cold monotone. “He would drink intoxicating liquors, -too, when narcotics were not to be had. I believe the appetite for the -two is a common symptom of the habit. His wife shielded him, then, as -she does now, and so successfully that he kept a church in Cincinnati -for four years. Hester was a beautiful, active child, eight years old, -and a great pet with her father. He does not care for children, as a -rule, but she was pretty and clever and amused him. One day she begged -her mother to let her take ‘dear papa’s’ lunch up to him. It was -always ‘dear papa’ with her. He had a way of locking himself in his -study from morning until night Saturday. Even his wife did not suspect -that he wrote his Sunday sermon with a glass of laudanum and brandy at -his side. He was busy upon a set of popular discourses on ‘Crying Sins -of the Day.’ They drew immense crowds.” - -A sarcastic gleam passed over her face, and for the first time the -listener saw a likeness to the witty and wise cripple. - -“Hester knocked again and again without getting answered. Then her -father called out that he was busy and did not want any lunch. She was -always willful, and he had indulged her unreasonably. So she declared -that she would not go away until he opened the door and took the -tray—not if she had to stand there and knock all day. He tore open the -door in a fury, threw the tray and the lunch downstairs, and flung the -child after it. The drugged drink had made him crazy.” - -March shuddered. - -“And that was the cause——” - -“It left her what you see, now. The effect upon her character and -feelings was, if possible, more deplorable. From that hour she has -never spoken to her father at all, or of him as ‘papa.’ It is always -‘he’ and ‘him’ to the family, ‘Mr. Wayt’ to strangers. It seems -horribly unnatural, but she loathes and despises him. While she lay -crushed and suffering for the months that passed before she left her -bed, she would go into convulsions at sight of him. Her mother begged -her, on her knees, to ‘forgive poor papa, who had a delirious headache -when he pushed her away from the door.’ Hester refused passionately. -She is no more forgiving now. Yet she was so proud and shrewd, even -then, that she never betrayed to the doctors how she was hurt. She let -everybody believe that it was an accident. I had been her nurse for six -months before she told me the fearful story. - -“The truth never got abroad in Cincinnati, but flying rumors of Mr. -Wayt’s growing eccentricities and the possible cause gathered an -opposition party in the church. It was headed by a prominent druggist, -who had talked with others in the trade from whom Mr. Wayt had bought -opium, laudanum, and brandy. He has been more cunning in his purchases -since then. He was obliged to resign his charge, and became what poor -Hester calls ‘an ecclesiastical tramp.’ He controls his appetite within -tolerably safe bounds for a while, sometimes for months, then gives -way, and we live on the verge of discovery and disgrace until the -crisis comes. The end is always the same. We break camp and ‘move on.’” - -“Yet he brought clean papers to the Fairhill church.” - -A dreary smile went with the answer. - -“Clerical charity suffereth long and is kind! Out of curiosity I -attended once a meeting of a presbytery that dismissed him from his -church and commended him to another presbytery. We had narrowly -escaped public exposure at that time. The sexton found Mr. Wayt in the -condition you have seen this evening upon the floor of the lecture room -and called in a physician, who boldly proclaimed that the man was ‘dead -drunk.’ The accused put in a plea of indisposition and an overdose of -brandy, inadvertently swallowed. His brethren, assembled in solemn -session, spoke of his faithful work in the vineyard and the leadings of -Divine Providence, and said that their prayers went with him to his new -field of labor. - -“I don’t want to be unjust or cynical, Mr. Gilchrist, and I can see -that there is a pleasanter side to the case. There _is_ such a thing -as Christian charity, and more of it in the world than we are willing -to admit. However church people may gossip about an unpopular pastor, -and maneuver to get rid of him, when the parting comes they will not -brand him in the eyes of others. And clergymen are very faithful to -one another. It is really beautiful to see how they try to hide faults -and foibles. It is a literal fulfillment of the command, ‘Bear ye one -another’s burdens.’ In some—in most of Mr. Wayt’s charges—the secret of -his frequent change of pastorate was not told. He was ‘odd,’ and ‘had -nomadic tastes.’ Sometimes the climate did not agree with his health. -The air was too strong or too weak. Twice poor Hester’s condition -demanded an immediate change. We went to Chicago to be near an eminent -surgeon, who, after all, never saw her. - -“I will not weary you with the details of a life such as I pray God -few families know. After a few years Hester and I became hopeless of -anything better. Wherever we might go, change, and the probability of -disgrace, were a mere question of time. My sister never loses faith -in her husband and in an overruling Power that will not forsake the -righteous. For, strange as it may seem, she believes in the piety of a -man whose sacred profession is a continual lie. - -“Oh, Mr. Gilchrist!” the enforced monotony of her tone wavering into -a cry of pain—“I think _that_ is the worst of all! When I recollect -my mother’s pure religion—when I see your mother’s beneficent life -and firm faith in goodness and in God—when I know that, in spite of -the seeming untruthfulness which is, she thinks, necessary to protect -her husband—my sister holds fast to her love and trust in an Almighty -Friend, and walks humbly with her God, I feel such indignation against -a man who is the slave of passion, selfish, vain, and conscienceless, -and yet assumes to show such souls the way to heaven, that I dare not -enter the church where he is allowed to preach, lest I should cry out -in the face of his hearers against the monstrous cheat!” - -Her eyes flamed clear; the torrent of feeling swept away reserve and -coldness. - -“I understand!” March said, with sympathetic warmth. “You never -disappoint me. Tell me what I can do to help you. I cannot let you -endure all this alone any longer.” - -“Nobody can take my share of the burden. I would hardly know myself -without it. It will be the heavier for my sister’s distress and -Hester’s anger when they hear what I have decided to do. Hester was on -her way over to your house when you met her, full of news she could not -wait until to-morrow to tell. My mother’s only brother went to Japan -thirty years ago and became rich. He died last March, leaving most of -his fortune to benevolent institutions in America. To each of us, his -sister’s children, he bequeathed ten thousand dollars. It is not a -fortune, but with our modest tastes, and when joined to the little I -already have, it will support us decently. My first thought, when the -news reached us, a week ago, was ‘Now, Mr. Wayt need never take another -charge! We need not live upon tainted food!’” - -“You are a noble woman, Hetty——” - -She interrupted him. - -“I am not! This is not self-sacrifice, but self-preservation. If the -money had not been given to us, I must have found some way out of a -false position. I want you to tell your father all you know. Keep back -nothing I have told you. He is a good and a merciful man. Let him -speak openly to Mr. Wayt and forbid him ever to enter the pulpit again -upon penalty of public exposure and suspension from the ministry. What -Judge Gilchrist says will have weight. With all his high looks and -sounding talk, Mr. Wayt is a coward. He would not venture to resist -the decision. Then we will go away quietly. I have thought of the -little town in which my sister and I were born. Living is cheap there -and there are excellent schools for the children. Twenty-five thousand -dollars will go very far in that region, and we can be honest people -once more.” - -“You have arranged it all, have you?” said March, not at all in the -tone she had expected to hear. “Give them the cheap town, and the good -schools, and the twenty-five thousand dollars by all means. They can -have everything but _you_!” - - - - -CHAPTER X. - - -THE long storm in August set in next day. A fine, close drizzle veiled -the world by 7 o’clock. At 8.30, the twins and Fanny needed their -waterproof cloaks for the walk to school. By noon the patter on the -piazza roof and falling floods upon lawn and garden and streets were -slow, but abundant. It was scrubbing day and closet day, and, as Hester -fretted sometimes to methodical Mary Ann on Friday, “all the rest of -the week,” below stairs. Hetty had to prepare a dessert and to set the -lunch table. Before going down she made up a little fire in the sewing -room, and put out Hester’s color-box, glass of water, stretching board, -paper, and easel within easy reach, should she decide to use them. -Silently, and not too suggestively, she set upon the table near by a -vase containing some fine specimens of the moccasin flower sent in -by May Gilchrist, with a note addressed to “Queen Mab.” Hester hated -hints, but if she lacked a study she would not have to look far for it. - -It was “a bad day” with her. Her mother attributed it partly to her -disappointment at not seeing her crony teacher. - -Hetty, who had put the excited child to bed as soon as she got into the -house the night before, held her peace. Mrs. Wayt, hovering from the -nursery and her husband’s chamber to the sewing room, saw that in her -taciturn daughter’s countenance that warned and kept her aloof. Another -of Hester’s biting sayings was that her mother, on the day succeeding -one of her spouse’s “seizures” was “betwixt the devil and the deep -sea.” She never admitted, even to her sister, that “dear Percy” was -more than “unfortunate,” yet read Hetty’s disapprobation in averted -looks and studiously commonplace talk. - -Wan and limp the cripple reclined among the cushions Hetty packed about -her in her wheeled chair. Blue shadows ringed mouth and eyes, and -stretched themselves in the hollowed temples; the deft fingers were -nerveless. Most of the time she seemed to watch the rain under drooping -eyelids, so transparent as to show the dark irides beneath. - -At half past eleven her mother stole in like a bit of drifted down. - -“Dear, I have promised papa to go up to your room and lie down for half -an hour. Annie is with him. She amuses him, and will be very good, she -says. I told her to let you know if she wanted anything. May I leave -the door open? She cannot turn this stiff bolt.” - -Annie was one of Hester’s weak points. “Baby” never made her nervous -or impatient, and much of the little one’s precocity was due to -intimate companionship with the disabled sister, whose plaything she -was. - -“Yes. All right!” murmured Hester, closing her eyes entirely. - -She was deathly pallid in the uncolored gloom of a rainy noon. - -“Or—if you feel like taking a nap, yourself?” hesitated Mrs. Wayt. - -Tactful with her husband, and tender with all her household, she -yet had the misfortune often to rub Hester’s fur the wrong way. The -delicately pencilled brows met over frowning eyes. - -“No! no! you know I never sleep in the day! If you would never bother -yourself with my peace and comfort, mamma, we should be on better -terms. I am not a baby, or a—husband!” - -She was not sorry for her ill humor or for the long gap between the -last article and noun, when left to herself. - -She lay upon a bed of thorns, each of which was endued with intelligent -vitality. Earth was a waste. Heaven had never been. Hate herself for -it as she might she had never, in all her rueful existence, known -suffering comparable to that condensed into the three little minutes -she had lived twelve hours ago. - -When Hetty had come up to bed her face was beautiful with a strange -white peace, at sight of which Hester held her breath. Coming swiftly, -but without bustle, across the room, she kneeled by the bed and -gathered the frail form in the dear, strong arms that had cradled it -a thousand times. Her eyes sparkled, her lips were parted by quick -breaths, but she tried to speak quietly. - -“Precious child! you should be asleep. But I am glad you are not, for I -have a message for you. We—you and I—are to take no anxious thought for -to-morrow, or for any more of the to-morrows we are to spend together. -March told me to say that and to give you this!” laying a kiss upon her -lips. “For he loves me, Hester, darling, and you are to live with us! -Just as we planned, ever and ever so long ago! But what day dream was -ever so beautiful as this?” - -For one of the three awful minutes Hester thought and hoped she was -dying. The frightened blood ebbed back with turbulence that threw her -into a spasm of trembling and weeping. She recollected pushing Hetty -away, then clutching her frantically to pull her down for a storm of -passionate kisses given between tearless sobs. Then she gave way to -wheezing shrieks of laughter, which Hetty tried to check. She would not -let her move or speak after that. - -“How thoughtless in me not to know that you were too much unnerved to -bear another shock—even of happiness!” said the loving nurse. “No! -don’t try to offer so much as a word of congratulation. It will -keep! All we have to do to-night is to obey the order of our superior -officer, and not think—only trust!” - -In the morning there was no opportunity for speech-making. A night of -suffering had beaten Hester dumb. - -“Nobody could be surprised at that!” cooed Hetty, as she rubbed and -bathed the throbbing spine. “If I could but pour down this aching -column some of my redundant vitality!” - -Hester detested herself in acknowledging the fervent sincerity of the -wish. Hetty would willingly divide her life with her, as she had said -yesterday that she meant to divide her fortune. - -“Half for you while I live! All for you when I am gone!” - -The sad sweetness of the smile accompanying the words was as -little like the wonderful white shining of last night as the lot -cast for Hetty was like that of the deformed dwarf whose height of -grotesque folly was attained when she loved—first, in dreams and -in “drifting”—then, all unconsciously, in actual scenes and waking -moments—one whose whole heart belonged to the woman who had “made her -over,” to whom she owed life, brain, and soul! - -She was to live with them! Hetty must make her partaker of her every -good. By force of long habit, Hester fell to planning the house the -three would inhabit. She was herself—always helpless, never less a -burden than now—a piece of rubbish in the pretty rooms, a clog upon -domestic machinery—a barrier to social pleasure—the inadmissible third -in the married _tête-à-tête_. - -She writhed impotently. More useless than a toy; more troublesome than -a baby—uglier than the meanest insect that crawls—she must yet submit -to the fate that fastened her upon the young lives of her custodians. - -“I doubt if I could even take my own life!” she meditated darkly. “In -my fits of rage and despair, I used to threaten to roll my chair down -the stairs and break my neck to ‘finish the job.’ I said it once to -mamma. I wonder sometimes if that is the reason Tony puts up gates -across the top of the stairs wherever we go? He says it is to keep baby -Annie from tumbling down. I haven’t cared to die lately, but to-day -I wish my soul had floated clean out of my body in that five minute -make-believe under the pink tent of the apple tree, three months ago. - -“I suppose he will be coming here constantly, now. Hetty won’t belong -to me anymore. I am very wicked! I am jealous of her with him, and of -him with her! I am a spiteful, malicious, broken-backed toad! Oh, how I -despise Hester Wayt! And I owe it all to _him_!” - -She glowered revengefully at the door her mother had left unclosed. - -Baby Annie was having a lovely hour with “dee papa.” He had not left -his bed, but the nausea and sense of goneness with which he had -awakened, were yielding to the administration of minute potions of -opium by his wife, at stated intervals. A fit of delirium tremens, -induced by the failure to “cool him off” _secundum artem_, had brought -about Homer’s introduction to his nominal employer. Routed from his -secret lodgings under the roof-tree at one o’clock of a winter morning, -Hetty’s waif had first run for a doctor, and, pending his arrival, -pinioned the raving patient with his sinewy arms until the man of -intelligent measures took charge of the case. Mrs. Wayt had run no such -risks since. - -Her lord never confessed that he took opium or ardent spirits. Indeed, -he made capital of his total abstinence even from tobacco. There was -always a cause, natural or violent, for his attacks. The Chicago -seizure followed upon his rashness in swallowing, “mistaking it for -mineral water,” a pint of spirits of wine, bought for cleaning his -Sunday suit. Other turns he attributed, severally, to dyspepsia, to -vertigo, to over-study, and to extreme heat. A sunstroke, suffered when -he was in college, rendered him peculiarly sensitive to hot weather. -His wife never gainsaid his elaborate explanations. He was her Percy, -her conscience, her king. She not only went backward with the cloak of -love to conceal his shame, but she affected to forget the degradation -when he became sober. - -Many women in a thousand, and about one man in twenty millions, are -“built so.” The policy—or principle—may be humane. It is not Godlike. -The All-Merciful calls sinners to repentance before offering pardon. -The Church insists upon conviction as a preliminary to conversion. Mrs. -Wayt was a Christian and a churchwoman, but she clung pathetically to -belief in the efficacy of her plan for the reclamation of her husband. -In life, or in death, she would not have upon her soul the weight of -a reproach addressed to him whom she had sworn to “honor.” Love was -omnipotent. In time he would learn the depth of hers and be lured back -to the right way. - -He was plaintive this forenoon, but not peevish. His eyes were -bloodshot; his tongue was furry; there was a gnawing in the pit of his -stomach and an unaccountable ache at the base of the brain. - -“I have missed another sunstroke by a hair’s breadth,” he informed his -wife. “I almost regret that we did not go to the seashore. My summer -labors are exhausting the reserves of vital energy.” - -“Why not run down to the beach for a day or two next week?” suggested -Mrs. Wayt. “Now that your wife is an heiress, you can afford a change -of air, now and then.” - -A dull red arose in the sallow cheek. He pulled her down to kiss her. - -“The best, sweetest wife ever given to man!” he said. - -After that he bade her get a little rest. She must have slept little -the night before. Annie would keep him company. While his head was so -light and his tongue so thick Annie’s was the best society for him. She -made no demand upon intellectual forces. He sent the best wife ever -given to man off lightened in spirit, and grateful for the effort he -made to appease her anxiety and to affect the gayety he could not be -supposed to feel. She looked back at the door to exchange affectionate -smiles with the dear, unselfish fellow. - -He watched the baby’s pretty, quaint pretense of “being mamma,” and -hearkened to the drip and plash of the rain until the gnawing in his -stomach re-asserted itself importunately. He knew what it meant. It -was the demand of the devil-appetite he had created long ago—his -Frankenstein, his Old Man of the Sea, his body of death, lashed fast to -him, lying down when he lay down, rising up at his awakening, keeping -step with him, however he might try to flee. The lust he had courted -rashly—now become flesh of his flesh and bone of his bone. - -His wife had carried off the phial of opium. But he had secreted a -supply of the drug for such emergencies since she had found out the -phosphate device and privately confiscated the stout blue bottle. He -always carried a small Greek Testament in his hip pocket. Mrs. Wayt’s -furtive search of his clothes every night, after making sure that he -was asleep, had not extended to the removal of the sacred volume. - -He arose stealthily, steadied his reeling head by holding hard to the -back of his neck with one hand, while the other caught at the chairs -and bed-foot; tiptoed to the closet, found his black cloth pantaloons, -drew out the Testament, and extracted from the depths beneath a wad of -silken, rustleless paper. Within was a lump of dark brown paste. - -“Tan’y! tan’y!” twittered Annie’s sweet, small pipe. “Give baby a -piece! p’ease, dee papa!” - -He hurried back into bed. If the child were overheard Hetty might look -in. And Hester’s sharp ears were across the hall. - -“No, baby; papa has no candy.” He was so startled and unmanned that he -had to wet his lips with a tongue almost as parched before he could -articulate. “Papa’s head aches badly. Will Annie sing him to sleep?” - -Hester heard, through her stupor of misery, the weak little voice and -the thump of the low rocking chair as baby crooned to the dolly cuddled -in her arms and to “dee papa,” the song learned from Hester’s self: - - “S’eep, baby, s’eep. - The angels watch ’y s’eep. - The fairies s’ake ’e d’eamland t’ee, - An’ all’e d’eams ’ey fall ow’ee. - S’eep, baby, s’eep!” - -The rain fell straight and strong. The heavy pour had beaten all motion -out of the air, but the gurgling of water pipes and the resonance of -the tinned roof gave the impression of a tumultuous storm. Through the -register and chimney arose a far-off humming from the cellar, where -Homer was “redding up.” Hester’s acute ears divided the sound into -notes and words: - - “An’ we buried her deep, yes! deep among the rocks. - On the banks of the Oma-ha!” - -Annie stopped singing. “Dolly mus’ lie down in her twadle, an’ mamma -mate her some tea!” Hester heard her say. At another time she would -have speculated, perhaps anxiously, as to the processes going on when -the clatter of metal and the tinkle of china arose, accompanied by the -fitful bursts of song and a monologue of exclamations. - -“Oh! oh! _tate tare_, dee papa!” came presently in a frightened tone. -Then louder: “Papa! dee papa! wate up! you’ll det afire!” - -Wee feet raced across the hall, a round face, red and scared, appeared -in the doorway. - -“Hetter! Hetter! tum, wate up dee papa! ’E bed is on fire!” - -Through the doors left open behind her Hester saw a lurid glare, a -column of smoke. - -Shrieking for help at the top of her feeble lungs she plied the levers -of her chair and rolled rapidly into the burning room. Upon the table -at the foot of the bed had stood the spirit lamp and copper teakettle -used by Mrs. Wayt in heating her husband’s phosphate draughts at night. -Annie had lighted the lamp and contrived to knock it over upon the bed. -The alcohol had ignited and poured over the counterpane. - -Mr. Wayt lay, unstirring, amid the running flames. Hester made straight -for him, leaned far out of her chair, to pull off the blazing covers, -“Papa! papa! papa!” - -He had not heard the word from her in ten years. He was not to hear it -now. - -Mrs. Wayt, Hetty, March Gilchrist, and the servants, rushing to the -spot, found father and child enwrapped in the same scorching pall. - - * * * * * - -“Mr. Wayt died at midnight,” reported the Fairhill papers. “He never -regained consciousness. The heroic daughter who lost her life in -attempting to rescue a beloved parent lived until daybreak. - -“‘They were lovely and pleasant in their lives, and in their deaths -they were not divided.’” - - * * * * * - -“I must be going, dear heart!” whispered Hetty’s namechild, as the -August dawn, made faint by showers, glimmered through the windows. “I -cannot see you. Would Mr. March mind kissing me ‘good-by’?” - -“Mind?” He could not restrain the great sob. A tear fell with the kiss. - -“Dear little friend! my sweet sister!” - -The glorious eyes, darkened by death and almost sightless, widened in -turning toward him. She smiled radiantly. - -“Thank you for calling me _that_. Now, Miss May! And poor mamma! I wish -I had been a better child to you! Hetty, dearest! hold me fast and kiss -me last of all! You will be very happy, darling! But you won’t forget -me—will you? I heard the doctors say”—a gleam of the old fantastic -humor playing about her mouth—“that I had swallowed the flame. I think -they were right—for the—_bitterness is all—burned—out—of my heart_!” - - - - -A SOCIAL SUCCESS. - - - - -PART I. - - -“I KNOW it is _horrid_ to swoop down upon you at this barbarously early -hour, but I couldn’t help coming the minute I received your card. We -get our mail at the breakfast table, and I fairly screamed with joy -when I opened the envelope. ‘Jack!’ I said, ‘_who_ do you think has -come to New York to live?’ - -“‘The Picanninnies and the Joblillies and the Garyulies, and probably -the grand Panjandrum himself,’ said my gentleman. - -“You know what a tease he is. Oh, no, you don’t! for you never met -him. But you will before long! ‘Better than all of them put together, -with the little round button on top,’ said I. (You see I am used to -his chaff!) ‘My very dearest school friend, of whom you have heard me -talk ten thousand times—Susie Barnes, now Mrs. Cornell. She has been -living five years in Brooklyn (and I’ve always declared I’d rather go -to Canada than to Brooklyn) and here’s her card telling me that she -has returned to civilization. Mrs. Arthur Hayward Cornell, No. — West -Sixty-seventh St.’ At that he pricked up his ears. - -“‘That’s the new cashier in the Pin and Needle Bank,’ says he. -‘Somebody was talking of him at the Club last night.’ And nothing would -do but I must tell him all about you. In going over the story and -thinking of the dear old times, my heart got so warm and full that I -rushed off by the time he was out of the house.” - -Mrs. John Hitt, a well-dressed, prettyish woman, whom the cold morning -light showed to be also a trifle society-worn, embraced her hostess -anew, and then held her off at arm’s length for inspection. - -“You _sweet_ old girl! what sort of life have you led that you have -kept your roses, your dimples, and the sparkle in your eyes all these -years? Do you know that you are absolutely bewitching?” - -The lately recovered friend smiled, coloring as a woman of Mrs. Hitt’s -world could not have done. - -“You are the same impulsive Kitty!” she said affectionately. “I have -had a quiet, busy, happy life with Arthur and the children. Three -babies in five years do not give a housekeeper much time for anything -but domestic duties.” - -“I should think not, indeed!” The shiver of shoulders was -well-executed, the heavenward cast of eyes and hands dramatic. “I -wonder you live to tell it! One child in six years has been enough to -unsettle _my_ wits. Now that you are once more within my reach (Oh, -you _darling_!) we must make up for lost time and see a great deal -of each other! Do you ever sing nowadays? Or have you let your music -go to the dogs? I suppose so, if Providence _has_ interfered to save -your wild-rose complexion. I was _raving_ to Jack this morning over -the voice you used to have, and your genius for theatricals and all -that. ‘Indeed,’ said I, ‘there was nothing that girl _couldn’t_ do.’ To -think of wasting such an organ, or wearing it thin in crooning nursery -ditties.” - -Mrs. Cornell laughed a soft, merry burst of amusement, at which the -other eyed her curiously. - -“You behave less like an exhumed corpse than anybody could imagine who -knew of your five years in Brooklyn, and the three younglings. What -amuses you?” - -“Nothing, except your determination to regard me as dead, buried, -and resurrected. So far from giving up my music, I have practiced -more steadily than if I had spent more evenings abroad. You know I -studied vocal and instrumental music with the intention of making it -my profession. Arthur agrees with me that what is once learned should -never be lost. Then, when my little girls are ready to be taught, -I can instruct them myself. We had a number of musical friends in -Brooklyn, and a pleasant circle of acquaintances. We have not lived -in—_Hoboken_,” cried the hostess in whimsical vexation. “I don’t see -why New Yorkers always talk of Brooklyn as if it were as far off and as -much a _terra incognita_ as the moon. We are inhabitants of the same -planet as yourselves.” - -The visitor patted the back of her companion’s hand, soothingly. “You -are a New Yorker _now_—one of us!” she purred. “In six months you would -as soon cross the Styx as the East River, even on that overgrown, -preposterous Bridge the Brooklynites give themselves such airs over. -How prettily settled you are!” staring, rather than glancing about the -apartment. “These are nice drawing rooms and furnished in excellent -taste.” - -Mrs. Cornell had regarded them as “parlors,” but her first concession -to Mrs. Hitt’s better knowledge was to look accustomed to the new term. -She fought down with equal success the impulse to classify Kitty’s open -admiration with the amiable patronage of which Brooklyn people are -inclined to suspect New Yorkers. She plumed herself modestly upon her -taste in house-furnishing and upon the ability to make cheap things -look as if they had cost a good deal. She had withheld the fact of the -change of residence from metropolitan acquaintances until her house was -in order that might defy unfavorable criticism. It was kind in Kitty to -run in so unceremoniously and to be glad of the chance to renew their -early intimacy. In spite of Arthur and the children, she had begun to -be somewhat homesick in the great whirling world about her. - -“Like a chip in the Atlantic Ocean!” Thus she had described her -sensations to her husband that very morning. “I suppose I shall get -used to it after a while, especially as Brooklyn and New York are, to -all intents and purposes, one and the same city.” - -She asserted it stoutly, knowing all the while that Moscow and New -Orleans were as nearly homogeneous. - -Yes! Kitty was heartily welcome to the stranger in an unknown -territory. Mrs. Hitt was not intellectual, and judged by standards -Arthur Cornell’s wife had come to revere sincerely, she was not -especially refined in speech and bearing. Or were Susie’s tastes too -quiet and her ideas old-fashioned, that her interlocutor’s crisp -sayings sounded pert, and the bright brown eyes and fixed flush upon -the cheekbones were artificially aggressive? Her former chum had -always been warm-hearted, if inconveniently outspoken. And she was -a New Yorker, and fashionable. Susie’s cherished ambition, unavowed -even to Arthur while it was expedient for them to live simply, was to -be fashionable, brilliant, and courted—a member in good and regular -standing in the Society of which Mrs. Sherwood lectured, and Ellen -Olney Kirk wrote, and to which Jenkyns Knickerbocker was _au fait_. -A certain something that was not air or tone, deportment or attire, -and yet partook of all these as pot-pourri of rose-breath, spices, -and perfumed oils—marked Kitty Hitt as an _habituée_ of the charmed -Reserve. She was not, perhaps, one of the Four Hundred selected from -the Upper Ten Thousand by processes as arbitrary, to human judgment, as -those by which Gideon’s three hundred were picked out from the hosts -of Israel. Susie was no simpleton, albeit ambitious. Mr. Hitt was a -stockbroker; hence manifestly in the line of promotion, but there were -degrees of elevation upon even Olympus. Her imagination durst not lift -eyes to the cloud-wreathed summit where chief gods held revel, guarded -from vulgar intrusion by Gabriel Macallister. The climate and manner -of life a few leagues lower down would, as she felt, suit her better -than the rarified atmosphere of the extremest heights. She had always -meant to climb, and successfully, when time and opportunity should -serve. From the moment the passage of the river was determined upon as -a business necessity, she felt intuitively that both of these were near. - -“We think them cozy!” she assented quietly to the visitor’s praise of -her rooms. - -“Cozy! they are _lovely_!” - -While she talked she raised her eye-glasses to make note of some -fine etchings upon the walls and a choice water-color upon an easel, -and took in, in passing, the circumstance that the rugs laid upon -the polished floor were of prime quality, although neither large nor -numerous. - -“I do hope you don’t mean to shut yourself up in your pretty cage as so -many pattern wives and mothers—particularly Brooklyn women” (roguishly) -“do? That’s the reason American society is so crude and colorless. -With your face and figure and accomplishments (I haven’t forgotten how -divinely you recite) you ought to become a Social Success—a star in -the world of Society. You ought indeed!” drowning the feeble murmur of -dissent. “There’s many a so-named leader of the gay world who doesn’t -hold, and who never did hold such a card. Just trust yourself to me, -and I will prove all I promise.” - -“But, my dear Kitty, I lack the Open Sesame to the Gotham -Innermost—Money! Only the repeatedly-millionaired can pass the outer -courts.” - -“There it is! Epigrams and bon-mots drop from your lips as pearls -and diamonds used to tumble out whenever the good little girl in the -Fairy-tale opened her mouth. As to millions of money—bah!” with a -gesture of royal disdain. “Our best people are not the richest. The -true New Yorker knows that. Of course one must live and dress well, -but your husband’s means amply warrant _that_. Jack says cashiers get -from ten to fifteen thousand dollars a year. Your face, your manner, -and your talents are all the passport you require when once you are -introduced. I claim the privilege of doing it. And, as an initial -step, I want you and Mr. Cornell to dine with us to-morrow evening. -I’ll ask six or eight of the nicest people I know to meet you. They’ll -excuse the shortness of the notice when they see what a reason I -have for calling them together. Put on a pretty gown and look your -loveliest and bring along some music. I mean that you shall capture all -hearts. I shall be grieved to the quick if you don’t. The hour will -be seven—_sharp_. Punctuality is the soul of good humor in a dinner -company. I must run away. I have an appointment with a tyrannical -dressmaker at half-past ten; Mr. Lincoln’s Literature Class at eleven; -a luncheon at half-past one; and afternoon tea, anywhere from four to -six; a dinner party, and after that the opera. Such a whirl! Yet, as I -say to Jack when he grumbles that we never have a quiet home evening—it -is the only life worth living, as you’ll own when you’ve had a taste -of it! (You _dear_ thing! it rests my tired eyes just to look at you!) -Here’s Jack’s card for Mr. Cornell. I’m just dying to see him and if he -is good enough for you.” - -“A great deal too good!” ejaculated Susie, earnestly, through this -accidental gap in the monologue. “The dearest, most generous fellow!” - -“_Cela va sans dire_—with the Brooklyn model! I’m so happy that you -are one of us, and no longer a pattern article. Good-by!” - -“There! I let her go without showing her the children,” reflected Mrs. -Cornell, when she got back her breath. “But we had so much to talk -of it is no wonder we forgot them. There are no friends like the old -friends. How unjust we are sometimes! I came near not sending her my -card because she had never been over to Brooklyn to see me all the -while I was there. And Arthur advised me against doing it. He would -have it that it is no further from New York to Brooklyn than from -Brooklyn to New York. He predicted, too, that she would never come to -see me here. He says there’s no other memory so short as that of a -woman who has risen fast upon the social ladder. This ought to be a -lesson in Christian charity to us both. Kitty’s heart is always in the -right place.” - -With a becoming mantling of rose-pink in her cheeks, she went singing -about her “drawing” rooms, altering the angle of chairs and sofas, -and the arrangement of bric-a-brac, already viewing her appointments -through Kitty’s eye-glasses. Her thoughts were running upon the -projected dinner party. She was the proud owner of a black velvet -gown with a trained skirt, and a V-shaped front, and of dainty -laces wherewith to fill the triangle. She had a diamond pin and -earrings—wedding gifts from the wealthy aunt for whom she was named. -The same generous relative had bestowed upon her, at different holiday -seasons, the rugs and pictures that adorned her house. Aunt Susan might -always be depended upon to do the handsome thing, and she was fond of -this niece and her “steady” husband. The home of Susie’s girlhood had -been more plainly furnished, as Kitty had known and must recollect. It -was natural that the elegant grace characterizing Mrs. Cornell’s abode -should mislead the shrewd observer in the estimate of the cashier’s -income. Without surmising what had suggested the remark, or that it was -a “feeler,” Mrs. Cornell smiled, yet a little uneasily, in recalling it. - -“Kitty is so used to hearing of big sums that her ideas are vague on -the subject of salaries,” meditated the better informed wife. “She -doesn’t dream how handsomely people can live on six thousand dollars. -Or that we got along on one-half that much in Brooklyn and laid aside -something yearly. It is none of my business to set her right. Arthur -doesn’t care to have his money affairs discussed.” - -It did not occur to her as a possibility that from the pardonable -disingenuousness any serious trouble could ever arise, yet she knew -what Arthur would say. She heard, in imagination, his warning: - -“Never sail under false colors, Susie!” - -Therefore, in her animated description of call and conversation, she -omitted all mention of Kitty’s tentative allusion to their income. -Not knowing his wife’s old comrade, he might think her prying and -impertinent in touching upon such a subject at all. Poor, dear Kitty! -there were disadvantages in being so impetuously frank. A clear-headed -cool reasoner like Arthur, for instance, was almost sure to misread her. - -As our heroine had told Kitty, her married life had been quiet. Her -vivacious friend would have called it “stupid.” The circle of congenial -friends had been circumscribed and most of them were people of -moderate means and desires. Brooklyn might be called a segregation of -neighborhoods, each district having manners, customs, and social code -peculiar to the village that was its germ. As one settlement ran into -another, a city grew that claims the respect of the mightier sister -across the river. The Cornells had lived in a pleasant house in a -pleasant street, and Susie had spoken truly in saying that they lived -well. With no pretense of entertaining, they were cordially hospitable, -“having” friends to supper, or to pass the evening, whenever fair -occasion offered. For the children’s sake the mother took her principal -meal with them at one o’clock, but the hearty tea prepared for the -father who had lunched frugally in town was invariably appetizing, -being well cooked and daintily served. He had the privilege not always -accorded to richer men who sit down daily to late “course dinners”—that -of bringing a crony home with him whenever he pleased. It was like -Arthur Cornell to choose as chance guests men who had not such homes as -his—bank clerks from the country, Bohemian artists of good character -and light purses, and the like. Such were the honored recipients of the -hostess’ smile and warm handshake. She had won the admiring reverence -of more than one homeless bachelor by her skill in delicate and savory -cookery and the gracious friendliness of her welcome, and these, -oftener than any other class, composed the delighted audience of the -music Arthur called for every evening. - -Once or twice a month husband and wife went to the theater or a -concert, and twice or at the most three times a year to the opera. -They were pretty sure to have complimentary tickets to the water-color -exhibition and other displays of paintings in Brooklyn or New York. -Of receptions, they knew comparatively little except such as followed -weddings among their acquaintances. Neither had ever attended a regular -dinner party gotten up by a professional caterer, and the ladies’ -luncheon of eight, ten, or a dozen courses was unknown by the seeing -of the eyes and the tasting of the palate to the bright woman whose -social successes in a new arena were foretold by the sanguine admirer -who craved the pleasure of bringing her out. There are still in fast -growing American cities tens of thousands of such people who live -honestly, comfortably, and beneficently, and whose homes are refined -centers of happiness and goodness. - -There was, then, cause for the wife’s pleasurable flutter of spirits -and the doubtful satisfaction expressed, against his intention, in the -husband’s visage at the close prospect of a state banquet given in -honor of their undistinguished selves, at which anonymous edibles would -be washed down with foreign wines, and spicy _entrées_ be punctuated by -spicy hors _d’œuvres_. Arthur’s predominant quality was sound sense, -and as his spouse had anticipated, his first emotion after hearing -her tale was wonder at the sudden and violent increase of friendship -consequent upon their change of residence, in one who had apparently -forgotten the unimportant fact of her favorite schoolfellow’s existence -for more than five years. - -“I can’t imagine why she should care to take us up now,” he demurred. - -Susie’s ready flush testified to the hurt he had dealt her pride or -affections. She thought to the latter. - -“If you would only not let your prejudice master your reason!” she -sighed. “All New York women hate and dread ferries.” - -“There is the Bridge!” put in the Brooklyn-born literalist. - -“Which would have taken visitors _miles_ away from us. I was afraid you -would wet-blanket the whole affair. I really dreaded to tell you of -what I was silly enough to look forward to with pleasure. You see you -don’t know what a fine, genuine creature Kitty is. But we won’t dispute -over her or her dinner party. I can write to her and say that we regret -our inability to accept the invitation.” - -Arthur closed his teeth upon another struggling sentence. Although -even less of a society man than she was of a society woman, he had -a definite impression that invitations to dinner were usually sent -out some days in advance of the “occasion.” Less distinct, because -intuitive, was the idea that gay young women, already laden with social -obligations, did not press attentions upon everyday folk from Brooklyn, -E. D., unless they hoped to gain something by it, or were addicted to -patronage. The former hypothesis being, as he conceived, untenable, it -followed that Mrs. Hitt, a good-natured rattle, must have said more -than she meant of her intentions toward the strangers, or that she had -a native fondness for playing the lady patroness. - -Loving and admiring his wife from the full depths of a quiet heart, -he held all this back. Susie was vivacious, ready of wit and speech, -and he was not. She dearly enjoyed excitement and new acquaintances. -Give him dressing jacket, slippers, and an interesting book, or his -wife’s music and his own fireside, and he would not have exchanged -places with Ward Macallister at his complacent best. Susie would shine -anywhere; she was born to it! He was not even a first-class reflector -of her rays. Yet this noblest of women had stood by him with cheerful -gallantry in their less prosperous days. He had told her over and over -that she had hidden her light under a bushel in becoming the mistress -of such a home as he had to give her, but she had loyally denied this, -and borne her part bravely in the struggle to lap the non-elastic ends -of their common income. To her capital management he owed much of their -present comfort. - -Arthur Cornell reasoned slowly, but always in a straight line. - -“I am a selfish, brutal fellow, darling,” he said at this point of his -cogitations. “I am afraid I am a little tired to-night. We have had -a busy day at the Bank. You mustn’t mind my growls. When we have had -sup—dinner, I would say!—you’ll find me more than willing to listen and -sympathize.” - -Her satisfactory answer was to come over and kiss him silently, taking -his head between her hands and laying her cheek upon it. The hair -was getting thin on the top, and the gaslight brought into gleaming -conspicuousness a few gray hairs. He was older than she by nine years. -It would not be surprising if, for a long time yet, he continued to -say “supper” instead of “dinner.” She was certain he would never learn -to talk of the “drawing room.” But he was her very own, and dearly -beloved, and the kindest, noblest fellow in the world. Whatever he -might do or say, she could never be angry with or ashamed of him. - - - - -PART II. - - -THE evening meal—an excellent one, to which Mr. Cornell did ample -justice—was over. Father and mother, as was their custom, had visited -the nursery in company, heard the children’s prayers, and kissed them -“good-night.” The orderly household had settled down into cheerful -quiet that fell like dew upon weary nerves. Susie went to the piano -presently and played a pensive _nocturne_, then sang softly a couple of -Arthur’s favorite ballads. The night was blustering, and in the silence -succeeding the music, the wedded pair, seated before the soft-coal fire -in the back parlor, heard the hurrying tread of passers-by echoing -sharply from the frozen stones. - -Arthur ended the restful pause. His choice of a theme and the lightness -of his tone were heroic. - -“Low neck and short sleeves for me to-morrow night, I suppose, old -lady? That is to say, claw-hammer, and low-cut vest. It’s lucky I had -them made for Lou Wilson’s wedding last winter. There wouldn’t be time -to get up the proper rig, and regrets based upon ‘No dress-coat’ would -be rather awkward.” - -“Decidedly! No man of whatever age should be without one,” rejoined -the nascent fashionist. “Some men never sit down to dinner except in -evening dress. It must be very nice to live in that way. I like such -graceful ceremony in everyday customs.” - -Arthur cast about for something neater to say than the dismayed -ejaculation bitten off just in time. - -“It must help a fellow to feel altogether at his ease in his company -accouterments”—inspiration coming in the nick of time. “Most men look, -and, judging by myself, feel like newly imported restaurant waiters -when decked out in their swallow-tails.” - -The conventional “dress coat” is a shrewd test of innate gentlehood. A -thoroughbred is never more truly one than when thus appareled. The best -it can do for the plebeian, who would prefer to eat his dinner in his -shirt-sleeves, is to bring him up to the level of a hotel waiter. - -Arthur looked like an unassuming gentleman on the following evening, -when he joined his wife below-stairs. If he had not an air of fashion, -he had not a touch of the vulgarian. Susie’s mien was, as he assured -her, that of a queen. Her head was set well above a pair of graceful -shoulders, she carried herself and managed her train cleverly. Arthur -had brought her a cluster of pink roses, all of which she wore in her -corsage except one bud which she pinned in his buttonhole. He put a -careful finger under her chin, and lifted her face to let the full -light of the chandelier rain upon it. - -“It would have been a pity to keep you all to myself to-night,” he said. - -The weather was raw, with menace of rain or snow, but neither of -them thought of the extravagance of a carriage. As she had done upon -previous festal occasions, the wife looped up the trailing breadths -of velvet, and secured them into a “walking length” of skirt with -safety pins. Over her gala attire she cast a voluminous waterproof, -buttoned all the way down the front. A bonnet would have deranged her -_coiffure_, and she wore, instead, a black Spanish lace scarf knotted -under her chin. Slippers and light gloves went in a reticule slung upon -her arm. - -It lacked five minutes of seven when they alighted from a street-car -within a block of the Hitts’ abode. Four carriages were in line before -the door, and from these stepped men swathed in long, light ulsters, -who assisted to alight and ascend the stone steps apparitions in -furred and embroidered opera cloaks that ravished Susie’s wits, in the -swift transit of the gorgeous beings from curbstone to the hospitable -entrance. A dizzying sensation of unreality, such as one experiences -in finding himself unexpectedly upon a great height, seized upon her. -Could these people be collected to meet _her_? Humbled, yet elated, -she entered the house, and obeying the directions of the footman at the -foot of the stairs, mounted to the dressing room. - -Four women in such elaborate toilets that our heroine felt forthwith -like a crow among birds-of-paradise, glanced carelessly over their -shoulders at her without suspending their chatter to one another, and -went on talking and shaking out their draperies. Each, in resigning her -wraps to the maids in waiting, stepped forth ready for drawing-room -parade. Susie retreated to a corner and began hurriedly to disembarrass -herself of her waterproof and to let down her skirt. A maid followed -her presently. - -“Can I help you?” professionally supercilious. - -“Thank you. If you would be so good as to take off my boots, I should -be obliged.” - -The formula was ill-advised and justified the heightened hauteur of -the smart Abigail. With pursed mouth and disdainful finger-tips, she -removed the evidences that the wearer had trudged over muddy streets -to get here, and as gingerly fitted on the dry slippers. The heat in -Susie’s cheeks scorched the delicate skin when she found that the -time consumed in her preparations had detained her above-stairs after -everybody else had gone down. And Kitty had enjoined punctuality! She -met her husband in the upper hall with a distressed look. - -“We are _horribly_ late,” she whispered. - -“I don’t suppose it makes any difference,” responded he to comfort her. -“It’s fashionable to be late, isn’t it?” - -“Not at dinners,” she had barely time to admonish him when they crossed -the threshold of the drawing room. - -Kitty advanced with _empressement_ to meet them, but that they were -behind time was manifest from the celerity with which she introduced -her husband, and without the interval of a second, the man who was to -take Mrs. Cornell in to dinner. Then she whisked Mr. Cornell up to a -dried-up little woman in pearl-colored velvet, presented him, asked -him to take charge of her into the dining room, herself laid hold of -another man’s arm, and signaled her husband to lead the way. - -Arthur seldom lost his perceptive and reasoning faculties, and having -read descriptions of state dinners and breakfasts, bethought himself -that had his wife and himself been in truth chief guests, they would -have been paired off with host and hostess. Moreover, although there -was a vast deal of talking at table and he did his conscientious -best to make conversation with the velvet-clad mummy consigned to -him, he had all the time the feeling of being left out in the cold. -Nobody addressed him directly in word, or indirectly by glance, and -at length, in gentlemanly despair of diverting the attention of his -fair companion from her plate to himself, he let her eat in peace and -pleased himself by comparing the rosy, piquant face of his wife with -the bismuth-and-rouge-powdered visages to the right, left, and front -of her. Susie seemed to be getting on swimmingly. The man next to her -was chatting gayly, and evidently recognized a responsive spirit in -his fair companion. How easily and naturally she met his advances, and -how gracefully she fitted into her novel position! What were pomps -and vanities to him accorded with her tastes. Again he thought how -niggardly would have been the refusal to allow her to take the place -she so adorned. - -Not even love’s eye penetrated the doughty visor she kept jealously -closed throughout the meal. To begin with, she _took the wrong fork -for the raw oysters_! As course succeeded course, the dreadful -implement, in style so unlike those left beside other plates, actually -_grinned_ at her with every prong. Everybody must be aware of the -solecism and deduce the truth that this was her first dinner party. -She was sure that she caught the waiters exchanging winks over the -fork, and that out of sheer malice, they allowed the tell-tale to -lie in full sight. The apprehension that she would eventually be -compelled to use the frail absurdity or leave untouched something—meat -or game, perhaps—assailed her. While she hearkened to the flippant -nothings her escort mistook for elegant small-talk, and plucked up -heart for repartee, hot and cold sweats broke out all over her. Had -she obeyed inclination that approximated frenzy at times, she would -have crept under the table and rolled over on the floor in anguished -mortification. If her sleight-of-hand had been equal to the rash -adventure, she would have pocketed the wretched bugbear in desperation -akin to that which makes the murderer fling far from him the weapon -with which the deed was done. - -When the ghastly petty torture was ended by the removal of the -obnoxious article, and the substitution of one larger, plainer, and -less obvious, the poor woman could have kissed the perfunctory hand -that lifted the incubus from her soul. - -She made other blunders, but none that were so glaring as this. Each -was a lesson and a stimulus to perfect herself in the _minutiæ_ of -social etiquette. Before long, she would need no schooling; would -lead, instead of following. She would know better another time, too, -how to dress herself. Kitty’s gown of cream-colored _faille_, flounced -with lace; the pale blue brocade of one woman, and the pink-and-silver -bravery of a third, the maize velvet and black lace of the dowager -across the table, and the mauve-and-white marvel of still another -toilet, threw her apparel into blackest shade. She caught herself -hoping people would think that she was in slight mourning. Besides her -allotted attendant nobody at table spoke a word to her, but Kitty -shot many a smile at her during the feast, and nodded several times in -significance that might be approval or reassurance. Mr. Hitt, a rather -handsome man with big, bold eyes, looked hard at her now and then, but -did not accost her, even after he grew talkative under the faster flow -of wine. His glasses were filled so often and emptied so quickly that -Susie wondered to see his wife’s smiling unconcern. Perhaps she had -faith in the strength of his brain. - -Arthur did not touch one of the five chalices of different shapes and -colors flanking his plate, and Susie was weak enough, perceiving that -his conduct in this respect was exceptional, to feel mortified by his -eccentricity. It was in bad taste, she thought, to offer tacit censure -of the practice of host and fellow-guests. To nullify the unfavorable -impression of her husband’s singularity, she sipped from each of her -glasses, and dipped so deeply into the iced champagne which cooled -thirst excited by highly seasoned viands, the heated room and agitation -of spirits, that her bloom was more vivid when she arose from dinner -than when she sat down. She was quite at ease now, and enjoying, with -the zest of an artistic nature, the features of the novel scene. - -The tempered light streaming over and repeated by silver, china, and -cut-glass; the flower-borders that criss-crossed the lace table-cover -laid over rose-colored satin, the superb costumes of the women and the -faultless garments of the men; the rapid, noiseless exchange of one -delicacy for another, some of the dishes being as new to her as would -have been an _entrée_ of peacocks’ brains or a _salmi_ of nightingales’ -tongues—were fascinating to one whose love of the picturesque and -beautiful was a passion. This was the sort of thing she had read of in -English novels and American newspapers, the enchanting mode of life for -which she had yearned secretly, the atmosphere in which she should have -been born. - -The return in feminine file to the drawing room of part of the company -was a stage of the pageant with which _Jane Eyre’s_ life at Thornhill, -and Annie Edwards’ and Ouida’s stories of hospitality at English -country houses had made her familiar. She hoped nobody else noticed -Arthur’s surprised stare, as the men arose and remained standing, with -no movement in the direction of the escaping fair ones. With flutter -and buzz and silken rustle, the dames swept through the hall back -into the drawing room and disposed themselves upon couches and in -easy-chairs, where tiny glasses of perfumed liqueur were handed to them. - -“Exactly like a story of Oriental life,” mused entranced Susie. - -Now, for the first time, Kitty had the opportunity to show to her -school-friend the pointed and peculiar attentions the rhapsodies of -yesterday had authorized her to expect. Up to this moment nobody had -been introduced to her except the man who took her to dinner. - -“I must have you know all these friends of mine,” she purred, taking -Susie’s hand in both of hers, and leading her with engaging “gush” up -to the mauve-and-white marvel. - -“Mrs. Vansittart, this is my _dear_ old school-fellow, Mrs. Cornell, -who is going to play something for us now, and after a while, to sing -several somethings, and when our audience is enlarged by the return -of the men to us lorn women, she will, if properly entreated, give us -some of her charming recitations. Ah! you may well look surprised. It -is granted to few women to combine so many talents, but when you have -heard her, you will see that I do not promise too much. - -“Mrs. Roberts!” to the symphony in pink-and-silver—“I bespeak your -admiration for my friend and school-crony”—etc., etc., until the -blushing _débutante_ was the focus of six pairs of eyes, critical, -indifferent, and amiable, and wished that dear Kitty were not so -incorrigibly enthusiastic in praising those she loved. - -Anyone but a refined novice would have divined at once that the act -of passing her around, like a plate of hot cakes, argued one of two -things—either that she was a “professional” of some sort, or that her -hostess was lamentably ignorant of the law demanding that the one to -be honored by an introduction should stand still and have the other -party to the ceremony brought to her. Kitty, at least, was no novice, -and everybody except her “school-crony” comprehended exactly what the -scene meant. Although she did not suspect it, she was on trial when -she sat down to the piano, the show-woman beside her, as the guileless -guest supposed, to give her affectionate encouragement. The first flash -of her fingers across the keys was the signal for general silence, -and the clapping of gloved hands at the conclusion of the brilliant -overture attested intelligent appreciation. She was not allowed to -leave the music stool for half an hour, one piece after another being -called for, and the choice of selections putting her on her mettle. Her -auditors were used to good music, and the assumption that she would -gratify them was a delicate compliment. - -Kitty came to her elbow at length with a glass of clear liquid, -sparkling with pounded ice. - -“Only lime-juice and water,” she whispered, “to clear your voice. I -have praised your singing until everybody is _wild_ to hear you.” - -Susie smiled happily, glancing over her shoulder with an unconscious -and graceful gesture of gratitude; a bow, slight, but comprehensive, -she might have but had not copied from a popular prima donna. Another -rapid run of the nimble fingers over the responsive ivory, and she -glided into the prelude to Gounod’s never-trite song, “_Chantez! Riez! -Dormez!_” - -She had sung but a few bars when her ear caught the muffled tread of -feet in the hall. A side-glance at the mirror showed her a picture -that might have been clipped from her British _contes de société_, the -grouping of manly faces and fashionable dress coats in the curtained -arch, all intent upon herself as the enchantress who held them mute and -eager. Electric fire streamed through her veins, her voice soared and -swelled as never before; her enunciation, exquisitely pure and clear, -carried each word up to the loftiest story of the stilled mansion: - -“_Ah! riez, ma belle! riez! riez, toujours!_” - -“Fine, by Jove, now!” cried a big mustached man at Arthur’s side, as -the last notes died upon ecstatic ears. “Patti couldn’t have done it -better!” - -The husband repeated this with other encomiums to the songstress after -they got home. He made the tired but animated little woman sit down in -an armchair and pulled off her rubbers and unbuttoned her boots in far -different fashion from that in which the sleepy Abigail had put them on -the feet and helped truss up the train of “the woman who hadn’t come in -a carriage like decent folks.” - -He had had a stupid evening. He couldn’t make the women talk to him. -He was not “a ladies’ man,” and every mother’s daughter of them took -in the truth at a glance. The men gabbled over their wine of what did -not interest him, of clubs and horse races, and the fluctuations of -fancy stocks. He neither smoked nor drank, and was the only man there -who did not do both. His wife’s music was to him the only redeeming -feature of the occasion, and he would have enjoyed that more in his own -parlor. But she was enraptured with everything and full of delightful -anticipations. “Everybody had been so nice and kind, and what did -ill-natured people mean by saying there was no real sociability among -fashionable people? For her part, she believed that the higher one -mounted in the social scale the more genuine goodness and refined -feeling she would find.” Several of the ladies had promised to call -upon her, and, as one said, “to take her in with them.” - -Arthur hearkened silently. He had never been able to give her such -pleasures, a fact that smote him hard when he saw how zestfully she -drank of the newly opened spring. He would not “wet-blanket” her -enthusiasm, so did not hint at a discovery made to him by a chance -remark of a guest to the host. Invitations for this particular dinner -party had been out for ten days. - -“Then Susie and I were second fiddles,” inferred the sensible cashier. -“I wonder why she asked us at all!” - - - - -PART III. - - -MR. CORNELL’S unspoken suspicion that Mrs. Hitt would drop her -school-friend as suddenly as she had picked her up was in a way to be -falsified, if the events of the next few months were to be taken as -testimony. - -The two matrons were nearly inseparable—shopping, driving, walking, and -visiting together. For Susie had a New York visiting list speedily, -and almost every name stood for an introduction by her indefatigable -“trainer.” The epithet was the taciturn husband’s, and, as may be -surmised, was never uttered audibly. Susie’s wardrobe, furniture, -table—her very modes of speech—sustained variations that amazed -old friends and confounded him who knew her best. The cherished -black velvet she had thought “handsome enough for any occasion” -was pronounced “quaintly becoming, but too old for the wearer by -twenty-five years.” Slashed and dashed and lashed with gold-color, -it did duty as a house evening gown. For small luncheons, she had a -tailor-made costume of fawn-colored cloth embroidered and combined -with silk; for “swell” luncheons, a rich silk—black ground relieved by -narrow crimson stripes, and made en _demi-train_. - -For at-home afternoons were two tea gowns; before she received her -second dinner invitation, she had made by Mrs. Hitt’s dressmaker—(“a -Frenchwoman who doesn’t know enough yet to charge American prices, my -dear, and I hold it to be a sin to _throw_ money away!”) a robe of -white brocade and sea-green velvet, in which garb she showed like a -moss-rose bud, according to her dear friend and trumpeter. - -These strides into the realm of fashion, if at first startling to the -_débutante_, were quickly acknowledged to be imperatively necessary if -one would really live. Kitty’s taste in dress approximated genius. Even -she was hardly prepared for the ready following of her neophyte. - -Had she needed corroborative evidence of the cashier’s liberal income, -his wife’s command of considerable sums supplied it. With all her -frankness, Mrs. Cornell did not confide to her bosom-friend where she -obtained the ready money that gained her credit with new tradespeople. - -Now and then an uneasy qualm stirred the would-be comfortable soul -of the wife as to how much or how little Arthur speculated within -his sober soul upon the probable cost of her new outfit. There were -two thousand dollars deposited in her name, and drawing interest -in a Brooklyn Savings Bank. The rich aunt had given her namechild -three-quarters of it from time to time. The young couple had saved -the rest, and it was tacitly understood that it should not be touched -except of necessity. No landmark in her new career was more pronounced -than Susie’s resort to this fund for the equipment without which her -dawning social success would, she felt, lapse into obscurity more -ignominious than that from which she had emerged. She must have the -things represented by the money, and intoxicated though she was, she -had still too much sense and conscience to deplete her husband’s purse -to the extent demanded by the exigency. He would have opened an artery -to gratify her, had heart’s blood been coin, but she knew he would look -grave and pained did he suspect her visits to the Bank and their result. - -He was sober enough, nowadays, without additional cause of discomfort. -When questioned, he averred that all was going right at the Bank, and -that he was well. Nor would he confess to loneliness on the evenings -when she was obliged to leave him in obedience to Kitty’s summons to -rehearsal or consultation in some of the countless schemes of amusement -the two were all the while concocting. - -“Don’t trouble yourself to come for me or to sit up for me, dear,” the -pleasure-monger would entreat in bidding him “good-by.” “I’ll have one -of the maids call for me,” or “I have a carriage,” or—and after a time -this was most frequent of all—“Jack Hitt is always very obliging about -bringing me home.” - -With a smile upon his lips and gravity she did not read in his eyes, -he would hand her to the carriage, or commit her to the spruce maid, -hoping that she would have a pleasant evening, and having stood upon -the steps until she was no longer in sight, would go back—as she -supposed—to sitting room or book. Whereas, it grew to be more and -more a habit with him to turn into the nursery instead, and sit there -in the dark until he heard the bustle of her return below-stairs. -He invariably sat up for her—she never asked why or where. The fire -burned cheerily to welcome her, and the offices of maid, assumed, in -the beginning in loverly supererogation, half jest, half caress, were -now duty and habit. Upon one point he was resolute. If she went to bed -late, she must sleep late next morning. This was a matter of health, a -concession she owed those to whom her health was all-important. - -The two older children had breakfasted with their parents for a year, -and he made much of their company when their mother was not the fourth -of the party. Sometimes he sent for the baby as well, holding her on -his knee with one hand, while the other managed coffee cup and toast. - -Susie surprised him thus one morning, having awakened unsummoned, and -dressed hastily that she might see him before he went out. - -“Arthur Cornell!” The ejaculation was the first intimation he had of -her presence. “You spoil the children and make a slave of yourself! -Where is their nurse?” - -“Don’t blame Ellen, dear!” checking her motion toward the bell. “I sent -for the children. They are very good, and I enjoy their company.” - -Mrs. Cornell flushed hotly; her lips were compressed. - -“I understand! After this, I will make a point of giving you your -breakfast. It was never _my_ wish to lie in bed until this hour.” - -“It was—and is mine!” rejoined her husband, steadily, unmoved by her -unwonted petulance. “As it is, you are pale and heavy-eyed. You have -had but five hours of sleep.” - -“My head aches!” passing her hand over her forehead. “That will go off, -by-and-by. Baby! come to mamma, and let dear papa get his breakfast in -peace. Let me pour out a cup of hot coffee for you, first.” - -Her softened tone and fond smile cleared the atmosphere for them all. -Arthur sunned himself in her presence as a half-torpid bird on an early -spring day. The children prattled merrily in answer to the pretty -mother’s blandishments; the baby stood up in her lap to make her fat -arms meet behind her neck. She looked pleadingly into the proud face -bent over mother and child. He was startled to see that the sweet eyes -were misty. - -“Dear! can’t you go with me to-night?” - -He fairly staggered at the unexpected appeal. - -“If I had known——” he began. - -“Yes, I know! I ought to have spoken before you made your engagement. I -was careless—forgetful—silly! I do nothing but silly things nowadays. -But I _wish_ you could go, darling!” - -“I’m afraid it’s impossible,” said Arthur regretfully. “The president -made a point of my attending the meeting. I am sorrier than you can be, -little wife.” - -She shook her head and tried to laugh. - -“That shows how little you know about it! Don’t make any more -engagements without consulting me. ‘I’m ower young’—not ‘to leave my -mammy yet’—but to be running about the world without my dear, old, -steady-going husband—and I’m not willing to do it any longer.” - -He carried the memory of words and glance with him all day. Coming home -at evening, he found a note from her, stating that Kitty had sent for -her. - -“There is a dress rehearsal at seven,” she wrote. “I wish you could be -there and see how ravishing I can be! If your business meeting is over -by ten o’clock, won’t you slip into society toggery and come around in -season to see ‘the old lady’ home?” - -“The fever has run its course!” thought the husband, with kindling -eyes. “I knew I should get her back some day.” - -His dinner was less carefully served than in the olden supper days, -but he dined as with the gods, and ran briskly upstairs to send Ellen -down to her meal while he undressed the children and put them to bed. -He had done this often during the winter, pretending to make a joke of -the disrobing, but knowing it to be duty and vicarious. According to -his ideas the mother should see to it in person. No hireling, whose -own the bairns are not, can care for them as those in whose veins runs -answering kindred blood. Usually, the task was done in heaviness of -spirit. To-night, no effort was required to bring laughter to his lips, -lightness to his heart. To-morrow mamma would breakfast with them, and -resume her place in the home, so poorly filled by him or anybody else. -She had come back to them. He tried to sing one of her lullabies as -he rocked the baby to sleep, but failed by reason of a “catch in his -throat.” Mamma would warble it like a nightingale to them to-morrow -night. - -The business meeting was unexpectedly brief—“Thanks,” as the president -was pleased to say, “to the admirable epitome of the matter in hand -prepared and presented by Mr. Cornell.” - -At ten o’clock the husband was in his dressing room, hurrying the -process of “slipping into society toggery.” He repeated the phrase -aloud while tying his cravat with fingers uncertain from nervous haste. -He was thankful beyond expression that he had never cast the shadow -of his disapproval over Susie’s spirits, even when they threatened to -carry her out of the bounds of reason. She was young and pretty; so -affluent of vitality, so richly endowed with talents, that a humdrum -fellow like himself could not comprehend the stress of the temptation -to plunge into and riot in the mad vortex of social parade. - -“If there were any one thing I could do as cleverly as she does -everything, I should be doing it all the time,” he confessed in -contrite candor. - -Yesterday he had thanked Heaven that Lent was close upon the panting -racers over the pleasure grounds. Now, he was indifferent to the -advance and duration of the penitential season. His darling had -returned of her own right-headed, right-hearted self to the sanctuary -of home, having detected, unaided by his pessimistic strictures, the -miserable vanity and carking vexation of the hollow system. He sewed -two buttons upon his shirt before he could put it on, and when he -pushed the needle through a hole and the linen beneath into the ball of -his thumb, he began to whistle “Annie Laurie.” - -Susie had practiced “Annie Laurie” for an hour before dinner yesterday. -He wondered if she had sung it last night at the Hitts’. She had been -overrun with business of late, getting ready for the chamber concert -and private theatricals, and mercy knew what else of frolic and folly -gotten up by Mrs. Hitt for the benefit of the “Industrial Home” which -was the latest charitable fad in her set. He had paid ten dollars for a -reserved seat last week at the behest of the volatile Lady Patroness. -She had let him have it “at a bargain because he had the good luck to -be Susie’s husband.” - -“Mr. Vansittart and Mr. Peltry paid fifty apiece for theirs, and I -made Jack give me thirty for his. My rooms will seat comfortably just -one hundred and fifty people, and I won’t sell a ticket over that -number at any price. None will be for sale at the door, and none are -transferable. Of course, the rush for them is _fearful_!” - -Before going Arthur peeped into the nursery, dropping the most cautious -of kisses upon the cheek and forehead of each sleeper. Three-year old -Sue made up her lips into a tempting knot as he touched her velvety -face. - -“Dee’ mamma!” she murmured in her sleep. - -He kissed her again for that, the “catch in his throat” in full -possession. - -“I don’t wonder they love her!” he said brokenly. “Who could help it?” - -The block on which the Hitt mansion stood was lined with waiting -carriages, and Mr. Cornell supposed that the entertainment, which he -called to himself “a show,” must be nearly over. For an instant, he -meditated waiting without until the crowd began to pour out, then, -making his way into the hall, to send word to his wife that he awaited -her pleasure. Something in the immobility of the doors changed his -plan. He did not care to lurk for an hour or more among the coachmen -who stamped and swore upon the pavement, reminding him of some verses -Susie had read to him in other days when she had time for books and the -talk over them after they were read. He recalled the first and last -verses, and smiled in going through the discontented ranks and up the -flight of stone steps: - - “My coachman in the moonlight there - Looks through the side light of the door; - I hear him with his brethren swear, - As I could do—but only more. - - * * * * * - - Oh, could he have my share of din, - And I his quiet!—past a doubt, - ’Twould still be one man bored within, - And just another bored without.” - -A surge of hot and scented air enveloped him with the opening of the -door. The crowd in the hall contradicted the hostess’ declaration -that no more people would be admitted than could be comfortably -accommodated. Struggling up to the dressing room he got rid of hat and -overcoat, and struggled down again and to the door of the rear drawing -room. A curtain was rung up from a stage at the end of the apartment as -he gained a view of it. - -The scene was the interior of an old-fashioned barn. Wreaths of -evergreen hung against the walls and depended from the rafters, and the -floor was cleared for dancing. From a door at the side a figure tripped -into the middle of the stage. Arthur looked twice before he recognized -the wearer of the colonial gown of old-gold brocade, brief of waist, -and allowing beneath the skirt glimpses of trim ankles in clocked -stockings. Her hair was piled over a cushion and powdered; eyebrows and -lashes were deftly darkened, and the carmine of cheek and mouth owed -brilliancy to rouge-pot and hare’s foot. She was the belle of the ball -to be held in the barn, and while waiting for the rest of the revelers, -she began to recite, in soliloquy, the old rhymes of _Money Musk_. - -At the second line, from an unseen orchestra, issued low and faint, -like the echo of a spent strain, the popular dance tune. It stole so -insidiously upon the air as to suggest the musical thought of the -soliloquist, and was rather a background than an accompaniment to the -recitative. Gradually, as the story went on, the lithe figure began to -sway in perfect time to the phantom music; the eyes, smilingly eager, -seemed to look upon what the lips described; the feet stirred and -twinkled rhythmically; form and face were embodied melody. Vivified -by reverie, expectant and reminiscent, the radiant impersonation of -the poet’s picture floated airily through the enchanting measures. As -a morning paper put it, “she seemed to respire the music to which she -swayed and chanted.” - -The audience, “though _blasé_ with much merrymaking and sight-seeing, -hung entranced upon every motion, until, wafted by gentle degrees -toward the side-scene opposite to that by which she had entered, she -vanished on the last word of the poem.” - -Recalled by a tumult of applause, she courtesied in colonial fashion, -and kissed her hand brightly to her admirers, but instead of -vouchsafing a repetition of what had stirred the spectators out of -their _nil admirari_ mood, beckoned archly to the left and right. A -troop of young men and girls obeyed the summons and fell into place -in the country dance that went forward to the now ringing measures of -_Money Musk_. - -The comedietta to which this was the prelude had been composed by a -well-known author, who was called out at the close of the second act, -and led forward the prima donna of the clever piece. - -The interlude showed a moonlighted dell. On the distant hilltop was the -gleam of white tents; in the foreground stood a woman as colorless in -robe and visage as the moonbeams. Her voice, silvery and plaintive, -thrilled through the crowded rooms: - - “Give us a song!” the soldiers cried, - The outer trenches guarding, - When the heated guns of the camps allied - Grew weary of bombarding. - -And so, in distinct, unimpassioned narrative up to— - - They sang of love and not of fame, - Forgot was Britain’s glory; - Each heart recalled a different name, - But all sang “Annie Laurie.” - -Again the invisible orchestra bore up the uttered words; at first a -single cornet bringing down the air from the tented hilltop; then -deeper notes joining it, like men’s voices of varying tone and -strength, but all singing “Annie Laurie.” - - “Something upon the _women’s_ cheeks - Washed off the stains of powder.” - -said dissonant, derisive tones at Arthur Cornell’s back, as the -curtain fell. “Battered veterans of a dozen seasons are snivelling -like _ingenues_ of no season at all. What fools New Yorkers are to be -humbugged with their eyes open!” - -“The fair manager hath a way of whistling the tin out of our pockets,” -replied a thin falsetto. “A wonderful creature, that same manager.” - -A disagreeable, wheezing laugh finished the speech. - -Arthur made an ineffectual effort to extricate himself from the packing -crowd, a movement unnoticed or uncared-for by the speakers. - -“I admire—and despise—that woman!” continued the harsh voice. “As an -exhibition of colossal cheek she is unrivaled. For four years she has -preyed upon the majority that is up to her little ‘dodge,’ and the -minority that is _not_, pocketing her half of the profits of every -‘charitable’ show; borrowing from innocents that don’t know that she -pays not again, and actually—so I am told—receiving a commission for -introducing wild Westerners and provincial Easterners into what she -calls ‘our best circles.’ And we go on buying her tickets and accepting -her specimens, like the arrant asses we are.” - -“Madame du Bois, upon a limited scale.” - -“Exactly! Madame is her model. Her aping is more like monkeying, but -the resemblance is not lost. New Yorkers rather enjoy the sublime -audacity of Madame’s fleecing, and she _does_ have the _entrée_ of -uppertendom, sham though she is, with her drawing-room readings, -where geniuses are trotted out at big prices to ticket buyers, and no -price at all to Madame, and ranchmen’s daughters are provided with -blue-blooded Knickerbocker husbands. Her schemes are on a large scale. -She engineers benevolent pow-wows, clears her one thousand dollars -a night, and nobody dare charge her with pocketing a penny. You can -see where Kit learned her trade. To my certain knowledge she dresses -herself and pays for all her hospitable entertainments by these tricks.” - -“Her latest investment isn’t a bad notion, but Kit is working the -scheme for all it’s worth. Anybody but the newest of the new would see -through the game.” - -The other laughed gratingly. - -“‘New’ is a mild way of putting it. We call her ‘Kit’s windfall’ at our -Club. Madame’s disciple had, as she fondly imagined, netted a couple -of veritable musical lions, and ten people were invited to hear their -after-dinner roar. The very day before the feast the male lion fell -sick, and the lioness wouldn’t or couldn’t leave her mate. Kitty was -tearing her false bang over the note apprising her of the disaster when -a card was brought in, telling her that an old schoolmate who had been -educated as a music-teacher, and had a niceish talent for recitation, -had removed to the city. Kit caught at the straw; raced around to -inspect her, judged her to be more than eligible, and roped her in. -Delorme was at the dinner and told me the story, which his wife had -from Kit’s own lips. The new ‘find’ had beauty as well as a voice and -a taste for theatricals, and a neat income, so Kit says—some thirty -thousand a year. Moreover, she is tremendously grateful for the lift in -the world, and so daft with enjoyment of her first glimpse of _le bon -ton_ that she would send Kit ten out of the thirty thousand sooner than -lose her social standing. She doesn’t guess that she will be tossed -aside like a squeezed orange next year, poor thing!” - -Arthur leaned against the door-frame, too giddy and sick to move, had -action been practicable in such a press. One of the tedious “waits” -inseparable from amateur performances gave every woman there a chance -to outscream her neighbor. It might be dishonorable not to make himself -known to the gossips who considered themselves absolved by the payment -of an entrance fee from the obligation to speak well, or not at all, of -their hosts. He did not put the question to himself whether or not he -should continue to listen. In a judicial mood he would have weighed the -_pros_ and _cons_ of fact or fiction in the tale he had heard. Every -word had, to his consciousness, the stamp of authenticity. In the shock -of the confirmation of his worst misgivings with regard to his wife’s -chosen intimate, his ruling thought was of the anguish the truth would -cause her. How best to lessen the shock to her tender, loving heart, -how to mitigate her mortification, began already to put his deliberate -faculties upon the strain. - -The wiry falsetto and wheezy laugh struck in from his very elbow. - -“Kit’s exemplary spouse may not share her pecuniary profits, but he has -an eye to innings of another sort. I met him at the Club last night, -and saw that he had about six champagnes and four cocktails more than -his brain could balance. An hour later, I was passing the house of our -pretty prima donna when a carriage drew up and out stepped Jack and -turned to help out his wife’s favorite. And, by Jove! the way he did it -was to put his arm about her waist, swing her to the side-walk and try -to kiss her! She espied me, I suppose, for she broke away from him with -a little screech, and flew up her steps like a lapwing. She must have -had her latchkey all ready, for she got the door open in a twinkling, -and slammed it. I guffawed outright, and didn’t Jack swear!” - -“What a beastly cad he is!” said the deep voice disgustfully. - -Few men in the circumstances would have kept so forcibly in mind the -shame to wife and children that would follow a blow and quarrel then -and there, as the commonplace husband upon whose ear and heart every -vile word had fallen like liquid fire. He rent a path through the -throng, got his hat and coat and went out of the abhorrent place. He -had seen to it that Susie’s hired carriage was always driven by the -same man—a steady, middle-aged American—and recognizing him upon the -box, signaled him to draw up to the sidewalk, stepped into the vehicle, -and prepared to wait as patiently as might be until the man’s number -should be called by the attendant policeman. - -The “show” was not over for an hour longer, and his carriage was the -last called. The fair manager had detained her lieutenant to exchange -felicitations over the triumph of the evening. Susie appeared, finally, -running down the steps so fast that her attendant only overtook her at -the curbstone. He had come out bareheaded, and without other protection -against the bitter March wind than his evening dress and thin shoes. -Mrs. Cornell’s hand was on the handle of the carriage door, and he -covered it with his own. - -“Are you cruel or coquettish, sweet Annie Laurie?” he asked in accents -thickened by liquor and laughter. - -By the electric light Arthur saw the pale terror of her face, as she -tried to wrest her fingers from the ruffianly grasp. Without a second’s -hesitation the husband leaped out through the other door, passed behind -the carriage, lifted the man, taller and heavier than himself, by the -nape of the neck, and laid him in the gutter. - -“The fellow is drunk!” he remarked contemptuously to the policeman who -hastened up, imagining that the gentleman had tripped and fallen. “It -is lucky you are here to look after him.” - -He handed his trembling wife into the carriage, swung himself in after -her, and bade the coachman drive home. - -Then—for as I have expressly affirmed, this man was heroic in naught -save his love for wife and children—he put strong tender arms about -the sinking woman, who clung to his neck, convulsed by sobs, as one -snatched from destruction might hang upon the saving hand. - -“There, my darling! It is all over! I ought to have taken better care -of you. The old account is closed. We’ll begin another upon a clean -page.” - -He was only a bank cashier, you see, and familiar with no figures -except such as he used every day. - - - - -THE ARTICLES OF SEPARATION. - - -BEFORE and since the day when a certain man—idling while Israel and -Syria warred—drew a bow at a venture (the margin has it, “in his -simplicity,”) that let a king’s life out, the air has vibrated to the -twang of other bowstrings, and millions of barbs, as idly sent, have -been dyed with life-blood. - -In every 50,000 cases of this sort of manslaughter, 49,999 fall by the -tongue. - -The Hon. Simeon Barton, radiating prosperity from every pore of his -snug person, and clothed with complacency as with a garment, rolled -about the soon-to-be-vacated bachelor quarters of his nephew-namesake, -thumbs in armholes, and chin in air, while he discoursed: - -“You’re a pluckier fellow than your uncle, me boy! Of course, it is on -the cards that your head may be level. There are literary women _and_ -literary women, no doubt, and this must be a favorable specimen of the -tribe, or you wouldn’t have been in your present fix, but none of the -lot in mine, if you please. When my turn comes—and I aint sure that I -shan’t look out for a match some day, when I am too stiff to trot well -in single harness, I shall hold the reins. No inside seat for me.” - -The nephew laughed in a hearty, whole-souled way. He was not touched -yet. - -“You mix your figures as you do your cobblers—after you get hold of -the sherry bottle—with a swing. Wait until you see my ‘match.’ She is -a glorious woman, Uncle Sim. The wonder is that she ever got her eyes -down to my level.” - -The forty-year-old celibate continued to roll and harangue. His dress -coat was new and a close fit to his rotund dapperness; with one -lavender glove he smote the palm of his gloved left hand; the rose -in his buttonhole was paler than the hard red spots on cheeks like -underglazed pottery for smoothness and polish, his mustache curled -upward and wriggled at animated periods. - -“Quite the thing, me dear boy, altogether proper. For me part, I -wouldn’t care to be under obligations to a woman when she _had_ worked -down to my level, but tastes differ, and a man of twenty-six who has a -living to make ought to cast an anchor to windward, in case of squalls. -A woman who can chop a stick, at a pinch, to set the pot to boiling -is a convenience. Literature’s a better trade now than it used to be, -I suppose. Jones of Illinois was telling me last night of the prices -paid to good selling authors, and by George! I was surprised. All the -same, I’d fight shy of the Guild if I were contemplating matrimony. If -you could see some of the many objects that hang about the Capitol in -wait for Tom, Dick, or Harry to pick up a ‘personal,’ or lobby a bill, -or get subscriptions to a book or magazine, you wouldn’t wonder at my -‘prejudice,’ as you are pleased to style it. Pah!” - -To rid his mouth of the taste he caught up a tumbler of sherry cobbler, -filmy without and icy amber within, and drained it. - -The expectant bridegroom glanced at the clock. His best man was to call -for him at a quarter-past seven. It was exactly seven now, and the -minutes drove heavily. - -“But Uncle Sim,”—still good-humoredly,—“Miss Welles is not a newspaper -reporter, nor a lobbyist, nor yet a penny-a-liner. She wrote to please -herself and her friends until her father’s death, six years ago. He -was considered fairly wealthy, but something went wrong somewhere, and -his widow would have suffered for the want of much to which she had -been accustomed but for the talents and courage of her young daughter. -I am afraid the poor girl worked harder than her mother suspected for -a while, although the public received her favorably from the outset. -Mrs. Welles survived her husband three years. Agnes then went to live -with her only sister, Mrs. Ryder, the wife of my partner. I first met -her at his house. She has continued to write and has supported herself -handsomely in this way. She is as heroic as she is sweet—a thorough -woman.” - -“With a masculine intellect! I comprehend, me boy. Don’t multiply -epithets on my account. As I’ve said, I don’t presume to question -the wisdom of your choice in this particular case, and that your -inamorata is the best of her kind, but personally, I don’t take to -the _kind_. By Jupiter! I was telling Jones of Illinois, last night, -of an incident that gave me a ‘scunner’ against woman authors, twenty -years ago. Mrs. Shenstone of New York was a literary light in her day. -There’s a fashion in writers, as in everything else, and she went -out with balloon skirts and _chig-nongs_. But she was a star of the -first magnitude in her own opinion, and, at any rate, something in -the stellar line in others’ eyes. Her husband had money and she was -a poor girl when she married him. They say he made a show of holding -his own while the shekels lasted. A more meek-spirited atomy I never -beheld than when they called upon my friends, Mr. and Mrs. Lamar from -Charleston, then staying at the Fifth Avenue Hotel, one evening, when I -chanced to be sitting with the Lamars in their private parlor. And as -sure as I am a sinner and you’re another, the card brought in to Mrs. -Lamar was ‘Mrs. Cordelia Shenstone _and husband_.’ The last two words -were added in pencil. Fact, ’pon honor! Mrs. Lamar carried the card -home and had it framed as a domestic and literary curiosity.” - -“You cite an extreme case”—another glance at the slow clock. “If that -woman had been a shopkeeper, or a dressmaker, with the same arbitrary, -selfish spirit, she would have been guilty of the same gross violation -of taste and feeling.” - -“Maybe so! maybe so! But the writing woman is a prickly problem in -modern society. She is leading the van in all revolutionary rot about -women’s wrongs and women’s rights. The party can’t do without her, for -the rank and file couldn’t draft a resolution or write a report to save -their lives, and they’ve flattered up our blue-stocking until she steps -out of all bounds. It makes a conservative patriot’s blood run cold to -think what the upshot of it all is to be. And I confess I don’t like -to anticipate seeing your cards engraved—‘Mrs. Clytemnestra Ashe and -husband.’” - -A dark red torrent poured over the listener’s face. Physically and -morally, he was thin-skinned. - -“There is nothing of the Clytemnestra in her make-up, sir. No woman -ever made could rule me, were she my wife. Agnes is too gentle and -too sensible to attempt it. As to the cards!” He went to a drawer and -took out a bit of pasteboard which he tossed to his kinsman, with a -derisive laugh. “That is all settled, you see. Come in!” to a knock at -the door. - -When the tardy best man appeared, the Hon. Simeon Barton, his head -on one shoulder, and eyes half shut, after the manner of an impudent -cock-sparrow, was scanning the engraved inscription, - - MR. AND MRS. BARTON ASHE, - 170 West —— St. - -“Leave the ‘Simeon’ out, do you? Clytem—_Agnes_ doesn’t like it, -maybe?” And without waiting for a reply—“Good-evening, Mr. White. I’m -just advising Bart here to use up this batch of cards plaguey quick, to -make room for ‘Mrs. Ashe _and husband_.’” - -Mr. White laughed a little and politely. The jest was in miserable -taste, but much was pardonable in rich uncles who were self-made men, -when they showed a disposition to help make their nephews. A glimmer -of like reasoning may have entered Barton’s mind, for he turned an -unshadowed brow to the eccentric millionaire. - -“When that time comes I shall employ you to draw up the articles of -separation. White, here, is witness to the agreement.” - -An hour later, he would not have believed the words had passed his -lips. Jest upon such a horror would have seemed profanation to the -newly made husband. As the woman who would never again answer to the -name of Agnes Welles stood beside him, his were not the only eyes -that paid silent homage to her strange beauty—strange, because to -the guests, and to the assembled relatives, this phase of one whom -most people had hitherto thought only “interesting” and “pleasing,” -was new and unexpected. She was but a few inches shorter than her -manly partner, and slender to fragility. Straight and supple as a -willow-wand, she was ethereal in grace when clad in the misty robes -and veil which were the wedding gift of her godmother. Her dark eyes -were full of living light, illumining the colorless face into weird -loveliness, that belonged neither to feature nor complexion. The short, -tense bow of the upper lip, the fine spirited line of the nostrils, -the perfect oval of cheek and chin, were always high-bred—some said, -haughty. To-night they were chastened into lofty sweetness that was -pure womanly. - -“She might pass for _twenty_-two,” said an audaciously young -_débutante_ to a crony just behind Mr. Barton. - -And—“By George!” thought that astute individual—“the young dog never -hinted that his divinity was six years his senior. I should have been -surer than ever of receiving that card. Pity! pity! pity! _That’s_ a -fault that won’t mend with time.” - -Agnes knew better than he could have told her what risks the woman -takes who consents to marry her junior in years. Early in their -acquaintanceship she had contrived to apprise Barton of this disparity. -When he declared his love she set it boldly in the foreground of -hesitation and demur. - -“When you are thirty-five, in man’s proudest prime and yet far from -the comb of the hill, I shall have begun to go down the other side,” -she urged. “You might be able to contemplate the contrast boldly, but -could I forgive myself? There may be a suspicion of poetry—pathetic -but real—in the idea of an old man’s darling, but an old woman’s -pet! _that_ is a theme no painter or poet has dared to handle. The -suggestion of grotesqueness is inevitable. Both are to be pitied, but -I think the wife needs compassion even more than the man she has made -ridiculous.” - -The rising young lawyer was a clever advocate, and he had never striven -longer and harder to win a cause. When his triumph was secured Agnes -could not quite dismiss the subject. It haunted her like a wan ghost, -with threatening beck and ominous eye. Once, but a month before their -wedding day, they were speaking of George Eliot’s singular marriage -with a man young enough to be her son, and an abrupt change fell upon -Agnes’ visage—a shade of painful doubt and misgiving. - -“Dinah Maria Mulock, too!” she exclaimed. “And Mme. de Staël! -Elizabeth Browning’s husband was some months younger than she. Then, -there are Mrs. —— and Mrs. ——” naming two prominent living American -authors. “How very singular! There must be some occult reason for -what we cannot set down as coincidences. It looks like fatality—or” -hesitatingly—“infatuation.” - -“Rather,” said Barton in gentle seriousness, for her perturbation was -too real for playful rallying—“attribute such cases to the truth of the -eternal youthfulness of genius. These men see in the faces and forms -of the women they woo, the beautiful minds that will never know age or -change. Time salutes, instead of challenging those high in favor with -the king.” - -“Do you know,” Agnes said, her slim white hand threading the -brown curls of the head she thought more beautiful than that of -Antinous—“that you will never say a more graceful thing than that? You -are more truly a poet than I. Don’t disclaim, for I am not a bard at -all. When I drop into poetry _à la_ Wegg, it is _not_ ‘in the light of -a friend.’ When I am in the dark or at best in a half-light, sorry or -weary, or lonely of heart, my thoughts take rhythmic shape. They are -only homely little crickets, creeping out in the twilight to sing by -the fire that is beginning to gather ashes. I am a born story-teller, -but I deserve no credit for that. Something within me that is not -myself tells the stories so fast that I can hardly write them down -as they are made. I am no genius, dear. Don’t marry me with that -impression. I wish for your sake that I were. How gloriously proud you -would be of me!” - -“I am ‘gloriously proud’ of you now!” He said it in fervent sincerity. -“If you have genius, don’t develop it. I can hardly keep you in sight -as it is.” - -Dimly and queerly, the feeling that prompted the half-laughing protest -returned upon him to-night. The solemn radiance overflooding her -eyes and clearing into exalted beauty lineaments critics pronounced -irregular, positively awed him—an uncommon and not altogether agreeable -sensation for a bridegroom, especially one of his practical and -somewhat dogmatic cast of mind. Rebel though romantic lovers may at -what they consider derogatory to the constancy and depth of wedded -affection, it is not to be denied that the turn of the bridal pair from -the altar symbolizes a reversal in their mutual relation. The bonds -that have held the lover in vassalage—very sweet bondage, perhaps, but -still not liberty—are with the utterance of the nuptial benediction -transferred to the woman he holds by the hand. Barton Ashe was very -much in love, but he was a very man. His wife was now his property. - -“I feel a wild desire to put my arms around you to keep your wings from -unfurling,” he found occasion to whisper presently. “I suppose these -people would think me insane if I were to yield to the impulse and tell -them why I did it.” - -The luminous eyes laughed joyously into his. With all her intellect and -passionate depth of feeling, she had seasons of childlike glee that -became her rarely. - -“As you would be. I was never farther from ‘wanting to be an angel’ -than at this instant. The life that now is appears to me eminently -satisfactory.” - -A fresh bevy of congratulatory guests interrupted the hasty “aside.” - -“We find it hard to forgive you, Mr. Ashe,” twittered an overdressed, -overcolored, and overmannered spinster. “How can you reconcile it to -your conscience to change a broad, beneficent river into a canal to -serve your own particular mill? I shall not congratulate you upon a -private good which is a public disaster.” - -“Many others are thinking the same thing, but they cannot express -it so beautifully,” said a plaintive matron, one of the many whose -perfunctory sighs at weddings are the reverse of complimentary to their -bonded partners. “But we must be thankful you have been spared so long -to make us happy and do so much good in the world.” - -“I am puzzled,” Barton observed, looking from one to the other. “If I -were taking her out of town, to Coromandel, we will say, or even to New -Jersey, there might be occasion for outcry.” - -“You are robbing us of the better part of this woman,” interrupted -the hortatory spinster in a dramatic contralto. “My protest is in the -name of those to whom she belonged by the right the benefited have to -the benefactor, before you crossed her path, in an evil hour for the -world. It passes my comprehension, and I know much of the arrogant -vanity of your sex, how any one man can hope to make up to his author -wife for the audience she resigns when she sits down to pour out his -coffee and darn his socks for the rest of her mortal existence. It is -breaking stones with a gold mallet to make a mere housekeeper out of -such material as this,” lightly touching the head crowned by the bridal -veil. “But my imagination is not of the masculine gender.” - -“Don’t strain it needlessly,” smiled Agnes, before the attacked person -summoned wit for a retort. “Soup-making is a finer art than writing -essays, to _my_ comprehension, yet I hope to learn it.” - -The matron put in her sentence, sandwiched between sighs. - -“You will find the two incompatible. Once married, a woman’s life is -merged in that of another. She has no volition, no thought, no name of -her own.” - -“The married woman does not possess herself!” cried the spinster in -shrill volubility. “She effaces her individuality in uttering the -promise to ‘serve and obey’—vile words that belong rather to the harem -of the sixteenth century than to the home of the nineteenth. Somebody -else has reported me in yesterday’s _World_ and _Herald_, so I may -as well tell you that I brought forward a motion in Sorosis last -Monday, that the club should wear crape upon the left arm for thirty -days, dating from this evening, in affectionate memory of one of our -youngest and most brilliant members. Talk of the self-immolation of the -Jesuit who changes the name his mother gave him and resigns the right -of private judgment and personal desire in joining the Order! He is -riotously free by comparison with the model wife. Her assumption of the -conventual veil is mournfully symbolical.” - -Another wave of newcomers swept her onward, still hortatory and -gesticulatory. - -She was never spoken of again by the bridal pair until the marriage day -was a fortnight old. - -They were pacing the wooden esplanade in front of the Hygeia Hotel -at Old Point Comfort, basking in the December sunshine. The sea air -had set roses in Agnes’ cheeks; her lips were full and red, her eye -sparkled with soft content, and her step was elastic. Barton, surveying -these changes with the undisguised satisfaction of a man who has -secured legally the right to exhibit his prize, took his cigar from his -mouth to say carelessly: - -“By the way, I have never asked the name of the painted-and-powdered -party who gave a parlor lecture upon Jesuits and harems the night we -were married.” - -“It was Miss Marvel,” said Agnes, laughing. “She is an eccentric -woman, and as I need not tell you, indiscreet and flippant in talk, -letting her theories and spirits run away with her judgment. But she -accomplishes a great deal of good in her way and has many fine traits -of character. It is a pity she does herself such injustice.” - -“Humph! Does she belong to the sisterhood of letters?” - -“In a way—yes. Her articles upon the Working Girls of New York, written -for newspaper publication two years ago, attracted so much attention -that they were collected into a volume last summer.” - -“She is a member of Sorosis—I gather from her tirade?” - -“Oh, yes. One of the oldest members.” - -“What a hotch-potch that society or club—or whatever you may choose to -call it—must be! Do you know, darling, I never associate you—or any -other true, refined woman with the crew to which you nominally belong? -You are a lily among thorns in such a connection. I should rather -say among thistles and burdocks and stramonium and the like rank, -vile-smelling weeds.” - -“I thank you for the pretty praise of myself,” smiling sweetly and -fondly at him. “But I cannot accept it at the expense of fairer flowers -than I can ever hope to be, true, strong women who are trying to help -their sex to a higher plane and prepare them for better work than they -have yet accomplished, in spite of the limitations of sex—” - -He caught her up on the word. - -“Don’t fall into their cant, for Heaven’s sake! The ‘limitations of -sex’ are woman’s crown of glory. I have done some sober thinking -lately—especially since the drubbing received from your Miss -Marvel—with regard to the mooted subject of the emancipation of women, -falsely so called. My conclusions may not coincide with your views upon -the subject. But, perhaps you do not care to discuss it?” - -Her face was sunny; her look at once fearless and confiding. - -“We are both reasonable people, I hope. If we are not, we love each -other too well not to agree amicably upon unavoidable disagreements.” - -Barton tossed his cigar stump into the foam of the nearest wave; a -touch of impatience went with fling and laugh. - -“Isn’t that like a woman? She presupposes disagreement and forestalls -argument by pledging herself to forgive for love’s sake whatever she -will not admit. The wisest and best of the sex—and you are both of -these—will press feeling into what should be impersonal debate. Perhaps -it is safer to talk of other things. See that gull swoop down and come -up empty-clawed. That is his fourth unsuccessful trip to market within -thirty minutes. The _passée_ belle upon the pavilion over there has had -that rich youngling in tow twice as long. I will wager a pair of gloves -against a buttonhole bouquet with you that she doesn’t land him.” - -Neither tone nor manner was pleasant. Agnes laid her hand upon his arm. - -“Won’t you go on with what you were about to say? I may not be able to -argue. I think, with you, that logic is not woman’s forte. Perhaps we -may learn, with time and education, to divorce thought and feeling. But -I am a capital listener, and a willing learner.” - -“You are an angel”—pressing the hand to his side, “and so far above -Miss Marvel and her compeers in intellect and breeding that I fret at -the alleged partnership. This talk of woman’s serfdom and the need -of elevating her, mentally and politically, is stuff from first to -last. Vile and pestilential stuff! Heresy against the teachings of -Nature and of Him who ordained that man should be the superior being -of the two. Those who are pressing forward in what they call Reform of -Existing Wrongs are your worst enemies. You should need no champion -but your other self, Man. In arraying one sex against the other, you -antagonize him. I see this rampant attitude of woman everywhere and -hourly. If a man resigns his seat in a public conveyance to a woman, -she takes it arrogantly—not gratefully. She pushes him aside with -sharp elbows in crowds, jostles him upon gangways, presses before him -into doors, always with a ‘good-as-you’ air which exasperates the most -amiable of us. Her voice is heard in debating societies; she sits -beside man upon the rostrum; competes with him in business, often -successfully, because she can live upon less than he. The devilish -spirit of revolt permeates all grades of society. The home—God’s best -gift to earth—has no longer a recognized governor, no judge to whom -appeal is final. Sisters wrangle with brothers for equal educational -advantages, instead of making home so pleasant that boys will be -content to stay there. Women’s Clubs, Women’s Congresses, Women’s -Protective Unions, are part and parcel of the disunion policy. Instead -of refining man this is surely, if slowly, arousing the latent savage -in him. When that does spring to action, let the weaker sex beware. -Outraged natural laws will right themselves in the long run, but -sometimes at fearful cost.” - -Agnes was perfectly silent during this harangue, ignorant as was he -of his resemblance to pudgy and pompous Uncle Simeon, while he beat -the palm of the right hand with the empty left-hand glove, and rolled -slightly from one leg to the other in the slow promenade. The bloom -gradually receded from her cheeks, her profile was still and clear as a -cameo. Her eyes were directed toward the gray-blues of the meeting line -of wave and sky. Once she glanced up to follow the gull, rising from a -fifth unsuccessful dip. - -Presently she halted and leaned upon the parapet to watch the -half-consumed cigar, swinging and bumping like a truncated canoe in -the foam-fringes of the rising tide. Barton stopped with her without -staying his talk. An impulse born of the innate savagery he imputed to -his sex, bore him on. His wife’s very impassiveness irked him. Silence -was non-sympathetic; white silence, like hers, chilling. Irritation, -engendered by piqued vanity, does not withhold the home-thrust because -the victim is dearly beloved. - -“You do not like to hear me talk in this strain,” he pursued. “It is -only natural that a woman of independent thought and action, accustomed -to adulation, and to whom the excitement of a public hearing for -whatever she has to say has become a necessity of existence; who -has looked beyond the quiet round of home interests and home loves -for a career; who has fed her imagination upon unreal scenes and -situations—should——” - -He could get no further. Fluent as he was in speech, he had wound -himself up in nominative specifications, and the verb climax failed him -unexpectedly. - -“Should—what?” said Agnes, turning the set, tintless visage toward him. -Her eyes, blank and questionless, showed how far from her thought was -sarcastic pleasure in his discomfiture. Barton was too much incensed to -reason. - -“Should—and _does_ sneer at her husband’s serious talk upon a matter in -which, as he is fast discovering, his happiness is fatally involved!” - -“_Fatally!_ O Barton!” - -Independent and strong-minded she might be to others, but he had hurt -her terribly. The stifled cry took all her strength with it. She caught -at the railing for support, and leaned upon it, sick and trembling. - -He lifted his hat in mock courtesy. - -“If you will excuse me I will continue my walk alone. It is useless -to attempt the temperate discussion of any subject when my words are -caught up in that tone and manner. May I take you back to the hotel?” - -Agnes straightened herself up. Her color did not return, but her voice -was her own. It had always a peculiar and vibrant melody, and her -articulation was singularly distinct for an American speaking her own -language. - -“You misunderstand me. I did not mean to be abrupt, much less rude. -If I seemed to be either or both I ask your forgiveness. You need not -trouble yourself to escort me to the hotel. I will sit here for a while -and then go in. I hope, when you think the matter over dispassionately, -you will see that I could not be guilty of what you imply.” - -He strode off toward the Fort, the deep sand somewhat derogatory to -dignity of carriage, but favoring the increase of irritability. Agnes -strolled slowly along the beach until she found a lonely rock upon the -tip of a tongue of bleached sand, where she could sit and think out -the bitterest hour she had ever known. People, passing upon pier and -esplanade, saw her there all the forenoon, a slight figure whose gray -gown matched in color the stones among which she sat, as motionless as -they. The brackish tide rose slowly until the spray sprinkled her feet, -whispering mournful things to rock and sand. She saw and heard nothing, -while her eyes seemed to follow the stately sail and swoop of the gulls -whose breasts showed whitely against the blue of the December sky. - -Other wives than Lorraine Loree have wedded men of high degree only to -find that “husbands can be cruel,” and more than Lorraine or Agnes -dreamed of have made the discovery before the wane of the honeymoon. - -This bride felt bruised and beaten all over, and suffered the more, not -less, for her sorrowful bewilderment as to the exact cause of this, the -first quarrel. - - - - -CHAPTER II. - - -SOME women and many men are compounded and shaped into sentient beings -without the infusion of so much as a pennyweight of tact. - -Many women and a few men combine with this deficiency—which is, in -itself, a deformity—a fatal facility for saying exactly the wrong thing -when the wrong thing will do most harm. - -Miss Marvel had taken all the honors in this line which native bias and -feminine fussiness could win, and she wove a new spray into her laurel -wreath one day in the March succeeding the winter in which Barton Ashe -and Agnes Welles were made one—in law and gospel. - -The morrow would be his wife’s birthday, and Barton had in his breast -pocket a tiny box containing a sapphire ring for her, when he arose -to resign his seat in the street car to the dashing spinster, whom he -recognized as soon as she entered. He had never seen her since his -wedding eve, but she was not a woman to be forgotten or overlooked. -She was in great force to-day, gorgeously appareled and flushed beyond -high-rouge mark by three hours at a literary breakfast, given at -Delmonico’s to a distinguished foreigner. - -“I am surcharged with electric thought,” she confided to Mr. Ashe when -she had taken the vacated place with a cavalier nod that might mean -“Thanks,” or “That’s only decent, my good man.” - -“Ah!” said Barton, in naïve wonderment, for the want of anything else -to say. - -“Surcharged! bristling! I could fancy that at the approach of the -negative pole I should crackle and emit sparkles like a brisk battery. -Such a feast of intellect! such flow of soul! such scintillating wit! -Three hours of such intercourse were worth ten—a thousand cycles of -Cathay. Our guest was superb! such dignity and such graciousness of -affability as can only coexist in an Old World product.” - -She spoke loudly, after the manner of the New World product (_genus -homo_, feminine gender). Several solid men peered at her around or over -the evening papers. Two giddy girls, who had taken without thanks or -scruples seats from weary men, smiled undisguisedly. Barton, standing -in the aisle, holding on by the strap, his knees abraded by the jet -passementerie of Miss Marvel’s velvet skirt, could not budge an inch. -He must hear and, hearing, essay reply of some sort. “Ah!” albeit the -safest and most commodious monosyllable in the language, cannot go on -forever. - -“The lunch was largely attended, I suppose?” he ventured in tones -studiously lowered. - -“By every woman in New York who is worth the notice of an intelligent -being. With one distinguished exception. Mrs. Ashe’s absence was the -occasion of universal regret. As a well-wisher let me warn you that you -may be mobbed some day for your unconscionable cruelty to the highest -order of created things; for imprisoning the eagle and stilling the -song of the lark. At least fifty people asked me to-day why Agnes -Welles had disappeared from the literary firmament. For one and all, I -had one and the same reply. ‘She has taken the bridal veil,’ I said, -tears in eyes and voice. ‘In consequence of that piece of barbarity, -and for no other cause, the places that once knew her know her no -more.’ One woman—I won’t divulge her name, lest you should _hate_ -her—said she ‘should as soon think of chaining a thrush to the leg of -a kitchen chair as of obliging that glorious young thing to resign her -Heaven-appointed mission for the position of caterer, housekeeper, and -seamstress.’ I shall work that _bon mot_ into my next literary letter -to the Boston _Globe_. Another delightfully satirical creature advised -me to take up the cause of ‘Great Women Married to Small Men,’ in my -next series of papers upon ‘Unconsidered Wrongs of Our Sex.’ You see -the reputation you are earning for yourself with the powers that be!” - -Barton Ashe was a sensible man, well educated and well bred. Under -favoring circumstances, as when inspired by the society of his wife -and her loving appreciation, he was quick with repartee and apt at -fence even with a wordy woman. Under the present onslaught he was -furious and dumb. Had a man insulted him, and less grossly, he would -have knocked him down or given him his card and demanded a meeting -elsewhere. This berouged and bedizened old maid compromised him in the -eyes of solid men and giddy girls by entering into conversation with -him at all. Each shrill word was a prickle in a pore of his mental -cuticle. She advertised his wife as one of _her_ kind, arraigned him as -despot and churl, menaced him with public exposure, and posed as Agnes’ -champion against the oppressor on whose side was the power of law and -tradition—made him ridiculous to all within the sound of her brazen -tongue—and he was powerless. - -He did the only thing possible to a man calling himself a gentleman, -when baited to desperation in a public place by a woman who passes for -a lady—he lifted his hat silently and pulled the strap to stop the car. -Other passengers than Miss Marvel marked the dark face and blazing -eyes, and curious regards wandered back to the offender, smiling to -herself at this new proof of her ability to, in her favorite phrase, -“drive a poisoned needle under a man’s fifth rib.” - -“_Great Women Married To Small Men!_” - -The most offensive count in the unanswered indictment seemed to be -flung after him by the shrieking March wind. Until this moment of -intensest exasperation he had never consciously compared himself -mentally with his wife. That spiritually she was purer and better he -was ever ready to admit. The gallant alacrity with which men yield the -palm of virtue and piety to women may be due to the candor of real -greatness, but a keen student of human contrarieties is excusable for -likening it, sometimes, to the ostentatious generosity of the child who -surrenders to a playfellow the wholesome “cookey,” while he holds fast -to the plum cake for his own delectation. - -“Great” and “Small” were explicit terms that threw our hero upon the -hostile-defensive. Agnes was a pearl among women, as good, true, and -sweet as any man need covet for a lifelong companion. She kept his -house well and his home bright, her sympathies were ready, her love -was poured out upon him in unstinted measure, she studied his tastes, -humored his few foibles, in brief, filled his life, or so much of it as -she could reach, most satisfactorily. Her mind was fairly stocked with -miscellaneous information; she had remarkable facility in composition -and graceful fancies, and, above all, the happy knack of saying, in a -telling way, things people cared to hear. Being in “the literary ring,” -she had secured a respectable audience, and, being a tactful woman, -she had kept it. - -“Great,” she was not, in any sense of the word, except according to the -perverted standard of the “Club” gang, the mutual-admiration circle, -with whom every poetaster was a Browning, and the writer of turgid -essays a Carlyle or Emerson. - -He gave a scornful snort in repeating the adjective. Agnes would be -the first to deprecate the application of it to herself. Yet—if she -had not invited the commendation of the _Précieuses ridicules_—had her -name never been bandied from mouth to mouth in public, the antithetical -“small” had never been fitted to him. Husband and wife were in false -positions. That was clear—and galling. Almost as clear, and harder to -endure, was his conviction that the situation could not be altered for -the better. - -He had not made up his mind to graceful acceptance of the inevitable -when he fitted the latchkey in the door of his own house. - -The popular impression as to the housewifery of pen-wrights had no -confirmation within the modest domicile of which Agnes Ashe was the -presiding genius. During her mother’s protracted invalidism and her own -betrothal she had studied domestic economy, including cookery, with -the just regard to system and thoroughness that made her successful in -her other profession of authorship. Her computations were correct and -her methods dainty. She deserved the more honor for all this because -she was not naturally fond of household occupations. If she reduced -dusting to a fine art, mixing and baking to an exact science, it was -conscientiously, not with love for the duties themselves. - -Once, when praised for excellent housekeeping by a friend in her -husband’s hearing, her native sincerity made her say: - -“You are mistaken in supposing that the drudgery connected with -home-making is easy or pleasant to me. If I did not feel it my duty -to go into the kitchen sometimes, and to arrange rooms, I doubt if I -should ever do either. Nor am I fond of sewing.” - -“Yet your needle-work is exquisitely neat,” said the surprised visitor. - -“Because I hold myself to the necessity of doing well what I undertake. -It is all business, not delight.” - -After the visitor had gone, Barton gave a gentle and needful caution. - -“Don’t talk in that way to acquaintances, dear,” he said. “I don’t want -people to report that your tastes are unfeminine.” - -“Surely there are other feminine tastes besides love for needle, -broom, and egg-beater?” Agnes protested, no less gently. “Why should -every woman be proficient in baking, when every man is not compelled -to learn book-keeping? I am faithful in the discharge of domestic -duties because I love you and consider your happiness rather than -selfish ease. I love my home, and to enjoy the effect of clean, orderly -rooms and well-served meals, I am willing to perform tasks for which -I have no real liking. The game is well worth the candle—a good many -waxlights, in fact—but I question if you, for example, really _like_ to -draw up conveyances and make searches.” - -“Illustration is not argument,” said Barton dryly. “You are undeniably -a clever woman, my love, but your reasoning would hardly convince a -jury. Women’s efforts in that direction are what we style ‘special -pleading.’” - -This talk was held two months ago. Agnes knew better, by now, than -to attempt argument with him, and his love grew apace because of the -forbearance he mistook for conviction of his ability to direct thought -with action. She was the dearer for being dutiful. The docility with -which she listened to his dicta, never betraying a suspicion that they -were dogmas, won him to forgetfulness of the circumstance that she was -his senior by six years and a blue-stocking. - -She was in the front hall when he got home to-night, receiving the -adieu of a spectacled personage whom she introduced as “Mr. Rowland of -Boston.” - -“Charmed, I am sure,” said the stranger airily. “The more that I am -positive of enlisting Mr. Ashe’s powerful interest upon my side, and -that of the book-loving public. If Mrs. Ashe will pardon the additional -trespass upon her time, I should like to explain to you, my dear sir, -the nature of my petition to her, and now to yourself.” - -They returned to the parlor, and he had his say. It was succinct -and comprehensive. He wished to engage Mrs. Ashe to write one of a -projected series of popular novels. Her coadjutors would be authors of -repute; the programme was attractive and must take immensely with the -best class of readers. His terms were liberal. - -In any other mood than that for which Miss Marvel was chiefly -responsible, even a prejudiced man must have been gratified by the -compliment to his wife implied in the application. It acted upon -the chafed surface of husbandly vanity and dignity like moral _aqua -fortis_. Barton listened with lowering brow and compressed lips while -the fashionable publisher subjoined appeal to statement. When both -were concluded the master of the house waited with palpable patience, -apparently to make sure that all the pleas were in, then arose with the -air of the long-bored householder who dismisses a book agent. - -“Mrs. Ashe is so well acquainted with my views upon the subject of her -undertaking any literary work whatsoever, that I may be allowed the -expression of my surprise at her reference of this matter to me. I -believe, however, that the feminine _littérateur_ considers a show of -deference to her husband a graceful form. Your appeal to me is, you -see, the idlest of courtesies. Now, as I have just come home after a -wearisome day of business, may I ask you to excuse me from further and -fruitless consideration of this subject?” - -He bowed and went off to his dressing room. - -The man of the world, left thus awkwardly _en tête-à-tête_ with an -insulted wife, always remembered with grateful admiration the perfect -breeding that helped him out of the dilemma. - -“Mr. Ashe is very tired and far from well,” Agnes remarked, eye and -smile cool and unembarrassed. “As one conversant with the fatigues -and harassments of business life, you need no apology beyond this for -his seeming brusqueness. I dare say—” with archness that was well -achieved—“that Mrs. Rowland would comprehend, better than you, what -serpentlike wisdom we wives must exercise in broaching any subject -that requires thought to our hungry lords. I will appeal from Philip -famished to Philip full, in due season, but I think you would better -not depend upon me. I am a very busy woman just now, and shall be for -some time to come.” - -“It would give me solid satisfaction to punch that fellow’s head,” -muttered the publisher in the street. “He is a boor and a tyrant, and -his wife is an angel.” - -He was wrong in both specifications. Barton Ashe was a vain man, -and his vanity was smarting from a recent attack. His ideas of the -supremacy, intellectual and official, that do hedge a husband were -overstrained, but natural. - -Agnes Ashe was a very mortal woman, walking up and down her pretty -room after the departure of her visitor, hands clenched until the -nails wounded the flesh, and cheeks so hot they dried the tears before -they fell. Her breath came fast between the shut teeth. Women will -comprehend how much easier it was to forgive her husband for the slur -cast upon her than for lowering himself in the eyes of a stranger. - -“I am afraid of myself!” she whispered pantingly. “I am afraid of -_myself_! Must I, then, despise him utterly? What right has he to -charge upon me as shame what others account as honor? Can it be that he -is conscious of being small and fears to let me grow?” - -By different roads, the refined woman, who loved her art for its own -sake and reverenced it for the good it might do, and the pretender, -tolerated by true artists out of charity, and out of respect for -the active benevolence that redeemed her from the rank of a public -nuisance—had arrived at a like conclusion. - -Barton, after his bath and toilet, sat down to dinner, and scarcely -spoke until excellent clear soup and the delicious creamed lobster -prepared by Agnes’ own hands, had paved the way for more substantial -viands. Then his righteous wrath was partially cooled by perception -of the truth that the still, pale woman opposite meant to enter no -defense against the aspersions cast upon her in another’s hearing. Nay, -more, she made no attempt to cheat him into a milder mood, broached no -prudent topics, attempted no diversion. Second thought found fresh fuel -for displeasure in her reticence. The double offense of Miss Marvel’s -tirade and the airy publisher’s errand were not condonable by discreet -silence. - -He slashed simultaneously into a roast of beef and the grievance upon -his mind. - -“I met your particular crony, Miss Marvel, in the car on my way uptown. -She was, if possible, more detestably impertinent than usual.” - -Agnes beckoned to the waitress and gave her in a low tone an errand to -the kitchen. Glancing up at her husband, she saw that he had laid down -the carver and was gazing sternly at herself. - -“May I, as the least important member of this household, inquire why -you sent that girl out of the room? I may be, as your dear friends -assert, a small man married to a great woman, but I am credited by -others with a modicum of common sense and discretion. I am willing to -abide by the consequences of whatever I say at my own table and in the -presence of my servants, if I have any proprietorship in either.” - -Red heat he had never seen before in Agnes’ face suffused it now, her -eyes dilated and gleamed. - -“I sent the girl from the room because she was recommended to me by the -matron of an orphan asylum in which she was brought up. Miss Marvel is -a manager of the institution and had the girl trained in a school for -domestics. Mary is much attached to her. I thought it hardly safe or -kind to discuss her in Mary’s presence.” - -Barton met generous heat with deadly coldness. - -“When is your waitress’ month up?” - -“On the fifteenth.” - -“This is the seventh. Pay her a week’s wages to-morrow and pack her -off. I will have none of that woman’s spies in my house—that is, always -supposing it to be mine. I understand this afternoon’s scene. She is -kept posted as to the status of domestic affairs.” - -“You are out of humor, Barton, or you could not be so unjust to me and -to a faithful servant.” - -Griselda would not have retorted in a hard, cutting tone, but Griselda -could neither read nor write. Diffusion of knowledge has a tendency to -breed sedition among the lower orders. - -Clubs for the lofty, and lager beer saloons for the lowly, stand, with -controversial Benedicks, for the “refuges” foreign cities offer to the -fugitive from wheels and hoofs. - -“Excuse me for leaving you to digest your dinner and the memory of that -last remark in solitude,” Barton said sardonically. “I shall finish -_my_ dinner at the club.” - -The library was the coziest room in the house. Before Mr. Rowland -called, Agnes had looked into it to see that the fire was bright and -that Barton’s easy-chair, newspaper, and cigar-stand were in place. -Upon the table was a bowl of _Bon Silène_ roses he had ordered on his -way downtown that morning. She had poured out his coffee and lighted -his cigar here for him last night. It all rushed over her with the pure -deliciousness of the roses’ breath, as she returned to the deserted -apartment after dinner. As she moved, the fragrance broke into waves -that overwhelmed her with the sweet agony of associativeness. - -Sinking upon her knees before her husband’s chair, she laid her head -within her enfolding arms and remained thus until the clock struck -nine. Then she spoke aloud: - -“What has he given me in exchange for my beautiful ideal world and for -my work? A drugged cup, with gall and wormwood in the bottom.” - -The slow, scornful syllables jarred the perfumed waves and echoed -hollowly in the still corners. - -She arose, unlocked a secretary at the back of the room, and took out -a worn portfolio—also locked. Selecting from the contents several large -sheets of paper, she laid them in order upon the table, and drew from -an inner pocket a gold pen in a shabby handle. With it she had written -her first book. For six years she had used no other. Before dipping it -into the ink, she kissed it. - -“I have come back to you!” she said. - - - - -CHAPTER III. - - -WITH the first heavy snows of December a little daughter was given to -Agnes Ashe. - -On New Year’s Day her husband proposed to read aloud to her a book -“some of the Club fellows were talking about last night.” The pale face -flushed nervously when he undid the wrapping paper. - -It was one of the “happenings” we persist in classing among singular -coincidences, although they are of daily occurrence, that he should -have selected that particular novel for their entertainment on the -holiday he proposed to devote entirely to his convalescent wife. - -“The Story of Walter King” had not been sent, as one might suppose -would have been natural, to Mr. Rowland of Boston. - -“He would guess instantly how matters are,” Agnes reasoned. “I am still -too proud to run that risk.” - -She took the MS. instead to a New York publisher in whose discretion -she could trust, told him of her whim to establish a new reputation -which should owe nothing to past gains, and left the story with -him. In a week it was accepted and in the printer’s hands. When Baby -Agnes—upon whom the mother bestowed the Scotch pet-name of “Nest”—was -born, new editions were selling as fast as the press could turn them -out. - -It was evident, said critics, that the fresh, nervous novel was -from the hand of a young writer, skilled in the use of language but -unhackneyed by the need of furnishing “pot-boilers.” It was as evident, -said readers, that the unknown author had fed the pen directly from his -heart, and that personal experience had had much to do with the make-up -of the “live book.” - -Agnes had held no communication with the discreet publisher since the -contract was signed. She had not corrected the proof-sheets, or had an -advance copy of the work. There was, therefore, literal truth in her -reply to Barton’s query—“Have you read it?” - -“I have not even seen the book that I recollect. Who is the author?” - -“John C. Hart”—turning to the title page. “What else has he done?” - -“The name sounds familiar. Or, perhaps it may be that I am thinking of -Professor John S. Hart. You are very kind to think of getting a new -book for me! trebly kind to offer to read it to me.” - -“It is little enough I can do for the best wife in Christendom!” -stooping to kiss her and then Baby Nest asleep in her crib beside -Agnes’ reclining chair. - -The languid mother, grateful for his society and loverly attentions, -was more like his ideal wife than Agnes had been since the eve of her -birthday, when he had almost forgotten (through her fault) that he was -a gentleman. No explanations had followed the ugly scene. They had met -at breakfast the next morning as if the fracas had not occurred, but -then and thereafter he had missed something from his married life. -Had he tried to analyze the vague, ever present discomfort, he would -have said that his wife was always on guard. No surprise of abrupt or -rough speech betrayed her into a show of temper or wounded feeling. No -overflow of tenderness elicited a confession of answering devotion. -When questioned, she was frank in declaring that she loved him, and -sought to make him happy in his home and content with her. She was -never sad in his sight. Domestic and society duties were cheerfully -performed, she was always ready to go out with him when he desired it -and gave him her company at home conscientiously. There was the sore -spot! He could not prove that her love and duty were perfunctory, but -he never got away from the irritating suspicion that they were. Had she -been miserable, pettish, or fretfully exacting, it would have accorded -better with his creed of the absolute dependence of a woman upon her -lord. In plain English—which, however, he would have been ashamed to -put into words in any language—it irked him that his mental and moral -barometer could not set the weather for his household. There was a -_something_ back of Agnes’ even temper and equable spirits he could -not touch and that told him she was sufficient unto herself. Into this -she seemed to retire as into the cleft of a rock when the matrimonial -horizon threatened storm. - -There was no one to tell him of mornings spent in the library, or of -the work done during the evenings he passed at the club. He ought -to have been gratified at her smiling aquiescence in his apologetic -representation of the business necessity laid upon a man to mingle -socially with “the fellows.” Some women made it preciously disagreeable -for husbands who acted upon this compulsion, but his wife was never -lonely by day or night. If he came home at eleven o’clock, she was -in the library, reading or knitting beside a glowing fire, ready to -receive him and to listen with interest to club stories or incidents. -If he stayed out after midnight, she went to bed like a sensible -Christian and slept soundly. - -What could be more exemplary and satisfactory? He had a model wife. -Would sulks, tears, and chidings have been more to his taste? This -conclusion reached, he would berate himself for “an unreasonable -dog”—and go on missing something he could not define. - -An odd conceit came to Agnes as the full, manly voice began “The -Story of Walter King”—a fancy that won a smile from her at first, and -terrified her when she could not shake it off. She was the unsuspected -mother of a foundling. In secret and in fear, she had laid the new-born -baby at a stranger’s door. He had cared for, fostered, and clothed it, -and on this New Year’s Day, her husband had ignorantly adopted the waif -and led it, a beautiful child, to her, bespeaking her admiration for it. - -For her own baby! the thing born of her soul, the express image of her -thought, the bright, glorious darling in whom, and with whom, and by -whom, she had lived all these weary, weary months! Her husband would -introduce these two to one another! Was her left hand a stranger to her -right? Was her heart alien to the blood leaping from it? - -She could have laughed and cried hysterically, could have snatched the -book from the unconscious reader and covered it with tears and kisses. -She must touch and hold it once, if but for a minute, or the strained -heart-strings would part. - -“Can you see well?” she interrupted the reader to ask. The calm tone -surprised herself and lent her courage to carry out her stratagem. -“Does the light fall right for you? In her anxiety to exclude draughts -and the snow glare, Mrs. Ames may have made it too dark for well -people. Is the type pretty clear?” - -She put out her hand and drew the volume from his. The sight of -familiar paragraphs and names was as if the child had laughed, in happy -recognition, into her eyes. She passed her fingers lovingly over the -page, stroked the binding, raised the open book to her lips, and gave -it back reluctantly. - -“The smell of newly printed pages is delicious to me,” she said, trying -to laugh. “Sweeter than new-mown hay.” - -“They have brought it out in good style,” observed Barton carelessly. -“One gets no slipshod literature from that house. Their imprint is a -title of intellectual nobility.” - -Agnes smiled brightly in assent, turned her cheek to the cushioned back -of her chair, and closed her eyes to keep the happy tears from slipping -beneath the lids. Was the time close at hand in which she could safely -acknowledge her offspring? To screen the fact of her maternity from -possible premature discovery she had refrained from so much as looking -upon or speaking of the bantling for these long weeks. Providence had -put this opportunity of honorable recognition before her. How should -she seize it? - -A thought struck her like an icebolt. What would Barton say, even in -this auspicious hour, to the systematic concealment practiced before -and since the advent of the adopted child? Would he throw it from him -as he would a snake? She pictured the possibility of virtuous horror -in the regards turned upon her, the aversion a moral man feels for a -lost woman. Deception—even untruth might be forgiven; the deliberate -disregard of his expressed wish that his wife should never again -put sentiment or feeling of hers into print would be construed into -absolute crime. He held the desire for literary renown on the part of -a woman to be a fault that unsexed her. In a young girl the ambition -might spring from the unrest of an unfilled heart, mistaken, but -pardonable as a blunder of ignorance. A wife’s heart, thoughts, and -hands should be _full_ of home and home loves, or she did not deserve -her high and blessed estate. - -She felt, now, that she could never make him understand how the side -of her nature which he saw and knew was bettered and elevated by the -healthful action of its twin, to which he was a stranger. She _had_ -“put herself into the book,” but not in the lower and vulgar sense in -which the reviewers had used the phrase. The aspirations with which -others could not intermeddle—least of all, the husband who so grossly -misjudged her, the fancies that beguiled Time of heaviness and drew -the soreness from her heart while she dallied with them—were there. -Her ideals were her real companions; her dream children her only -confidants. - -“_The things which are seen are temporal; the things which are not seen -are eternal._” - -The author who is not made, but born; the idealist whose brain -creations are to him almost visible and tangible, while he communes -with them—can, of all men, enter most joyfully into the meaning of the -sweet mysticism uttered by the Creator of things temporal and things -eternal. - -It was a snowy day; transient glimmers of white light, shed from -thinner clouds, were the precursors of thicker falls of soundless -flakes. There was no wind, and as Agnes watched the storm between the -slightly parted blinds, a curtain of purest lace seemed unfolding and -wavering earthward. The hush of a great holiday enwrapped the city. -Baby Nest slumbered peacefully amid billows of lawn and wool; the -strong, mobile features of the husband she loved and feared more than -any other living mortal darkened and lightened like the snow clouds, -with the progress of the story. He read well, and threw unusual spirit -into the present task. - -Agnes hearkened, with a growing sense of unreality. The disowned child -pressed nearer and closer, gazed appealingly into her face, cooed love -words in her ear, covered with kisses the hands with which the hapless -mother was constrained to hold it aloof from the heart that yearned to -take it in. - -Sometimes Barton’s voice sounded a great way off, and she confused -his utterances with the winged ideas she had formulated into human -language. Was she thinking it all out? or was _he_ enunciating what -she _had_ thought through the languorous summer days and cool autumn -evenings? She used to wonder, amusedly, what he supposed she did during -the many hours she spent in solitude. He never asked, but if he had -deemed the matter worthy of speculation, he might have reasoned that a -woman who did not make her own clothes and had no taste for fancy work, -whose house was well appointed and not large, and whose health was good -must, with two servants to do housework and cooking, have much time -upon her hands. - -“How do women occupy themselves who keep plenty of servants and do not -write, paint, or study anything in particular?” asked the young son of -a woman who kept house, wrote books, painted pictures, and studied with -her children. - -“They make a profession of _horacide_!” answered the mother. - -Barton lowered the book so abruptly that his wife started and clasped -her hands involuntarily. She was very weak. - -“I should like to know this man!” - -“What man?” - -“The fellow who wrote this book! He is a New York lawyer—that is plain. -His insight of legal chicanery and his apt use of technical law terms -show that, if his clever reasoning did not. A Columbia graduate, too! -I’ll go bail for that. And a society man. By George! that narrows the -case down pretty well. I don’t know a man at the city bar, though, who -has sufficient literary skill to turn out such a piece of work as this. -‘John C. Hart’ is a pseudonym, of course—but there may be a meaning in -it.” - -He fell into a muse over the title page, knotting his brows and -plucking at his lower lip while he scanned the name. - -Agnes’ breath came quick; her head swam as in seasickness. She shook -herself mentally and tried to speak as usual: - -“It may be another case of George Eliot, _alias_ Mary Anne Evans; or -Charles Egbert Craddock, _alias_ Miss Murfree.” - -“Preposterous! There isn’t a feminine touch in the book. And no woman -of the education and refinement of this writer could know anything of -the scenes and motives he describes. Men can paint women faithfully. -Women who try to depict men show us up as hybrids, creatures of their -own sex disguised in masculine habiliments. Ready-made clothes at that, -baggy at the knees and short at the wrists. I should _not_ like, -however, to know a woman who could write ‘The Story of Walter King.’” - -“It does not impress me as coarse!” Agnes was nerved by instinctive -resentment to say. - -“Not a symptom of coarseness about it. But it _is_ virile—and that -your woman author ought never to be! Any man might be proud of having -written this novel. Any true, modest woman would blush to be accused of -it. You see the difference?” - -“_I_ see the difference between the patient I left three hours ago, and -the one I find here now!” interjected the nurse bluntly. - -She had come in while Barton was speaking, and had her hand on Mrs. -Ashe’s pulse. - -“Tut! tut! tut!” she went on in grave vexation. “We shall have the -doctor again if this sort of excitement goes on. Eyes glassy, pulse up, -and, I venture to say, headache back of the eyes. Don’t deny it, Mrs. -Ashe! I know the signs. Here’s your lunch—after which, we _must_ have -the room darkened and try to compose your nerves. It won’t do to have a -throw-back at this late day.” - -Barton carried off “The Story of Walter King” with him to the library, -a little anxious, but more aggrieved. In common with the mighty -majority of husbands, he resented Mrs. Gamp the more virulently because -impotent against her tyranny. - -“Thank Heaven that her time, like her infernal master’s, is short!” -growled he, dropping into his easy-chair and throwing his legs over -the foot-rest in lordly disdain of appearances. “I suppose women enjoy -being hectored, or the sex would rise _en masse_ against this order of -haggish humbugs. Agnes didn’t dare peep a defense of herself, or of me. -Great Scott! suppose I had been born a woman!” - -He lighted a cigar and reopened his book. A luxurious, if lonely, -lunch was served at half-past one. Wine and walnuts went with him into -the library after the meal was eaten. The air was blue with fragrant -smoke for the rest of the day. He did not take the nap he had promised -himself as the chief delight of a lazy afternoon, until the last page -of “The Story of Walter King” was devoured. Even after he had stretched -himself upon the lounge and drawn the silken and eiderdown slumber-robe -over him, he lay looking at the purring fire of sea-coal and listening -to the muffled tinkle of sleigh-bells along Fifth Avenue, which was but -a block distant—and thinking of the book that had enchained him so many -hours. It had taken a powerful grip of his imagination and titillated -his intellectual palate smartly. There were passages in it that -recalled pertinent and pregnant sayings of his own relative to certain -topics discussed in the fascinating pages; theories he had advanced and -maintained; his very turns of speech were here and there. - -Again he said, “I should like to know that man. He has a long head -and sharp wits of his own. Immense knowledge of the world and human -nature.” Without the least intention of being conceited he subjoined -to the silent soliloquy: “If I had turned my attention to literature, -I believe I could have written that book. But one man cannot be -proficient in everything. The suggestion of feminine authorship is -ridiculous. Poor Agnes is a sensible girl, but she is wide of the mark -there.” - -Here his thoughts wandered into the poppied plains of sleep. - -Awaking from his siesta to find himself in the dark, he arose -refreshed, and paid a dutiful call to his wife’s chamber before going -out to dine at his club. The nurse met him upon the threshold and -stepped out into the hall for a whispered colloquy. Both of her charges -had been restless all the afternoon. The baby was colicky, Mrs. Ashe -feverish and excited, although persisting that nothing ailed her. - -“She has an exquisitely susceptible nervous organization,” she -continued in the parrotlike lingo of the trained nurse. “We must really -guard her more carefully in future. She was talking about that novel -in her sleep just now—begging you not to take it away from her and all -that, in quite a wild way. There is evidently cerebral excitement. -Perhaps, as you are going out, it might be prudent to telephone the -doctor to drop in toward bedtime.” - -“Oh, a good sleep will set her up all right!” returned Barton -slightingly. It did not suit his notions of marital rights to be -interviewed and advised in a ghostly whisper without the precincts of -his own room, by this pretentious hireling. “The book had nothing to -do with her uncomfortable afternoon. It was probably the luncheon. I -thought, when you brought it up, that it was more like a meal for a -ditcher than for a delicate invalid.” - -Pleased at administering this Roland for accumulated Olivers, he ran -downstairs without attending to her protest, and whistled softly while -equipping himself for the walk through the snow. The night was sharply -cold; the drifts were as dry as dust. He laughed like a boy in plowing -through them. The return to bachelor freedom was not bad, for a change, -and there were sure to be a lot of prime fellows at the club on a -stormy holiday night. - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - - -AT eleven o’clock of that New Year’s night the snow still fell, but the -wind had increased to a gale, and shook the eastward windows of Agnes -Ashe’s bedchamber. - -Nurse and baby were sound asleep in the adjoining nursery. Even in the -well-built house and curtained room, the night-light wavered in the -unquiet air, sending fitful hosts of specter shadows scurrying over the -ceiling and falling down the walls. Sometimes one dropped upon the bed -and made mouths or crooked lean fingers at the convalescent. Now and -then they whispered something in fleeing or skulking past. When this -happened they spoke of her husband and how he had carried off both her -babies downstairs. For Baby Nest’s crib was gone. She had been doubly -robbed. - -The door of communication between the rooms was ajar. Mrs. Ashe had -need to move cautiously in arising and wrapping herself in a dressing -gown. She had been three weeks upstairs. Mrs. Ames had declared her too -feeble to walk across the room unaided, but to-night she felt strong -and restless. Her brain was teeming with fledged thoughts, crying and -fluttering to escape. If she had pen and ink she could begin another -book, now that the nurse was asleep and Barton out. But that was not -her reason for getting up and slipping on the wrapper. Oh, no! She -drew the door to behind her cautiously, listened with held breath for -sounds from the inner room, and hearing nothing, smiled cunningly, -crept to the stair-head and down the polished steps. Their chill struck -through the slippers into which she had thrust her stockingless feet; -she shivered in the wind that drove fine snow under the front door and -whistled jeeringly at her as she went by. - -The library was void of human presence but warm and murky red with -firelight. The vivid glow of the Argand burner, as she touched the -regulator, shone upon glittering eyes, scarlet cheeks, and red lips -that showed her teeth in the fixed smile of successful cunning. She -found what she sought at once. Barton had left “The Story of Walter -King” upon the table beside his reading chair. He would be out late. -There was nothing to call him home and he was fond of his club. She was -quite safe for an hour or two—secure from spy and intrusion—she and her -brain-baby. - -Clasping it to her heart, she wept and smiled, rocked herself to and -fro as she would cuddle Baby Nest, did the nurse allow it. There was -nobody to meddle with her here. She settled herself in the easy-chair -and, finding where Barton had left off, read on and on, until the type -began to gyrate queerly in fantastic measure across the page. Her eyes -were getting tired. The tyrant above-stairs had prohibited reading so -long that the effort tried her strength. - -Still holding the book to her bosom, she looked around. The library -was not so orderly as when she visited it tri-daily. There were no -flowers on the table, yet she fancied that she smelled _Bon Silène_ -roses, as she had on that far-back March night when she unlocked the -door leading into her beautiful, comforting Other World, where no -rough blasts shook buds from blowing, no iron hand pressed down Fancy -and held in Imagination with curb and bridle. The ash-cup of the -bronze smoking table was filled with ashes, burnt stumps of cigars -littered the hearth. Seeing them she bethought herself of the truncated -brown canoe tossing in the foam-fringe of the tide on the Old Point -beach. By shutting her eyes she could reproduce the scene with the -minuteness of a photograph; could see the floating and swooping gulls, -silver-breasted against the blue sky, and hear the swash of the waters -between the rocks. - -She was dreaming! It would never do to fall asleep here and be -discovered by Barton or Mrs. Ames! Rubbing her eyes, she forced herself -to note that one slipper lay on the rug, the other under a chair, just -as Barton had kicked it off. - -“Fie! fie! what would people say of a literary woman’s _menage_, were -these things seen?” - -Presently, when her head stopped reeling, she would pick them up and -straighten the slumber-robe, all crumpled together on the foot of the -lounge, the pillow of which was indented by Barton’s head. Sitting bolt -upright, she stared at robe and cushion, so eloquent of her husband’s -recent presence. Her eyes were dry with misery, her features worked -into sharpness. She looked, not six, but twenty years older than the -hale man who had lain there, indolent and at ease, while she turned -wretchedly upon her bed throughout the tedious afternoon. - -Oh, the dead Past! Oh, murdered Love! - -“He said that no pure woman would have written that book,” she -murmured. “He must never know! Why, he would turn me into the street -to-night, if he found it out.” - -She crossed the room, catching at the furniture as she staggered along -to the secretary. The key hung upon a hidden hook under the drawers. -She felt for it, opened the central compartment of the escritoire, and -took out an old, roomy portfolio. There were papers in it that must be -destroyed. She meant to do it before she was taken ill, but everything -had been so sudden. It would never do to leave them for other eyes in -case of her death. While she fumbled in the pockets and drew out the -MSS. she checked herself in repeating irrelevant rhymes: - - “That husbands could be cruel, - I have known for seasons three, - But, oh! to ride Vindictive while a baby cries for me.” - -“If only my head would be steady and clear again for five minutes!” - -The portfolio was nearly emptied into her lap when an awful voice from -the doorway said: - -“Mrs. Ashe! what am I to think of this extraordinary proceeding?” - -Mrs. Ames, portentous in flannel gown and curl-papers, confronted the -affrighted culprit. Through the open door and down the stairway came -the wail of the hungry baby. - -“I only came down for her brother,” tremblingly clutching her book, and -letting the portfolio slide to the floor. “I felt so strong! so well! -I will run up to the little sister now—at once. Poor little Nest! she -wants me, I suppose?” - -Mrs. Gamp’s severe eyes softened into anxiety. She spoke soothingly, in -passing her powerful arm around the shaking form. - -“Yes, dear. She wants mamma. Lean on me and don’t hurry too much. The -stairs are a steep climb.” - -Upon the upper landing Agnes, stopping to breathe, smiled piteously -into the compassionate face. - -“You see”—showing a corner of the volume hidden in the folds of her -gown—“this is as much my baby as the other one, and I knew he was -downstairs all alone. You will let me keep him—won’t you?” - -“Certainly, dear! We’ll put him to bed with you, right under your -pillow.” - -“And not a word to Barton?” Putting her lips close to the other’s ear, -she whispered fearfully—“You know he would turn us both out into the -street if he knew.” - -“He shan’t hear a lisp from me!” asseverated the nurse stoutly. “We’ll -have the two of you sound asleep before he comes in.” - -She always humored delirious patients. In such cases veracity -courtesied to expediency. - -The prime fellows made up a theater party after the club dinner and -ended a jolly day with a jollier supper. The silvery tongue of the -French timepiece upon the library mantel said it was one o’clock as -Barton, entering, was amazed to see that he must have left the Argand -reading burner up at full height. A second step showed traces of other -occupation than his and of later date. His wife’s secretary was open, a -portfolio lay wide upon the floor, and the rug was strewed with papers. -Before the suspicion of burglary could cross his mind, he trod upon -something hard. It was a heavy gold hair pin of a peculiar pattern, -which Agnes wore constantly. He had noticed it in her hair at noon -to-day, as her head lay back against the cushions, weighed down, it -would seem, by the heavy coils. - -Had that hypocritical hag of a nurse allowed such outrageous imprudence -in his absence? He examined the lock of the secretary. The key which -he believed was kept upstairs by Agnes was in it; a survey of the -apartment revealed no other signs of unwonted disorder. - -“Oh, these women!” his face, florid with champagne, hock, and righteous -choler, crimsoned apoplectically when he stooped for the portfolio. A -sheet of paper, covered with his wife’s neat, compact chirography, fell -out. - -It was in verse, and bore no caption. - -“So-ho! poetry!” - -As in a dream, he seemed to hear Agnes’ voice: - -“I am not a bard at all. When I am in the dark, or at best in a -half-light—sorry or weary, or lonely of heart—my thoughts take rhythmic -shape.” - -At the bottom of the third page of the rhymes was a date. - -“_October 5, 188—._” - -He recollected the day. He had gone off to join some friends for a -week’s hunting, leaving her in a quiet mountain inn. - -“And she was lonely of heart—poor little wifie!” - -He sat down to read: - - “He turned him at the maple tree, - To wave a fond farewell to me. - The burning branches touched his head, - Tawny and ash, and dappled red. - Behind him, in still fold on fold— - As painters lay with leaves of gold - The ground on which they mean to trace - Some favorite saint of special grace— - The chestnuts floored and roofed and hung - Niche for my hero saint. Down-flung - From cedar tops, the wild woodbine - Lent pennons brave to deck the shrine; - Barbaric sumachs straight upbore - Their crimson lamps, and, light and hoar,— - Like votive lace bestowed by dame, - Repentant of her splendid shame,— - O’er withered shrub and brier and stone, - The seeded clematis was thrown. - - I thought my heart broke in the rush - Of tears that blotted out the flush - Of draping vine and burning bough. - ‘Oh, love of mine!’—thus ran my vow— - ‘Let Heaven but stoop to hear my prayer, - But lift the cross I cannot bear, - This lonely, living death of pain, - And give my darling back again - To longing heart and straining eyes— - To grief and loss in other guise, - Silent I’ll bow, and, smiling, see - Sweet dawn in gloom that’s shared with thee!’” - -The champagne had been heady, and there was a good deal of hock. Tears -of maudlin sentimentality suffused the reader’s eyes at the metrical -tribute to himself as his wife’s “hero-saint.” So long as she published -nothing of the sort, it was pleasant to find, accidentally, that -she wrote love verses in his absence, dedicated to him. He had not -suspected how much she felt their parting—she had borne herself so -heroically. Brushing away the soft moisture, he read on: - - “To-day, I stood and saw him stay - His horse upon the woodland way, - And toss to me a gay farewell. - The chestnut leaves about him fell; - The royal maples burned and shone, - Veiling misshapen branch and stone, - The misty clematis lay white; - The woodbine from the cedar’s height, - The sumach’s crimson cones, the breath - That amber hickories yield in death— - All were the same. October rare - Held sway divine o’er earth and air. - The horseman’s port was kingly—yet - My lips unwrung, my eyes unwet, - My heart recoils in cold despair - At memory of that granted prayer. - - * * * * * - - My beautiful dead dream! The Spring - Beyond Life’s winter, which will bring - Earth’s buried ones to love’s embrace, - Will hold for me no quickening grace. - Summers may go, Octobers come;— - Deep out of sight, and pale and dumb, - Lies the hope that never was to be. - My saint who lived not—save to me!” - -He went over the second section of the poem twice before the -wine-warmed brain accepted the significance of the lines. - -Then, he swore a little. He would be no-matter-what-ed if he could -make out women’s fantasies. He supposed this was a fancy sketch, an -impersonal rigmarole, altogether, but it was no-matter-what-ed (again) -disagreeable stuff for a fellow to read who recollected that he had -ridden away last October from a dry-eyed wife into the burning heart of -such a wood as was here described. He did not remember turning under -the maple tree, it was true—if indeed there were a maple tree at the -top of the hill. There might be some mistake in the whole thing, but it -went against a fellow’s grain to admit the possibility that his wife -had another man even in the eye of her imagination. - -He renewed the business of collecting the scattered papers. He would -read no more poetry to-night, but an unsealed law envelope, without -address, lay under the armchair. It was white and fresh, and the folds -of the instrument inclosed were crisp with newness. He pulled it out: - - “MEMORANDUM OF AGREEMENT made this 6th Day of August, - 188—, between AGNES WELLES ASHE of New York City, and - RHINE, RHONE & CO., Publishers of New York City. - - “Said AGNES WELLES ASHE being the author and - proprietor of a work entitled, ‘THE STORY OF WALTER - KING, BY JOHN C. HART,’ in consideration of the - covenants and stipulation, etc., etc., etc.” - -The shock cleared the lawyer’s head on the instant. He perused the -document to signatures, seals, and witnesses, refolded and restored -it to the envelope, put it back into the portfolio, and the portfolio -into the escritoire, turned the key in the lock and took his stand upon -the rug, his hands behind his back, his back to the fire. His face was -purple, his eyes glared. - -“So much for marrying a literary woman! They are a _bad_ lot!” - -He spat it out viciously and a bitter, sounding oath after it. - -The door-bell rang loudly, attended by the sound of stamping feet upon -the mat outside. The master of the house answered the summons. The -family physician crowded in past him, pulling off his overcoat as he -came. - -“How is she?” he demanded, without preamble. - -“She! Who?” - -“Mrs. Ashe! One of your maids telephoned for me at half-past twelve, -from the nearest station—‘Come at once! Mrs. Ashe is dangerously ill.’ -Can there be some mistake?” - -Mrs. Ames called him from the top of the stairs: “Come up quick, -please, doctor. It takes two of us to hold her in bed.” - -The doctor rushed upstairs. Barton walked leisurely back into the -library and shut the door. A woman who had sat here reading old MSS. -and new contracts until she heard her husband’s latchkey in the outer -door, then rushed off up a long flight of stairs to avoid him, in such -frantic haste that she fell into a fit at the top, might come out of it -without his help. He would never be fooled by her again, so help him -God! - -Half an hour went by and he had not moved, although the stealthy rush -of feet overhead bespoke excitement and yet caution on the part of the -attendants, and twice a faint scream penetrated the ceiling. At last he -reached out his hand for pen and paper and began a letter. - - “MY DEAR UNCLE: - - “I said to you, jestingly, thirteen months ago, that I - would employ you to draw up articles of separation in - the event of my needing——” - -The pen stopped. He could have sworn that someone passed him, so close -that he felt the wind from floating garments, and that there was the -odor of _Bon Silène_ roses in the air. It was strangely still overhead. -Cold sweat broke out all over him; when he strove to resume his -writing, his fingers were nerveless. Slow, heavy feet came down the -stairs and to the library door. It was opened without the ceremony of -knocking, and the physician appeared. - -A withering glance took in the details of the quiet figure at the -table, the paper, and the pen arrested in the hand. He went through no -form of merciful preparation. - -“Mr. Ashe! your wife is dead! A severe shock of some kind—the nurse -thinks you can explain it—brought on convulsions and suffusion of the -brain.” - - * * * * * - -Baby Nest survived her mother but a week. Her father married again, -eighteen months afterward, a beautiful society girl with a tolerable -fortune. - -She said a good thing in my hearing the other night, which I offer here -in the place of the conventional moral, my story having none. - -“What have you been doing with yourself all the winter?” she asked of a -fine-featured, dainty little old lady, whose blue blood adds nameless -finish to the fair product of brains and breeding. “I have not seen you -for an age.” - -“I have gone out to few large assemblies this season,” said Queen Mab. -“But I have greatly enjoyed certain conclaves of choice spirits, to -which I have been admitted. Evenings with the Laurence Huttons, the -Edmund Clarence Stedmans, the Brander Matthewses, and Mr. and Mrs. -William Dean Howells are something to be remembered forever with pride -and delight.” - -“Ye-es?” the priceless lace on bust and sleeves swaying in the languid -breeze of her fan. “I have heard others say that _some of these -Bohemians_ are really very, very nice—don’t you know?”[B] - - - THE END. - - * * * * * - -FOOTNOTES: - -[A] Literal report. - -[B] A verbatim report. - - * * * * * - -Transcriber’s Notes: - -Obvious punctution errors repaired. - -Page 6, “knickerbcokers” changed to “knickerbockers” (jackets and -knickerbockers) - -Page 9, “seeming” changed to “seaming” (out the seaming gallantly) - -Page 15, “nectkies” changed to “neckties” (white neckties upon weekdays) - -Page 49, “croning” changed to “crooning” (hear Tony crooning) - -Page 62, “prceious” changed to “precious” (My precious one!) - -Page 74, “to-morow” changed to “to-morrow” (minds that to-morrow we) - -Page 109, “atmosphrere” changed to “atmosphere” (long in the atmosphere) - -Page 129, “presumptous” changed to “presumptuous” (star-gazing and -presumptuous) - -Page 133, “Adironacks” changed to “Adirondacks” (week for the -Adirondacks) - -Page 170, “theatened” changed to “threatened” (laughter threatened -dissolution) - -Page 185, “Christain” changed to “Christian” (a thing as Christian) - -Page 245, “apeing” changed to “aping” (her aping is more) - -Page 245, “entreé” changed to “entrée” (_entrée_ of uppertendom) - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Mr. Wayt's Wife's Sister, by Marion Harland - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MR. 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